His body crumples to the ground, a resounding thud erupting across the room. Arax is no longer within the realm of the living.
Arax is now dead.
Black blood slowly begins pouring out of the arrow lodged inside his brain like a gentle stream. It cascades along the ground, forming a puddle in less than twenty seconds.
He's dead.
He's really dead.
Arax is dead.
The realization sinks into my brain, which only grows the shock present in my brain. The person whom I spoke to just a moment ago, who had dreams, aspirations, feelings, was now no more than a corpse. He had just fought alongside me, risking his life in the process, and now he's dead.
The thought of his betrayal doesn't even linger in my brain anymore.
I clench my left arm, which seems more akin to a hanging pile of flesh. I grit my teeth. The pain rupts in
But despite that pain, my eyes can't rip themselves away from latching onto Arax's corpse.
"Hah…"
I step back.
The urge to scream is slowly making its way up my throat. However, it does not stem from the fact that I knew him before his demise; it's the fact that he killed himself in front of me.
The visage of blood that exploded from the arrow entering his body, the visage of the way he crumpled to the floor. It's all repeating in my mind like a recording.
"Thud. Thud."
Sounds of feet pounding against the floor ring in my ears. My head slowly trails up, revealing Wall and Stiyl making their way towards me, full sprinting. They had most probably seen him aiming his weapon at me and had come to the conclusion that he had betrayed me, which explains the urgency displayed on their faces.
"Kaito, are you all right?" Wall exclaims, grabbing at my shoulders. My eyes stare off into the distance, still processing what just transpired. It all feels like a dream, strangely enough. My body feels numb, my brain feels numb, everything is numb.
His voice slowly begins to drown out. No, not drown out, I can clearly hear him, I'm just not listening to what he's saying.
Stiyl crouches over, inspecting Arax's body, which lies next to the corpse of the Nuckelavee. Both corpses are inherently inhuman in physical terms, but one is different from the other.
Yet death embraces both of them all the same.
"Damn it." He mutters, glancing at the exposed insignia on the insectoid's left arm. "He betrayed us, but I'm guessing he couldn't handle totally losing his humanity." Stiyl's hand grasps the insectoid's forearm, lifting it.
"Who knows what he was going through?"
My eyes finally lock onto Wall's sunglasses, my daze now over. Reality has begun to sink in.
"—My arm."
"What?"
His head slowly trails down towards the limb, curious as to what I was talking about.
I witness his eyebrows rising above his sunglasses, the surprise in his face clear as day. He has masked his eyes, yet so much emotion is behind them.
"Stiyl–!"
Before he can even say anything, I find myself collapsing to the ground, bile and gastric juices pouring out of my mouth. There was no indicator of their arrival, only choosing to expel from my stomach when I least expected it. Loose strands of my hair find themselves stuck to my forehead due to the sheer amount of sweat.
My brain is moving far too fast. Too many things are happening.
"CONGRATULATIONS!"
The voice booms through the air. All of our heads turn upwards. The fog has cleared, and the moonlight pours into the room. The crowd seated at the coliseum slowly comes into view.
"ALL HIDERS HAVE BEEN FOUND. THE SAPIENTS WILL BE RELEASED. ALL CONTESTANTS, PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR NEAREST GATE."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
He was furious.
He was furious beyond belief.
Tyrox found his fists digging into the railing, nearly crushing the stone. He himself had the complete opposite reaction from the goblins in the seats of the coliseum, who cheered.
Killing them would not matter; they were fundamentally lower lifeforms than him. They relished in mere bloodshed and would only cheer those who killed. They were single-minded organisms, no different than mere insects.
Yet, that was not what drove him to anger.
What drove him to anger was the fact that this boy, who possessed no abilities whatsoever, was capable of living this long. He had somehow managed to kill Lyros, a monster capable of leveling small armies, as well as destroying the same Nuckelavee that possessed the ability to murder thousands of goblins at the same time.
…Not to mention that damned Arax killed himself!!!
It was as if luck were synonymous with this boy, clinging onto him like a guardian spirit refusing to let go. At this point, Arax wanted nothing more than for him to die a slow, painful death. He wanted to squeeze every semblance of ego out of the boy.
At first, he was merely playing with him, toying. But now, witnessing this, he wanted to get it over with.
CONTROL was the crux of Arax's mentality. The strong were those who utilized the weak to do their bidding for them. The strong were the ones in control.
The criteria to control would be in their strength, which would keep the weak in check. The weak did not deserve to be elevated, precisely because of that fact.
Yet this boy utilized the strong as someone inherently weak.
It was something that defied every facet of Tyrox's way of thinking.
It was heretical, parasitical in nature.
Rage found itself pumping deeper into the orc's nerves. His eyes grew larger as his teeth ground against each other as he observed the three making their way to the gate, holding that pathetic boy.
He quickly came to a conclusion that stemmed from the fact that his worldview was being challenged. It was a disgusting tactic, but one that would prove efficient in his way of thinking.
He must be in control of the situation, or he risks total meltdown.
The goblins were controlled because of the idea of free will that he implanted in their minds. They had attempted to set themselves on the 'right' path, which would appear as noble, but they did not fit the purpose Tyrox had set for them.
He proposed the idea that they were limiting themselves too much, that they did not need to think about every single thing, and should merely live a life of self-indulgence. This was not something Tyrox himself believed in, but it sufficed when it came to taking control. If that did not work, he would merely kill one or two to prove a point.
CONTROL.
That was what mattered to him.
Without a second thought, the Orc jumps over the railing, his club equipped on his right arm. The movement is swift, betraying his sheer size.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
"Gah! I can't see anything!" Arivia exclaims, attempting to lean over the seat in front of her. The goblin in front takes note of this attempt, and as a result, slightly leans forward to accommodate for her lack of vision. However, it is seemingly not enough, and the girl continues leaning forward.
"What transpired inside the ruined homeI cannot tell, but the game has ended; that is what matters," Kors notes.
"Ugh! That's so boring!" She groans. "It was getting so interesting! Why did he have to run inside during the chase sequence?!"
Ariva throws herself back into the seat, pouting as she crosses her arms. "It takes away from the whole entertainment aspect, y'know?"
The girl was clearly frustrated with the way things had turned out. Though a small part of her was seemingly relieved at the thought of Kaito's survival. But not in the conventional sense.
Straightening her back, Asakawa points at the three silhouettes trudging towards a nearby gate, which had initially been the starting point of the 'game'. In the middle of the trio was Kaito, his form being held up by the two other individuals. Something had stood out, however.
Upon closer inspection of Kaito's arm, it seemed to be hanging, or at least the skin was, leaving behind a trail of blood. There was clearly an attempt to bandage it, with a crude cloth being tied around it, but it seemed that it was to no avail.
"Oh, he's injured," Arivia notes. "Well, he did fight a Nuckelavee."
Kors nods.
"Alright, he has succeeded. Now it is up to Tyrox to keep up his part of the bargain."
Asakawa turns to Kors, a question forming within the confines of her mouth.
"The reason you withheld from directly attacking was due to the sheer amount of goblins, correct, Kors?" She asks.
"Correct. I want to avoid combat for as long as possible. The hostages are already at the enemy's mercy, so starting any large-scale confrontation would most likely prompt them to execute said hostages. Also, if I recall, you could not find the prisons. "
Asakawa nods knowingly, contemplating the information relayed to her by the wight.
"And if he were to go back on his word? What would be our course of action?"
"Then we would have no choice but to do exactly what I seek to avoid. This entire thing is just a test to see whether his integrity will prevail or not."
"..."
While the two spoke, Kyros found his thoughts continuing to gnaw at him. Was he truly 'trying too hard'? Should he give in to his desires? Was he expecting too much from himself? Was this an ego? Was he merely imitating humans?
He could not understand.
Could he release himself? Be free? Like the others?
Was restraint oppression?
"Ms. Highergald."
Navi did not turn toward him, but the slight pause in her breathing made it clear she had heard.
"Am I restricting my people from being… 'free'?"
"…"
The silver-haired girl remained silent. Her bright yellow eyes were half-lidded, whether in thought or in her usual scowl, Kyros could not tell.
After a moment, she exhaled softly.
"No. You aren't," she said. "Rules are basic things every sapient has to follow. They exist to keep us from killing each other for no reason. They exist to keep us from collapsing into animals."
"…"
"You're trying to change your people. Improve them. That's your goal." Her gaze shifted slightly. "But they're saying you took freedom from them."
Kyros stiffened.
"I think," Navi continued, "you never gave them the chance to decide whether they wanted to pursue being Sapient… or remain Aberrated."
"I see…"
"It's an individual choice," she said flatly. "If someone wants to kill and steal, that's on them. But they don't get to cry when someone else decides to kill them in return. Restrictions are a sword that points in a direction."
She paused.
"But it cuts both ways. Lock everyone in a room if you want. Just don't be surprised when someone eventually breaks the door."
Kyros said nothing.
"Your people followed you for so long because that's all they were doing: following," Navi went on. "You told them what not to do. You never told them why. So when Tyrox showed up and said you were suppressing them, it worked. You never gave them anything to push back with."
She glanced at him, just once.
"Explain yourself. That's it. Not everyone will listen, but give them the choice."
Silence settled in.
Slowly, the truth sank in.
Kyros had never explained why he demanded change. He had simply enforced it. If his people were to truly advance, they could not be dragged forward. It was up to them to walk there themselves.
Those who chose slaughter would still be punished. Exiled. Imprisoned.
But if he explained Sapience not as law, but as purpose, then perhaps fewer would choose blood.
Two paths stood before them.
Break my bonds and murder my brothers, or forge bonds and build with them.
That was the choice.
Kyros turned toward Navi, gratitude plain on his face.
"Thank you, Ms. Highergald."
She had already returned her gaze to the distance. After a moment, she gave a small nod.
While they had spoken, the fog looming over the area had begun to increase in density once again.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
"Well, we're finally here." Wall sighs, glancing up at the gate, which had been fully raised into the wall. His gaze then travels downwards, glancing at the interior of the coliseum, which had now been revealed once again.
"That hour felt like a year." I groan.
"We have succeeded, but I presume a riot will break out."
Stiyl shuffles slightly, careful not to damage my arm, as he's lifting my shoulder, which in turn is keeping my body up. I'm injured, but not that injured, man. Though I deeply respect the sentiment.
"What do you mean?" Wall asks, turning to him.
"I heavily doubt that Tyrox will uphold his part of the deal. And in the case he does not, we have our abilities restored, so rioting will be easier than before."
Yeah, he's definitely got a point there. Though it wouldn't hurt to have at least some hopes there. He seems like one of those 'I'm a bad guy, but not a monster' type. Maybe he's got some kind of code of honor.
"Ah, got you." Wall nods.
The three of us stand before the view in front of us.
What is that view?
Well, it consists of most of the humanoid slaves, cheering for the three heroes who managed to earn their freedom. Every age, young old, is simultaneously celebrating our victory.
However, despite the clear happiness in the air, some in the back are refraining from celebrating too early. They're most likely suspicious of Tyrox, who they presume would refrain from upholding his part of the deal. It's a smart thought, definitely.
Though the cheering is certainly getting to me.
"You can let go of me, now." I chuckle, raising my arm around Wall. "I think I'm fine now."
"You sure? Your arm seems like it's going to fall off any second."
"...Yeah, I'm good."
Wall exchanges looks with Stiyl for a moment before shrugging. Stiyl, in succession, releases his grip on my arm, allowing me to return it to my side.
Standing does feel a little strange, but it's nothing I can't handle clearly. When we head back inside, hopefully, there's some kind healer or something that can restore my arm to normal.
At this point, the blood that had been trailing down has begun to dry, morphing into a darker red, almost brown. It's something that isn't particularly pleasant to look at, but is a better alternative than flowing blood.
Maybe this can be a sick battle scar.
When someone asks me where I got it from, I'll say: 'I freed a bunch of slaves from a tyrannical orc and fought a Nuckelavee.' God, that sounds awesome when you say it.
"Yo, Kaito, you gonna come along?"
I'm yanked out of my thoughts by Wall's voice. What a bad habit I have of sinking deep into my thoughts.
At this point, he and Stiyl are already inside, and I'm the only one standing outside, looking like an idiot.
"Oh, crap, sorry," I mutter, before taking a step. I want to get out of this coliseum more than anything in the world. I'm sick of these walls encompassing my field of view. I'm tired of the constant fog and greenery that doesn't seem to stop, no matter where you look.
I want to leave here so badly.
But now, I can't. Why?
Well, the gate just shut on me.
"?!"
It isn't the type of gate that has visible gaps of space allowing one to see the other side. It's more like a sliding metal door where you can't hear or see what's going on the opposite side.
I'm essentially all alone at this point.
A feeling of dread tears its way into my brain, along with my stomach dropping into an endless abyss.
The feeling of respite I just held a moment ago is no longer present, having been crushed by the industrial vice of reality. It's astonishing, I am no longer safe because a mere gate closed in front of me. I was only feeling safe because I could gaze at others, but now I cannot. They can't be more than three meters away from me, but to me, they feel miles away.
A dust cloud suddenly explodes behind me, prompting me to turn around. It's a terrifyingly loud explosion, as if something had collided with the ground at high speeds.
I grit my teeth, preparing for the worst. I'm injured at this point, and pushing myself past my limit could result in death, something that I want to avoid no matter what. I still haven't placed a checkpoint, and if I were to die now, I'd have to repeat all these events from square one, something I can't do.
Once the dust settles, a figure steps into view.
Tyrox.
His body is taut with muscle, yet seemingly robotic in nature. Armor-like bone is present all over his body, giving him a more threatening presence. His red eyes glint in the dust, attracting the crux of my attention.
Thrown over his shoulder is his club, the size of an adult human. It's clear what his intent is here. His shoulders move from side to side as he walks towards me, bloodlust oozing out of his form.
Despite the fear that's crawling up my back, I can't help but crack a smile.
"Oh, are you throwing a tantrum, Tyrox? I thought you were above violence with your hands? Wasn't that your whole shtick? That you were all smart?"
He can't handle losing; it's so clear. He's just a clear-cut, typical villain. He doesn't have any depth to him as a person; he's just one-note.
"You jealous someone weak like me outsmarted you? Is it an attack on your ego?"
He continues walking towards me, seemingly ignoring my words. I'm expecting him to stop and say something back, but that doesn't happen. His shoulders move up and down, working in tandem with the rest of his body.
"Y-Your reign of terror is going to be over, Tyrox!' I stammer. "You can't control people, you've got to work alongside them! If you work together, you can attain great things! No one is superior to anyone else because of strength!"
His feet stop.
Yet, I wish he had continued walking.
An explosion of raw power erupts from his form, almost tangible to my eyes. A crushing pressure begins to compress my body, making breathing nearly impossible. His shoulders stop their movements and rise. Anger has seemingly made its way into the crevices of his armor, giving him a new layer of danger never thought possible.
"THE FACE OF A HYPOCRITE!!!!"
His voice booms, shaking my world.
My feet stop dead in their tracks. A cold feeling seemingly starting from my chest slowly spreads across my body, engulfing me in a chill that can only be described as pure fear.
Fear.
I can nearly hear my teeth chattering against each other, ringing in my brain. My hands are shaking, and my chest can no longer tighten any further.
However, something is wrong. The orc's shoulders begin bouncing up and down, as a sound begins to erupt from his mouth. It's a rhythmic sound, each one louder than the last. It's almost akin to laughter, which is something one would do on a humorous occasion. This isn't funny, far from it, so why..?
…Why is he laughing?
His shoulders continue rising and dropping as he raises his head in my direction. His club sways with every movement of his body.
"Haha!! I had assumed you were one who presented themself as above evil, but that face of yours tells a different story–"
He points at me.
"You are no different than me!! No, worse! You do not even stand on what you believe!"
A shock, akin to a lightning bolt, runs down my body. It's a feeling that I can only compare to being imploded on the inside out. Every fiber of my being has exploded in surprise.
What the hell is he talking about? I, no different than him? I don't murder people just because I feel like it; I don't destroy families, murder children, or do anything of the sort. I'm not a murderer, not even in the slightest sense. I actually give human lives meaning and respect them. I don't enslave others simply because I think they're inferior to me. I don't attempt to control everyone below me because of my strength. I don't disregard others' lives and treat them as equals. What exactly does he mean by 'no different'? Just the thought itself boils my blood to hell and back. I'm not like this monster, not even a little bit.
Morally, I'm superior!
I point my finger back at him.
"Don't compare me to you, fucking monster!" I snarl back.
He sighs loudly, his shoulders dropping. It's clear that his excitement has subsided. Then, he raises his club, obscuring the moonlight. Throughout these movements, however, I can barely process even one of them. The processing only occurs moments after the movement was conducted.
"Fwoosh!"
The sound of wind blowing past my ear, then a crack. That crack rings throughout my body, lingering for a moment before the echo subsides. My arm suddenly goes numb, and a sharp pain stabs my brain. I try to clench my fingers, but all that erupts is the sound of gravel grating against each other.
The arm I was using to point, my right arm, is now facing the other way.
"—UWAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
My arm is facing the other way, and the bone is sticking out—
Another crack resounds as an object collides with my waist, sending me tumbling backwards. Every time I collide with the ground, dust falls into my eyes, obscuring my vision. I can barely even see what's in front of me as sky and ground constantly switch places.
Finally, my body halts its momentum, coming to a stop.
The pain has finally begun to grow in my waist, slowly coiling around my body like a snake. I can't even scream if I wanted to, given the fact that I can't breathe. I'm left alone, face down on the ground, gasping for air as blood slowly starts to flow out of my mouth.
The sound of footsteps rumbles my face, which is against the ground in a pool of blood. The sounds are much later as well, given that fact. I still can't breathe, and I can't move, both my arms are—
My thoughts are interrupted with another shot of white-hot pain.
"I seem to have been carried away. Even if we are similar in some ways, you are still my enemy. No, given your actions, you might be the enemy of my enemy."
The footsteps stop.
"—Look at you. No different than a fish, helplessly flopping around in its own blood."
My brain switches from his words to the excruciating pain exploding throughout my body. I was already in pain before this, but at least that one stopped eventually. This one just keeps escalating.
Shit, I'm gonna die here! There's no way out!
It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The Orc kneeled down and grabbed the hair on the boy's scalp, lifting his head upwards. His face was riddled with scratches and bruises, along with some strands dropping to his face, emphasizing its destroyed appearance.
None would see the events occurring down here, as the fog veil had been reactivated once again. The said veil was cast by a Thaumite slave under Tyrox's command.
"I was thinking on the way here, how did you manage to kill two of my pets, both of which were stronger than me?"
"..."
"Then it came to me; you yourself are weak, but you utilize those around you as pawns."
"..."
He shook the boy's head back and forth.
"In that way, we are not too different."
The boy can only groan in response, pain hindering his speech. His body was broken beyond compare, and it was clear he was rapidly losing consciousness.
The orc's fingers let go of the boy's hair, dropping him down face first. His body drops, no different than a broken doll. The vestiges of life that existed within were being snuffed out. With a thud, his body bounces as it collides with the ground.
"Do not worry, I will put you out of your misery. You were quite interesting."
The orc truly found the boy interesting. He was a hypocrite in every sense of the word, preaching values that he himself did not follow. Tyrox's initial impression of the boy was one of a 'hero', one who would hold themselves to a high degree in terms of morals. Of course, Tyrox knew what he was doing was wrong, but control was necessary to move a society forward. Many would attack him for this, he was aware, but they did not gaze at the full picture.
It was very surprising to find out that this boy was not like the rest, but unfortunately, Tyrox had to kill him. He was simply too dangerous to let live, considering his intellect. Recruiting him would also clearly not work, as while he was slightly corrupt, the corruption would not impel him to murder his own species.
In short, he was a powerful sword that would break under Tyrox's grasp. He could only be appreciated and gazed at, not wielded.
The orc raises his club above his head once again, obscuring the light from the moon. Then, with a swift strike, it collides with the back of the skull belonging to the boy, resulting in a fleshy cacophony of noise erupting. As a result of the strike, the back of the boy's body bounces for a moment before going limp.
His head was crushed almost instantly, blood spurting in all directions. A pulpy mess was all that remained on the grass, coloring it with a yellowish red.
A loose eyeball had found its way outside its socket, nearly being ripped out of the optical nerve. The cranium had been completely crushed, as evidenced by the flattened head. Loose strands of hair found themselves dipping inside the blood, resulting in them turning nearly red.
The brain, which had been crushed into a slushy mess, slowly began to pour out of the head, mixing with spinal fluid along with a yellow gelatinous substance, which was fat.
The orc raised his club, blood slowly dripping off the respective surface that had struck the boy's head. It slowly made its way to his shoulder, resting on its perch once again. The orc sighed loudly, something that he did not do very often.
Now that the boy was dead, his compatriots would most likely have a reason to attack Tyrox and the goblins, which would lead to a large confrontation. Of course, they succeeded their adversaries in numbers, but those individuals were particularly powerful.
Turning around, the orc began to delve into a plan.
Perhaps he would trick—
"Khhkh.."
The sound was a quiet one, but in this environment, it could be considered loud.
"Khhkgghhh.."
The sound of bones grinding against each other. Then, the sounds of flesh being torn apart.
The orc turned around.
Then, PRESSURE.
PRESSURE.
AN IMMENSE PRESSURE NEARLY CRUSHES THE WORLD.
AN ABOMINATION IS MANIFESTING.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
2200, Soraya, East Norovia.
An immense pressure in the Sorayan Republic is felt by its citizens. Some report a crushing sensation. The phenomenon had lingered for about a second, but it is widely agreed to be shared amongst the region's residents.
ImPuTeNt PuTrEsCeNt, Do YoU SeEk CoNtInUaNcE
A wry tongue, akin to thousands, vociferously screaming into a metal chamber. A distorted voice that cannot be deciphered, howbeit many scholars liquidate decades of their life intending to deciphering it.
"..."
"YES"
The boy's body begins convulsing, as if possessed. His limbs flail from side to side as if filled with minds of their own. His soul is gone, but his body lives. These movements are evidence of that very fact.
"KHRGGKKKHH"
Flesh tears past the point of no return, further destroying the boy's body. Blood vessels pop, and bones crack open, making way for an 'existence'.
A hand.
A hand finds itself erupting out of the boy's exposed back. The origin of this hand's location is a peculiar scar present in the lower back area. It has seemingly opened, unleashing a terrible calamity onto the world. The hand grasps the edges of the wound, pushing the edges further apart for each other.
Crunching bones and flesh-tearing commence as another hand is revealed, mirroring its counterpart's movements. It is a haunting sight, even for the orc that had murdered hundreds. It is a phenomenon that should never occur.
And then, the top of an object finds itself in between the hands. It slowly rises, no faster than a snail. The movements are slow, deliberate, and every single one is calculated to the maximum extent.
Then, the head reveals itself.
The head.
It belongs to something that is so beyond the limits of nature that if one were to know of its existence, they would scream until their vocal cords tear. It is a face that can only be described as an amalgamation of bone and metal, molding into one. It is both full of life, yet dead all the same. Two sets of bone-like, disturbingly human teeth are inserted into black gums that connect to the rest of its metal-like body. There are no eyes, only a face plate, etched with strange markings. Steam erupts from the sides of its face, like an industrial machine attempting to breathe.
The body comes into view.
Its body is clad in a deep brown cloak, sealing off its true form, perhaps for the betterment of the world. It flows in the wind, rippling back and forth. In the middle of the body, however, is the presence of a strange object that seemingly floats mid-air. Its shape is seemingly that of a malformed spider, with a core that is glowing a bright red.
'That..!'
It was unmistakable, this feeling of being crushed from the inside out. This feeling of pure revulsion latched onto his form.
That glowing point was…
'A hollow point!'
Normally, a hollow point cannot be visible to the naked eye. They are only visible under either visual enhancements or tools that aid in visualizing the pattern. This hollow point, however, was tangible in the physical realm, which could only communicate one thing.
There existed a rule. 'The strong must show their weakness.' It was an equivalent exchange that the powerful must allow to further grow their abilities. Those weaknesses, however, were still in the realm of the Pattern, merely existing as concentrated masses.
So, such weaknesses were never meant to be seen by the naked eye.
Just what in this world was this creature?
Before Tyrox could even realize, the creature was already outside of the boy's body, staring down at him.
Tyrox himself stood at a staggering nine feet; however, this creature stood at least a foot taller.
It now stood ten centimeters away from him, power radiating off its form.
At this moment, a strange feeling of urgency shot itself into Tyrox. It was nothing like what he had ever felt before. Throughout his entire life, he had approached nearly everything with a calm, analytical outlook. However, here, the tendrils of panic wrapped themselves around his body.
He could not move, strangely enough. Was this due to the Hollow entropy belonging to the creature, or something else entirely?
Yes, Tyrox was looking at something that embodied the word 'power'.
Something that should not exist, no matter what.
The teeth of the 'existence' slam against each other, closing off the steam that had been flowing out moments prior.
It then slowly raises its right arm directly towards the Orc.
Tyrox flinches, but quickly regains his composure. Losing sight of the creature's movements would be disastrous.
Yes, it would be.
Darkness swallowed his vision.
The creature's hand clamped around his face.
What?
He was watching it intently! How had it managed to even make that drastic of a movement? Even the slightest change in motion would be noticeable to Tyrox, so how did it manage to grab his face?
Its other hand rested against his abdomen. Open palm.
In a blur, it forms a fist and strikes the orc's stomach.
"PTOOM!!!!!!"
It is a sound that is incomprehensible. A sound that increases the bass in its environment to such an extent that it ends up warping the blur between sound and vision. One could 'see' the impact.
The strike landed before the wind could even comprehend it. This area of impact warps before the world registers the attack.
The orc explodes backwards, crashing into a nearby tree. Tyrox's body was quite large as well, which resulted in more damage being caused.
Leaves burst into the air as the trunk collapses onto the ground. A rumble erupts as the Orc digs into the dirt, skidding.
Finally, after thirty seconds of drifting backwards, his body ceases movement. However, the orc finds himself gasping for air. He places his hand on his abdomen, feeling around for any damage, but to his surprise, there is none.
The speed of the attack must have done something.
The orc quickly glances down at the area of impact, shocked to find nothing. Once again, there is nothing there. Despite the sheer velocity, there has been no damage to his body.
Rapidly, Tyrox focuses his attention on his opponent.
The said opponent is in the same position, no different than a statue. Its right hand is still suspended in the air, locked in the same position it had been before. The left hand is extended forward as well, frozen in time.
It appeared that after it struck him, its body froze.
https://imgur.com/a/nnAjd9K#bTWIQhy
No.
No.
This slugishness was not to be underestimated. This was not the movements of a creature that was simply slow, but an incredibly fast abomination that was toying with its prey.
Tyrox would not falter; there was no room for thinking, only attacking. He could not let this thing exist any longer in this world. Its noxiousness was far too dangerous for anything living. Attacking with all he had was the only thing he could do.
Gritting his teeth, he raised his club, then swiftly struck himself in the head. He did not possess a severant, but instead wielded an equally deadly weapon. The club began revealing cracks that ran along its surface, increasing by the second. Then, it fully crumbled.
What was previously a club is now a completely different weapon. A large light blue axe, forged by a deep diamond. Its edge was nearly untouched, a pristine appearance that betrayed its wielder. It was perfectly geometrical, a clear-cut sign of its accomplished craftsmanship.
No, there was no craftsmanship.
This entire time, within the stone club, a diamond had slowly been growing within. The diamond had grown inside the club over years, shaped by precise strikes and deliberate angles. What appeared crude had always concealed perfection.
Now, this was the moment it was to be utilized.
Flourishing the weapon in a large arc over his shoulders, the orc swiftly let it drop to the ground, his intent clear. He flexed his grip once, muscles tightening, before letting the tension drain away.
The creature stood in the same position through this entire ordeal.
Placing his right foot into the ground, the orc pushed forward, shooting towards the creature with a surge of strength. He raised the weapon, prepared to strike.
The abomination stood still.
The axe found its mark, striking—
"What?!"
The axe would not move, nor would the orc's body.
The existence did not move a single inch, so how did it manage to catch him?
Its teeth were the only things within his vision, forming a sickening grin. Understanding struck him, and with it, confusion so sharp it bordered on disbelief.
Because it had held the position from before, it's arms were in such a way that Tyrox's body and weapon perfectly fitted into it's grasp. His swing, body, and even axe itself slid perfectly into it's clutches. But still, how did he not become aware of that very fact? Anyone could sense death approaching. Even a child would recoil. And yet Tyrox had advanced without hesitation, stepping flawlessly into annihilation.
This creature.
This thing…
It knew his movements before he did.
Suddenly, a flash of white-hot light erupts from in between the two, allowing Tyrox to break free and leap backwards to create some space. That exact movement is made as the orc soars backwards, skidding onto the ground with his feet.
Then—
A strange sense of dread manifests.
After finally stopping his momentum, the orc looks down, gazing at his stomach. A dropping sensation fills Tyrox's body. There is a gaping hole inside his stomach.
It is so clean that not even blood is flowing, let alone organs being visible. It is a perfect circle.
Tyrox's head slowly rises, gazing at the behemoth in front of him as his body collapses against a tree.
It walks casually, yet devoid of life. Its teeth were seemingly forming a mocking grin towards him. Throughout this entire ordeal, his mind could not even process a single thought of what was occurring.
Why did this happen?
What even happened?
When mass collides with mass at something approaching light speed, the concept of 'impact' ceases to exist. The struck matter is instantaneously ionized, reduced to plasma as its atoms are torn apart and its nuclei smashed by effects closer to radiation than force.
In short, the matter that once formed Tyrox's abdomen forgot it was matter.
The initial strike had thrown his atoms into disarray, caught between existing and not. That uncertainty was the cause of the delay.
Now, however, their decision had been made.
A horrifying realization manifested. Tyrox was not in control of this situation. He could not stay rooted in a single position, given that he was being tossed around and even seized. His large stature did not mean anything whatsoever to this thing.
This creature was the crux of his mentality.
It controlled him.
It held his life within its hands.
It was free to do with him what it liked.
'This feeling…'
A feeling of dread, no, primal disquietude that ripped at his very being. A feeling of restlessness and anxiety. It was a feeling that the end's shadow was slowly looming over his form, casting him into eternal darkness. A feeling of helplessness, despair.
Tyrox always knew he was to die eventually, just not in this manner. He wanted his life to be taken by something he 'knew' existed. Something he knew would follow the rules of existence and logic.
Finally, all the emotions that he felt at that moment merged together into one coalescence, resulting in a single mental note.
'I'm scared.'
At that moment, the realization that it was fear consumed the orc.
Yes, this was fear. This feeling of the impending hell that was approaching. This feeling that he would no longer exist in this world, that all would forget him and who he was. This feeling that no matter what he did, no matter how powerful he was, there was something stronger than him.
This feeling that he would never be acknowledged.
He was to be forgotten, never emerging from underground.
The sky would never gaze at him.
….
….
What was the reason why Tyrox was so adamant about attaining an army? What was the driving force? What were the events that led to this? What was this all about?
…Perhaps it was due to the fact that one thing repeated in his mind.
I want to be acknowledged as a monster.
The orc was a hybrid, an abomination born to a goblin that was to be shunned by society, regardless of his talents. Because of this pre-conceived notion of himself, he fully embodied that role. He forced himself into a shell of monstrosity, disregarding what little humanity still lingered.
To conquer the surface. That was what he wanted more than anything. What would he do once he did? It did not matter. All that mattered was that he would show everyone that those like him were powerful.
That they could wield the kind of strength that geniuses possessed. The destination did not matter to him, only the journey.
To attain that goal, he needed to learn how to control those around him. The kings were the ones that held true strength, their ability to command those around them. They decided the world, but the world did not decide them.
Monsters often possessed strength, something that was synonymous with their very being. Tyrox would clearly never be as strong as a sapient, so he would be as strong as a monster.
By combining these varied definitions of strength, He would show them all. A monster capable of control, of tactics. A harmonious being.
Yet, watching the existence walk towards him, blood staining its right arm, he came to realize something. It was sadly a realization that would have never come in any other instance, only in this one, where his life was slowly coming to an end.
"I am not a monster."
Yes. This thing in front of him was precisely that.
This thing did not have any emotion in its body, only cold steel. The only semblance that reselmebed life was its teeth, nothing else. This thing was powerful beyond belief. This was a true monster. An incomprehensible beast that eradicated everything in its path.
Monsters did not possess fear; they did not cower when not in control of a situation. They simply fought until the end, mindless, uncaring.
Right now, human emotions found themselves resurfacing at the end.
Why?
'Why?'
Why did he feel this now?
'Why do I feel this now?'
It was clear.
Tyrox was a man who mistook power for worth and built a monstrous identity to survive rejection, only to realize his humanity when facing something that truly lacked it. He was not a monster, only an existence that took actions that were ultimately meaningless.
The existence's face hovered a few millimeters from his left. Once again, it froze.
"Roxy."
The voice was gentle, soothing, a woman's whisper carrying warmth that spilled to his right.
Tyrox's gaze split.
To his left: an unfeeling monster, incapable of anything but bloodlust.
To his right: a kind woman, a mother who had loved her son to the very end, despite him killing her.
A gentle hand cupped his chin, turning his head toward the left. Soft, yet impossibly strong.
"Look at me, Roxy."
"..."
"Mother..?
"..."
Ah, a gentle, slow death. The final realization of all his mistakes, and regrets bubbling to the surface. It is a death that one would not expect would belong to such a tyrant. Did Tyrox deserve such a death?
"I'm.. sorry.. It was all for noth—"
The existence's hand seized the orc's head from its position.
Then with a powerful tug to the left—
It ends up ripping the orc's head from its socket.
This was fitting. A monstrous tyrant, who had spent life murdering those who defied him, paid with the only currency he had earned: blood and pain.
The orc died following the path he had chosen all along: the left. The path of monstrosity. He left no mark on the world, only a stain. Every life he had taken, every innocent lost, came to haunt him in this instant.
All that remained was a headless corpse, expelling the last traces of life.
The existence loomed over the corpse, holding its head in its arm. It simply watched for a moment, observing the lifeless body of one who prided himself on strength. The air stayed dead and still, mirroring the corpse.
Leaves swayed in the silent symphony.
Slowly, it raised the head to its mouth. The jaw was too small, however, so an adjustment had to be made. It snapped the lower mandible open with a crack, releasing the tension in its fingers, and the head fell into its maw.
With a resounding snap, it shuts its maw, swallowing the head.
After swallowing, the existence turned around to a mass of goblins, all converging on its position. Each wielded a weapon, desperate to avenge the one who had taught them freedom, the very one shackled by his own mind.
"M-Monster! We'll kill you!"
It walked slowly, deliberately, ignoring the tiny figures who dared challenge it.
"Stop!"
"It's not stopping!"
"W-We can't kill it! I know it! We just can't!!
"I-I can't take it!!"
The existence moved toward the boy's corpse, utterly indifferent. Dealing with the goblins was unnecessary. One simple fact made that clear:
They were already killing themselves.
Fear and nausea consumed them. Each sought escape, and in the only way they knew, they raised their weapons and ended their lives.
One by one, they fell, the rhythm of thuds echoing across the grass. The stench of rot and iron filled the air, blood pooling blackly around their bodies. Some hesitated or struck poorly, choking slowly. The existence stepped forward, crushing their heads underfoot, finishing the work instantly.
Finally arriving at its destination, the existence seizes the boy's hair rather violently, dragging it behind it as it turns around. It then begins a walk back to the gate, dragging the corpse along like an accessory.
The previously ambient forest was now a graveyard of corpses. A tyrant, a monster, an entomion, hundreds of goblins. They all shared one aspect at this moment. Death. All of them united with this one fact.
The only sound: feet splashing in blood, punctuated by occasional gusts of wind.
Moonlight glinted on the corpses, casting them in a pale, spectral glow.
The existence continued walking until it reached the large gate. Now standing in front of the boundary, it tosses the boy's corpse aside. Swiftly lifting its arm, it places a single finger on the gate.
With a resounding clang, the massive gate bent back as if it were tin. Dust exploded from the walls, scattering and obscuring everything in the pale light.
The existence turned to the corpse, raised its foot, and stepped onto the strange scar on the boy's body. Slowly, yet with unnatural precision, it began to merge with him as if entering a home. Bones realigned. Organs shifted back into place. Within moments, the boy looked merely unconscious, no longer dead.
The coliseum walls collapsed, the entire structure falling, yet miraculously, no one was harmed. Perhaps the destruction was meant to hide the corpses at the center. A strange burial of sorts.
Once the smoke cleared, a voice rang out.
"Kaito!"
Wall Flamburn's voice rang out.
An entourage of freed slaves surged into the ruins, desperate to reach the boy who had helped them claim their freedom. A young boy reached Kaito first, checking for signs of life.
"He's breathing!"
Two others lifted him onto their shoulders.
"Move! The place is collapsing!" Stiyl shouted, pressing on the back of one of the men carrying Kaito.
The group rushed through the debris, fleeing the haunted ruins where countless lives had ended.
– - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
2300, East Norovia, Sorayan Republic
In the name of His Excellency, the Atomosian Baselius:
An hour ago, an immense concentration of hollow entropy was detected beneath the city of Varos. Citizens of the Sorayan Republic also reported a sudden pressure overwhelming their bodies, which we theorize to be directly caused by the Hollow Entropy.
Just moments ago, as I write this letter, a rumbling was felt in the same region. These events may provide evidence for the existence of an Umbral Valley. I humbly request the permission of Admiral Vycanus to investigate these occurrences.
The Sorayan Republic hosts a significant number of mercenary groups; however, the presence of an organized force such as the Aegis Corps will deter any interference in the area. A swift response to this message is therefore essential.
Respectfully,
Captain Sorent
21st Legion
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It's a room.
Dimly lit, there's a single light bulb illuminating the room. I'm sitting in a wooden chair. Across from me is another figure.
His face is one of intrigue, yet filled with no emotion whatsoever, as if watching ants in an artificial habitat. It's a look filled with contempt, yet with no real physical indicator. I can simply tell it is one.
Yes, the boy sitting across from me is none other than 'Kaito'.
Yet, strangely enough, his hair is down, as opposed to mine. His long navy-blue bangs cover his features, but enough for me to make out the general details.
'Kaito'.
He gazes at me.
Who am I?
I'm 'Kaito', too.
Aren't I?
No, this isn't 'Kaito'.
This is ██████.
Ah, I forgot his name.
This room is silent, not a single one of us moving. We're simply frozen in the moment, stuck in a perpetual stare to the death. A needle slowly penetrating a piece of ice.
He stays quiet.
Behind him, in the corner of the room, stands Captain Ypokritís. His face is stuck in that eternal smile everyone loves. Who doesn't love Captain Ypokritís? I know I do. Captain Ypokritís, can you do something about this situation? You're a hero, so you help others, right?
Help me.
I glance back at ██████. His face is locked now, emotionless. He does not speak to me. Am I too disgusting for you to interact with? Am I a parasite to you?
"Why are you quiet? Say something, dammit." I grunt.
"Stop fucking staring at me like that, I'll kill you."
"..."
"STOP STARING AT ME."
STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT MESTOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT MESTOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME STOP STARING AT ME
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I awake.
Half-expecting a grassy plain, I instead find myself sitting atop nothing but water. Surprisingly, I'm not falling. My gaze drifts upward.
Once again, that massive, upside-down castle looms above me—gargantuan, impossible.
"Yoho!"
I sigh.
"Hello, Aza."
"—You could put a little more emotion into that! I've been here for years!"
"You're right."
I raise a hand. "Greetings, incomprehensible eldritch horror, Aza."
She sighs.
"I'm too tired for a comeback. Playing the genki girl is exhausting."
I stand and look around. Silence, except for her.
"What do you mean by years, anyway?"
"Five minutes in the living realm is about ten years here. You were gone nearly a week."
"Whoa… I had no idea."
"Don't worry, my sense of time isn't yours."
"Then why even mention it!?"
I sigh and ruffle my hair.
"You look surprisingly different with your hair down," she comments, pointing from her throne.
I slick it back.
"I prefer it this way. I hate things brushing my forehead."
She just smiles back, too long.
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
I groan loudly.
"Aghhh, I died, didn't I? Now I have to—wait."
"Nope. Because you met my other subordinate."
"I only said literally one word to him, though. Didn't really see him or have a conversation."
"You will eventually."
I nod.
"…Wait, so if I didn't die, why am I here?"
"Well… technically, you did die. But you remained in the same timeline, thanks to what E gave you. A 'second life' of sorts."
"I'm assuming E is his name?"
"Yeah. Lackluster, I know. But once you meet him, you'll change your mind."
"So… am I unconscious?"
"Precisely. You'll have to wait until you regain consciousness."
"Because of that…" The girl smiles.
A chill runs down my spine, turning my blood cold.
"You're going to keep me company!" She clasps her hands and leaps from her throne, producing a deck of cards out of nowhere.
"Someone waterboard me! Please wake me up!"
VERSE 1: 1NF3STAT1ION
________________________________
END