It took a similar swipe of the manacle-turned-short blade to open the cells of Elyria and the man who introduced himself as Thorne. As Elyria stretched, squeezing and releasing her grip, Tunde did his best to ignore the stump that was her right hand. Instead, he focused on Thorne, whose body seemed to emit a subtle glow. Loud footsteps echoed down the path as Thorne moved with such speed that one moment he stood beside them, and the next, he was far ahead. His fist blew a hole through the wall, grabbing and crushing something within.
The alarms ceased as a wet, pulpy mass fell from his hand, Thorne flicking it to the ground where it landed with a meaty splatter.
"They’re coming," he announced.
"A wailguard? Nasty creatures," Elyria remarked with distaste.
Tunde stood, unsure of what was expected of him until Thorne spoke.
"New kid, stay back. I’m guessing initiates are coming," Thorne said.
Elyria gave a tsk, her eyes roaming around as if searching for something. "I’m not much good to you here; they stripped me of my metals," she lamented.
"No need. Nothing I can’t handle," Thorne responded.
The first of the huge savages appeared, wielding crude weapons as they bore down on Thorne. Their forms blurred as they moved with preternatural speed. Tunde was about to cry out, thinking Thorne couldn't handle the five savages alone. Then Thorne acted—his hand tightened into a fist as he struck the first savage, blowing its head apart. The large wooden cudgel it carried tumbled to the ground. He caught it just before the second savage was about to smash into him, this one glowing with the same red energy Tunde had felt from the one that almost killed him in the pit.
Thorne dodged with the experience of someone who had done this countless times, crushing the second's upper body to a pulp before moving again. Dancing between the three, it took him less than three seconds to put them down, coating the walls with gore and bone. Tunde moved forward, watching as Thorne's form seemed to ripple, drawing all the gore into himself. His presence grew around them.
"Undead," Elyria choked out.
Thorne glanced at her. "I’m not one of those abominations," he spat.
She raised her left hand. "You won’t see me judging, definitely not right now," she replied.
"Undead?" Tunde asked softly.
She explained, "A set of people who follow the Ethra of Undeath, trading all their life Ethra for an abomination of its form. There are various types of Ethra; Undeath Ethra is frowned upon by most groups and powers in our world, considered a perversion."
"How does it work?" he inquired.
"I have no idea, but if you want to live a long and peaceful life, stay clear of the censored affinities," she responded, stopping when she saw a piece of metal rod.
They began moving through the tunnel they found themselves in, winding downwards and then upwards. Bones from different parts of the human body filled these tunnels, a testament to the barbaric nature of the inhabitants. Jogging slightly, Tunde watched as Elyria shaped the rod into a skeletal hand with sharp, serrated claws for fingers.
"Much better," she said.
"Your Ethra is metal?" he asked.
"That’s an oversimplification, but yes," she replied, leaping forward and leaving him behind.
Tunde watched as she caught up to Thorne, tearing through the savages with feral brutality. He glanced at the blade in his hand, watching it melt back to its manacle form, feeling a power within his chest. They said he had unlocked his Ethra heart, but all he could see was a bloody color filling the tunnel, lighting up the path. He kept it to himself that he could see farther than they could. He could see Elyria, glowing with blue light, and Thorne with a mixture of red and green light. Perhaps they were right that he had a light Ethra, but what use was that to him now?
Grasping the blade in hand, he began jogging when Thorne suddenly appeared before him, startling him. The man eyed him, shaking his head. "This won’t do," he said, grasping Tunde and becoming a blur again.
They stopped suddenly, Tunde feeling his mind and sight trying to overcome the dizziness. Right in front of him was one of the savages charging toward them, ignoring the dead and strewn bodies of its comrades. Elyria flexed her serrated claws, preparing to strike it down.
"No, let the new guy do it," Thorne said.
Elyria kicked the savage backward, sending it tumbling into the darkness, bowling over its mates. Tunde could see the tunnel opening, blinking at the white light that almost blinded him. He looked to Elyria, who stared at Thorne incredulously.
"That one was on the brink of breaking through to Disciple. He hasn’t even reached the stage of an initiate yet, and you want him facing it?" she challenged.
Thorne shrugged. "He needs to understand it’s a kill-or-be-killed world out there."
Elyria began protesting when Tunde stepped forward. "I’ll do it," he said softly.
Elyria blinked. "Are you stupid? Hit your head as he brought you here, did you?" she retorted.
Tunde shook his head. "I’ll do it," he repeated, whispering the words like a mantra.
This was his way to release the rage within him. Perhaps he’d die and join his family—his mother, father, and sister whom he had let down—but he’d take one of them with him. As if reacting to his thoughts, the manacle became a blade again, albeit a longer one, glowing a dark silver color. Thorne shrugged, pushing him forward.
"Be mindful of its swings," he advised.
Elyria growled, "They feed on humans and other sentient races to bolster their vitality and endurance. Aim for the head if you can; it’s the surest way to kill them in one swing. Assuming you can use that blade anyway."
Tunde had no time to reply as the savage roared down on him, incensed by the loss of its reinforcements. Thorne and Elyria moved like blurs, killing any that approached, leaving Tunde with the creature that swung its mace at him. The mace was made of the same bone-like Ethra as the cell bars. He raised his blade to deflect it but realized how foolish that was. The mace crashed through his blade, somehow not being sliced, and the force threw him against the wall.
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He felt something crack within his arms as blinding pain coursed through him. Gritting his teeth, he heard Thorne's voice filter through, "Dodge and strike!"
He saw the mace bearing down to crush his skull and rolled away, feeling his heart beat harder and his eyes begin to prick. Unsure of what was happening, he glanced at the savage and saw its form filled with red lines, as if he could see within its body. Certain areas lit up, and he instinctively knew those were weak points.
As the savage raised its foot to stomp on him, he struck. Not sure if it was fear or rage, he saw its kneecap glow. As he rolled away again, he swung the blade, cleanly dismembering the appendage. The savage howled in anguish, tumbling down toward him as he raised the blade sideways in fright. The blade once again cleanly relieved the man of its head. Blood spurted over him as he struggled to roll the body away, panting heavily. He wiped his eyes to see Thorne and Elyria standing over him, Thorne with a smirk and Elyria staring between the body and him.
"Well, that’s one way to do it," Thorne remarked with a smile.
Tunde sputtered as the blade glowed, watching motes of red light flow from the dead body into the blade. Thorne frowned.
"An Ethra-absorbing weapon that can change shape and size, as well as cut through the rock-hardened skin of savages that use the Ethra of blood and bones?" Thorne said, glancing at Elyria, who eyed him as well.
"You might want to keep that weapon hidden when we get out of this place. People would kill for that," she advised.
"Assuming we get past the bastard who controls this place," Thorne muttered.
Tunde got to his feet, steadying himself as he gripped the blade tight. He watched as it pulsed, rippling to reduce in length while the manacle reformed. This time, both the manacle and blade manifested at once, a thin chain running from the blade to the manacle. Elyria spoke, "This area is under the control of the Talahan Empire. How did they allow a bunch of flesh-eating savages to set up shop in their territory?"
"It’s called the Wastelands for a reason. The empire won’t spare resources to patrol it. Nothing around this side except wild bandits and thieves, as well as the occasional beast tides that rampage toward the towns and settlements around the Wastelands. These towns grow and crumble just as fast; it happens," Thorne replied.
Tunde panted softly, pointing toward the distance. "More savages on the outside. I can see them."
Thorne glanced at him. "You can see that far?"
"Colors—red human-shaped outlines," he replied.
"Seems like your light Ethra does come in handy, although this is the first I’m hearing of it being applied like this," Elyria noted.
Thorne stretched his hand out as his palm split open, and a lump of flesh began to pour out, reshaping itself into a sharp-looking sword.
"That’s nasty," Elyria said with barely concealed disgust.
Thorne paid no attention. "How many are there?" he asked.
"I count more than twenty," Tunde replied.
Thorne nodded. "Here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll go out first and soak up whatever damage they can deal," he started. "We haven’t seen an actual bone Ethra user among them; I’m guessing they’re among the group. Elyria, you come next. Those I haven’t put down, tear to ribbons. Leave a few for our newbie here."
"What stage are you two?" Tunde blurted out.
Thorne frowned. "It’s impolite and near stupid to ask a person their stage of power. It’ll either get you dead or in a fight."
"I’m sorry," Tunde responded immediately.
Elyria nodded. "I’m a Disciple, second lowest stage. No idea what stage he is, but I’d bet it’s higher than mine."
Tunde gained a healthy respect for Thorne in that moment. The man cracked his neck as his flesh rippled and then shot forward with a blast.
"Definitely higher than Disciple," Elyria remarked with awe. She glanced at Tunde. "Dodge and cut. No extravagant movements until we can get you up to Initiate at least. And keep up," she instructed, beginning to jog forward with leaps and bounds.
Tunde followed hard behind her, gripping the blade tightly, watching the red forms prepare to confront them. He felt his sight prickle again and allowed it to take over, observing specific areas on their bodies lighting up with black glows.
Upon stepping into the daylight, nausea gripped him. He felt the manacle hum as it began to absorb what he now knew to be Ethra from the surroundings. It was close to overloading his senses. Falling to his knees, he blinked, the feeling subsiding. He watched as Elyria battled three savages simultaneously, these more skilled than those in the tunnel. True to Thorne's words, they wielded bone blades, serrated weapons they used with brutal efficiency. Despite their numbers, she held her own, pushing them back and leaving deep cuts on their forms, which healed slowly, proving her words about their endurance and vitality.
Perhaps due to his weak nature, they didn’t notice him sneaking up. The first was caught unaware as he stabbed his blade through its skull from behind, slicing cleanly down its body. He bit back the bile from the sharp tang of blood. The remaining two realized his presence with alarm, Elyria taking full advantage by tearing the throat of the second and stabbing her claws through the skull of the third.
She glanced at him, nodding before moving on. There were none left; Thorne sat among the rest, dead bodies littering the ground as they liquefied and flowed toward him. Tunde was about to approach when Elyria clamped her hand on his shoulder, holding him back with a vice-like grip.
He turned to her in confusion. She called out warily, "Thorne?"
Tunde glanced at the man, realizing Thorne was breathing hard. He raised one gray finger, signaling for silence, eyes shut tight. They stood in perfect silence for a few seconds before Thorne opened his eyes, the black gaze with a red pinprick staring back. Tunde shuddered; those were the eyes of a predator. Thorne swallowed before speaking, "Sorry, took a moment to gather myself."
Elyria grunted; eyes glued on him. Tunde spoke, "Are you alright?"
Thorne nodded, hefting one of the bone blades of the now-dead savages, as a roar came from the distance. "More reinforcements are coming," he said softly.
"Are you good to fight?" Elyria asked.
He glanced at her. "I am now," he replied, raising the blade and swinging it casually.
The first line of savages split in two, their entrails pouring onto the dusty ground as Tunde bit back his revulsion. The second line raised their hands as bones began to protrude from the ground toward them. Elyria gripped him and jumped high, higher than any human—or whatever she was—could. He watched Thorne wade through the bones without a blink, blades, bone, and flesh swinging to cut through the attacks.
Tunde protested, Elyria landing on a cropping of bone structures. "He’ll be fine," she shouted back. "If he’s what I think he is, then nothing short of total obliteration can end him."
Tunde left it at that. They had their own troubles, watching more savages approach. The bones they stood on glowed with yellow Ethra, and the platform began to warp. He jumped, pushing Elyria aside as a bone spike shot out where she had stood moments before. She glanced at him, eyes wide, then nodded her thanks and advanced, not giving the bone user a chance to strike again.
Surveying the area, Tunde realized they were in a valley, deep below the main ground. The savages lived here; their entire way of life was made of bone. He wondered what else his light affinity could do. It allowed him to sight enemies from afar and warn him of enemy Ethra users. Gripping his blade, he pushed forward, staying behind Elyria and stabbing at the areas marked by his sight. He couldn’t take on these enemies alone; they'd end him in a blink. This was evident as even Elyria had a tough time cutting them down.
She found pieces of metal again, her metal Ethra warping them into blades that floated around her, striking as if controlled by invisible hands. The more he killed, the more the manacle absorbed Ethra from the savages, yet he noticed no difference in himself. He wondered what it was doing with all that Ethra, pushing the thought aside as he glanced down at Thorne, who had carved a bloody path.
Whoever Thorne was, he was skilled and powerful. Tunde saw himself serving as his slave.
"Not slave," he corrected himself. "Apprentice."
He’d rather die than return to that time in his life, and it seemed life had given him a second chance. Turning his attention back to Elyria, he watched her remove a struggling savage’s head with a twist and a pull, tossing both bodies aside. He accepted that the world was a wild and bloody place. If he was to survive, he had to get stronger. They approached a large bone gate with rough-hewn stone blocks rising alongside it. Savages above the structure stood on a platform, staring down with wide eyes, shouting toward what Tunde assumed was the inner building.
This meant the forces they fought outside were the lowliest. "Prepare yourselves; we face the true elites now," Thorne said, confirming Tunde's fears.
"That, or we could flee like any sensible person and find the nearest outpost of either the Empire or Cult," Elyria suggested.
Thorne shrugged. "Do what you want. Take Tunde with you; I don’t need anyone slowing me down. I have a score to settle with their leader."
Tunde stepped forward. "I’m staying," he declared.
Thorne glanced at him; Elyria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I want to get stronger. I’m staying," he repeated.
Thorne chuckled. "The slave’s grown some spine. Good," he said, shooting toward the gate and slamming into it with a force that made the ground tremble.