Inside the Wave Hunters' reception area, the space was lively—filled with reporters, independent journalists, and Periodics on their way to assigned Raids. Armaros noticed that most Periodics wore eccentric, lightweight medieval-style armor in various shades and hues. Most carried a color scheme matching the mark on their neck.
He couldn't wait to be a part of them—grinning from ear to ear.
Armaros eyed one of the many receptionists at their workstation. Assuming the place worked like a bureaucracy, Armaros stepped forward in what regular clothing he had on. At first, the receptionist didn't look at him, assuming he was a reporter. But after being prompted by the boy, she turned her vacant stare from her computer towards the boy.
"Good morning, sir. All the Periodics are currently moving out to clear a few Raids. They will all be back by 6 if you are looking for a specific person to interview," she told him.
Damn, I didn't even get a chance to speak…, he thought. "Actually, Miss, I was wondering if I could receive help with my Periodic System?"
The woman turned her attention back to her computer before she heard what he said. She paused for a moment and then immediately looked back at him.
"Sir…could you please repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."
"My Periodic System, I just woke up today and the entire world around me was blue with some message over my eyes…oh, and the message was from someone called 'the One Unforgiven'."
In society at large, the name of the One Unforgiven was something many Periodics knew, having stated his name in the press many times. It wasn't unheard of for a person to come strolling, especially on the awakening day, and claim they had no factual proof. To verify authenticity, receptionists asked for the first line of the message, which always contained an identifying phrase. The number corresponding to their place in the system—usually the number marking their place in the system, from the first to the last.
"I don't remember all of the message, but I think the first part was Spirit of a human, the System chooses you as its last champion."
The receptionist then looked back at her computer, pulling up the database on her computer to see if that message had been recorded yet or not. No mention of the last champion was to be found in the logs. It appeared he was telling the truth, but how could that be, with only three weeks left before the First Wave?
"Um…Sir…are you sure you're not a friend of a Periodic who told you his message?" she said, her reasoning being that he could simply have heard another person say the line and replaced it with a "last" instead.
"Miss, I know how serious this is …I wouldn't lie."
Seeing no other option, the woman turned back to her computer, typing a long string of code that seemed to send out a message through the system. A few moments later, an advisor—like the one Tyra had met with—came out to meet Armaros. The man didn't seem too enthused, staring him up and down, as if examining if he could be speaking the truth.
Switching his disposition, he got closer to Armaros. He tried to put on a cheery disposition that would hide his true job. He wasn't an advisor like Mr. Harr; his role was much more niche and reserved for the lowest of the low.
The man spoke to the beaming young boy. "You must be Armaros. Come with me. We have much to speak of."
********
This advisor's office was on the first floor, styled like a principal's office—a place that made Armaros feel like a student called in for trouble. The room was as lavish as a study for a mansion, with bookshelves, regal chairs, and other instruments of decorum around. Armaros couldn't shake the feeling he was in the wrong place.
He heard other Periodics speak about multiple advisors, having seen walkthroughs of the different buildings the Wave Hunters had. Each's internal layout differed from the next. But even so, not one had looked like this, and none were on the first floor.
The man before Armaros seemed more interested in looking through his digitized and futuristic computer set-up than actually speaking with him. The silence became so deafening that Armaros began to wonder if coming here had been a mistake. If the woman's seeming reluctance to take him at his word was evidence, maybe he had done something wrong—or worse—maybe he himself was wrong.
"Armaros Diabel? That is your name, right?"
"...Yes, Sir."
With a deep breath, the man tried to sound as fatherly as possible before speaking, "You—you are a peculiar case to say the least. You know, kid, I've heard of people becoming a part of the system late…but never this late."
The man looked over all the records. Most, if not all, Periodics had awakened at least five months earlier, specifically on the same day as Tyra. He was more than an anomaly—he was an outlier that made no sense.
"If what you're saying is true…which it very well could be true…then you really are the last Periodic."
HAHA! Oh my goodness, I really am not dreaming!
The man before Armaros scratched his head callously, almost as if he was trying to find the next words to say. He looked at the beaming boy, who sat quietly before him. Armaros's face said everything to him, and in a way, he soon felt a twinge of apprehension about saying his next words.
But contractually obligated to do his duty, the man started his next statement. "Listen, Armaros, because of circumstances beyond our control, we are going to have to reject you. We can't take you on as a Periodic for multiple reasons that are just beyond your or our capabilities."
Armaros's heart sank immediately.
"What—what?! What do you mean beyond your capabilities?"
"Armaros, you are an anomaly. Like I said, I've never seen a person like you before, a Periodic that has awakened so late. I've seen late ones, at most, come one month late of the original period, but never this much. The first wave is in three weeks, and you don't even have any training or anything beforehand."
Armaros slowly pieced together the lines of reasoning that were being laid down. And each time he did, he grew closer to bubbling with anger, but most of all—sadness.
"You're more an error than a solution—a failsafe the system made to tie up loose ends. I am sorry; we can't help you. There is just no time; we would do you a disservice by even giving you some false hope."
"So what?! What can I do?! I never heard of a Periodic getting rejected before!"
"Because they normally aren't," the man told him, "and you just happen to be the easiest to reject, Armaros. This isn't my choice—it came from the higher-ups. It was decided the moment you appeared claiming to be one."
"But I am not claiming anything! I am one!" Armaros said, raising up and smashing his hand on the table. "What don't you understand? Why does everyone keep thinking I am lying or something?!"
"I never—"
"That woman at the front, you, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if whoever created this fuck-ass system thinks I am lying too!"
"Armaros, calm down."
"How am I to be calm when everyone is leaving me out to dry and die!"
Two officers poured into the room. The man had seemed to have summoned them by pressing some button that was hidden to Armaros's knowledge. The officers then took hold of the boy, leading Armaros to try to squirm and break free.
"This isn't right; this can't be fair!" Armaros yelled, slowly and forcibly being dragged out of the room.
"I am sorry, Armaros. Your sacrifice will not be in vain." The man said as the boy was hauled away out of the man's office.
*******
Tyra was walking in the reception area, waiting with her raid party to head out. As her seventeen-person party prepared to leave, the screams and wails of a boy could be heard. It started from behind the reception desk, and the source of the sound was soon revealed.
Tyra couldn't believe her eyes, stunned while everyone else simply looked at the spectacle.
No…that—that can't be him. What is he doing here?!
Armaros was led through the entry gateway at the side of the receptionist desk, thrown back out the other side.
"You can't do this to me! This was my dream, my everything, and the second I get it, everyone just turns their back on me!?" He raved, causing a stir amongst Tyra's party.
"Who is that, and what is he talking about?" One girl said.
"He must be one of the frauds…but at least they had common sense to try during the actual period of awakenings. What a dumbass." One boy responded.
Tyra was left speechless with a few hiccups in her throat. She hadn't seen him in ages, and seeing him in that state, with his nearly torn clothes because of how harshly he'd been treated, broke her heart.
As others walked on, laughing about the events, she was the only one who stayed and watched. She soon realized tears were burning down his face, and the birthmark was glowing yellow, like paint fading from a mural.
He's gone off the deep end…this isn't him anymore—his desire, it's like it consumes him.
Armaros looked around the place, distraught and enraged. But soon enough, his eyes landed on Tyra, and the two lovers had locked eyes for the first time in so long. To him, it seemed more beautiful than before. Her body had become even more toned, flawless and full-figured. It was like a goddess meeting her follower—she was his only hope of salvation.
Armaros made his way, each step slower than the last, until the two were a few paces away. His face was mangled with despair, whilst her own showed resigned sympathy.
"Tyra…it's been so long," he said, a puff of laughter that had no emotion attached to it, "And you seem better than ever, I guess."
"Yeah…I wish I could say the same to you."
Silence encroached on the two.
But with a deep breath, Armaros continued his statement, "Tyra…I know that what I am going to say may sound crazy…hell, maybe I am crazy—"
"Maybe you are." She told him, cutting him, "Armaros, you don't look well. Please…just go home and sleep."
He then laughed, "and now even you won't hear me out."
"Because you're being delusional. I don't have to listen to what you are going to say because I already know it. Listen, I know that was supposed to be your dream, and you should get to live it, but not this. Please, just go home and be happy." She told him, tears staining her eyes, "I'll carry this for the both of us, I promise."
"..."
"I—I have to go, alright. Just be easy, and don't do anything stupid, alright. You're not a Periodic. Just accept it, please."
Tyra then stepped past her silent boyfriend, wiping the tears from her eyes and forcing herself to stay composed. She left Armaros there unmoving; the boy forgotten in a world that praised timely excellence. He had no place there—his time had long passed. And just like everyone else moved on, she had moved on without him.
*******
Walking out the side of the building into an alleyway-like structure, Armaros was defeated, alone and afraid. If the First Wave had come, he would be powerless to do anything, useless with no training. He was, effectively, a walking corpse.
As he started his trudge out of the alleyway, he saw a few people in Tyra's party casting some weapons to the side. Two greatswords lay there, their dull-gray designs strange but worthless.
"You know you should probably keep them, just in case they actually are useful in the long run, Zephyr," one boy said.
"It doesn't matter; they're too heavy for me to use anyway. I haven't upgraded my Potentia to use them well anyhow. They have cool names, but they probably just fake one too, and my daggers are far better."
"You do you," the boy then replied.
They left the sword there, just as dejected as Armaros. While a spark had yet to arrive in Armaros's eyes, he knew one thing. If he was going to die, he was going to do so on his own terms. Resolving to do something with his life, he moved towards the swords and took them up off the ground.
The system prompted him [Acquired weapons: Zeus and Hermes, Forgotten Heirlooms].
Knowing little about the new world he was in, with no one to guide him, he took what little things he heard and resolved to try and do something.
He would have to find the nearest Raid and go it alone. And if death was to be his reward, at the least, the crows would get to feast on the carcass of a determined, ill-fated boy.