[25 Days Ago]
In Awt, the city of Dalaa alongside the town of Toth, the northern region of Mannea—the motherland of the Lei Realm.
Roven snuffed a volume of smoke roaming in the air, its toxic fumes blowing with the wind and through the quiet vast. He groaned awake as his muddled thoughts reoriented themselves after what had taken place. The shockwave still lingered in his mind. Ringing pitches bit his ears. His traumatized legs refused to get up. Yet he was moving, traveling with his boots dragging across the floor.
He raised his head and, amidst his clouded vision and blood trickling down his face, saw two men pulling him on both sides. Each hauled onto one of his arms, tugging him down the abandoned street where life seemed nowhere.
By the lessening scent of burnt corpses and bricks, Roven knew he had passed the explosion moments ago. It was behind him. But now, he approached the remnants of the blast. His foot caught a lone shoe and slid over it. Then came a torn limb, an arm detached from a body, leaving behind a trail of seeping blood. He scrunched his face as the men carelessly dragged him over the limb, and onward they went.
He saw glass shards glistening on the concrete floor, and a second later, they glitched. One by one, a spectrum of cubic colors engulfed them, becoming static and hazy. And like the broken fragments, the walls of distant Domains began flickering. Doors to the extraordinary buildings, their tables, chairs, lighting, forgotten food on the stove, potted plants, bedrooms, dining rooms, bathrooms, living rooms, and everything within them kindled in static. They sizzled, and the colors took them away. A barren spot remained, an open square filled with a plain of dirt where a Domain used to be.
All traces of life inside that building vanished, and every perishing Domain meant a perished life that shaped it.
Roven was left with two captors taking him somewhere, forgetting about the awful remnants of the thriving city. His dry throat rendered him silent when he tried speaking. The fatigue in his body subdued him.
After what had felt like minutes, they dropped him on the ground. Roven groaned and squirmed, his arms tucking in. As he lifted his upper body, he felt a stream of water splashing on his head and cascading down his face. A cold rush invaded his senses, causing him to take shallow breaths. He closed his eyes and eagerly caught any water he could seize. He coughed, feeling his mouth growing damp from the intake.
After the man poured water on Roven’s head, he littered the empty bottle beside him. Roven gasped for air, his lips puckered as last bits dripped down his chin.
The two men walked ahead to a group of peers clustered together. About a dozen of them awaited, standing with feet planted on the floor with eyes gazing at one person in the center. Roven lifted his head and spotted a large man crouching with his head low.
His enormous back turned against Roven. Dressed in gray trousers with silver chains draping from his belt and a large cloak obscuring his wide chest, he lowered his hand and stroked a crumpled corpse before him.
The dead body was black all over. Shriveled hair. Faceless head. Eroded clothes. Grubby skin. The mysterious man picked up traces of the clothes the person wore. After rolling it around between his fingers, it crumbled into dust and blew away.
“The divine laws of Lei are with virtues and conundrums,” the man said. His voice was deep and hollow. He spoke cautiously, heavily. He dragged his words with a tone that carried weight. “The Consortium presents abstract statements that are otherwise hiding the rest of such consequences.
“For instance, one can tolerate the wretched pain of one lawful strike. On the other hand, the infliction upon many victims will multiply the striking debt. Mortals like us can only endure so much until we have paid off the extreme cost, so extreme that your life becomes the toll. And what you are left with is a black corpse, a residuum from numerous strikes done simultaneously, as what happened to my dear comrade before me, laying down his life to incite fear for all the peace dwellers.”
He stood up with chains rattling. His height reached above all the surrounding men, towering like a beast. They lowered their heads at him. The man turned around and faced Roven. He looked to be in his mid-50s with light wrinkles on the corner of his lips. A sinister aura emanated from his eyes. Blood-red eyes. Black veins weaved through his crimson sclera as if strangling the eyeballs, making them appear cracked and withered.
Roven stared back, struggling on the floor until a sudden tension gripped his lungs. He forgot to blink or breathe. The power in those eyes made him tremble.
The man continued. “I believe this notable sacrifice carries punishment that goes beyond five strikes, a hidden law the Consortium hadn’t accounted for. The second law agrees that Systems cease after five strikes, but after that, it refuses to explain the following consecutive strikes to a Systemless being. After all, my comrade faced 19 divine blows, the number of deaths from the explosion. Do you understand the faults of an improper, untruthful leader, distinguished man?”
Roven tried maintaining his erratic breathing. The lungs contracted fiercely in return. His eyes refused to look away from him, the concentrated stare that made him pinned to the ground. He asked, quivering, “Who are you?”
Remaining solemn and unmoved, he said, “A humble servant. Although as pretentious as it sounds, you may call me General.” He leaned down, and his shadow cast over Roven. “Do I perhaps invoke some fear? Worry not, I won’t hurt you, for the laws are watching my every move. I wouldn’t dare face the heavenly eyes. But you, on the other hand… I’ve seen your bravery when you have fought against my comrades. For such bravery, mind if I call you a distinguished man with a generous hand?”
He extended his brittle and callous hand out to Roven, his radiating eyes cold but inviting. The straight lips bore no expression, yet the deep voice tugged with encouragement.
But Roven slapped the hand away. The palm hovered in the air, seeming offended by the repulsion. The sound made the men flinch. Glaring up at him, Roven said with rage built up in his throat, “Get away from me. Tell me where my daughter is, right now.”
“Your daughter…” The man observed him closer, his blood-red eyes constricting. He lowered his hand. Roven held his ground, looking up with his yellow eyes. The stare-down lasted until the man drew a slow breath. He stayed up close, not giving Roven an inch of space. “Unfortunately, there is no more last time. That moment has passed.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Hearing those dreadful words, he ground his teeth and clawed the floor. He picked up gravel and clenched them and said, “Stop playing with me. I want to see my daughter! Where is she?!”
He nodded his head, his face never breaking a readable expression. But Roven picked up a strange shift in his voice, a rather tight one. “I was once the father of my beautiful angel. Distinguished man, I understand your emotions. Oh, I understand it so, so well. Between us fathers, let’s see what fatherly love does.”
In a swift motion, he grabbed Roven’s coat and pulled him up effortlessly. The collar of his outfit choked him. His legs moved up, fighting back the aggressive haul. Bringing him to his feet, the man grabbed his neck and looked deep into his eyes. He whispered with an ominous growl, “Every fine man holds unconditional love for their children. So, go on. I’ll make it easy for you. My face is wide open. Look at yourself. Your face says it all. Make sure you hit me clean and sharp. Let the laws hopelessly defend me, and let it mock you. The World is unfair, father. I hope you understand.”
A wisp of smoke covered the man’s face, revealing only his piercing eyes. Roven grunted, his neck firmly held by a calloused hand, the pain barely crossing the borderline. So much control in a single hand. The laws were on the edge of striking him, but the assault wasn’t enough.
His heart boiled as the man’s face was right in front of him. But he knew the repercussions of inflicting harm. His body received three strikes from resisting the men earlier, leaving two more blows for use before his System was gone. Roven knew the man’s intention. The question was how much the man would hurt him after becoming unyielded to the laws.
To avoid losing his System, there was one option Roven thought.
He spat at the General.
A loud grumble jerked the floor. The crimson eyes flickered, and with a commanding response, an ominous black smoke rose from his hand. It climbed up and interceded between the two men. The saliva vanished inside the dense mist. When the smoke subsided, descending onto the cold ruined ground, a metal blade appeared with a sinister welcome. A beam of light reflected onto Roven’s face, making him avert his glare. A saber sword emerged and caught the spit. He felt the weapon smiling, the mocking reflection of his terrified look at the sight of danger.
“Undignified,” the General said, “the peace dwellers are truly soft in their hearts.”
He flipped the saber and thrust his arm and slammed the pommel against Roven’s solar plexus. Roven was released from the grip, but the intruding agony weakened him to the floor. He grunted and crumbled to his crawling position once more, a humiliating stance. He arched forward as his flattened lungs tried catching the air with all they could.
Meanwhile, the laws glared down at the General.
Heeding to the infliction, it struck him with red codes all over his body. His skin contoured in pure red, a color that even his eyes couldn’t conquer. He moaned deeply. But he remained standing. His face kept dignified with minor twitches—legs planted on the ground without tremor. The number appeared and encapsulated his whole body.
[–1]
When the codes vanished, the man took heavy breaths and popped his neck to relieve tension. His fingers flexed. He said, growling, “The realm must be softening my body. Being here could weaken me more than desired. It’s a shame that you have chosen such a frivolous response, father of a lost daughter. It would’ve been a great privilege to be struck by a fine man like–”
A silent holler reached from the sky and disrupted the General. He and the men lifted their heads, and so did Roven. An incoming body of smoke darted above the tallest buildings, and it approached them at a rapid descent. Upon contacting the floor, the black mist crashed and dispersed.
Beneath the dark concealment, a man emerged, kneeling and regaining his stance from the plunge. Each breath hoisted his legs, and he stood up and faced the General and lowered his head. After which, the General inquired about the man’s appearance, trading words Roven couldn’t hear. But based on their expressions, something was wrong.
“Pardon?” The General said, his face perplexed. It was, by far, the most expressive response ever since Roven encountered him. Even men mumbled together. He kept his head low. His ears were open for anything he could detect. But with mere whispers and inaudible words, nothing was coherent to his understanding. He had to go closer.
Roven clutched his stomach as he groaned, sometimes forcefully. He crawled forward. One arm, and then one leg. And pull. Again. One arm, and then one leg. And pull. With gravel sounding his movement ever so slightly, he stopped until he heard just barely. The man spoke his last news to the General, saying, “… they reported arrival time of 28 days to pick us up.”
The General nodded. His red-piercing gaze focused on Roven, making him jolt and freeze. But in utter calmness, he said, “Don’t pretend that I haven’t seen you crawl closer.”
Roven began sweating, feeling his eyes dart around the floor as he felt the worst coming. He clenched his hands, hoping there were no ulterior motives behind the General after such an advance. The laws were protecting him, so he should be safe… but the key word was should…
He continued. “Perhaps you have regretted your missed opportunity. I wish I could offer another time for you to strike me, but this is the time to adjourn. I wish you the best, distinguished man.”
He then tossed his saber in the air. The blade got consumed by dark fumes and vanished, leaving no trace of the weapon.
And with a clap of his hands, the whole vicinity shook. Roven’s ears rang. The screeching pain was oddly similar to the sounds echoing during the unfolding events of Awt. The comparable clapping sound reminisced about the time when the men attacked. In fact, the ringings were identical.
Roven finally pieced it together: the General was the one who started everything—the kidnapping of children, the signal for the men to commence, and the explosion.
At the foremost clap, the group of men submerged themselves in smoke. The magical ominosity lifted them high. The chiming of the tall man’s chains echoed as his misty figure dominated among the rest. They blasted into the sky, resembling meteorites without burning heads.
Roven straightened himself and watched the ascending men voyage southeast, near the direction of Scholomark—maybe a little more south. He watched very carefully, eyeing their rapid sail faster than a bird’s flight. Their trail of smoke eventually disappeared behind the wall of Domains.
In just a few seconds, he found himself alone and stranded in an evacuated city with debris lying around. Smoke lessened, but the scars will forever remain on the soil. And the crisped body in front of him slowly flaked by the wandering wind.
He somehow got away from those mysterious men. Although he admitted it was partially from misunderstanding, he knew the laws would sustain harm for their Systems. He should feel grateful for the fortunate chance to be alive and far from the deadly saber. But he wasn’t.
He gritted his teeth and punched the floor. The concrete surface scraped his skin, yet he punched it one last time. Leaving a red mark on the ground, he lifted his head with tears collecting in his eyes. But the running anger kept the tears in place, sweltering more than mourning. He got up and cleared his throat. Resolution engraved his eyes. Turning around, he took his first step. He wiped the blood from his face and took another step. One by one, he traversed down the desolate city. “In 28 days…” With a profound cry and that of declaration, he said, “It’s not too late.”