People have already noticed the absence of the Paragon. Most knew he had severed ties with the government for personal reasons, but they knew he was still fighting in Antarctica. His carnage, battles, and even a few interviews proved it. Yet it has been a week, and there has been no sign of the Paragon. No public statement, no battle-scarred lands after the last crater. He was just gone, almost as if he had died. People are outraged, social channels buzzing with questions and demands. They wanted to know what had happened. No clans answered them, and the government didn't either. Simply because they didn't know either. He had just vanished without a trace. The great clans were pleased, their target finally eliminated. Yet the people did not waver in their belief. They started to call him a true hero, sacrificing himself for the greater good. This drove the people to criticize anyone who wasn't fighting in Antarctica. Meaning everyone suffered public backlash, yet the government only grew. Their efforts in Antarctica clearer than ever; the people are fighting for not only the land but the people as well. And so the government grew, dozens of masters and awakened joining their ranks. But the biggest improvement was the support. Charities and requests for funds immediately receive help.
***
Saint Cor sat silently in his office; he wasn't working, just staring through the giant window. Through the window he could see the gigantic city, yet he didn't see just buildings and pawns, but people. People who supported him and the government more than ever, just because of the Paragon, the young blonde man who worked under him just a month ago, had fallen. It was saddening and Cor warned the man, yet he continued on his path. Cor could only hope, hope that the legendary master wasn't dead, perhaps just resting.
After all, Cor had seen the remains of the Paragon's last noted battlefield. There was nothing left, even the very snow seemed to float away, the crater a giant black hole in the very earth. Scientists have been dispatched, confirming the marks of the violet fires.
With a sigh, Cor sat up straighter, starting to work on the giant pile of papers. Yet his mind kept thinking about the man, somehow knowing that he was still alive, planning a return.
***
Arthur ran and ran, his fear palpable. He has been running for a week, hiding. He was being chased by creatures he had never imagined could exist. Because the creatures weren't creatures at all, they were people, mutated by corruption. Worst of all? Arthur couldn't use his aspect, nor his attributes. He was merely a mundane with the physical prowess of a master. Yet these things were stronger, Arthur tried blocking an attack once. Never again, he had nearly lost the arm right on the spot. Perhaps even worse than his lack of abilities was the fact that Arthur couldn't find any food, the water was not drinkable either. He was trapped with what seemed to be no way to escape.
Yet he continued to hope, running and hiding, surviving on his desperation and will alone.
He had discerned what seemed to be happening to him.
He was either having his third nightmare, which he doubted.
Or he was somehow back where he had met Grey during the second nightmare. But those were just theories, and Arthur didn't do great with theories.
Arthur had already tried everything: his soul essence, memories, and abilities. Yet nothing worked, only aether worked a tiny bit, small aether motes dancing around him before disappearing.
But that seeming failure drove him, he knew he could slaughter the things chasing him with aether, a mere blade would be enough.
And so as the things rested, Arthur trained, neglecting his mental and physical health. He forced the aether out, flowed with it, even summoned it in his soul sea, yet nothing worked. His situation was seemingly sealed, he would die helpless and defenseless, his powers stripped from him, dying in an unknown land. And the biggest disadvantage Arthur had was his body, more precisely, his legs. He could barely run without pain, the damage growing the more he used Godstep. Yet now, they were healing, every power stripped from him and his far superior body to that of a mundane, started healing. No soul essence could get in the way, no destruction, no godstep. And so Arthur didn't move when he rested. He merely sat, his legs crossed in front of him. His hands were clasped in his lap in a circular shape. He was meditating.
***
Sunny had asked for a week off after he learned of Arthur's disappearance, and his squad was left to rest in Falcon Scott, all of them enjoying the break. And Sunny? He was hunting down Arthur, searching for any clues, any signs of his friend. Yet he couldn't find him, not a trace. And soon his free week ended, the officials were already displeased with his actions, yet did not voice their disapproval. After all, he could perhaps be one of the strongest masters on the continent.
But Sunny didn't like the praise, nor did he enjoy it. It was ridiculous in his eyes. His being praised? Sunny only laughed at such people, making him out to be a hero. Because in truth, Sunny wasn't a hero and never would be. After all, heroes only become heroes after death. And so even on his missions, Sunny searched, even as his squad told him it was futile, he didn't stop, because what friend would stop without proof? In Sunny's eyes, such a person wasn't a friend at all. And so he drove himself into exhaustion every day, missions, meetings, and his private searches for Arthur overwhelming the young Divine shadow. Yet the shadow did not break; instead, his determination only grew to find his friend and save these people. If not for himself, then for Arthur.
***
Arthur was sitting quietly, his mind focused yet relaxed. Without him even knowing, aether gathered around him, circling him slowly; it looked beautiful if one with intelligence could see the spectacle. But alas, only creatures with long arroded minds were there to witness it. And instead of seeing beauty, they saw a meal. And so they lunged. Arthur's eyes snapped open, already filled with fear. The creatures had tricked him, or he had messed up. Before he could ponder the situation deeply, his body moved instinctively, but it was far too late, a claw already tearing through his chest and exiting through the back. Arthur merely coughed, blood spilling down his chin.
Yet the aether already gathered did not disperse; instead, it shot toward Arthur, enveloping him in magnificent purple light. Yet the damage was done, and with that, the Paragon of Purity closed his eyes, fear turning into desperation, then anger. And then the anger transformed into something far greater, hatred and will.
Both combined to form a miracle, a Divine yet Unholy feat starting.
[A/N: First of all, fuck you Bioshock, but I also wanted to say thank you. I think I long needed some actual criticism and it kinda woke me up from my laziness and dying motivation. And while the chapters will still be quite short, I am now always aiming for them to be atleast 1k words.
And I actuslly started thinking about the storyline! Some of you probably already know what will happen in the next chapter. And if you do please do tell, would you preffer 3rd person or first person for such an event. The next chapter should come out in the upcoming 30h prob less, knowing me.]
Thanks for reading and support!