05 / 04 / 2019 - Althr Baldr, Khtonres.
…
Beneath the pale, clear skin, something is silent, then wriggles itself, so slightly. Gradually, it becomes frequent, then erratic, crumpled, and then… folded.
Slowly, it is lifted, revealing bloody-ashen colour; the gaze is blurry and unfocused.
Adapting to the light, thought appeared empty and confused; the open lid was narrow, just enough to take in an understanding of its surroundings.
Amidst the pool of blood, the head lying sideways, between chunks of flesh sticking out, its gaze to the front, slowly coming out from the blur.
The head dizzy, his heartbeat began to race as if he had forgotten something; his temple wrinkled as memory slowly resurfaced while he contemplated.
"Ughh…"
Right at that moment, he realised his situation. His nose wrinkled at the heavy, sour, metallic scent; his head felt like it had been hit by a hammer, wincing in pain.
'How long have I been passed out…?'
He tried to move his hands — fingers slowly twitching — heavy like a rusty gear; he tried to move away from the sticky, tar-like blood, which had partially solidified.
"HAahhhh…."
Pulling himself free, he drew his hands and body out of the mud-like blood. Bending his arm, he pushed himself out of the warm, glue-like blood to his knee.
Slowly and steadily — no need to rush — adapting to his body first, flexing his hand to stretch, he lowered his head to the ground, warm and searing hot.
Looking at his numb right arm, a patch of crimson stain on his pale skin, as if burned by hot water. Thoughtful, he let out a sigh.
After collecting himself for a moment, he propped on one knee and tried to stand — unsteadily, wobbling as if he would fall at any moment.
Gritting his teeth, he clutched his two knees for support to avoid stumbling. Breathing heavily, his body bent, he lifted his head to look around.
Standing still and sweating. Reflected in his gaze was a half-remnant of the snake — its long body, midway to the tail, had already disappeared, leaving only clean white bone.
As he saw this, his face turned strange for a moment, his lips pursed — something stuck in his teeth — then his mouth churned, his head snapped to the right, and he spat.
Lowering his gaze — on the maroon pool of blood was a dark scale of the snake with an obvious bite mark, stuck.
His lips tilted and pressed; he averted his gaze. No special feeling about this — it was as it should be, since his body was still doing as he had instructed.
It just proved that he was right in theory. By sending a special instruction to his brain, he had managed to fire a neural response at 0 seconds before his fall.
The purpose was also obvious: to sustain his body by eating the snake's flesh so he would not have to die — risky but worth it, as if he had a choice.
Letting out a sigh, there was a more important matter right now. The clock was still ticking, but at long last, access to the Alvisgraanir was secured.
Feeling that his legs had stabilised, even if a bit strained, he took his hands off and was finally able to stand normally. Why did it feel breezy?
Then, lowering his head, he realised it only now.
'Hmmm…'
He was naked — everything had dissolved.
Humming thoughtfully, eyes narrowed, right hand on his chin, he looked at the small pack of definition in his torso, standing out from his pale and flawless stomach.
He was curious — was a six-pack cosmetic or was it really a biological function needed here? The new body was lean but wiry, which was quite neat.
Some patches of maroon on his skin were a bit pleasing to the eye — aesthetic, even — and then he diverted his gaze over his shoulder and arms, which were now a bit thick and broad.
'This enhancement is neat… but now I'm naked…'
'First, let's find some clothes and the pouch. I don't believe the old man would not foresee this kind of thing.'
Raising his head and clicking his tongue, a bit annoyed — the wind was warm, though it was unpleasant to be naked.
He turned his body, walked out of the pool of blood, and intended to search for the old man and some clothes. If he guessed right, the pouch would probably still be intact.
Feeling the warm, dark-red floor with his bare feet — he felt lighter than before, brimming with energy and strength.
Was this an illusion of reconstruction? Perhaps in his current state, he could go for speed, no? Thoughtful, eyes open, he decided to test it.
Planting his right foot a step forward, he lowered his upper body, then, focused on the front with his hands at his back, he pushed forward.
Swooosh
No cracked ground — only a breezy feeling — as the edge of his vision distorted in a blur; in a flash, probably 7 to 10 metres had passed in one dash.
His right foot flew backwards, planting his left foot forward and pushing alternately, step by step — he felt like flying above the surface.
While enjoying this feeling of flight, he suddenly grew reminiscent of something; the corner of his mouth upturned, eyes narrowed.
The first time he had tried this, the muscles of his rear were sore and throbbing — he was not used to it, and he had sprained his leg from the force of the push.
'But now… all of the hard work has paid off…'
Passing through for a minute, it felt fast. After a while, he finally caught up with the wrecked scene of his first fight with the unknown man.
Seeing it from afar, he controlled his forceful feet — slowing down until he planted them, stumbling slightly forward as he stopped.
Stabilising his body, he overlooked the entire scene of this bridge until his eyes locked onto a particular sight.
A huge hole in the dark-red wall — behind it, bubbling reddish-orange magma that easily surpassed thousands of degrees Celsius.
"Ughhh…."
Like a breach in containment, he felt the sting on his skin. The cosy warmth was replaced by searing heat that nearly burned the skin, and the problem was…
Walking slowly and surely, he shielded his eye with his right hand to look up — a mass or lump of flesh, sitting not far from the hole, as big as a truck.
'Oh well…'
"Yuck…"
Arriving and standing next to the mass of flesh, silent for a moment, nose wrinkled by the smell.
Clicking his tongue, he lowered his body to the mix of lump and fabric. Hands reaching in and touching the surface — sticky and gooey.
Going deeper inside, it felt hot, and a burnt smell of meat wafted out. Beyond the heat, a slimy feeling unlike normal meat.
Better take this quick — as he reached deeper, his hands brushed upon a different texture: fabric.
Then his eyes widened — found it. He grabbed it and yanked it out.
Bringing it to eye level, hanging by his right hand was a dim, dark-golden pouch — still intact, with a hint of red blood.
Overjoyed, his tense shoulders relaxed; his head lowered, and the messy strand of black hair fell forward.
As he weighed the pouch in his hands, he was stunned by one forgotten thing: his silver dagger.
After feeling a bit lost for a second, he lifted his head and walked away first — no place to put the pouch yet; he could only hold it in his hands.
….
Minutes later.
"Good…"
Although it had not been long, he had finally found it.
Lowering his head, his gaze proud and relieved, his right hand held the cold grip — the silver blade resting on his open left hand.
Tracing the blade, feeling the pricking skin on his thigh, the familiar sensation jolted him awake. He let out a breath. Everything found; time to find the old man.
Pulling the robe's hood and dagger into the pouch, he donned pants from the dead Acolytes, cut to fit him — uncomfortable, but he had to make do.
Time to go — everything done and clear. Putting force on his right foot, and then with a violent hurl of wind—
Swoosh
Dashing forward step by step, his dark robe fluttered, the fabric brushing and sticking to his naked upper torso.
Ignoring the strangeness, stuck to his body, he sped up, planted his feet hard, and pushed in an explosion of wind.
Boom
Several minutes later — not far away — a huge body above this bridge, some of its parts even sticking out into the river of magma, or rather than lying…
'Destroyed?'
Slowing his steps, he planted his feet as his way forward was blocked, forced to brake and control his speed.
"Just what the hell did you do, old man?"
Crossing his hands above his chest, he narrowed his eyes and shook his head at the sight.
The dark-red wyrm was floating in the magma. Its features were like a dragon but not quite — no wings — now lying sideways, its stomach facing him.
'Penetration wounds?'
Perhaps inflicted by the old man — lifting his head and walking closer, the wyrm's body was full of holes probably bigger than his head.
Sending a shiver through him, refreshing his understanding of the old man's strength. But where was he now? Not long after, it was answered.
"Hey, kid… over… here!"
"Finally…. awake from your… nap time?"
A familiar voice, but with pain inside — a moment of breath before each full word. Unconsciously analysing it, he lowered his gaze in relief.
"How did you know I was sleeping?"
Retorting, he walked with a stride towards the old man beneath the huge wyrm's body.
The old man was sitting — halfway through, his body was dark and shadowed, though it had been a pristine day before.
Knowing something, his steps slowed, his lips flat, his eyes lowered; he arrived in front of the old man and fully took in his form.
His face was pained, but his eyes were serene; the intact rifle was lying across his crossed lap.
Aside from this, his body and clothes were intact — no change at all, or so it was supposed to appear.
What could not be seen from the outside was perhaps on the inside.
Standing silent in front of the old man, there was not much to feel — rather than what was supposed to be felt — as he had guessed it long ago. He lowered his gaze; there was still something that needed to be done.
"Hahahah… unexpectedly, you win after all!"
"What a relief — I'm assured now that I didn't take the wrong bet after all…"
Laughing, the shadow writhed — like a haze or a shade of himself — trying to consume him.
But then, under his bright gaze, at the junction, there was a flash, a crackle that suppressed it, and smoke rose.
Pzzzt
Ptssss
"There's not much time anymore, boy — I can't do much… all that you need is already compressed within me and a piece of me."
"I doubt it will be useful, but half of myself is already corrupted…. This memory or piece of knowledge is what I can give you as my final mission and reward…"
Tremblingly, he found that the old man's right hand was still clear, hanging in front of him, waiting.
But he did not take it — not yet; his gaze moved to the face of the old man.
"You are not trying to replace me, are you?"
Voicing his thoughts, he left it hanging — for the doubt he had buried long ago:
How could the old man be willing to watch the destruction and do nothing? How could he help him and give anything selflessly? What had he done that deserved to be rewarded?
What about revival? What about the chance of living once again? What if this contact was planned long ago? Too many ifs — and only in this vulnerable moment could he voice them.
"Hahhhahahahha… you are still so smart, kid — I understand it, I understand it."
"Huuhhh… this is why I approve of you and appreciate you, kid, but…"
Why was he laughing? Was this funny? He was truly confused, his head tilted. For what did the values of each thing mean when there were no rules for reference?
How could his hard work be appreciated, and how could he appreciate others' hard work? On what basis could he appreciate them? What was the limit?
Also, had his guess turned out to be true or not? Standing still, he looked at the hand still not retracted.
"I told you, right? We don't have much time… but whose time is it — yours or mine? In the end, it is actually mine, no? A desperate old man, perhaps in your eyes."
He did nothing; the consummation sped up as the old man's voice began to pain once more — still looking at the hand — but the feeling of dread began to appear for Akane.
The old man, with his serene eyes and smiling face, looked at him quietly — as if he had known him — that kind of feeling. Was this what being truly seen looked like? A bit overwhelming.
"I have done many sins and mistakes, and I do not plan to live anymore — for my race and my family have been lost in the long river of history."
But the old man did not voice it.
"There is no meaning for me in life, and my only reluctance is the history of my race, which is in your possession."
"Remember this, boy… sometimes you are too clever… but that cleverness will always hold your decisions back as you are always in a dilemma…"
"You have the key to what you are afraid of, boy — don't lose it, and don't repeat my mistake."
"So…"
Well, he had decided — there was only one way to find out; he could not bear those words anymore, and the feeling of dread grew stronger.
'As you wish then…'
There was emptiness behind those eyes. He also had a key — more reliable than words. So, let it be.
'Maroon Door…'
He uttered lastly, hands reaching out to clasp the old man's hands.
The moment of contact — both simultaneously, front and back, surged forth — thousands of whispers in his ears, sight blinded as everything turned dark.
Standing still, his heart, soul, and everything suddenly went silent — in pain, but he couldn't speak. In pain, but he couldn't writhe; it was a feeling that nibbled at itself, hollow.
Frozen like a statue, he couldn't move at all, his gaze half-lidded — a sliver in the darkness, writhing and moving. Flicking its tongue, it came closer and closer. Was he being treated as prey?
His heart beat fast, blood flowing from his mouth and body, gritting his teeth — his body trembling biologically in fear, the struggling mind facing a serene ending, or so it was supposed to be.
Then—
"DON'T LOOK AT IT!!!"
Suddenly, a roar from around him shook this space, followed by a flood of maroon filling in from behind.
Spreading far, illuminating his gaze amidst the darkness — a silhouette beyond, far, far away, incomparable and terrifying.
His capillaries burst in dark-red blood, but his body stayed still, trembling as instinct screamed not to look at it; every single cell warned him to lower his gaze and let everything pass.
Flooding his bare feet, the familiar power brought restlessness, despair, hatred, terror — overwhelming him as he fell to his knees from the pain, submerged, struggling to breathe.
Hissss
The space trembled once again — the sound of a shattered mirror; his eyes fully red as the tide resounded beside his ears, grasping the straw, enduring.
Everything was chaotic — overlapping phenomena and sensations overwhelming his capacity to think and to register, until—
"Ah…"
His eyes snapped wide open, already lying sideways, gasping, his sight swaying and trembling.
Looking ahead, he groaned and stuttered as his mouth was agape, blurry as his head was dizzy. Like being pricked or smashed by a hammer — the brain throbbing, unable to form a coherent thought for a while.
Eyes looking ahead, his body bent like a shrimp, breathing heavily to take in oxygen and stabilise.
The person who was supposed to be there had already disappeared, leaving only a gun lying on the ground, glinting.
"Ha… ah… hahhh… ughh… aghhh…"
Eyes winced, lowering his head — through the robe, blood-soaked red, sticking in — hands spasming as they refused his call to move; there was also a sticky feeling in his nose and eyes.
Not warm — the blood that should have felt warm had dried in moments as he passed out, his mind resisting the aftermath and returning to organise everything.
Thus, he left his body slumped for a minute, occasionally twitching and spasming. This pain — the Maroon Door — was probably cleansing once again.
Eyes narrowed, clarity fully functioning, he leaned his body against the ground, pulling his right hand to push on his elbow.
Planting his left hand, he let out a sigh as he unsteadily propped himself to a kneel. Just in time, the flickering sight recovered, and everything had finally been archived and separated.
'How much time has passed this time…'
Feeling weak all over, his body hunched — his left hand reached out for the rifle slumped on the ground, his right hand already holding the pouch limply.
Watching the rifle slowly enter the small pouch until it was done, he put the pouch back in his pocket, patting it lightly.
'Last thing left to be done…'
He held his breath, then pushed up in one motion to stand — having recovered slightly, eyes facing down where the old man had been. He was silent for a moment.
'Well done, old man…'
Bowing his head slightly for a while and then lifting it, he turned his body towards the First Terminal — Alvisgraanir — and walked to where it stood.
———
Standing in front of the rectangular box terminal, silent, inspecting it — the lid already open, revealing a series of buttons and levers, a moving gear behind.
Already knowing what he needed to do, he held the Primus Machinery Card and inserted it into the bottom right of the card reader.
For a moment, the gears simultaneously went silent before rotating once again with a tick.
Looking down at these countless buttons, his eyes locked on only one — beside the card reader.
Ting
Lit up with a sound: a featureless dark button. He clicked it without hesitation, also pulling the lever to send the instruction.
Boom
His body swayed at this; hands held the side of the terminal's box for support.
Lifting his head, chunks of debris fell from the sky around him; turning his head to the left, his eyes bright — the magma, as if disrupted, began to burst.
WhooshPssss
TickTickTick
Sizzling, followed by a ticking sound and rolling gears like a pendulum.
Noisy all around, as if the symphony of the dead city had been rekindled, roaring in his ears — then he turned his gaze to the sight behind the terminal.
The mist that had shrouded parted, revealing a faraway scene of the edge of Althr Baldr and the billowing magma.
Thud
"Ah…"
Groaning slightly as his shoulder fell and hit the terminal — the platform had moved now, and there was no turning back.
Pursing his lips, he pushed from the terminal and stood unsteadily; as the view opened up — what a rough and elegant way to proceed.
He complained for a bit, eyes narrowed, letting out a sigh.
Standing still for a moment with nothing to do, he looked up at the sky to pass the time.
Then, feeling the platform slow down, he lowered his head — eyes narrowed, arms trembling at the sight.
The huge dark wall — the edge of Althr Baldr — slowly opened; his eyes flicked to both sides as countless gears and mechanisms pulled away, revealing a slope or channel.
Warm and cold breezes hit his face as he entered the wall. Looking over his shoulder, the wall was left open — to his relief.
Back to the front, the huge platform descended along a diagonal slope for a while until the view opened up, the atmosphere changed, a chilly breeze, and terror pricked his skin.
'This is it now…'
Cssshhhhh
The sound of steam; his body wobbled as the platform stopped at the edge of the vast underground cave's wall, illuminated by red and white light.
Stabilising himself, he adjusted the hood of his robe. He looked at it — far away, the magma had changed: a sea of red as far as the eyes could see, the underground cave.
And at its centre, his eyes focused, zooming in with [Manifestation: Observation] as it flashed with bluish-silver light.
'Hmphhh….'
Pursing his lips hard, his eyes stung, like being shot with a needle, forcing them narrow. Warm blood trickled down his cheeks.
But he had no reason to back down — he knew this entity was helpless, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
'Oh.'
A mass of darkness — he couldn't quite describe it. The outer layer undulated in the middle of this red sea.
Jutting outwards, the surface filled with various remains and skeletons.
Dwarves, puppets, automatons, and everything — down here, forming a mass of glued white.
Then—
He struggled to breathe, tears welling in his eyes, the vertical pupil bright and sharp, resisting the malicious thoughts of this weakened divine chunk as it pressed upon his mind.
Averting his gaze — done with this — he looked towards the three pillars of rock surrounding the entity; dark obsidian, runes gleaming in white, crackling.
But it was obvious they had been turned off — the entity flooding out of the cage.
"Hahhhhhh…."
Lowering his head, his gaze returned to the First Terminal, left hand holding the side, right hand touching upon a series of buttons and instructions.
Perhaps sensing something — knowing what he would do — the entity now began to attack his mind.
Whispers from in front of him: siblings, family — friends from behind this terminal — but he ignored them; the previous lesson had taught him much.
'This is the only chance and the last….'
Enduring the whispers, blood flowing like a river from his lips and eyes, he stayed steady — clicking buttons with trembling hands, movements slowing.
Gradually, despite his will, illusions appeared — long-buried hatred and resentment of himself, of the world — slowly storming in like Pandora's box opened.
'Do you think it's worth it? Can you do it? Why do you do this? Don't you love your mother? Don't you love your father? Are you useless? Thought without action, what's the use?'
'Perhaps I should have been dead — why did they have to die? After all this time, living is just suffering. Why don't you put down your hands and let yourself be swallowed?'
'Living like this has no meaning; others can do this better than you, so why are you still doing this? That old man is lying to you — what's the use of it!!!'
Whisper, whisper, why, why, why? So noisy. Desperate, aren't you?
The corner of his lip upturned — just a last-second hesitation — hand on the lever, but he couldn't pull it down; the sounds became more urgent.
As if taking the bait.
'Hesitation? That's right. Others loathe you; they want your past self, who is dead! They do not want the current you! So why live? Death is the solution!'
'You are guilty! Everyone is dead because of you! Your parents are dead because of you!'
Rambling all day, huh.
Suit yourself — he was used to living with this.
He had to learn to live with his sins and guilt.
There was only silence because there was no denial from within.
But….
He finally raised his head and looked at the lump of darkness in front of him, so close that if he stretched his hand beyond the railing, he could probably touch it.
The face of a baby — a skull — smiling, its open mouth flooding with dark insects; it seemed confused.
Flicking his eyes despite the pain, its body and neck extended — a mass of flesh and spirit, the ones it had affected and killed, the residents of Khtonres.
Smiling, he took back his gaze, grinning with his bloody teeth at the empty sockets of the skull.
"Cough… rather than dead, I would choose to live with this regret and self-loathing — to die is to face them with shame, so why should I choose the easy way?"
"HAahahaha…."
Blood coughed out, his head lowered along with fragments of flesh, wriggling — under his gaze, ironic — his eyes bent into a crescent, chuckling to himself; he finally pulled the lever down.
Thwiiinnng
PZZZZztttt
The whole cave trembled once more — this time more severely than before.
Thud
Letting himself fall to his rear, he sat on the ground, looking across at the malevolent darkness now quickly recoiling back with a hiss.
'No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!'
'No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!'
'AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!'
Screaming in his mind, his eyes blurry, blood flooding his ears and eyes as they ruptured — but still he held his head high to see this until the very end, and survived.
Now it thrashed, pouncing back towards him, but before it could reach, runes flashed and were imprinted in the space — thunder crackling and fire roaring.
"WAAAAAHHHHHH!"
A crying baby — writhing, thrashing around the cage. But every time it did, it recoiled back in pain; thus the cry grew louder and louder.
"Heh…"
Snorting, he glanced to the right of the platform — not far, one of the Pillars — and to the left, another. Lastly, the farthest Pillar, in a triangle, trapping the entity in the middle.
Now, under his gaze, the thunder crackled violently, shining in orange-yellow light — and he witnessed that when it struck the entity, it left a trail of smoke; part of it disappeared, as if exiled.
Distortion began to appear, the tremor growing more violent; the crackle was now contained within the pillar as it burst into blinding light, shooting upward, piercing the layers of rock.
His eyes widened at another unexpected thing — overlapping in his vision, like a mirage, the scene of Osaka reflected. No — this aligned with his assumption and the old man's words.
The portal — the pull and push would inevitably drag an overlap towards Osaka; this was his chance to go home.
He stood as the space gradually became unstable; the sound from earlier reenacted itself here, like a mirror, and the space began to crack.
'What the hell…'
He held the Terminal to resist the ongoing suction force. In horror, it was dark like a black hole, revealing an unknown starry sky from behind the mirror.
His heart pounding loudly, he hugged the terminal as hard as he could and looked around. The platform was creaking under stress, as if it would fall at any moment.
Then, under his desperate gaze as he endured — the surroundings began to grow unreal, like a colour painting.
Like a mix of oil paint, both sceneries blended — Althr Baldr and parts of Osaka — and sometimes under his gaze he could hear the honking of a car, or feel leaves beneath his feet.
Total chaos. His gaze locked towards the Pillar standing real in this blend — his point of reference and coordinate.
"AAAAHHHHHH—!!!!"
Screaming, tears welling in his eyes — but feeling not much at all, just following the overwhelming sensation of the chaos around him.
His body swayed unstably; more cracks appeared; he looked down, gulping, knowing what to do.
'I must find a good spot to land.'
For a moment in this blend, there would be a point of space he considered stable before the change — that was what he needed.
'Must jump before the Graburg explodes.'
"Huuhhhh…."
Looking towards the pillar, he felt his grip weaken, his body blown by wind and the suction of cracking space, more and more cracks appearing around him.
Then, looking down below, the scene ever-changing — sometimes the sky, sometimes the middle of a train, atop a building, or even on a wall. Keep looking!
'Come on!'
His heart began to race — but he kept it calm and controlled. Glancing towards the pillar, the standing one began to corrode as chunks of runes were swallowed by the space cracks.
Breath hitched in his throat — urgency. He kept looking down. Inside dirt, the sky, beneath water, building windows — come on!
Back to the pillars — part of one had already worn out amidst a semblance of time caught in a blur; his eyes widened, heart nearly stopping.
Crack
'Now!'
Boom
Boom
Shielding his head, he felt the explosion blast his body away, coughing a mouthful of blood — his eyes narrowed as he fell downward.
Pain, pain — the recovered flesh destroyed — until lastly, his gaze blurry, overloaded, thoughts beginning to shut themselves down.
Whoosshhh
Swallowed by the depths of the seas, he was back to the start of everything.
Coldness.
[End of First Arc]