Chapter 2: The Result of One’s Unshakable Resolve

After using so many weapons of godlike destruction, Silvia was exhausted and covered with so many wounds every inch of her body hurt. From scratches to gashes, swells to contusions, cuts to rips and lacerations, from electric marks to frostburns, magic burns, scald burns to burn burns and shrapnel and so on, she didn’t even know what the others types of wounds were called but she knew she had them all.

The weapons she used truly were legendary, they were so powerful and destructive that she was caught in their destructive force. For every attack she did, she had received damage from the weapon’s residual energies.

What more Silvia was lightheaded, it wasn’t the wounds that caused her faintness, it was the weapons, she’s using them too excessively, she’s bringing power much more than she can normally muster. The use of such weapons drained her and her lifeforce. Her arms shook and her feet were like lead, but still she pushed and brought it all out.

She pounded away at the flesh into a seethed fury, as she did the sword in her hands started crumbling, she needed to grab another one before it too broke.

She glanced about, without stopping her attacks. Heaps of broken weapons surrounded her, all of them, weapons she used to the breaking point.

Despite all this, not a single prick on the wall of flesh, not even a scratch. It filled Silvia with dread. Nothing she did had affected the wall of flesh. Her futile swings had only caused nothing but injury to herself. Drowning out despondency, Silvia screamed, putting all her weight into the attack, with a clang the new sword crumbled and dispersed to shimmering dust.

She staggered back, taking the few moments to catch her breath. Not a even a single dent. She glowered. All of those years, gaining power and reaching the top, the very image she had of herself being at the summit, at the pinnacle of strength and invincibility were broken at the face of the monster in front of her, just like the swords around her.

During her onslaught, the wall of flesh, without missing a beat, had moved back to what it was doing before. Moving forward into the unseen, continuing to spit out strange weapons and things that she couldn’t use all while singing the same melody. Carrying on as if it had lost interest and its time was best spent back to it’s former routine.

The tentacles too have stopped coming at her.

Silvia was an insect, the difference in the size between them only proved her conclusion, Stretching for miles squeezed into the walls, the ceiling, the floor as if it was part of the dungeon. As massive as the dungeon itself, the monsters size was just too dishearteningly huge.

Again, the feeling of dread crept in her heart. A memory from the first dungeon passed through her thoughts. So, it’s back to that again, huh? The first dungeon. But why now? Why that memory? Silvia glowered, her eyes moist. It was the same sullen fear and anger she had back then.

When her very life was in the hands of greedy men. When she was just a mere pawn to the games of nobles. It was the worst, treated like an insect, fodder for others to step on.

The memory—though painful—had always helped. She would use the memory of her old weakness to pull out her strength—to pull out anger. It was her will, her resolve to never be at the mercy of others. It’s what made her strong during moments of desperation. To not give up, to hold on. She needed something—something that would stop her from falling into despair, and she needed a sign, a small sign to keep fighting.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The monster and its weapons, the wall of flesh had stopped making weapons that she could use. That was a sign, the wall of flesh payed attention to weapons that Silvia was familiar with using.

Also…

The eye, that single observing eye. It still watched her: her every move, her every breath. She could not discern the monster’s expression but its gaze was proof enough. Silvia, no matter how tiny she perceived herself, no matter how small she was in the face of the wall of flesh, was still viewed as a threat. She had a chance, a chance to win, a chance to beat the monster, a chance to prove that it wasn’t over.

She saw a silver glint from the corner of her eye, buried amongst the piles of scrapped metal and shattered gems. She had seen it before the battle but didn’t think it useful since it seemed too crude to be practical. Yet it was the closest object within her reach.

She heaved it out from under the debris despite its overbearing weight and bulk.

It was dark, an ominously dark sword so black that Silvia couldn’t differentiate hilt from blade. And it was long, tenfolds longer than her body. Her two small hands were barely enough to grip the hilt.

It was definitely made for giants and not designed for even the largest of men. It proved unfit for her, but at this moment, it suited her perfectly. She needed to be someone else, someone more powerful.

She charged, one final blow backed by her might as she ignored the protest of her tired arms and the the painful rip her legs made. Drawing out all her power on the massive swing she smashed the dark sword into the wall of flesh. It blew everything away: flesh, sound, air, wind, light.

It seemed like an illusion as if her mind was playing tricks on her. Time slowed then moved backwards; everything that had been blown away siphoned into a vortex—a rip she had shattered open with her sword. Her sword, it was gone, replaced by darkness, replaced by the rip.She had made a hole in the very fabric of reality.

It sucked everything. She tried pulling away, but it was near impossible. It caught her, both her hands were sucked in by reality’s rip, she couldn’t get them out. Her hands stretched into an endless horizon before her. She kicked but her leg too was swallowed and stretched into darkness. Silvia’s eyes were wide with fear.

What have I done?!?

As if her vision itself was being sucked into oblivion. She screamed but nothing sounded. Any air and vibration was swallowed, pulled in by the dark and into nothing. It was the end, end of everything. Silvia closed her eyes.

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She felt a swift cut, and then something shielded her and the pull vanished. She fell to the ground; the air was back—She hungrily gasped, She coughed and coughed, wondering what had happened.

She opened her eyes and the black sword loomed just above her. It was lodged deeply into the wall of flesh. She stared at it, a sense of elation arose within her. She had done it, she had wounded it!

But something was strange, her vision swirled. She tried to stand but fell instead. It was strange, she couldn’t touch the ground with her leg so she simply fell.

She sat up. Silvia cast down a look at herself, and surely, she saw her left leg but not the other. From her thigh down nothing, her leg it was gone.

She tried to grab at it, but she had no hands to grasp with. She screamed yet again that too was impossible. A lump had blocked her throat as if her heart had settled within it.