“Do you know what the worst thing about going mad is? The memories are crystal clear. Everything you did, everything you saw, they’re all there—etched onto your mind as a never-ending and constant reminder of the horrors you committed. I can’t escape them. Never. That is my atonement. That is my curse.”
Sarathiel, the Throne of Steel
———
Sarathiel
“D-Damnit,” Sarathiel coughs. “Just what in Cosmos’s name is wrong with this gas?”
The vapor surrounding him is no mere poison. It’s denser, malevolent, as if the piss-colored cloud has a mind of its own. Instead of corroding his skin and armor, it attempts to invade every corner of his mind. It’s similar to The Miasma, yet…different. It feels as if it’s attempting to drag out the darkness within his heart. Drag out memories of that day he swore to keep buried within.
“Shit…I gotta get out of here. This ain’t looking good.”
Sarathiel attempts to manifest his wings onto his back, but something’s wrong; Creation isn’t answering his call. Faint sputters of aura are all that appear, only to disappear in an instant. Likewise, his steel-bodied transformation is acting out beyond his control, combining and undoing randomly as his flesh tears from the constant state of metamorphosis. Even his axe isn’t safe from the vapor, its blade decayed and crumbled by whatever foul presence is permeating the air.
“Gah! U-Ugh,” he groans. “Wha-what’s happening? What is this madness?”
“It is no use titan of steel,” Nokron’s voice echoes around him.
The specter remains shadowed in the gas, his figure always just out of sight lurking in the corners of Sarathiel’s eyes. It’s as if the Nox commander is playing with him, gleefully partaking in his dazed-wrought confusion.
“This is my crowning achievement. My Niflheim. In here, the past is the present. The present is the past. This realm is unbound by the confines of time—two forces existing simultaneously within a singular flux.
“You are strong, Sarathiel. But I am beyond strength. I am the avatar of a divine force. Its radiance speaks to me, swaddles me in its splendor, for I am above the realm of what man is capable of.”
“You…you’re insane. Completely and utterly deranged.”
“Hah hah, how humorous for you of all people to denote insanity. Let us travel far, far back. Back to your carnal sin.”
Sarathiel cries out as the vapor begins to take control. His vision distorts, the light bending, until images of a bloodied desert enter his view. This is no longer The Magnus Murus. This is the southeastern border of the Polus kingdom: The Outer Straight.
“What is it that you see?” Nokron’s voice taunts him from beyond the veil. “Niflheim is despair itself. Human folly, coalesced together to bring out one‘s deepest trauma. You will be forced to relive it, your failure, until all is torn away but the true essence of your soul.”
“Stop…” Sarathiel begs.
“Ah, but the main event has yet to start.”
Polus knights start to manifest around him as their spectral forms march onwards through the arid land. He recognizes their faces; he remembers their names. How could he not? They’ve been haunting his dreams for years.
“Hey, you ok Sarathiel?” a younger version of Cain asks. “You don’t look too great. Is something wrong?”
“No no no,” he whispers. “Please…please don’t do this.”
“Captain, talk to us,” Joan says, her face filled with concern. “This isn’t like you.”
“Joan, I-I can’t. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
“What’re you apologizing to me so suddenly for? You were on my ass earlier about slacking off and now you’re all timid-like? Is this a joke or something?”
“No! I…I have so much to say. So much I want to tell you. I-I didn’t mean to…”
“Mean what? Come on, get yourself together. We’re almost near the ambush point. Soon we’ll get rid of that Caelum bastard for good; I bet he’d never expect an attack in a place like this.”
“What? No, no! You can’t! It’s a trap, we’re all-”
But his plea falls on deaf ears. Red suddenly envelops the sky; the world distorts again before him. The cheerful company of knights are now gone, instead replaced by a blood-covered necropolis. Polus, Nox, they all blend together in the sand, bodies desecrated as if a wild beast has savagely torn them apart. All that remain are a few knights—knights that look at him with fear.
His body suddenly moves on its own and lunges towards one of them. It’s Jacob, a friend that Sarathiel once treated as a little brother, but that same friend is now gasping for air—locked in his iron grip.
“C-Captain,” he wheezes. “I-It hurts.”
“Jacob, no, my-my body is…I can’t,” Sarathiel sobs. “This isn’t me! I’m not…”
He desperately tries to take back his body, to break free from this nightmare, but it’s no use. He can’t look away. He can’t do anything. He’s completely helpless.
He can only watch on as the feral creature mimicking him tears off Jacob’s arm as if it is but a twig. The knight screams and whimpers as his bone is snapped off—blood pooling onto the ground while he froths at the mouth from the pain. The titan lifts him up high into the air and sends him crashing down onto the ground. His body explodes, eyes popping out while his rib-cage pierces through the flesh for all to see. The brain splatters, and his final, mangled expression is one of sheer terror and betrayal.
”NO!” Sarathiel wails. “NO, NO, NO! STOP! STOP THIS!”
A despairing cry alerts the monstrous creature from behind. It’s Joan. She didn’t run away. Why didn’t she run away?
“Sarathiel,” she cries. “T-The Nox commander is already dead. You did it. We won. You can change back now. Please…please change back.”
“Joan, NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU HAVE TO-”
But his screams are silenced—only a guttural screech escapes from the creature’s rabid maw. There’s no changing fate. There’s no changing what he did.
She doesn’t even try to resist as the rabid beast controlling Sarathiel’s body rips her chest apart by its claws. Organs and intensities spill out of her body as she tumbles onto the ground, dangling by her side while the creature continues to dig into her flesh. It digs and digs and digs and digs until nothing is left but a hollow carcass. But the worst part is her screams. Her wails as her body is mauled by the one she trusts most. Sarathiel begs for her torture to stop, clawing at his mind to try and reign control, but death doesn’t come for her.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I-It’s ok captain,” she murmurs. “Everything is going to be ok. I-I know you’re still in there, somewhere. The Sarathiel I know isn’t that weak. None of this is your fault.”
Her eyes begin to dim; her flesh pales. Her last moments are one of agony, but nonetheless she manages to sputter out a final goodbye to the despairing titan.
“Live Sarathiel. F-For all of us. For you.”
She’s gone. And through a cruel twist of fate, he regains control over his body the moment she passes.
Sarathiel hesitantly clutches the ruined corpse to his chest, trembling as his tears stain what’s left of her body. Now, he’s completely alone.
But his despair doesn’t last long. A spike suddenly pierces him from behind and interrupts his mourning, draining him of his aura. The jagged weapon has undergone a grotesque transformation with flesh-like appendages sprouting out from the blade—undulating and writhing as if it were alive.
“Ah, your anguish truly is delectable Sarathiel,” Nokron taunts behind him as he sputters from the sudden attack. “It is of a quality I’ve never encountered before. Such pure despair. Such pure agony. A batch of Niflheim made from your essence may just be my best work yet.
“It is a shame that I cannot see your memories personally. Just how much carnage did you cause? What did your comrades sound like as they were brutalized by your own hands? I despair at being unable to witness it with my own eyes, but perhaps we can arrange a new massacre.”
Sarathiel attempts to pull the spike out, but the fleshy appendages dig into his skin and prevents him from maintaining a tight grasp. Nokron watches on bemused, twisting the spike subtly and feeding off of his despair.
“Why? Just…just why are you doing all of this? Why haven’t you finished me off?”
“Why? I simply wish to bring out your true nature. You must face it Sarathiel, that creature caged in your body is the real you . Deep down inside, you desire blood. You desire flesh. I know you can feel it, the temptation to abandon your everything to the force burrowed within, so why do you resist its call? Why do you deny the cries of your soul? In the end, you will always be a monster. Accept it, embrace it, and you will experience bliss like never before.”
“You’re wrong. That isn’t me. That will never be me. It’s a reminder of my own weakness—a curse to never forget the responsibility I bear. Not everyone has a soul as revolting as yours. No, I strive to be better. No matter what you or others think of me, I will decide who I am.”
“…A futile struggle it will be. There is nothing but pain in that path of yours. You will only suffer. No matter your efforts, they will look at you the same. You will forever be a monster to them, and you will slave away for a future that will never come. Before you know it, the time you’ve dedicated will all be for naught, never again to be regained.”
“That’s where we’re different. I don’t give a rat’s ass about how I’m viewed. I’ll protect those I care about in my own way, and if I’m viewed as a monster, then so be it.”
Sarathiel staggers himself back up, trembling from his wounds, but he ignores his body’s pleas and forcibly tightens every battered muscle within.
“Wha-what is this?” Nokron stutters. “Your entire being should be trapped in time’s flux. Aura rejects you, steel abhors you, and yet you stand. How could you possibly recover from such agonizing trauma?”
Sarathiel grips onto the spike once more, its appendages writhing and even digging into his bone. Blood soaks every part of his hand, but his growing rage overshadows any feelings of pain. Nokron has pissed him off for the last time; he’ll pay for desecrating his comrades’ memories.
“Past, present, it doesn’t matter,” he seethes. “I’m me—always has been. I know my true nature better than anyone else, and right now? It’s telling me to beat the shit out of you.”
The enraged titan lets out an earth-shattering roar and pulls the spike out of his body. Nokron stands confused, his mind stunned by the impossible sight, but it doesn’t last for long; he’s suddenly sent pummeled onto the ground by a bruised fist. Even without his aura, Sarathiel’s strength is far beyond what man is thought to be capable of, and his barrage contains the fury of all he swore to honor.
Fist upon fist, blow upon blow, rains down upon the shell-shocked Nox commander. He attempts to escape the savage assault, but Sarathiel’s strikes are too quick, beating him down the moment he tries to get away. All of Nokron’s aura is focused on defending his body; he’s trapped.
“Feeling sorry for myself…isn’t going to change what I did,” Sarathiel grunts in-between blows. “They’d laugh if they could see me now, wallowing in my own misery, so I choose to live. To carry their spirits along with me until their dreams of a world free from war are fulfilled.”
With a final cry, Sarathiel delivers a crushing strike to Nokron’s chest. It pierces through his aura and exoskeleton, crushing every single one of the specter’s bones. The force travels beneath him, destroying his gas-filled canister and causing even the earth itself to tremble from the impact.
Sarathiel attempts to raise his fist once more, but his body’s condition finally catches up with him. Every sinew of flesh is torn and his body bleeds from every crevice, yet strangely, the pain doesn’t come. Instead, a wave of relief washes over him—the cage within his heart finally gone.
He collapses onto the floor and chuckles to himself. That beatdown feels good, really good.
“You still alive, you spectral bastard?” Sarathiel says.
“…Indeed I am,” Nokron replies, body still pulverized on the ground.
“Damn. Should have hit you harder.”
“My body has been subjected to numerous chemical experiments in order to increase its efficiency. I would have survived either way.”
“Yeah yeah, do me a favor and just die already then. Your canister’s destroyed and the gas is clearing up; there’s nothing else you can do.”
“It is not my time just yet. Although faint remnants of Niflheim are all that remain in the air, it shall be enough. Your will is indomitable Sarathiel, but my dreams have yet to be fulfilled as well. And I will not perish until they come to fruition, no matter what it is I have to do.”
“Haaah…guess we are pretty similar, although I’m definitely much less screwed up in the head. Just go and get out of my sight already.”
“Until we meet again.”
“I doubt it.”
Nokron disappears. Figures he would run away, but Sarathiel is just glad to be able to gaze at the blue sky once again as the gas fades away into obscurity. A muffled voice comes from above as an amber-clad figure rapidly approaches him.
“Sarathiel!” Ascalon cries as he lands near and clutches the exhausted titan to his chest. “Are you alright!? Please, speak to me!”
“Calm down Ascalon. I’m alright,” Sarathiel grumbles. “Although, my body’s pretty beat up. I’m gonna need a nice, long rest after this. I’m pretty damned tired.”
“We’re all relieved that you’re safe,” Lorelai’s voice enters his mind. “Something within the gas was preventing any communication with you.”
“Ah, yeah. Nokron said that ‘time is in a flux’ or whatever for everything stuck inside his precious gas. ‘Niflheim’ he calls it.”
“Time…you say?”
“Yeah, that’s his power. He can reverse time; he forced me to fight him back when my body didn’t know how to handle aura. Still was able to beat the shit out of him though—only thing I really need are these two hands to beat up a lanky bastard like him.”
“I dare say someone you like is his worst weakness,” Ascalon chuckles. “He can’t reverse you to a weaker state when you’ve always been so strong.”
“Heh, you’re right about that. But that isn’t the only thing he did. He can also bring back memories, and he made me relive what happened four years ago.”
“I, oh Sarathiel…”
“Don’t make that face, Ascalon. I’ve already made my peace with it. Point is, he can utilize your traumas against you so make sure you and the others are completely prepared before you face him. I really didn’t have a great time dealing with crap, and I don’t want anyone else to experience what I had to.”
“Of course. Thank you Sarathiel, and I apologize for making you endure such a-”
“Oh, stop it. You didn’t make me do anything. I chose this role. I don’t regret a thing. Well, I do regret not being able to breach the wall.”
“Do not fret. Although I don’t have your strength, I’m confident I can at least make a size-able enough hole for our forces to invade through. Leave everything to me.”
“…No, I still have a little bit of energy left. Let me try something first.”
Sarathiel begins to chant something under his breath. Although it’s unintelligible to Ascalon, a feeling of unease suddenly pierces through him.
“Sarathiel… are you activating Titanomachia?”
“Trust me,” he whispers.
Sarathiel transforms into the hulking, monstrous creature that assaulted Lorelai back at the capital, but the air around him is different. No longer does an unconstrained savagery permeate his being. Instead, the titan remains stalwart—his eyes clear.
He lumbers over to the fortress walls and creates a massive battle-axe from his steeled flesh. His aura is draining by the second, and in this state, a single slash is all he’ll be able to muster before his body breaks down completely.
That’s all he needs.
“Thank you everyone,” he says to remnants long passed, yet still alive in his heart. “Sorry for the long wait.”
With a thunderous smash, the fortress walls fall. The Magnus Murus, for the first time since its construction, has been breached.