We had made a mistake. We were blinded by greed and power, fooled by the false safety of prosperity. Our judgement was clouded and it was truly our ignorance, nothing more, that spelled the ensuing demise of our civilisation. Or maybe, just maybe, it was retribution for our crimes against all of reality. Both of them.

* The Elysian Gospel

**

“Do you… think it was successful?” Adam spoke out hesitantly, regarding the only other man in the room with him.

Sitting on the other side of the table, now populated by stale foods and three-day-old delicacies, Maxwell leaned over, steepling his fingers as he deliberated on his second-in-command’s question. He snorted. Did he think it was successful?

He was unsure. On one hand, he was confident that Brock Carter was far stronger than he outwardly seemed, utilising some sort of aura masking technique that he would absolutely love to get his hands on. But on the other, his operatives had reported an estimated two thousand Skin Walkers in that accursed place.

They had pinned it as a nest, or hive, or whatever else one wanted to call it, he cared not, and he knew it was a bi-product of the growing intelligence of the beasts. They were beginning to band together, and while it was certainly quite a sight, they were also capturing humans and saving them for later, in case they needed a transformation.

Unfortunately, Maxwell knew those people were a lost cause. There was no need to spend time and resources on deadmen. If they had allowed themselves to be captured like that, then that was their own fault.

While the fact was still unknown whether their target needed to be alive upon consumption for them assume a human form or not, Maxwell thought their reasoning to keep their prey alive was otherwise. From what he’d seen of the monsters, they probably just liked their meals to scream when they ate them.

Truly, they were menaces to humanity. To him.

He sincerely hoped that man had killed every last one of the savage creatures. Maxwell knew they’d pose a threat to his operations later down the line if he didn’t. The aforementioned Treasure would be his reward as well as his lure. If he survived, that was.

Each beast had been at the start of level 30 when he’d last checked several weeks ago. That, coupled with the sheer number of them, made Maxwell somewhat doubt that just three people would be enough to take them all on. Like the boy, Brock himself was probably only in the high forties, if not in the early fifties.

His initial guess had been the seventies, but after seeing the way the man carried himself, he had discarded the notion. The man was too easygoing, too… normal. Anyone with even an iota of overwhelming power had a presence, and that stemmed from the realisation that they were the strongest, that they were superior to others. Like the way Maxwell carried himself. He was aware he was better than most. His vision was grander, his mind sharper.

Adam vocally disagreed with his outlook on strength, but Max didn’t much care.

“I believe we’ll find out soon enough.” In the end, the man had no concrete answer to give his subordinate and therefore resorted to the wise and ultimately meaningless answers he usually gave. That way, he never looked like he didn’t know. It was a power play. An intelligent one, he knew.

Adam seemed to stew on his words silently and soon chose to nod. Although, he hesitated once more, “Was it… really necessary to send them… well, the other two… to that place? Even if he does realise the threat Skin Walkers possess…”

He trailed off, and Maxwell waved his concerns away, scoffing. It was all part of his plan, and his plan was flawless. Once that man and his followers saw the true weight of the issue those creatures presented, they would be begging to help Genesis take care of the issue. He knew the kind of man Brock Carter was; one that possessed power, but was unbound, wild. He needed someone like Maxwell to guide him to greatness.

“It’s fine,” Maxwell sneered as he looked out to the blue sky, “The world is a bloodbath now, and if those kids following him can’t learn to adapt, then they’re better off dead. A waste of space otherwise.”

As he turned back, for the first time since he had known the man, Maxwell saw distaste brewing on his subordinates face.

**

The people around him sobbed and cried in joy as finally, they saw the light of day once more. Many had told him they’d been trapped for days, some even weeks, the newfound hardiness of the body in the wake of Stats showing its flipside as a curse. While a higher Vitality required a being to eat more, it also allowed one to live longer without sustainance.

It had made the lives of these people long and torturous, even when all they had wanted was for it to end.

Once again, they vehemently thanked Brock. With the rays of golden sunlight, everyone had all just about disregarded his bloodied appearance, and some even offered to tend to him with some pre-System medical knowledge they knew. Of course, he declined, confident his Vitality would fix it all given time.

He also didn’t want them to waste the resources that could be used for others.

The young girl he had first saved had taken to hanging around a group of adults that very clearly adored her, even if they’d only met a half-hour ago. The sight made Brock smile. He didn’t know if her parents were still alive out there somewhere or not, but at least she’d have people to take care of her in the future.

Another thing he’d finally noticed, with all the diverse ethnicities he had met, was that the difference in language was now irrelevant. There was a split second from when they began speaking where their words didn’t sync with the movements of their mouths, but afterwards, they fully looked and sounded to be speaking perfect English.

He had asked about it, and to some, he was speaking fluent Chinese, and others flawless French. He assumed that was what Fon heard him speak as well, what with her accent and clear attachment to Paris as her hometown. It was a strange feeling, knowing you spoke to people in a language you didn’t even know, but either way, it was unimportant.

The people consolidated themselves and spared only a little while longer to enjoy their freedom before Brock urged them that they needed to get on the road. The fresh tracks of his jeep in the mud and grasses would lead them back to Paris, and there were directions Fon had drawn up in the glovebox so he knew Harry would at least get there.

He just hoped it would be in time.

As one group, they got to trekking through the wilderness, being forced to stop several times when the wounded had to nurse their wounds or needed a break from the fatigue. They could only move in bursts of a few hours at a time before having to stop, and Brock could tell getting back to Paris was going to take far longer than the initial trip of three days.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Alone, Brock took care of dozens of beasts along the way, mostly just lone creatures that were curious, and hungry for human flesh. They didn’t encounter any Skin Walkers and neither did Brock detect any within his group, a fact that they were all boundlessly happy to learn. He wouldn’t put it past the creatures to sneak in like that.

As he displayed more and more strength over the passing days, he saw the previous wariness of his followers morph into admiration. He felt uncomfortable to be subjected to it, as he could see it sparkle in their gaze much like it had with Harry before the boy accepted himself as an equal. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just tell them not to, as life didn’t work that way.

It was four days in when the first person died, unable to keep up with the group, their medical attention sub-optimal and haphazard at best. They had buried the woman under a beautiful oak tree and wished her better in the next life.

A few days later, another person fell, this time a man. They buried him overlooking a wetland and gave him much the same blessing for his next life. Slowly, the excited atmosphere of those who had been freed died down to one of sombreness as they stewed on the cutthroat reality that threatened to reap all and any of their lives at any given moment.

Even for Brock, who had triumphed through several life-or-death matters, the thought was terrifying.

During the time, he didn’t dare open his status menu and survey his gains, out of respect for the price those gains had demanded; lives. He would wait until the whole ordeal was over before he checked, even if he could feel the immense boost in power with each and every battle he partook in.

Then, on the day just before they arrived back in Paris - a week and a half after their journey began - another person died, the result of a simple mistake as Brock failed to realise the pincer attack his foes were planning. He took that death personally and wore the mistake upon his shoulders. Those that he saved tried their best to alleviate the weight of the elderly man’s life, yet he refused to let it go.

What use was power if you couldn’t save everyone?

Maybe he was falling into a dark hole. Maybe it was the pressure that the mantle of power brought with it. Maybe it was the cruel reality that he had long come to accept. Maybe it was his experiences twisting him into a monster. Brock didn’t know and he didn’t care. The weight still clung to his shoulders, carrying the burden of his regrets.

If he truly was falling into a dark hole, all he needed to do was light the way.

The darkness was not something to fear, only something to accept.

The following day was extremely quiet after that harrowing death. Once again, the foggy barrier surrounding ‘New’ Paris faded into sight, and Brock reassured them that it was normal and a measure against infiltration by Skin Walkers. Without fanfare, they entered the white and continued forward.

About a bit less than half a kilometre from the wall he began to sense a troop of various auras, clearly the same guards he had met weeks before. Finally approaching the wall had been a terrifying experience for those he saved when a guard appeared from the depths of the fog and jabbed a spear at him.

Whether they thought he was an enemy, or it was some other test by Adam or his fucker of a boss, Brock didn’t care, and the woman’s spear was turned to slag as he caught it in his molten palm. Her eyes widened at the sight, and quickly she remembered his face. She called out, calling off the ambush from the other guards Brock could sense all around him.

Apologising profusely, the woman eyed the others behind him and led them into the city. That was it for most people and they broke down and crumbled to their knees as they stepped past the walls, finally aware they were safe from the horrifying world outside.

Others walked up to him and gave him a big hug, which he had to admit felt nice. He shook hands with a few, who only now seemed to realise he was missing an arm, and the local health force of the city rushed to them by beckon of the guards, taking away the people he rescued to be admitted to hospital.

They’d probably also be subjected to some sort of check to see if they’re Skin Walkers, considering the stubbornness of the healthcare workers as they tried to forcefully subdue him and take him to the hospital. Of course, all he needed to do was use Oppressive Might to restrict their movements to non-existence and just walk off. In the end, they accepted there was nothing they could do and left.

The jeep tracks he had followed since the cave had continued up until the edge of the fog, and Brock at least knew Harry had returned safely. Although, Fon’s fate was still up in the air. He knew the first place he should look was the hospital he had just refused to go to, but he was almost fearful to know the answer to her survival. He hadn’t really known the woman long, but it was always a terrible thing to see those you knew pass away.

Plus, she was part of the team now, and her death would be his own fault. Another regret of which for him to hang upon his mantle.

Instead, he looked up at the looming figure of the city’s landmark in the sky and made a walking beeline toward it. Already, he knew the person he wanted to speak to would be waiting up there for him, and he couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say about what happened.

Exposing Harry and Fon to that horrific sight, even when the latter was severely and clearly under-levelled for such an experience. The fact false pretences had been used to get him there when they simply could have told the truth. That those people had been there for weeks, and nothing had been done about it.

He didn’t doubt that they had known about the place long before those people were taken.

The guards didn’t even try to stop him as he stepped onto the elevator and rode it to the next one. Above him, he could detect a duo of auras, one familiar and the other not so much. Both were of a similar level in the mid-40s, and Brock could feel the turmoil residing in the aura of Adam.

With a ding, the elevator finally reached the top floor, and Brock stepped out, immediately being met by the sight of Adam and another, older figure, as they sat at the table their initial meeting had taken place. The food was still out on it, clearly devoid of its previous freshness and covered in speckles of mould.

“Well,” the older man leaned back leisurely in his chair and regarded Brock with a easy smile. It was smug, righteous. His hair was greying, and white stubble adorned his jawline, “looks like you came back in one p-”

He didn’t even have time to finish his sentence as a blade of air cleaved through the table and chair legs beneath him, sending him falling to the floor in a storm of splinters. The man only let himself appear shocked for a second before he stood and brushed himself off, chuckling with faux humour. A spark of confusion flared within his eyes.

“Youths these days are quite… enthusiastic, aren’t they?” Adam was sitting still to his side, and he met Brock’s eyes with a shaky imitation of his previous confidence. He could see the powerful regret that had taken root within his eyes, “Maxwell Washington, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Carter.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brock’s voice came out steady and slow, though it still left both of the other men flinching slightly at the savage intensity hidden within.

“The weak were always destined to die, Brock,” Maxwell grinned, as though he believed he knew the answer to everything, “That’s the way of the world now. You know it. I know it. We both know it. Besides, what do you possibly have to complain about?”

Brock gritted his teeth and felt his Augment sluggishly flooding through his pathways and preparing to blow the man to nothing more than ashes, yet he restrained himself. The man kept speaking, uncaring of the shifting expressions on Brock’s face.

“You have power. Great power,” He spoke, almost reverently. Madness tinged his features, “You saved twelve people, though I do feel your efforts were a waste.”

Maxwell broke out into a smug smirk the next second. He truly appeared to believe that he was in the right here, “If not for me, would you have seen such a stark increase in levels? Would you have gotten that Treasure you now hold within that sorry excuse of a pocket?”

The entire time, Adam stayed silent, and Brock felt his rage bubbling up inside once more. This man was delusional, a person willing to sacrifice it all for his flawed idea of the ‘greater good’ and see no problem with his actions. Brock wasn’t justice, nor did he disillusion himself into believing he dished it out, but at this moment, right now, he wanted to end this man’s life.

“You should know better than anyone Brock, that this world is selfish, and it is brutal. It is no place for the weak, only those that use them to rise to the top.” He levelled his gaze, “Like you and I-”

His eyes widened in shock as he found himself held by the neck in the very next second, Brock’s only hand grasping him tightly and threatening to crush his throat. Brock hadn’t yet found a way to utilise his Augment in a field like he’d seen the Sky Bandit or South do, but the sheer fury in his aura was enough to send feeble gusts of air washing in all directions.

Brock tightened his grip further and Maxwell’s face became blue as he beat at the sturdy arm holding him up. His eyes portrayed confusion, genuine, dumbstruck confusion, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you now and call it a day?”