04 / 04 / 2019 - Althr Baldr, Khtonres.
Hours passed.
"Listen, boy. We will arrive in Althr Baldr in a matter of moments now…"
Still a bit sleepy, his eyes half-lidded, head leaning against the hard, warm wall of the ruined sanctuary on the platform.
Sitting against the ground, his crossed hands had been untied unknowingly, now lying limp above his stomach — though it was not long ago that he had been awakened.
"Yawn"
Covering his mouth with his right hand, he stretched his body upward. Again, the joints of his body cracked as he raised his left hand high.
After doing so, he put his two hands on the ground and swiftly propped himself to stand, eyes fully open albeit narrowed; mental toll and physical exhaustion had now slightly recovered after some sleep.
'Even then, my condition now is incomparable to my self on Day 1 in here…'
Straightening his body, he walked to the old man who had been standing, waiting at the edge of the platform; the rising wind fluttered his white beard and hair.
Brushing a few messy strands out of his eyes and slicking them back, his vision cleared as he thought, taking a slow stride.
'My body has been strengthened — the growing flesh adapted to the pressure subjected to it…'
Placing his hands in his pockets, he arrived at the old man's side, silently. The temperature had been rising, but then his eyes twitched as he could feel something else.
'Chill… malice?'
Lowering his gaze, the area was still shrouded in mist, but the ever-growing coldness pricking at his skin was unmistakeable — or perhaps, familiar.
"You feel it too, right? That's what we call the [Malevolent Lump Fragmentation] that resides in Althr Baldr…"
"Before we begin, I want to give you something first…"
After saying this, he turned his head to the left.
The old man was now shirtless, wearing white long pants; his robust, bulging muscles — fitting of the dwarves — were revealed.
Lowering his eyes, he gazed upon the old man's right hand, outstretched, holding the book he always brought along and a simple old leather pouch.
"I don't know what to reward you with aside from this. Take this book… I spent hundreds of years recording everything inside it…"
He took his gaze from the ground — the old man's eyes narrowed, benevolent — which made Akane shiver for a bit; well, as if he could refuse.
"And this pouch — I figure that you probably need some other means to carry your trophies."
The old man shook his head, probably noticing various items Akane had saved in his sleeves and pockets. After letting the boy take the book, he held the rifle back in his right hand.
While Akane was now looking at both curiously — the book in his left hand — his free fingers and right hand opened the inside of the pouch, revealing nothing, empty, just like a normal pouch.
His face was strange as his brows rose and drew together unnaturally, his mouth twitching; before he was about to question the old man, he heard a laugh beside him.
"Hohoho…. Don't be tricked by what you see, boy. It's been made and engraved with Runes… designed to trick your ideas as you put your thoughts into it…"
"The pouch's space will expand while deceiving its interior and exterior by reading your intentions or thoughts… be careful of what you think, or it will crush the pouch or render it broken."
Hearing what the old man said, he was silent for a moment — controlling the output of his intent and thoughts would be easy, no? So he tried it, a bit excited.
He put his right hand on the pouch's mouth, and then, controlling his thought — hoping it would be bigger inside and allow the book to pass — that made sense, okay.
And then, under his gaze, he carefully pulled open the small mouth of the pouch, which expanded unnaturally, revealing a bigger space inside; his pupils widened and his heart skipped.
"Are you sure you want to give this to me, old man?"
"Anyway, thank you very much!"
Putting the Dwarf History Book, Toys, IMP - Motionary Reactor Core, Type 2-IV: IMP Machinery Chip, and the Silver Lantern inside, he felt relieved all of a sudden — his tense shoulders relaxed.
It felt like his future was bright for a moment — as long as he survived this, though. He smiled stupidly as he held the pouch with both hands, eyes lowered, bent in a crescent.
"Hahah, don't mind it… Also, make sure not to touch it carelessly, since by contact it will read your intent — you don't know how it will break later, no?"
"But alas, you're happy too, earlier boy… since here comes the second thing."
Stroking his fluttering beard, his eyes lowered, passing the platform; as his words drifted, the whole place had opened up, arriving in Althr Baldr.
"Your enemy, I presume, is in the Forging Site… their intention is clear to me and to you too… they want something from that [Malevolent Lump Fragmentation]."
"And by yours, as I have told you… outside of Azngur right now is very… lively."
Raising his head, his brown-dark eyes — a cold, fierce, narrowed gaze — seemed to pass through every layer of rock and mineral, looking straight ahead with a divine crackle.
"I figure that they will notice when this elevator comes down and opens, which means that by the time we arrive, the enemy will be at our doorstep."
"Then, I want you to go to the Forging Site alone, and I'll open the path for you!"
Holding the rifle clearly higher than before, the words came hard; the old man's illusory body seemed to be flickering at this moment under Akane's surprised gaze.
But Akane kept his mouth shut, putting the pouch in his pocket while listening to the old man's words, gazing at the scenery now opening up.
"After you enter there, there will be one there too, perhaps — stronger than anything you've faced."
"If you won… no, you have to win, as there is no choice for you, kid. If you can't win, your world or your land will be endangered — these leeches don't know what they've been dealing with."
Akane's hand clenched, and he was confused as he could only process half of what the old man said. At this moment, he needed to guess what the old man actually wanted him to do.
"I want you to use this card to override the First Terminal, or Alvisgraanir, to open the path to the Catacombs."
Looking to his left, the old man's outstretched hand held a card similar to the previous Machinery Card — like Durinn's — but filled with a more complex pattern inside the enclosed card.
It flashed in dark-golden, like a punched card, albeit every detail seemed more complex; unknowingly, his lips pressed thin as his left hand took hold of the card.
"There, you will enter a series of runic symbols or a code to activate the Three Pillars of Graburg to destroy that [Malevolent Lump Fragmentation]…"
"The success of everything depends on you, kid — even the people on the surface may not realise this at all…."
Sighing, the old man's eyes narrowed, and the platform began to screech; both were silent, as if each was waiting for the other to take their own walk to the end — which they both knew was coming.
"You won't come with me, old man? What if I can't even win against them?"
After the long silence, his gaze took in the whole of Althr Baldr — an endless river of magma, smaller in scale than Mezakeir and Bezgarz, as there were only two places and two paths.
Lowering his gaze, eyes narrowed, his hand trembled under the chill that contradicted the whole nature of the magma itself — and as this was the final moment, he began to doubt himself.
Silence. Tranquillity.
"ARE YOU DEAF, BOY?!"
Suddenly, a rumbling sound shook his eardrums, his eyes widened as his insides churned, his body swaying under the roar of the old man.
"YOU MUST WIN! SO YOU HAVE TO WIN, THERE'S NO OTHER OPTION!!!"
"ANSWER ME!"
Yeah, it was, but at his current level, could he beat them? Gritting his teeth, his eyes lowered, his mouth agape as he wanted to answer, but couldn't.
It was a matter of probability, old man. Then his eyes and beard fluttered as the old man gazed out, past the non-existent Gate, to the only straight path filled with enemies.
"Trust your own self, boy! How could you younglings want to depend on an old man half a foot towards death like me! Ashamed of yourself!"
"Now get up! And don't die! Or your lands will be wrecked, your family will be doomed, and you will truly have nothing more!"
"So get up, I said!!! Or do you prefer me to be your enemy, hah!!!"
As Akane's body bent and lowered, there was only a puffing breath — raging like thunder — and coincidentally, the platform stopped with a swoosh.
Roarrr
"You disgusting wyrm is corrupted too, huh? Let's start with you, then."
"Muahahahahahha!!!"
Blaring in his ears, he lifted his body as the platform stopped. Looking ahead, there was only a straight path filled with enemies and…
'A dragon? No… the old man said it was a Wyrm…'
Clicking his tongue, his right hand held the silver dagger with the reverse edge — the blade sticking out of his fist below; his left hand already held the P226.
ThumpBoom
He ignored the old man, who had disappeared into battle with the Wyrm — stepped out from the platform, surrounded by the river of magma, and was greeted by a familiar human figure at last.
'Acolyte!'
"Kill the intruder!"
Tch — body slightly lowered, right foot one step forward and the other at the back, shifting his weight forward, imitating the Moon Guard; he had become more proficient at this.
His bloody-ashen eyes focused and narrowed, tracking towards three figures in dark robes, completely concealed, each holding a weapon, now running towards him.
Dagger close to the face and neck, steady, his lips flat — the time was now.
Submerged to the depth, the world colourless — multiple frames of the future shown as a decision was made over the trajectory's prediction.
'No need for much — what is needed here is to read and probe first…'
One of the lessons he had learned: sometimes there was no need for much effort to do something. By doing a simple act in exchange for a decisive strike — wasn't that it?
So…
'Target: Front out of Three. Weapon: Sword. Assumption: Main Attacker.'
'Distance: 20 metres. Decision: Probing.'
He would learn if he needed to learn, through blood and pain.
I wouldn't pray for easy lives; for this, I'll pray to be a stronger man than ever for them.
'Decision. Neutral Neural Firing Response.'
The world resumed just like an ongoing cassette.
Watching the lunge forward — the pale right hand stretched from the robe as a silver sword arrived in a matter of seconds — the decision was clear.
Shifting the weight of his body, he pushed the ground lightly with his right foot, body leaning to the flank, mid-step; his eyes glanced towards the faraway Acolyte B and C.
His head full and throbbing in seconds of sampling, but it was enough — everything from their positioning was already mapped in his mind; all that remained was to act.
Swoosh
He adjusted mid-step, the left foot found its footing ahead, avoiding the projectile. Eyes locked on Acolyte A — its feet also planted — and both were close.
Decision: from below and in a rush, he gripped the dagger tightly, swinging it upward — a robe torn open, a diagonal cut on the side of the stomach.
Left hanging, feeling the rushing wind from the left, eyes narrowed — without thinking too much, the right foot found its place at the back and then shifted his weight like a free fall.
Swish
Pulling his hands back and avoiding it, a glinting silver sword swept past the front of his stomach by a margin, leaving his stomach churning for a moment.
Lifting his eyes, he closed the distance — right foot pushing his body forward to close in before Acolyte A could recover from the sweep.
'Huh?!'
Eyes widened in surprise as he felt a tickle in his legs; lowering his gaze to his feet — from the shadows, a dark tentacle rose and coiled around his legs, but did not fully lock them.
Clicking his tongue and shifting his weight to the right, he heard another sound of movement — lifted his head — and under his gaze on the left, a sword came from below.
A moment — just enough to build momentum. Gritting his teeth, he raised his left hand and tightened his left arm and grip.
"Die, heretic!"
Clank!
Body leaning on the right Acolyte's flank. He let the gun's frame slide the blade off as both were in contact — a clanking sound resonating between the two metals for a moment.
"KHh—!!"
Feeling the trembling palm from the force on his left hand, wincing and groaning in pain, distancing himself and keeping his posture while gasping.
Eyes darted around the periphery once again, looking over his shoulder, activating critical rapid sampling to capture their positions.
Acolyte C was gasping — body tense and trembling — while Acolyte B was already lifting hands again.
Recognising the timing, the two far Acolytes were panting and hesitating — perhaps worried about hitting their teammate.
The overloaded frames disappeared in a moment of analysis.
Thought at last — his gaze flickered back to the front; Acolyte A was closing in, two hands raised, a shadow printed on the ground. The sword was falling.
Instead of looking upward, he veered his head to the left and shifted his body along with it — but under the darkness below that Acolyte A could not see, his left foot was mid-stride.
"RAHHHH!!!"
Hearing the roar, the corner of his lip twitched. He planted the hidden left foot on the ground and, seizing the timing, pushed the left foot hard and turned his body mid-step, his body bent.
Boom
Knowing these fatal misreads — as the dust rose — he planted his right foot and burst forward, on the Acolyte's flank once more at a distance; this time, he did not forget the others.
Avoiding the shadow zone, he lunged to the left of the earlier impact — masked by dust, another burst forward after the feint — arriving within range of Acolyte A.
Moving through the dust, his hands spun as the dagger reversed, sticking out of his fist upward. With a swift motion, Acolyte A was late to react.
Schwick
The dagger encountered resistance for a moment, but it quickly gave way as he pushed. Warm blood spurted, washing over his hand and face, and trickled down to his lips.
'One down.'
'And now it's your turn….'
Boom
He pulled the dagger and distanced himself from the incoming projectile, turning his body to face the two remaining, unsmiling. He did not like this at all — the old man had not kept his promise.
"Fortunately, it's just the two of you, huh?"
"Neat…"
Bloody-ashen eyes luminous as he watched the two Acolytes slowly back away — then, planting his right foot hard, he leaned forward and dashed towards them step by step.
But of course, how could they willingly die like fish on a chopping board?
Swish
Swish
Swish
Under his gaze, Acolyte B chanted with raised hands, and five dark projectiles manifested and travelled through the air.
Reading it, he shifted his body weight in a zig-zag to avoid them.
He dashed in forward, crossed, and as the distance narrowed — in what seemed a tacit agreement — the Acolytes split as he arrived.
Understanding it too, he quickly pushed his legs under strain to chase Acolyte B. As the figure entered his range of attack, he swung the dagger forward before it could distance itself.
But…
The corner of his eyes twitched as something pulled his legs — with no time to look, he pushed forward and used his momentum to reach Acolyte B's body, almost.
The dagger went smoothly, like piercing cotton foam. Narrowing his eyes, realising it was a distraction, he lowered his body and shifted his weight to the right to pull the dagger free.
Rolling and getting on his knees. Around him, the shadow rose like a mighty wave — and before it fully closed in, his eyes swept around, locking in — the two Acolytes had reunited.
Standing amid the darkness, he could feel it; pursing his lips, his eyes alert, phantom pain assaulted his body and mind.
Like being thrown into acid, he could feel a hollowness nibbling at his flesh and soul.
"Hahhh…"
Looking around the undulating fog, he could still hear thundering gunshots and the wyrm. He held the dagger close to his body, let out a sigh, and tried to walk slowly.
Swish
"Hmff—!!"
Gritting his teeth, the fog in front of him cleared slightly before the real pain assaulted — lowering his head, a dark liquid, a shadow corroding his left arm; tears welled up.
'Another one.'
They can't hide from this. Lifting his head, he activated critical sampling once more — this time using his senses as the focus for rapid shifts in the fog, standing still for a moment.
Eyes flickering, head hung low, then snapping to the right — instantly entering his posture and dashing forward, catching the sound and brief movement.
The fog surged and hindered, until after a while, he caught it.
Ignoring his limp left hand, he burst forward. Range: 10 metres. Acolyte — panicked — in sight; this time, he decided to stick with one and kill it first.
It was backing away, trying to hide itself in the fog and disappear once more. The distance closed in a matter of moments, and then the fog on the left surged.
Eyes glancing at the periphery, reading its movement and trajectory through a clear space, he planted his feet and ducked, avoiding the flying mass of chill above him.
Flashed with a single thought — this was the last burst forward; the fog was already thinner. Ahead, the Acolyte was in range; the grip reversed, the blade sticking out below his fist.
'Close!'
But this was not the time — yet. One metre close. He stopped, feet planted, then shifted his weight at the right angle, passing the Acolyte and looking at its side.
Swoosh
Pain jolted from his left hand — his body spun, shifted mid-step to the left — the dagger swung from below, feeling wet and slimy, almost slipping from his grip.
He did not look at it, but felt slight resistance as the dagger nearly slipped — then pushed with his wrist and dragged it upward.
Again, warm blood spurted like rain — the throat slit. Rolling to the left and onto his knees, he dropped the dagger and transferred the P226 to his right hand.
Clank
Throbbing as his head grew lighter, body frozen, but his mind ticking.
'Trajectory Determined. Right angle, distance 2 metres.'
'Decision. Firing Neural Response!'
'Deactivated.'
Click
The world resumed its movement. He decisively raised his right hand, pale face lifted, looking straight at the Acolyte who was standing and raising its hand.
Swoosh
He did not fire — pushing his body to the right with his feet and holding his breath. That was the timing he had waited for.
Thump
"Hahhhhh…. Hahhhhh…"
Thud
Gasping, lying sideways — under his sight, between the blurry smoke rising from the muzzle, the last Acolyte had fallen, a hollow hole in its head. The body fell with a thud.