William watches the utter mess in his line of vision, noticing blood and gore go around the floor. Waves and threads of Vectors flow out of his right arm, dragging him, in a strange way, and stretching his arm. His Emblem doesn't listen to his command, and his hand does whatever it wants, but the tasty blood has limited amounts, once the feast is dead.

Still, it doesn't change the fact that William is utterly speechless, angry, and confused at his own hand. It is a weird issue to have, considering it is his own body and his own Emblem. He has trust issues with it ever since it has started disappearing from its socket, and he doesn't know why or how it is happening.

Was it random?

Why did it stop after becoming a proper tool for a Walker?

He has yet to feel any negative effects of losing control like he did for a long time with Roman and his training. It doesn't crash into his spirit, nor does it demolish his right hand. And he for sure is angry at it, rather than... Well, it is a weird situation, since he wants to fight and he wants to change the strategy, but his hands do it for him instead. He wouldn't like it even if the end results are different.

It is his body and arm! His Emblem! Be it the pain so large, that he has to smack his head against concrete, or... having this?

He probably can't decide what he wants. Answers. He needs and wants some answers. That's what is on his mind.

Glancing at his body, or looking at the flowing Vector lying aside, he doesn't know what to take this for. His Claw still has some blood on it, flowing or absorbing this feast into his cycling Vectors, but his own fingers haven't touched or moved a thing.

In fact, his Vectors lack substance right now, and the flowy and wild manners of their movements are slowly drifting into calmness, leaving the mess of the gore and remains of the Pounder on the ground. It leaves his Claw detached aside, which isn't a good thing, or bad? He can't control it, but it is still part of his body.

It doesn't do anything dangerous, or hurtful for him, so has it helped him right now?

William guesses the chest and the blood is all it needs, but then his Vectors and Claw's long spidery fingers collapse to the floor.

William walks forward, unwavering by the mess and his Claw. He tries to pat himself dry since some blood is on his face, but it isn't helping much. Blood is on his uniform, while the Inner Enchantment is slowly quivering in some limits, or lack of cycles. Once more, he doesn't know how it should flow, so he tosses this issue behind his head.

He hates to give clothes too much attention as well, along with many other things.

His steps end up before his Claw, which is an idea he never thought he would ever think about, but here he is, complaining about his own hand. Well, it isn't a new thing. He has complained to a whole lot of sentient, dull, dumb, or empty things in his life. Some were even very much alive, crazy, and so on, but where his Emblem is between them, he has no bloody clue.

It never talked, and just did things to... survive? He has no idea. Everything goes over his head, and right now, his arm has done something weird and nasty twice! Not once! That could've been a coincidence, but this is twice it harms his connection and movement.

“Oy!” He kicks his quivering Vectors on the ground, hoping to clear his frustration by being stupid. Nothing good will come out of this kick, and he knows it. It does nothing after all, so he slowly drifts his connection to his arm once more, and it listens to his commands much better. Whatever that happened, or this Claw wanted, passes.

Cycling Vectors calms down significantly, but that doesn't mean William is any calmer.

He kicks the Claw again, and again and...

He stops and puts his feet on the ground, halting and focusing on his right hand. Its fingers go back to a normal-sized Gear 3, and the pain of taking those 2 fists smacks him like a hammer hitting his head twice. He is hurt, and he doesn't like this feeling when he could've dodged that.

Blood and gore before him is whatever. He has seen worse things, and blunt damage truly goes through the Inner Enchantment as Roman warned. It is great against sharp objects or elemental damage but a fist is different. Heavy forward damage goes through its majority of effects, pushing against flesh.

William doesn't think twice about calming himself down, and his Emblem.

I guess I wouldn't like it, in any other way. That wouldn't make sense if I did, but what if... What... is even wrong? Nevermind. I doubt the world makes any sense whatsoever.

He calms himself but in mentality alone. It feels kind of detached when he thinks about it. His arm, that is. The physical pain is usually clear and a great way to see some limits.

But when his Vectors go through collapse and stressed cycles, feelings always turn more intense, as if something sears his blood vessels from the inside out, and tears his muscles to shreds. Of course, nothing of this caliber is happening right now or happened when the Claw attacked on its own.

Pain and misery are just feelings. They are also potent indicators and a reminder to never come close to those damned mistakes and pain ever again.

It is a lesson to be remembered.

Roman voiced it like a rule.

Pain is a reminder to not lose oneself.

Unfortunately, the limits and losing control are part of the Annihilation. That is what Roman said with a pained heart, and every Walker goes through their own problems in their own ways.

Once more, it is a problem with more vague details. How the future will hold more surprises and unknown benefits and much more pain, isn't what William could guess.

Roman couldn't get any more specific, since the future of Rank-Ups is vastly dependant on circumstances, and what William even endures in his path. After he trained him for 10 days, it was the least he could gift. Any more than that, and he would've to truly become his teacher, and that is something he couldn't do. Not anymore.

“Limits, limits. Pain and misery. Blood and damned Emblem. You sick little and bad weasel. What was up with that spider-like arm, huh? Any explanations?” William talks out loud to his hand, which resumes the appearance of Gear 3 and is under his full control. For now...

He doesn't care about anything else that goes around this cave. His illuminating light works throughout his arm, and Gear 3 is an excellent provider of light. So much so that he glances at the corner, noticing that Rozzante sits on the ground, rubbing his chin, and glares at him from afar. He must've heard his talk.

How embarrassing is it to talk to a hand?

William shrugs his shoulder, and slaps his hands away, pretending that he hasn't just talked to his hand like some kind of weirdo. He isn't... Well, he certainly doesn't want to act like this before anyone ever again, but where is he again? Dark Dungeons, and what about the Trial?

Something deep and hot scorches his head.

T-rial!? Where? How? How are they watching us? Butler? Cameras? Did someone see what I did and think it was weird? Is it weird? No... Not that for sure. I am mostly fine. Mentally stable and not one bit weird. William argues to his own mind, and kicks the 2 large Pounder's hands aside, walking straight to Rozzante, as if he has done nothing wrong.

He knows that someone must be watching. Butler is the most sensible answer since those guys can teleport out of nowhere, and even become invisible. If not overpowered and weird, he doesn't know what kind of people they are.

“Done talking to your hand?” Rozzante says, still sitting and looking at his approaching figure, shrouded in the crimson light. It makes them all appear more savage, and even the Darks look more scary and hideous than usual. Considering the darkness around them, and no light apart from William's Emblem, it is fitting.

“Heard that, huh?” William scratches his hand and wonders why he has done that really. “I thought it might help.”

“Did it?”

“It's back on my hand, so yes. It did.” He replies without any shame and looks around him a bit better. If Rozzante is sitting on his ass, then that means his fights are long over.

And right there, around 20 feet away, Hellfire is still there, breathing fire and trembling. It is on its knees, however, not moving an inch while the fire thinly flows around its body. Each limb is not moving an inch, and the eyes are open.

Every Hellgar that Rozzante had before his eyes, has their heads crushed, but not one bit of blood is anywhere. Him, or the ground, everything is clean.

“Wow.” William changes the subject of his hand for something else and tries to come closer, but Rozzante stops him.

Palms spread, and pressure rises. Rozzante is dead serious and looks at him as if he is an enemy. “Is your head or hand seriously fine?” he asks, “No one is ever sure until it is too late.”

“Not sure what you mean, but my head is right where it should be.” William scratches his neck, “right between my shoulders.”

Rozzante doesn't take it as a joke. “I've seen what happened, and Pounder is a much tougher foe than Hellfire. For me, but you tore it apart, leaving the prime hands intact? Call me an idiot, but that hand crashed the Pounder like it was nothing. And it isn't nothing by the way.”

“Is that so important? I got it under control, or who knows if it even needed that, you see? My hand is a big headache, but not a troublemaker!” William argues. “But I do wonder how have you dealt with that Hellfire since it is still alive if I am not mistaken.” He glances behind and wonders what Rozzante is doing. He can be curious about his hand all he wants, but neither of them will know the right answers. Perhaps the problem doesn't seem to be a problem either?

“It is being called cautious, William,” Rozzante says and stands up, still brandishing his Emblem and the weird armors along with fissures of Gravity in his palms. “It never hurts anyone, and you are weird yourself.”

“Says you, but I know I could hurt anyone. I know that, but it won't happen. Know it.” William reckons, nodding twice for his sake. “How have you dealt with that Hellfire by the way? Broke its limbs? Crashed its... life?”

Rozzante keeps looking at him in suspicion. “Easy enough. Extinguishing its flames is up to my advantage. Gravity is kind of good at it. Physical force, along with wind is flowing through this sort of power. Nothing much that you know, I bet.” Rozzante steps forward, and snaps his fingers, releasing Hellfire from its chains. “Let's see...more.”

Hellfire's limbs may have been crushed, but it still pounced forth with everything it could do. Flames return around its eyes and face, and its mouth widens into a flaming jaw that is very short-ranged.

Rozzante faces William, and his back is facing Hellfire. William is watching his front, serious face, as well as Hellfire who is about to attack him from behind.

But he does not expect to be this fast, and Hellfire's flames are quite fast. Rozzante snaps his finger again, stopping Hellfire's steps, its flames wash over his back, not damaging him in the slightest. William does nothing, nor does his Emblem.

“Are you testing me?” William wonders. “Or you?”

“Your Emblem, more likely.” Rozzante turns, and walks to Hellfire, crushing it to the ground and killing it instantly. “It's never hard to be sure twice, or thrice.”

“About what?”

“No one wants a loose Emblem. No one.”

“That means the death anyway, right? What is there to worry about?”

“Kind of... a lot.” Rozzante doesn't elaborate on this issue for longer than necessary and begins the process of extraction without any other words. William waits for nothing, but some wonder why he has been so damned curious and serious. It lingers in his mind.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Rozzante can be talking like a friend, but also a suspicious person.

William wonders what his deal is, but it seems sensible and warranted this time around. It is about his Emblem, and it goes out of his control, which is a good reason to be suspicious. What his hand has done isn't good by any means, so he wonders about his Emblem, Vectors, and cycling.

His Claw is back to normal, but for some reason, the fatigue from this fight is getting significantly better without even him knowing about it. Inner Enchantment and Velvet Eyes stopped at some point on their own. It must be about the reconnection of his Claw, or how the Claw itself stopped him. That is at least his guess.

Nothing changed in his mind or heart when he saw that Hellfire charging at Rozzante's back. Even when he wanted to shove Rozzante aside, and he hesitated, the calmness in Rozzante's eyes and his Emblem seemed way too firm, and there was no sense of danger whatsoever.

And his Emblem is kind of sensitive to the dangers, and so is his mind.

The Dark Dungeon shakes in the ground, and the blobs of Dark Fog all wince in their form, hiding many Darks.

William looks up, thinking that this is a terrible place to remain, and there is no exit anywhere. Rozzante is too busy with the extracting, so he stands to protect him.

Against what?

Or what for?

Why is he even here?

Many questions arise in his mind, and he wonders what in the life he is even doing here.

“Seems, this Walker stuff is truly as one could expect, huh?” He mumbles.

“Said something?” Rozzante asks, half struggling with the Extractor, and half playing with the Darks.

Blobs of Dark Fog crashes to the ground, right behind William who turns to Rozzante, wanting to speak about how Walkers are all strange anyway, and this is hard to get used to.

Rozzante shouts something, but the Dark Fog spreads through the whole Dark Dungeon, enveloping both of them, shrouding William's vision, and the light of his Emblem.

*************************************************

Somewhere else, at the corner that has been up to Celleste's preferences, and hunts.

She has the time of her life, and her greatsword is firm in her grip. She walks through a dark hallway with easy and light steps. It is filled with dark fissures, vines, and fog around every wall. It is the epitome of what Darks does best: corrupting the land, destroying things, and making something their nests.

Light moves through her sword, emitting enough light so she can see at least 7 feet before her. But Sharie is there too, holding a globe of flame in her hand, creating much greater light. Heat goes along with it, destroying the fog wherever she steps.

“We shouldn't have come here!” She argues, hoping her flame will preserve, and Darks won't come around the corner, snatching her from behind, or side.

“This is the second place under my Radar that shook my head,” Celleste says. “The System also spoke about it as if it is great. Weirdo... I can barely read, and it does nothing but write. Pissess me off...” she curses and kicks the fog around the floor. “But it Informs both of us this time around, huh? This could be interesting. A Dark Hall, or so it said? Is that good or bad?”

“Bad!” Sharie snaps, and nervously glances around this place. “God knows what is there, and pulling us here isn't great! Not after the last time! I warned you.”

“To kill those beasts. Nothing else was for that. I did it myself. For myself.” Celleste speaks as if it is normal, and not weird at all.

They are walking for a while, and for what or why?

Some rewards under the System can go away if it means great danger. And Sharie knows about them, and fresh Walker should be more than afraid of such places. They could destroy her in no time, and let's not forget what this is about.

Celleste would laugh at her face if she heard her internal thoughts. This is her fight for the most part, and Sharie holds the Extractor with one hand, while the flame shines to most corners from the other hand.

There are no enemies around.

At least in the eyes alone.

For Celleste and her mind, things aren't that empty.

Radar is a very efficient way of an empowered hearing Skill, that primarily works in acceptable ways for hunters. She hears things from a long distance, and at Rank 1, it detects differences between humans and Darks. She couldn't truly see or detect greater details or know what kind of Darks are around.

Some generic points or ideas could be very helpful, however, but Celleste isn't a fast learner and hasn't spent a minute in any library. Sharie would refute her for being this poor, considering Radar's helpfulness is even better than any eye Skills. It has a similar style to Rozzante's Sonar, and both have their great uses.

For her, it works in frequencies and noises. Some Darks have distinct shouts, growling noises, or unique steps, dragging parts of the body, and so on.

This is where knowledge helps with anything, and right now, Celleste has no idea about any differences between heavy thud, little steps, or flapping tendrils.

She doesn't care for them.

Differences can fall from the window of a skyscraper, as far as she knows.

She will kill every noise and growl that catches her ears, and they are coming.

Growls spread from the hallways, revealing a bunch of Hellgars in a team of 4.

Celleste smirks, seeing them like a bunch of fools. This hallway is narrow and used to be a place like a hospital, or a hotel. She cares less about the past, and this place is only good for her because of its location.

She charges forward, stepping and cleaving at the Hellgars with her greatsword. One catches it, but the blade snaps, creating dozens of lines that cut Hellgar as it tries to bite it apart. It dies instantly, as if he goes through a bread slicer and Celleste jumps aside, pirouetting and slashing another Hellgar in half, creating a swirling storm of white, and black fissures.

Slashes come flying around her like swords, obliterating each Hellgar to pieces, apart from the last, which she pins to the wall with her greatsword.

“Not so tough, huh?” She stops spinning, figuring that tossing her weapon isn't the smartest choice. So she steps forward, grabs her weapon, and cuts Hellgar's head off.

“Wasting the blood again?” Sharie argues and doesn't even recognize how quickly she is getting used to this situation.

“How many Vials are there again?” Celleste asks, cracking her neck, and stretching her arms.

“Here?” Sharier looks at the bloodshed. “Not much, if you will keep butchering them to pieces.”

“I meant in that box.”

“We are into the 9th,” Sharie says without a second thought, knowing they are soon to be full anyway, and not even a day has passed. She could only hope that her approach to this Trial isn't wrong and that relying on Celleste isn't something Academy would take as a shortcut. It could worsen her chances of getting a pass, or a teacher. She knows that, but it is far too late to be petty or ashamed.

She has done passable things in the Trials before this one, so she is still hopeful.

“Then, we are catching and thinking of the bigger fish in the pond,” Celleste argues, and walks into the hallway, continuing her hunt. “There is nothing to it, so follow me with that flame at least. It is helpful. I will kill any of those monsters.”

“Darks...” Sharie mumbles, correcting her, but it is useless.

No matter how she tries to befriend her or teach her some manners, Celleste always rejects it. Thinking about hunting, and killing is all in her head, which isn't a wrong thing, but knowledge and knowing many things are all important.

Sharie doesn't reject her overbearing attitude, or the skill she possesses, but if anything makes sense, then an overly zealous Walker is one step to the grave, if not worse.

Considering their age, she questions if they are even remotely close to one another. She doubts that since she has been watching her for the past day, and this girl reeks of nothing but Walker's life. It isn't that bad, but she bets her worth Celleste is deep down upset about this too, but doesn't show it.

That is why she keeps talking to her, hoping to get her some idea about what is even happening, and what is good for both of them.

She doesn't listen and rather continues going forward into the darkness, cruising past the fog, which sometimes moves against her, so she slashes it apart.

“Oh, I can destroy it now?” Celleste wonders. “Haven't done that before.”

“And you shouldn't force it... And you don't know anything!” Sharie argues behind her, not willing to leave her side, so she follows. “I know a lot of things. I can teach you.”

“I am not forcing a fly. Flies force me. And no. Learning isn't teaching. My teacher, or how he called himself like, tried and ended up crying instead. ”

Sharie sights, stressed about this girl's attitude, who doesn't even take words to her head that well.

They walk, until Celleste stops, smiles, and stands wide before an open and wide room. “I smelt that before!”

“Dark Blobs, you meant?” Sharie pokes her head into it and halts her breath. She immediately recognizes the problem of this place.

“It has a name?” Celleste turns her head to hers, surprised how Sharie even knows about it. “Do they have a name for everything here? Who came up with it?”

“Don't ask me that.”

“But you said you know a lot of things, haven't you?”

“L-listen...” Sharier wants to argue how this doesn't make sense, but before having a chance to retort, Celleste walks into the wide room filled with 3 Dark Blobs, which are places where Darks sleep, evolve, and take their time before any hunt.

They hear no distribution, but all of the Blobs are on the ceiling, trembling, and a Sworm crashes from them.

5 Swifters, lands on their feet.

12 Hellgars fall on their faces or limbs.

20 Viper Rats drop like a bag of rice, down, trembling, and squeaking in weird noises.

3 Spiders, with 4 weird and 8 feet long limbs acting like feet, land with grace. Each of these spiked limbs resembles a massive and poorly executed spider leg, but in a sense, they are nothing alike. Their limbs are thick and large, and the body is rather small, round above their feet, with a head of many eyes. It does not have much defense or attacks other than using its limbs, so it is considered Rank 2, even though it has quite a unique appearance.

Lastly, 2 Cutthroats drop down with grace as well. They are Rank 3 Darks with hundreds of swirling tendrils that end in sharp spikes resembling swords. They look like Hellgars, but larger, and many tendrils surround their head and back, flowing down their bodies, while their tails are like a thick whip behind them, with a larger tip like a sword.

“Those again?” Celleste asks, unnerved, and not bothered. “At least weaklings are here to move before them.”

Sharie cries out, nervous. “That is a little too much for us! H-hey... Back off. Let's head to the hall where there is less space.” She begs her by grabbing her shoulder, but Celleste refuses. She forces her back. “Care for yourself, will you? This is what I've been waiting for my whole life!”

“Dying like a fool?” Sharie finally snaps, tosses the Extractor behind her, and crushes her flaming orb. The flame surrounds her, and even her clothes turn to ashes. Flaming waves surround her like lines of bandages, so she ends up not that naked. She stands behind Celleste who feels as if she is standing too close to a campfire.

She is taken aback by something and looks at her in bewilderment. “You... You are hot,” she mumbles. “Not bad.”

“Can you take this heat, hm?” Sharie asks, nervous, but her face is resilient and she decides to do her work no matter what. If Celleste keeps on being like this, she can only stop her by force. “I say we back off. We are a team.”

“I say we fight. You have some power. Why not use it?”

Sharie doesn't take it that well, considering the enemies outnumber them way too high. “Hallway!” She insists and points her hand aflame back.

Celleste wonders why she is so serious all of a sudden, but she sounds at least with some backbone, and power. So she listens and backs away before being completely surrounded by all of those monsters in a wide and open space.

Sharie runs away, gesturing to Celleste to take this to her head. “Listen... I get your itch, but knowing where, and how to fight is dictated by the winners. You never want to become a loser.”

“Running, huh?” Celleste asks herself. She has been doing that for most of her life, and acting like that against those monsters again when she has some power doesn't seem good in her book.

She stops halfway through the hallway and watches the fog emerge from the previous room, followed by a bunch of Rats, and Hellgars who scream and growls in anger.

Spiders and those Cutthroats are behind them, most likely. Swifters are nowhere to be seen.

The hall is not that wide, so it leaves the hunting Darks disappointed in their numbers.

Sharie knows that, and that is why she flees. That room is no place to be in unless one truly knows what one can do.

She doesn't. And the girl behind her back doesn't know what is good for her either.

Celleste takes this image and hallway to her head, and the pain lingers through her core. She hates this all, and with her greatsword still in her hands, she opens her Force.

She hardly knows how it all works, but both sides of her Emblem have vastly different contrasts. White is sharp. Black is soft. But one can influence the other, and their influences gain some merits and powers that she can hardly control on a whim. It is a bit heavy. Like mixing tough substances and liquids that don't possess great and fitting properties.

She forces it to work and her greatsword acts like a catalyst. That is what most Molds are for.

A shadow that can cut. That is the black surrounded by a white outline that can flow softly, and still cut some things if she flexes her Force. She has used it ever since she could, and it flows great under her greatsword, which has been in her hand since she got it after everything about her System and Awakening calmed down.

It isn't that long ago, so she doesn't know what she can do.

But controlling her emotions has never been a good thing for her. Anger needs an outlet. Calmness needs silence, as it means being normal. At least under her head, it makes sense.

And this storm of Darks before her face is an outlet, and the place can simply disappear for everything that she cares about. Around every wall is flowing fog like water, and the steps and screams of those Darks echo closer and closer.

Sharie notices that Celleste stops running, so she curses her in her head. Her flames are under her control for now, but how long can they remain this way? She simply lets go of her restrain and her fully activated Emblem isn't so good or bad for her. It adds pain to her body, and the time limit is clear. When it starts to hurl over her hair, it will start to eat her mind.

With Celleste being like this, the fleeting is better than trying too hard.

“You! Being a loser is bleeding to your death! Can't understand that simple thing?” She shouts at her, and her flame surges way out of her line, almost scorching Celleste to her back. Emotions are not under her control when she is like this.

“Don't blow on me... I will kill them.” Celleste mumbles and her eyes are calm.

She stands on her feet, and a flash of white light moves through her sword. The moment she swings it, the walls are cut. For dozens of feet, the world is apart, including living things or simple objects.

Not every Hellgar is cut, nor every Vipera Rat is under this simple cut.

It is an experiment that her Force can do, so Celleste knows the aspects of that blackness suits her much better. She doesn't even take her System that seriously. She doesn't like to read anyway, since that is for those who have too much time on their hands. Too bad for those who saved her, and taught her to read basic English.

Speaking isn't a problem for her, fortunately.

Similar to how her greatsword feels like a feather in her hand, and the white flash of light spreads under her swing again, slashing a bunch of Darks more than 14 feet away in half.

Scorching flames pass over her head and sides in a moment, obliterating the fog that spreads like a flow of wind and water.

“You aren't listening!” Sharie shouts and kicks Celleste aside, causing her to stable and fall from the window.

“Ey!” she shouts, and cuts her greatsword to the outside wall, close enough to feel the heat rise, and walls explode. This shuts her up, and she realizes that Sharie has been doing nothing behind her back so far. It seems she can also do something, but Celleste has no idea.

“Ugh... Has she been this way for me, or what? What a weirdo. Should've tossed me aside long ago If she can wipe them out like me. It would take a minute for me, but a minute is better than fleeting.” She mumbles under her breath, watching the street below.

She is between 4th and 3rd floor in a large complex that is still in relatively good shape. She handles her greatsword and doesn't fall from this height.

She watches the night and the seeming calmness looming over this city that isn't what Australia has. There are barren places and plains under her former home, so this is new for her.

“Can't catch a breath if they keep coming for mine. Hm... How long she will take?” She glances up, and at that moment, 2 Cutthroats jump out of the debris, scorched, tendrils twitching and slashing at the wall.

They secure their position like spiders crawling on the wall, latching with their swords.

10 feet from her, they glare at her eyes.

“Hello there. Wanna be cut?” Celleste offers them a cheap choice, but those monsters aren't talking, so she won't speak to them again.

Her Emblem will do so instead.

Her Force shines, and night will briefly go into the day.