In the Depths of Slumber
> “‘Hence, you are now Seeker,’ so it was proclaimed, bestowing my sweet daughter the weight of honor over a blade of responsibility sharp enough to wound this old man’s heart.” ~Garm Militia
Absorbed in pages while the others cheered and booed, Frein Nivan sat cross-legged on the floor, leaving the real world and immersing himself into fantasy. Intense black eyes hastily traced written words—depicting a trapped protagonist—as he ignored the brutal spectacle shown on the wide monitor surrounded by the noisy crowd. The cheers around him intensified, probably due to a climactic clash on whatever the others were watching, and the story protagonist in turn achieved his own glorious epiphany right on the next page.
He had read this story countless times, and he already knew what would happen next. He simply enjoyed the reread for the comfort of it.
A subtle vibration in his pocket pulled his eyes away from the pages.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” A text from Katherine. He appreciated her message, and allowed himself a subtle smile despite the atmosphere. The crowd’s ecstatic state indicated a match drawing to a close. If he had counted correctly, it should be his turn next.
As if on cue, the door swung wide open.
“Frein Nivan.” A voice boomed throughout the room, stifling everyone inside. Eyes turned from the man at the door to his direction in slow, nervous fashions. Their gazes were indirect and careful, pretending as though they had never seen him before.
He was fine with that, closing the book with a controlled sigh as he paced towards the door undisturbed. It was time to get moving anyway.
It was only then he allowed himself to observe the entirety of his surroundings. A small warehouse-type room spacious enough for a number of people and featureless enough that things got boring real quick. Old paint scraped away from its walls, evidence of its abandonment and insignificance to the whole infrastructure. A perfect place to stuff a number of desperate people waiting for their name to be called.
A variety of men and women from different aspects of life spent their evenings here in a desperate attempt to make money. Of course, there were the rare cases who submitted themselves to this place for the pleasure of it, the thrill and the rush.
“Young lad, very straightforward fashion sense, usually all black with a shade of dark colors here and there. Not all that good-looking compared to me—he’s pretty mean looking actually. Pretty short…” The man at the door enumerated these descriptions dripping with sarcasm up until Frein got to him. The other participants looked like they were about ready to run away after the fourth description.
The man turned to Frein. “Seen anyone like that, eh?”
“You can stop the compliments, Jeff,” Frein replied, passing a smile. “I have a white jacket today, and I am taller than you, you know that, right?”
“Probably skipped your laundry day, then?” Jeff replied, smirking. “And we’re not tall people.”
“I’m still pretty tall.”
“Five-ten isn’t tall, Frein.”
Jeff was a square man with a closed beard. He wore a folded beanie that hid half of ‘Best Dad’ but Frein could read it anyway. Jeff did his best to seem intimidating, but to Frein, he might as well be the kindest person in this whole building—and even a few blocks down, considering...
“Ring five. Let’s go.”
Frein followed Jeff to a low-lit hallway that had nothing but litter swept to the sides and the occasional unmaintained vending machines that only ever ate the change. Muffled, distant cheers and boos echoed from the other corners of the corridor.
“Who’s it?”
“David. They want to break the tie.” Jeff held out a hand. “No weapons tonight.”
“About time.” Frein handed him his book and phone, and then untied a blade of Japanese make, a katana, with an engraving for the word ‘Nakiri.’
He gave Jeff a look and the man returned an understanding nod, carefully taking Frein’s personal effects. “They have something up their sleeves,” he warned.
“Everyone does,” Frein replied.
“Except you.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
The hallway soon opened to the arena, Ring Five, the Arena of the Elites, where champions fought for the highest of stakes and the greatest of glories. And the largest of sums.
As the most exclusive part of the underground settlement, Ring Five had a wide space to comfortably house a few hundred patrons at most, which was twice as much as the other rings.
The Ring was divided into four sections. First, the steel cage at the center where each fighter made their fortunes or lost their lives.
Second, the premiere tables on the ringside, a safe distance away from the steel cage in the center. Not that anyone had, but just in case someone was strong enough to break those bars, there would be no casualties aside from the competitors inside. These tables were reserved for the rich—those who wanted to release themselves from their formal decorum and return to their primal, violent natures—with enough money and influence to pay their way into Ring Five, subsequently covering the entire establishment from the eyes of the law. As such, these premiere tables were glittered with wine and food that barely anyone ate and waiters and waitresses at their beck and call.
The third section, composed of the general seats reserved for the richest group of audiences but clearly not influential enough, surround the rest of Ring Five. Here you can find the most stressed out of men and women, betting away their hard earned—or illegally obtained—money to shout at fighters all night.
Right above these lofty tables were the exclusive rooms, twelve private rooms surrounding the ring for the personal use of those that had literal sway in the establishment. Rumors had it; the owners used these rooms themselves. But even if the windows made no effort to hide the people inside, no one actually knew what the owner, or owners, looked like.
Frein’s ears rang from the roaring crowd as one fighter fell unconscious and another raised his hands in fiery victory. Men went in and out of the steel cage in swift organized fashion, moving the unconscious loser cautiously enough. In their haste, as per the norm, they left without cleaning the sweat, spit, and blood that glistened in all their disgusting glory under the spotlights. At least it was enough to recede any hunger Frein might’ve had even with all the food around him. Not that he was craving for the top-quality-food served only in this establishment anyway.
A suited man stood at the center, ignoring all of the mess. He held a mic in one hand and papers in the other.
“Our next event is rather an intimate one, ladies and gentlemen, the grudge match you’ve all been waiting for!”
Oohs and murmurs whispered through the crowd, their attentions turning from the announcer to the two fighters about to enter the ring.
“On my left, a fighting genius, winning all but one of his fifty fights. Grasped his first victory at the age of sixteen against a veteran twice his age. Denied glory on his second by one of our champions, a fight too early indeed. After which, he remained undefeated for the next four years! Now bearing a champion title of his own, let the crowd roar for Frein Nivan ‘of the Elysium!’”
The arena roared with fiery expectations, and Frein allowed himself to drown in them, if only briefly. Amongst the crowd that cheered for his name, he sensed a different look. His instincts guided his eyes to one of the exclusive rooms, finding a group of people whispering mockery towards him.
Frein? What a stupid name! He caught the words by reading a cocky man—no, a pathetic boy’s lips. It took the onlooker a second or two to notice they were staring at each other. The boy broke eye contact first.
But Frein couldn’t agree more. His father, a decorated soldier whose rank he was too distracted to recall, had never really told him why he was named so, while his mother, hailing from the same profession, had simply said it was perfectly fine. When a more decorated soldier had knocked on his front door, Frein had known he would never get a clear answer from them anymore.
Later he found out Frein meant brakes or restraints in French, but he grew up pronouncing it far too differently for it to even matter. The meanings didn’t match him anyway.
His parents had kept their own family names, but he had thrown the matter out of his head, too focused to even care what Nivan meant or where it originated from.
As the announcer spoke again, Frein swept away the memory, eyes straight at the hulking man on the other side of the cage.
“You call that ‘up their sleeves?’” he said to Jeff disappointingly.
“On my right, the only man to have ever defeated our Elysian! With an astounding record of seventy wins to eight loses! A mountain of absolute brute force that only few could withstand. Ladies and gentlemen, unravel your bellows for David ‘the Goliath’ Anderson!”
The crowd roared once more.
The announcer left the cage as arena staff went around collecting bets. Frein and David both prepared for the match.
While Frein had chosen his champion-title based on his childish and fictitious aspirations, David’s was more of an ironic symbolism. The bald brute had always been a size or two larger than Frein, but today he had gone to more insane extremes. Veins pushed visibly out of his dark skin every time he flexed his obscenely huge muscles. David looked like a junked bodybuilder with muscles threatening to tear open his skin.
Cheap tricks like these weren’t uncommon. This trick, in truth, had been the trend for a few months now, tallying a large number of wins for those that utilized it. It was also incredibly self-destructive, causing an alarming number of deaths amongst the fighters, but no one really cared about that small detail.
The Goliath roared as he stomped his way into the cage and the crowd cheered with him.
“A hundred thousand on the big guy!” said someone from the group that mocked Frein’s name; a proud and arrogant exclamation hailing from the exclusive room accentuated even further by the announcer. The Elysian sighed, pulling out a pair of fingerless leather gloves. He knew what would come next.
“That’s a big fish right there,” Jeff said, smirking, and much to Frein’s well-hidden dismay. “Want to reel it in?” He pretended to examine the legitimacy of Frein’s gloves and the metal bars surrounding the cage to buy time before letting Frein inside.
Was really hoping for something more grandiose tonight…Frein thought.
The two were in no way affiliated other than being acquainted through this work, but Jeff’s habit of betting on Frein had always benefited him one way or the other. And the Elysian champion, despite the predictability of the situation, wasn’t one to pass on opportunities.
“That’s an apex predator you’re trying to score, you sure you have the net for that?” Frein asked. Risking a hundred thousand took more than mere nerves of steel. Frein’s confidence took it as simply as breathing air. The other end might not be as self-assured.
“If the weather’s good enough.”
Frein turned his eyes on David, observing. The Goliath expressed untamed fury; gritting teeth like stone on stone, intense eyes piercing all in its gaze. Behind all the steely façade was a fragile core oozing with desperation.
Frein had fought him twice. During those hard-fought days, the brute was once an artist and had carried himself with dignity. Today was different. Disappointingly different.
“Clear skies and a strong sun,” Frein said, tightening his gloves. “I’ll take half.”
“Half?” Jeff almost shouted. “That’s too much, man.”
Frein eyed him, barely able to hold his contempt under control. Jeff was indeed the kindest one in the building. In no way did it mean he was kind at all. “Everyone’s risking their lives in here, Jeff. I should be taking more.”
“No, friend. Everyone in here’s desperate, except for you. You wouldn’t see the almighty Goliath like that if his daughter didn’t have leukemia. I’m not risking my money and giving you half without something more in it for me. You get paid whether you win or lose this, you know. You get more if you win, sure, but that’s not changing my case.”
"You're right, I'm not that desperate." Frein sighed. He contemplated on passing on the whole thing, but a stranded fish—no, a stranded whale was too enticing to pass. "I was thinking of taking a vacation, maybe bring Katherine along."
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It made Jeff pause his inspection. "You've been saving up?"
"Other than rent and necessities...and books, yeah. Just in case something happens, you know?"
"That's not changing my case, Frein. Seventy-thirty, unless you can give me a more convincing..."
Something off began to surface amidst the conversation. It wasn’t anything Jeff said, or anything relatively between the both of them. It was a presence of something too intense for Frein to ignore. He followed his instincts, eyes looking past David.
Behind the hulking brute, leaning by the shadows on the entrance of the arena was a familiar beauty. Dark brown hair dangled carelessly over her shoulders. A long dark coat covered most of her clothes, showing nothing but crossed arms and not much else. Her black eyes expressed something else entirely. A mixture of encouragement and a frowning disappointment combined with the soft worry underneath her indifferent stare. Regardless of reason, the fact that Katherine showed herself only meant two things for Frein.
Permission granted, end it quickly.
“Fine. Three minutes,” Frein said with full confidence, interrupting Jeff with whatever he was talking about. “I can beat him in three minutes. Past that, then you can decide how much I take. And if I lose, you can take Nakiri and my pay for this and the next match.”
“Three minutes?” Jeff asked with as little visible concern as possible. “If you rush things, it’ll backfire for sure. And Nakiri? Wasn’t this some sort of ancient treasure? You already sold the partner, right? The bigger one? I think its name was Aya-something. Aya…”
“A’ya here to babysit people or make money or do your work? Make up your damn mind,” Frein said as he entered the cage, swallowing the disgust from his own lame joke. It only took Jeff a heartbeat to make his bet. “Ancient treasure…It’s called marketing for crying out loud.”
After fighting in one of these cages for four years, Frein had learned to embrace the suffocating environment induced not only by his opponents’ presences or the filth accumulated in the sandy dirt comprising the stage floor, but also by the ear-shattering noise of the crowd.
Sparks flew as both competitors stared each other down.
“You’re all jacked up, Goliath,” Frein said to the only other person in the cage. His casual stride seemed reckless but it was his signature performance, meant to play with his opponent’s mental state as well as exude a cool air amongst the onlookers. Apart from simply winning, theatricality was a significant criteria to earn the Ring Five stage.
“I hope you understand this doesn’t give you an excuse, Elysian,” David replied, much to Frein’s surprise. The man made a grunting flex with his whole body, and Frein thought he might just pop, but those only ever occurred in comedy shows. “I will not be holding my punches.”
Some people, some extremely exceptional people, could inject as much enhancement as David and still retained their wits about them. The rest, as Frein recalled, displayed expected combat improvements, though they often lose the capability to make even the simplest sensible conversations. A fragility that Frein had exploited endlessly in the recent past as it rose in popularity. One could say, “This tactic won’t work against the Elysian.”
Frein took a subtle glance at Jeff who met him eye-to-eye with a suspended sandwich deluxe just below his chin. Not that Frein couldn’t read it from the sweating anxiety plastered all over the guy’s face, but Jeff probably didn’t expect David to be in control enough to make conversation either.
It didn’t matter to Frein, at least not tonight. He, too, had something up his sleeve, and he was just given permission to utilize it.
“Betting ends!” the announcer yelled, rallying the people in an uproar. “It is time to end all debate! Time to determine who’s on top! Let the match begin!”
The bell rang throughout the entire Ring Five. One by one, the cheering crowd grew silent in anticipation of who would make the first move. Would it be the brave Elysian? Or the enhanced Goliath?
Neither did.
As Frein's experience had told him, David never made the first move. Even in his powered-up state, the Goliath remained firm. This signaled him to be even more cautious.
Frein shut his senses from everything aside from those that involved David; the contained fury, the heavy breathing, the growling, the eye movements. His attention narrowed down to the entirety of the ring, and his focus centralized inside. The consequences of winning or losing were taken out of the equation. The crowd was pulled away from his thoughts. Now only the fight remained.
Frein made his move, walking dangerously close to David’s firing range. He invaded the Goliath’s space, inviting him to fire while preparing an attack of his own.
This was obviously a trap, but it was already too late for David. One of the most important rules of self-defense, but more importantly in a fight, was to never allow anyone within your personal space. Both of them knew this, Frein was ready to take his own action during his approach the moment his opponent reacted, but the Goliath hesitated. Frein had successfully invaded David’s space and limited his options.
“I told Jeff I only need three minutes to deal with you, David,” Frein said, trying to taunt his opponent further. “But actually, I only need two.”
And he was telling the truth. The first minute was to assess the Goliath’s mental condition—whether David was consumed by his enhancement or not. But thanks to their earlier conversation, that task was shaved off the list.
Frein centered himself, allowing for power to circulate within his body. He never understood how it worked, but Katherine assured him he only needed to will it as if it was a part of his body. In an instant, energy surged into his system, carrying surprising heat into his spine that dispersed throughout his body.
David noticed a change in Frein’s face and decided to initiate, bringing down a hammer made out of a large fist.
Frein reacted with great speed, quicker than either of them anticipated, and launched a jab right at the giant’s face. His jabs, as Jeff had put it, were like getting hit by a fastball pitched by a professional player. They were exceptionally and consistently sharp capable of knocking out a normal person in an instant, but normal didn’t exist in this place. Still, it’ll stun anyone with a cranium.
Stunned was an understatement.
Frein saw David’s entire body recoil from the jab’s impact as if his head had flown off. The Goliath was thrown fully off course that his hammer-fist hit nothing but air. Not letting this advantage get over his head, Frein prepared for retaliation, and as expected, his opponent shifted to regain balance and followed with a kick. He rode the flow and ducked underneath while attempting to sweep David off the ground. But David, to Frein’s hidden surprise, backflipped out of the way just in time.
Without any desire to give his opponent any breathing space, Frein gave chase. He was utterly impressed by how effortlessly it took him to catch up. After swatting away a desperate shove, he slammed his knuckles into David’s middle section, causing him to double over and collapse. Before those buckling knees even touched the ground, the Elysian flipped forward and crashed his heels over the Goliath’s head.
By his estimates, thirty seconds had gone by. And already, Frein felt his adrenaline fading away, something that should never have happened in the middle of a fight. This was a first. No matter how easy or challenging his opponents had been, he had never laxed. But his tension was leaving him at an alarming rate. He took deep breaths and tried to summon the surging power once again.
David didn’t miss this opportunity and brought forth punishment made out of a muscular arm, clobbering Frein with it and sending him across the other side of the pit.
Two things surprised Frein as he sprang back on his feet. One, that was one hell of a clothesline; two, it didn’t hurt at all. He casually took a second to clean his clothes, telegraphing to David how ineffective his attack was.
Now it was time for his second signature move. In a slow and practiced fashion, Frein tightened the grip on his gloves while lowering his center. An action he only ever used to signal his intention to end the fight. He finished his posture with both arms and hands opened at his side.
The Goliath recognized this and prepared his own posture in kind. Both fighters took a lungful of air, and as one, dashed to the center of the ring.
Frein got there first, leaping and twirling in the air. His entire momentum carried through his leg and he brought it down on his opponent who sluggishly leapt to the side. Gusts of dirt, sand, and old broken teeth flew as he made contact with the ground. He pressed forward while slipping away from a panicked counter and sent a haymaker of his own. It collided onto David’s side, and from that moment on, it took Frein less than ten seconds—a minute-twenty-two total—to bring the Goliath down.
Frein's tension completely collapsed. He willed it to let go, any longer and he felt like it would sap years of his life away. As his senses relaxed, his ears were assaulted by the booming roar of the crowd celebrating his victory along with the glorious announcement made by the emcee.
He escaped from the cage without a word, leaving the crowd with only a wave. The announcer, not even bothered by it, smoothly transitioned from a halfhearted attempt at an interview to immediately recalling the match that took place to stoke the crowd’s fervor even more.
Before Frein completely vanished into the backstage, he took a moment to glance at the mockers who wagered against him.
They were gone. Of course they were.
Frein suppressed a smirk and headed towards the fighter’s reception to collect. He took the exit from his corner and turned the opposite direction from the room where all the other fighters waited, only to find himself facing the floor after a knee completely gave up as if it was torn off from his body. His vision blurred, his body burning from the inside, and the loud footsteps rushing towards him were like grenades exploding in succession. He felt a touch, then the world spun, and then his lips met something soft and moist.
And the world became clear again.
Katherine’s lips were tender and tasted like coffee with one too many sugars in it. A cooling sensation drew straight into his throat, washing away the heat from his entirety. Frein felt renewed in mere seconds, but they parted only after snatching a few more moments of intimacy.
Katherine let out a sigh before slightly tapping Frein’s cheeks. “You’re an idiot,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” Frein responded after translating Katherine’s line in his head. “That two-minute time limit is a little too much, don’t you think? It felt like I was going to die after a few more seconds.”
Katherine’s expression slowly turned from casual sarcasm to the definition of stoicism. “How long did you think you were in there?”
“A minute thirty, give or take.”
“I know you were counting, Frein. I saw you look at Jeff.”
Frein sighed. He was indeed counting every second, but not because he made a bet with Jeff. Katherine’s emphasis on the time limit made it seem of absolute importance. Telling her that now wouldn’t really make a point, so he simply resigned. “A minute twenty-two exactly.”
“You were in there for only fifty-two seconds.”
Frein blinked twice, frowned, then tilted his head before passing all of his confusion to his girlfriend. “You sure?”
Katherine nodded. Finally realizing they were both kneeling on the floor, she helped Frein on his feet as she responded, “Your actual limit is one minute. Three more seconds and I would’ve stopped the fight.
“I don’t know exactly at what rate, but in some cases, the technique you used can speed up your perception, slowing down everything around you. So, just in case it also happens to you, I extended your limit.”
Excitement filled Frein, but he had to look at it realistically.
“This is amazing and all, and I’m surprised it worked,” he began, trying to look in control. “But you can’t expect me to believe this is some ancient technique taught throughout your bloodline and somehow you can pass it on to me. That only happens in T.V. shows.”
“I’ll explain on the way back,” Katherine replied, turning the other way. “We’re not exactly alone.”
“Frein! You won! That was amazing!” Jeff’s excited shouts echoed throughout the hallway, but his animated expressions immediately turned tame at the sight of Katherine. “Oh, good evening, Detective.”
Katherine stabbed an open hand at Jeff’s direction, both to silence him and to demand Frein’s compensation and whatever else he won. “Your habits are showing, Best Dad. If anyone was around, you’ve just blown your cover.” Jeff obeyed silently, handing over everything including Frein’s belongings.
“You never show up when someone else is around, Kat,” Frein interjected, not to save Jeff or anything like that. He simply wanted to poke fun at her. Jeff was thankful regardless, but Katherine glared daggers at them to shut them up.
Unfazed, Frein took the winnings he snagged from the overconfident mockers and returned them to Jeff. “I believe you said David’s daughter has leukemia?”
The undercover officer nodded in understanding. “Are you sure?”
“Like you said, we're not exactly desperate. Besides, they need it more than we do. And I did go a little overboard. Pretty sure this wouldn’t be enough, but I can only give away so much.” After their agreement, Frein turned to Katherine. “We didn’t get any leads this time either. I have some suspicions but it’ll take some daylight to make sure.”
Katherine looked like she had more things to say, but when she nodded and patted Jeff on the shoulder at the same time, Frein withdrew all the retorts he was prepared to fire. “We’ll take a rest for tonight. Make sure you get home safely.”
Jeff probably caught a bit of it, too, nodding nervously. “I’ll prepare all the evidence I’ve collected so far and submit a report by tomorrow,” he said, all thoughts of where to spend his winnings flushed down the drain.
“Good,” Katherine said simply. “We’ve been at this for about a year now, it’s about time we close this hellhole.”
“But first, some dinner?” Frein said. Jeff caught the signal and said his goodbye a little abruptly than he probably meant, but neither of them gave it any mind.
The walk to the parking lot was silent but full of warmth shared amidst the evening chill. Luxurious cars and other excessively grandiose vehicles greeted them as they passed the door. Frein’s was nothing more than a humble motorbike with an aged engine.
“So where do you want to eat?” Frein placed his keys while Katherine hopped behind him. “Where’s your ride?”
“Off duty, walked here.” Katherine fixed the waves of her hair before putting on a spare helmet. “I’m cooking. Let’s go home.”
“Right.”
Frein’s life wasn’t anywhere near dramatic nor cliché, so it surprised him to see a group of men slowly gathering around him, holding bats and pipes and other sorts of blunt weapons. Throughout all his time in the fighting pit, his wins never brought him any trouble. But he might’ve bitten a bigger whale than he could chew this time around.
“Yours?” Frein asked just in case he was reading too much into the situation, revving his bike as a warning.
“Probably yours.”
Frein saw the familiar faces of the people who placed their money against him. Rich people surrounded by their thugs armed and prepared to beat the living life out of him, and Katherine probably wouldn’t be any safer. But the apex predator—the one in the exclusive room—wasn’t among them. Either way, they had to escape.
“Yep, they’re mine. We’re getting out of here.” He switched gears and accelerated without care who he might run over, not listening to whatever they were about to say. They got away without hurting anyone, but the front gate prevented them from gaining distance. Luckily, the mob gave up on chasing them.
That alone didn’t make sense. Surely, they would’ve given some effort, but the way they let them pass didn’t hide the fact it was on purpose.
“You cheating bastard.” A man appeared from the guard house beside the gate. The recognition immediately caused Frein to raise his guard to their absolute limits. The apex appeared. Past the window, Frein saw blood smeared all over the walls, and the pistol that had caused it now aimed towards his heart.
“I don’t know how you did it, but there’s no way you could knock out a guy that big in under a minute.” The man pulled down the pistol’s hammer and aimed. And Frein reflexively guarded Katherine, placing a hand on her to make sure she doesn’t get in the way. She was saying something, but he was too focused at the man before him.
The intent was obvious. The poor guard minding his own business didn’t have to die, so why stop? There would be no talking out of it. Time slowing down was a sure indicator of it. His uneventful, normal life ran through his mind, a gray-scale of events brightened and colored when he first met Katherine. All he could do now was force all of his will into a stare of death, hoping it would curse his killer as the exploding echo faded into an eerie silence.
The impact propelled him off the bike. His helmet cracked against concrete. Heat crept through his chest as shock raised all emergencies and Katherine’s nudging only worsened the sensation. Her cries pierced his ears as she kept calling his name. Light began to fade, consciousness dragging out. He tried to say something, to tell her how much he loved her, and to ask her to run away and save herself, but his breathing staggered in between coughs of blood.
Heat turned to cold, and his final breath eased him into slumber.
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Hello reader,
Shallren here. I apologize for this abrupt interruption. If you're not aware, piracy has been an increasing concern lately. Scrappers sweep through stories to copy them and repurpose them to sell on Amazon without the author's permission. To alleviate this, I've decided to include an in-chapter disclaimer that Brymeia: The Visitor is still an RR exclusive.
In order to protect the authenticity of this work, I will be including this quick disclaimer at the end of random releases (since the scrappers don't always include the author notes and don't check the chapters at all):
IMPORTANT NOTICE:
If you're reading this, Brymeia: The Visitor, in other website/platforms other than Royal Road, it means that it's been scraped by pirates without my permission. If you would be so kind, please let me know by sending a message to Shallren at royalroad.com. Thank you.
Thank you so much for understanding this interruption and for giving this story a chance.