[95]

The cicadas hatched two days prior. With the cicadas, came their unrelenting high pitch drone that left Zeirdin’s ears dull and ringing. The shrill cackling of yemlins filled the air, accompanied by their incessant rustling. Zeirdin groaned as he picked a ripe avocado. Once again, he failed to hear their approach in time, thanks to the cicadas masking it.

Zeirdin was now able to dispatch entire troupes of yemlins with relative consistency with improvements in lovac efficiency, instincts, and overall raw combat ability. The vicious creatures surrounded him for the nth time. Zeirdin wedged his avocado in a safe nook on the avocado tree before turning to the creatures. He looked down at his knuckles. The skin was still slightly raw and bloodied from the altercation by the stream with a handful of yemlins earlier that morning. They used to be shiny bone but the regeneration had done a lot in just two hours.

Without warning, the yemlins charged him in unison. Zeirdin kept his back to the tree. It would give his back a little cover while serving as a yemlin smashing block. He breathed evenly and tried to keep his heart rate steady while he circulated mana. He had been in the scenario countless times. It was nothing to be nervous about, but each time the reality of the situation never got lighter. The first hairless creature got into range and launched itself at Zeirdin. He quickly took a large step to the left and avoided the attack as the creature landed at the base of the avocado tree.

Before more yemlins could join, Zeirdin swung his leg like a bat and crushed the vile creature’s head against the tree trunk with his shin like a coconut. Foul-smelling blood leaked out of the limp yemlin’s now smashed head in a red trickle. The rest of the yemlin horde arrived all at once. Zeirdin kicked the corpse out of his way and returned with his back to the tree. Claws dug into his forearms, but they didn’t sink in as far as they once used to. His body was now much tougher from constant mana saturation. He danced around the tree, using it as a barricade between him and the yemlins as he slowly picked them off one by one.

Zeirdin channeled mana into the right side of his upper body and accumulated it until his arm began to pulsate as he dodged. Next, he strengthened his knuckles. They were going to need all the reinforcement they could get. He inhaled deeply and chose his target. Zeirdin danced around the tree, accumulating relatively shallow scratches. His target leaped for his face. He exhaled. Twisting his waist and shifting his feet in the dirt, he threw his strike and expanded his aura in an explosion of unseen energy.

He wanted these creatures to fear him. The air crackled with static and for a split second his fist tinged blue. The creature stood no chance. Zeirdin sent every bit of torque his body could generate into the strike. He could feel the muscles in his arm tearing slightly under the sudden extreme strain. His knuckles sunk into its forehead like clay before the shock wave caught up. The yemlin’s head detonated like a bloody watermelon, sending a fine mist of red in all directions.

Chunks of its skull flopped on the ground around him. All the cackling, hissing, and clawing stopped and the creatures turned their eye pits to Zeirdin. One screeched and all the yemlins retreated, scrambling for the cover of the jungle. He looked around almost in disbelief. It was something he’d done unintentionally, but it worked very well.

“Holy shit.”

If he could replicate it, his yemlin problem would be something of the past. Zeirdin’s chest and forearms were covered in jagged thin scratches that dripped blood. He looked down at his right fist. Pink bone and cartilage peered through the jagged red skin. Zeirdin winced but tuned out the pain. All his wounds would close up by the afternoon.

“Down the hatch,” Zeirdin gulped as he swallowed an entire chunk of yemlin meat. He sat on the bank of the stream with his feet dangling into the cool water. Eating yemlin without utensils was messy, to say the least, especially since he couldn’t properly drain the blood without a knife. Zeirdin belched loudly. It reverberated through the trees disgustingly. Yemlin meat didn’t digest well half of the time. Flashbacks of many sleepless nights zoomed through the back of his eyes. All the late nights he had to circulate mana in his intestines to help break down and absorb the meat. He shuddered.

Zeirdin walked back to his mangrove hollow. Each step was completely silent and his body swayed with the moving shadows of the trees in the sun. He was a part of the jungle now. He waded through the waist-high water and pulled himself up into the hollow using a braided rope of vine. Finally, he hopped onto his completed hammock that hung from the ceiling. He spent much less time in his hollow, only sleeping there a couple of times a week.

Zeirdin now picked more fights in the jungle which left him waking up covered in blood on the forest floor at sunrise. Foes made of metal gave him constant trouble. He could barely damage them and attacking them damaged himself just as much. Simple mana-imbued attacks like he performed on the yemlin earlier that day worked best on organic targets.

“Fuuuckk, coming up with techniques is haardd,” He groaned.

Zeirdin needed a lovac technique that worked on androids. He knew that he’d greatly neglected his galma practice since his arrival in the jungle, but he couldn’t help it. Galma’s effort, practicality, and time ratio made it far inferior to lovac in his situation. With galma, it took long periods of consistent high effort with little reward, before getting the reward all at once. On the other hand, lovac provided small consistent improvement, matching the effort put in. A warm gust of wind blew into his hollow, rocking him gently on the hammock.

Fleshy thunks rang throughout the jungle periodically. Zeirdin stood under a bullet wood tree, punching the same spot on its trunk repeatedly. Each strike was imbued with mana. Not to strengthen his muscles, but to inject it into his target with varying success. The spot he struck was completely stripped of bark.

“Why won’t it inject? Aaaah!” He groaned. The second his fist made contact with the trunk, he tried to inject mana from his fist into the tree. The problem was his mana had trouble flowing quickly. Once again, his mana sloshed harmlessly against the tree before dissipating. His mana was much denser than it was 3 months ago. It was now almost semi-visible at times. Manipulating mana within himself came second nature to Zeirdin after constant practice. However, his external mana manipulation was still poor. He plopped onto the ground against the bullet wood tree and nibbled on one of its orange fruits.

“What is the main difference between internal and external mana..?” Zeirdin mumbled to himself as he brainstormed. “Obviously one is inside and still pure,” He flopped back onto his back. Dried leaves crunched under his back. He fumbled around on the ground for his satchel before his hand found it. Thirsty, Zeirdin pulled out an Ols fungi pod. Water. Flow.

“Mana flow?” He closed his eyes and observed the way mana flowed inside of him naturally. At a quick glance, it looked like it flowed in curved lines like a stream of water. However, under scrutiny, it naturally flowed in a spiral.

“Oh,” Upon his realization, Zeirdin shot up into a stand position. “It doesn’t want to flow in a straight line! I’m so dumb,” He shouted to no one in particular. Once again, Zeirdin punched the bare spot of the tree. This time, however, he spun the mana as he injected it on contact with the trunk. Splinters flew with a pop and the faint smell of smoke filled the nearby air. A groove in the hard bullet wood was finally carved.

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“Yes!” Zeirdin jumped around in excitement at his discovery. While bullet wood was not as hard as steel, it was a good indicator of the potential of the technique.

He spent the next few hours honing the basic technique without much power. He needed to be able to consistently do it. Earlier, he had moved on to a new tree. He didn’t want to permanently damage the bullet wood tree. He looked down at his bloody fists. They no longer stung.

Zeirdin sat panting on a boulder. Two thoughts flew at him randomly out of the void. First, he wanted to punch the boulder. The second, what if I double it? Two spirals rotating in opposite directions. The idea sounded cool and powerful. Would it work though? It sounded too awesome to be true.

He stood up from the boulder and took a step back. He fired up his mana circulation and focused it in his fist. Internally, he created the two streams, separating them with intent and concentration which proved tricky. His concentration was much better than it used to be but the fine control required for the technique was something he’d worsened at over the months. Zeirdin inhaled deeply. Then he threw the punch as he exhaled. The moment his fist made contact with the stone, he released the two streams of mana-like springs. They eagerly flowed into the boulder. The first fleshy bang rang out. Clouds of pulverized rock dust filled the air. Under Zeirdin’s fist was a small crater. Under the jagged edges of the crater, vague curved lines were carved into the stone. Suddenly with a thunderclap, the entire boulder split down the middle like an egg. Zeirdin jumped back in surprise.

“What the fuck?” Then he looked down at his arm. The skin below his elbow was torn. Two bloody intertwined spirals ran down to his hand. A few larger blood vessels seemed to have popped. Already, bruising covered his entire arm. He opened and closed his eyes multiple times in disbelief.

“Someone has to have already invented this. There is no way,” Zeirdin said eyes still wide. “Well. There’s only one name for this. Double helix fist,” Zeirdin giggled to himself. It sounded dumb and cool at the same time. It was the most fun he had in months.

Zeirdin trained double helix fist until sundown. He used much less power than the first time. It was a formidable technique that destroyed stone and flesh with equal ease. His meridians were sore and his internal mana was drained. Exhausted, Zeirdin quietly hobbled back to his hollow before flopping onto his hammock. The dark embrace of sleep took him in minutes. Although peaceful, his face no longer wore the same boyishness it once did. The jungle and the horrors he experienced in it took many things from him.

The joints of the grovewalker creaked like trees in the wind. Its moss and rust-covered body glinted dimly in the sunrise. Zeirdin heard the hydraulic fluid pumps speed up as the machine’s onboard software categorized him as a threat. Zeirdin was itching for a fight and welcomed the machine’s aggression.

The grovewalker’s long arms had chainsaws attached at the ends. Zeirdin guessed that this model was probably a forest caretaking variety. The saws whirred to live. Standing over there meters tall, the machine took two long strides before it reached Zeirdin. Its long willowy limbs were slow and cumbersome but could pack a punch.

Zeirdin jumped to the side over a large tree root as the machine sent a wide kick. The kick snapped a small tree in half, wood grating on metal. He knew that as long as grovewalkers were out of ammunition they would shut down the moment their legs were too damaged to walk. He rushed towards the machine in a zigzagging pattern as he avoided its whirring saw blade attacks. Even one hit from the grovewalker would spell game over for him. His mana-imbued legs shot him forward with dexterity reaching the level of inhuman. The machine’s cylindrical head tracked his movements but its limbs couldn’t keep up.

Zeirdin zipped behind the grovewalker’s left knee, his right arm full of mana. It twisted and turned inside him like live fire. Quickly, he formed two streams and separated them within his arm. He threw his mana-imbued fist at the machine’s knee cap, fist shooting forward at an inhuman speed. Countless micro lesions formed in his muscles from the extreme tension and force generated by mana enhancement.

His knuckles collided with the metal and he injected the two spiral streams of mana into the machine. A brief white-blue burst of blue flashed brightly for a split second. Metal screeched, bent, and exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions. The grovewalker reacted far too late. Losing its balance it collapsed to the ground, bending over its own weight. Brown-black hydraulic fluid leaked all over the grass of the clearing in an oily tide. The machine struggled and flailed as best it could before it shut off.

“Aaaaaaarggghhh!” Zeirdin yelled to the sky in triumph. His right arm hung limp at his side. It was covered in black bruising. Two intertwining spirals of blood and torn skin ran down from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers. Zeirdin walked over to the head of the grovewalker. The light of its eye was off, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Using his good left arm, he repeated the technique. Metal exploded and a blue light briefly flashed. The machine’s head was reduced to a crater. Zeirdin’s left arm was bruised and bloody now as well. It was still in better condition than his right arm. It would take until evening to heal completely. With a bounce in his step, Zeirdin bled back to his mangrove hollow to heal.

Jin

The loose wooden floorboards creaked loudly under Jin’s weight as he trudged down the dim hallway of the inn to his room. Willem and Doryan followed with Taeya in tow. Dark rings underlined each of their exhausted eyes.

“Can’t tell if Tennia is more of a shit hole than Lestag or not,” Willem half mumbled.

“Hahh. We needed the closest place to sleep. I haven’t gotten a good eight hours in almost two months,” Jin sighed. Even though the boys were exhausted, something was missing. The old underlying jovial attitude of the three was replaced with a somber, tired one. Taeya looked the most exhausted, not speaking a word.

“You think Lumia will be alright?” Doryan asked. Even his innocent demeanor was faded and weathered.

“The menders will do all they can. Well, they’re really the only people who can do much,” Willem responded. All conversation died as they reached the end of the hallway and entered their respective rooms. In a stroke of luck, they had been able to get rooms near each other.

Jin didn’t bother to unlace his boots, instead just kicking them off. He dropped his pack in the corner of the room with a metallic thunk. The room was small, musty, and dim. The only light source was a weak lamp on the bedside table. Jin collapsed on the bed, not bothering to undress from his combat gear. Sleep took him quickly, but did not take kindly to Jin. He tossed and turned and wore a pained expression, even shaking at times. Floor three and four had not been kind to Jin or his friends. They all wore numerous new scars.

Jin knocked on Taeya’s room door. In his hand was an unopened bottle of whiskey. The midnight indigo of the sky was visible from the hallway window. The door slowly opened and Taeya peered through. Dark circles were deeply rooted under her eyes and her hair was still disheveled.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Yeah,” Jin replied. She opened the door wider and let him through. Zeirdin’s absence left no member of the party unaffected. The two of them sat down on the bed. Jin opened the bottle in his hand.

“You first?” Taeya grabbed the bottle and took a swig before handing it back. Jin followed suit. The alcohol burned his throat, the only feeling in the numbness that enveloped him.

“Man. I-I miss Zeirdin,” Jin choked out. No one had the leeway to mourn since Zeirdin’s death. Faced with constant trials, tribulations, and foes, their ascent to Floor 5 was a gruesome one plagued with blood and violence.

“I do too,” Taeya said, lip quivering. She took another swig. The two talked, recounting stories and whatever came to their minds, relishing each other’s company. Anything was better than being alone. The alcohol began to come into effect. Both slurred their words.

“Zeirdin… was like the cool brother I never had. He… didn’t know some things, but he ‘ever let it get to him,” Jin said thoroughly intoxicated, pain evident in his voice.

“Yeaah… He. I thought he was a little moody at first. But he was always reliable. Saved our sorry asses so many times,” Taeya took another gulp of whiskey.

“On the surface, he might’ve seemed a little like a quiet prick sometimes. But he always looked out for us. Underneath it all though, I know he was hurtin’. Bad.”

“I hope he’s found rest,” Taeya said, voice quivering.

The two recounted their stories of Zeirdin long into the night.

Finally, the whiskey brought down all barriers. The two began to sob quietly against each other. One thing lead to another and Taeya pushed Jin down onto the bed, straddling him. The bottle of whiskey was completely empty and both were very intoxicated.

It was early morning before the two drifted off to sleep. Jin’s arms were wrapped around Taeya. Her golden hair was sprawled across the pillow like sunlight. Jin slept peacefully, although he still wore a troubled expression. Whether it was the whiskey or the company, not even Jin knew. Anything was better than being alone.