Circuits surged, muffled by a distant explosion. Wire revealed from the torn metal, electricity sparked between thick lines. The ceiling shuddered. Water gushed from the broken wall.
It happened too fast-- a single second, a momentary spark. He saw the light illuminate the water, the pain surging from within. The smell of burnt meat came after.
He screamed; a distant high cry? Throwing him into confusion, the pain radiating all over, until the touch of warm air, the gentle kiss of needles quelling the shakes, a soft hum snuffed the rest. He tried to open his eyes, but to no avail, swollen; puffy and numb, that if any color appeared through it was only a blur. Noises came, but they were eerily unfamiliar; voices of a foreign dialect.
A breath cast it all aside, clearing his mind. He was... alive?! The base had withstood the bombardment? He was saved? He tried to move his arms, but even a finger proved to be too much. Just how many painkillers was he on?
Scared, and no doubt crippled. If he recovered; to see even the light of day? Would it matter?
The short time took more out of him than he thought.
But something came to him, he suddenly felt small. The touch of giants nestled his form, his delirium no doubt.
A voice slowly became clearer than the rest, once strong, slowly drowned to a whisper as he squirmed. A touch of warm water dripped on his cheek. The faded sigh of the summer wind and the pounding beat echoed in his ear thereafter, lulling him to sleep.
Perhaps after this all, he would be able to see the damage. The realization of how much he had to bear? Or the painkillers might fade for his agony to return before long?
For the moment he was at peace, the dreams beyond calling. The present could wait, he'll deal with the consequences in the future, for now, he enjoyed his time of bliss, and faded, to rest.
# # #
It was the third day he saw the light, the world, the two giants staring over him, carrying him in swaddled cloth. A short-brawny man, smiled like a madman; unused to showing teeth. The other, a slightly taller woman, her appearance was worn, tired, but through it he saw the unending toils, content with life. She smiled, a small, subtle thing-- his heart picked up, and formed one of his own. Letting him pass the days in a whirlwind of thoughts.
What was this place; a dream, delusion, imagination...?
The woman picked him up and supported him in the crook of her arm. The man's ashen fingers traced his head as he couldn't control the giggle.
But did it really matter?
His heart was unable to bear if it did. Alone no longer. Beyond the fear of the unknown-- beyond what he knew, there was no demand for his life. Nothing to push, nothing to pull, there was only bliss and a family to call.
Sometimes he wished he could relive those days. Of being a babe in his parents' arms, to the first spark of the forge, and the heavy weight of the hammer.
The smiles were constant then, but nothing lasts forever, he only wished, he had a little more time...
# # #
"Where is the boy called Adam Haroak!" Sir Rowth commanded, reinforcing his voice with mana. Giving it purpose, power-- birds flew from the nearby forest.
He wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for the mandate, and the wizard towers' insistence... and the Brotherhood... and-- he sighed.
They were all a pain to even an ogre's ass, but he would never say it. No, that's for the young Lords and Ladies to grace his day. He was just a simple knight, doing the duty by which his Lord had been commanded, and then delegated gracefully.
The thought irked him a bit, no matter how fair his Lord was.
Two months of riding on a common mount; best horse in the five lands they said. Clearly swindling some manner of servant set to procure the mount, no matter their acumen, such creatures were still far lesser than the superior breeds of the Snub Horn Unicorn-- fine specimens, they are. Why, Rowth would think that these two months could be put down to one, if his Lord would just let him part with one of the pair.
But, no, they were still trying to get the pair to produce a foul, even with the countless failed attempts. Dissuading all common knowledge of countless other Counts that failed to gain an offspring, there was a reason why only the Royal House was capable, and stayed their hands as their arbitrator of balance in between the inner territories.
His Lord was smart, but blinded by greed made the man act like an idiot.
A commotion brought him out of it, the little village square was situated around the well. The folk whispered behind the corners of their fairly built abodes of stone and wood. Nothing was really new there though, even upon this new land to survey. However, he had the seamstress of the village standing next to him with a betrayed hint of worry. The younger woman kept biting her lips, holding the slab of wood that held her papers, a "binder" they called it. Holding her apparent drawings of dresses and needle work.
Something quaint, it was no book, but interesting nonetheless this far on the edges of civilization.
He watched as a couple appeared, bringing them along a boy, perhaps no older than fourteen. The boy's father pushed him along with thick soot hands, calm. His wife was unease; tension in the shoulders, but the boy was handling himself fairly well though.
Let's hope something good would come out it.
"Greetings Sir Rowth, I am Ewan Haroak." The man motion to his wife, "This is my wife Wren H--"
"I know of your family smith, there is no need for introductions as I am sure you know why I am here." Sir Rowth interrupted, silencing the family. As he bore no blue cape, but still dawning his shining grey armor, it was not conscription. He made sure to eye the boy, motioning to the "binder." "Did you make this?"
"Yes... Sir, Knight?" The boy stammered a bit, no matter.
"On your own, no one's ideas or help in its craft?" He pressed.
"No, Sir." The boy's voice was more certain, and the hope that he might get something good out of this stepped up by just the slightest bump.
"It takes quite a mind to come up with perspective ideas. One that needs to be focused, and trained for the better." Upon his shoulder he carried his pack, retrieving a metallic ball, outlined where a hand should be placed. He held it out, inviting the boy to the outline. "Should an opportunity present itself?"
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Rowth saw the boy blink, perhaps thinking of a myriad hopes. Internally he smirked.
"Sir Rowth, please I beg of you, he's our only child." The boy's mother protested, insolent. "The village--"
"Silence!" Mana flooded pathways, his voice boomed, louder. He hated it, it always made him crave some water afterward. There was a flicker of annoyance, as Rowth pushed forward a projected force, a gust of energy sent the woman topping on her behind. "There will be no questioning of the mandate, if I so much as hear one more word-- I shall personally take you to Tellovine, and have you stand before its court and pronounced defiance of the Enlightened Charter. Where I shall speak no lie, and wage my status.
"Do I make myself clear?" He peered at her directly, the rough woman sat in a daze. Sweat beat down her brow. It was enough.
Her husband tensed, all his muscles coiling to rigid metal. Rowth raised a brow, internally he thought of a minor 'altercation' that could take place and scoffed. The man was built, but still not Ascendant. Weak like the rest of this dull village, but at least he knew the situation. And that, was commendable.
"Place your hand upon the orb child." Rowth spoke plainly, seeing the boy whip his head abruptly, murder in his eyes. He allowed it, only for his age and the boy's mother.
The seconds dragged on, Rowth's expression hardened, thinking that he would need to force the boy, but he calmed. Taking the final step to place his hand upon the orb. There was a sharp click, the boy's eyes widened as the sudden influx of pain set him to his knees.
The orb spun, ticking-- spitting out a long slip of paper lined with symbols and numbers. He frowned, there was nothing special about the boy. Then perhaps something more natural?
Rowth put his hand on the boy's head, their eyes met for just a moment before he sent a surge of mana into the boy's system. He screamed, howling as reminded himself to tune it out.
He surveyed, pushing through the boy's pathways. Before his frown deepened, and let the boy fall flat.
Rowth took a step back, "Pathetic. Not a morsel of talent." He turned to the village leader, behind him, and called. "Are there any others of age?"
"No, Sir Knight. All the children are less than twelve, or had seen the previous knight." The old man said, bowing slightly. Adequate.
"Very well, I shall stay no longer." He whistled and called the horse to gallop around the bend. He hoisted himself upon the saddle, peering at the smith holding his boy, his wife on her knees crying. Hysteria seemed to run wild whenever he came, because, in all his years, not one child had died under his tests.
It was nearly an insult, but with the bare grace of knowledge that it was only the boy's family who made a commotion set aside the issue. They spoke no words, so he gave no command. Leaving on his horse on the quick gallop.
With some luck he'd make it to his next mark by nightfall. He hated camping under the stars.
# # #
673 Years Later
Name : Bridges Apart
Type : World -- Grand
Sequence : Final
...
Objective : Conquer the [Wo'lnix Dungeon]
...
Time : 068:27:34:02 (In Progress)
"Percy!" Adam yelled, straining in the center of the formation.
His Armor cracked, the stylized plate of a white knight faded to gray as the crystlline processors burnt themselves out. Smoke escaping his joins, a smell of torched metal in his helm.
The formation shuddered, another sector went off line. The dungeon lost itself to another rift in space. Unable to be reinforced by Adam's near depleted mana reserves.
Yet he didn't care. His head craned up, to the podium admits the wide hall. The exit portal at the center. And the traitors on the edge, sneering down. The Witch of Destelwood. The Godling of Fire. And the prodigal scion of the Winds himself, the genius of the era-- the bastard.
"It would be best," the shattering of space didn't stop his words. "If you would have some dignity, after all the lives you've ruined." He spoke, knocking an arrow to his ethereal bow of the Seven Winds. Wasting not a second. Firing at one of the central nodes of the formation. Shattering the connection. The outer circle of the formation shattered like glass, along with the walls, whisked away into the spacial twisters.
Death was near the boy took his sweet time. Adrenalin pumped, his life flashed before his eyes. All those he would lose if he died...
"You... You-- BASTARDS!" He raised his own hope-- and made his own bridge.
The formation turned; a circle to a funnel. The hall shattered in an instant, leaving but the podium and portal. Unstable rifts flickered at the edge of stability.
The traitors took stance.
He shot forward. His metallic soles exploding with energy, appearing before them in a flash. Hand reeled back, pulling his reserves. Ready to break their front and dive through the barrier.
The Witch stepped forward, holding a preserved baby Drake by the tail. It's scales shone bright, a shield enveloped them all and the portal.
Three lives lost in the final push, and they still had the nerve to still hold trump cards!
Adam unloaded.
Big Bang
The weight of compressed Laws clashed with the Aspect of the Drake. Brimming with power that would be the envy of the Variant Realm. But neither wavered-- Adam was forced to gamble once more.
"Final Stand - Override Pass : Link." He said, before the armor could spout warnings. The inner skeleton clinked it's gears. Long nails pierced within Adam's tissue and organs, pumping exuberant concoctions. Overloading his cells; killing them for mana.
His fist surged. Armor rattled. A hole cracked in the shield. The Witch staggered with screams of blood.
One chance, he peered beyond. Darkness teetering on the edge of his consciousness. Readying a final burst.
His sensors flared on high alert. Only to see the Godling and Percy channeling their desperate wills into a final arrow.
Fire and Wind came together; a solar flare was born.
"Good bye," Percy whispered. And the boy let go.
It was too close-- too sudden, another fist was brought forth. The last dredge of a desperate man met the burning light and... failed to met it's equal.
Adam's momentum shattered with the bridge as the duo took the Witch through the portal.
His reserves empty, his systems fading to 'Life Support'. Darkness was near as the portal fizzled out of existence.
Wasted beyond reach in the infinitesimal between of unknown eternity, and with it, Adam was gone.
# # #
He should have never listened to Sigurn. He should have slammed the door in Pierre's face. And kick Batu from his hermit hut.
Regret. Shame. Malice...
It was all there was, between the moments of consciousness.
His instincts took the rest, reaching for the bland touch of mana, only... there was weight, a pressure on his mind and metaphysical origin. From one thought to another-- it slogged, before his resources regained a tenth of their power, and clarity slowly started to return. But all was not well.
A muffle masked the creaking in Adam's mind.
The slipping was erratic, the return, abrupt-- Adam grit his teeth, fighting off the delirium. Anger gave him strength, it gave him the moments to push forward, but it only kept pressing, until rage was not enough, fizzling softer memories, unmoved by the pressure.
Titan... His home, and all that he formed from this life was under threat. The traitors still lived-- he needed to go, he needed to come back home.
He held off the rebooting the suit. It was his mana sense, the rare moment, his gut instinct warned; the second everything connected, he would be overwhelmed. So he took over, pulling all the mana he could to ward reinforce his mind.
Until his reserves were full, and he no longer had an excuse.
Moment of courage he forced booted the system-- the holo-visor spewed nonsese, his mind screamed, his teeth grit at the flood of pressure. His minding tearing apart, he "saw" it all, floating within the discord.
Color. Mana. Laws. And what he could only assume was Intent, lived a nightmare of a twisted cycle. Fusing, breaking, destroying, creating...
He didn't believe it-- he couldn't believe it. Yet he kept on staring, analyzing, reflecting all that he'd known.
Questioning everything-- How? Why? When?
The readings blew warnings. And once more, Adam's mind creaked. This time, he wasn't so lucky.
Crack.