Chapter 9: Insanity Locked in a Cage
It didn’t take long for Baron to become disinterested in the mobs surrounding his hill. By the time he hit level 15 they stopped amounting to anything more than annoyances. The thrill of fighting the boar lingered in his mind. Like a craving for some unknown food he searched the hunting grounds for that exhilaration.
The crowds of hunters continued to increase, but as he wandered farther from the city they thinned. Since his last bout with a user none dared challenge him. The rumors continued to spread and evolve; his image warped into something unrecognizable. Ignorant players refused to believe he was the man behind the myth, claiming the urban legend describes a beast ten feet tall with four arms and a sword made from giant’s bone—exaggerations grounded in truth.
He eventually ventured into the tree line. The forest’s canopy hung low and impeded any light that wished to seep through. Aside from small patches sprinkled about, illumination never reached the ground. The forest exhibited a dreary, desolate atmosphere. The absence of light made it hard for foliage to grow. The trees remained unaccompanied by life aside from patchy grass and the occasional weed.
The denizens of the forest had their own slew of challenges for Baron to conquer. Butterflies spewing toxic gas, flying squirrels moving too fast to hit, and owls the size of a preteen, all pushed his repertoire of fighting skills to expand. On the brink of death he would pull an instinctual, last-ditch effort to end the life or death struggle.
Owls had a strong grip which meant he had to dodge rather than block. The butterfly’s poison forced him to use the complete range of his bastard sword. The blindingly-fast squirrels taught him to predict trajectories and aim accordingly.
Each obstacle furthered his dextrous handling of the blade and honed the basics of sword play. His venture into new techniques gave him the skills Blade Mastery and Weightless Blade. Working to master the skills served to break the monotony of getting stronger; his vow for revenge never strayed too far from his mind.
Skill Name:Skill Rank:Skill Level:Skill Experience:Blade Mastery (Passive)BeginnerLvl.135%Blade mastery is the basic skill that blade-oriented warriors learn. It is the guide of simplistic combat, the melody of the strongest fighter, and the theory of the universe. Blade mastery stands as the foundation for greatness present in everyone.
Increase the skill’s level to unlock more techniques and increase their proficiency. Learning new blade-oriented skills or forms will add experience as well as create a sub-skill for that technique.-Sub Skills-Basic Sword TechniquesSlashBeginnerLvl.317%StabBeginnerLvl.284%BlockBeginnerLvl.237%-Weightless Blade FormThe product of dextrous sword play and unmatched physical prowess.Weightless SwordBeginnerLvl.113%
The Weightless Blade Form was the result of Baron’s high dexterity, his barbarian strength that swung the sword with ease, and the perfect balance the blade exhibited. When he invoked the skill the Iron Bastard’s opacity seemed to lower. The massive chunk of iron would become as weightless as a feather, and Baron’s attack speed nearly tripled—all at the cost of momentum. Without any weight behind them, his swings seemed to tickle the enemy. The skill was worthless for anything other than a quick block. Additionally, since the skill could only be used for two seconds before his mana ran out, he couldn’t rely it more than once every couple fights.
Baron wiped sweat from his brow after striking the last blow on a butterfly and took a sip from his canteen. The copper container gave the water an unpleasant, mineral taste. If it wasn’t for his exhaustion he would’ve waited for a stream to cross his path instead of drinking the rancid-tasting water.
The sound of a snapping twig startled him as he dropped the canteen and readied his stance. Paranoia ran rampant in the forest. It constantly kept Baron on edge, and he savored every moment. The adrenaline added euphoria to the experience. Like a drug, it reined in his focus and kept him steadfast to his goals.
Expecting to see an owl or other forest critter, Baron turned to find something much more entertaining. A familiar face, adorned with new confidence and a malicious grin, stared at him. Fire burned in the new arrival’s eyes as he looked at his prey with an accumulation of hatred.
Luca’s mind deadlocked. His only goal was to get revenge, not only for himself but for his love, Teresa—his mother. So many conflicting emotions stormed in the pubescent kid’s mind that he couldn’t think clearly. The love for a parent, or was it for a Goddess? His hate for Baron, and the hate for his father, it all seemed to spiral into one hell with no escape on the horizon.
His second chance to prove himself worthy to those whose love he desires had finally arrived. After the fateful meeting with Teresa, Luca went straight to work. The goddess’ gift sat on the border of broken game mechanics. Despite the restrictions it still allowed him near complete control over another player, however, that wasn’t its’ biggest advantage; Rapture rose familiarity in its’ wake. He didn’t have to sustain it for more than an hour before the unsuspecting player would accompany him out of friendship and reverence.
The only real drawback laid in the skill’s conditions. They whittled down the list of susceptible targets to only the worthless and annoying. Generally players under the age of 12 aren’t very serious gamers and offered meager use at best.
Once the effects of Rapture set in on a psychological level, the minions would begin to look at him religiously. Even the most useless runts he dominionized wouldn’t leave no matter what level of verbal abuse he employed.
After a week of gaining followers, Luca’s thirst for power finally quenched. It bordered overkill, the amount of pawns he planned to bring into battle. Baron had cheated during their last duel, so he didn’t plan to take any chances. With the love of Teresa he could fight on equal terms, a gift too gracious to squander.
“I won't let a piece-of-shit peasant like you harm her, so just give up and die, worm!” screamed Luca. His emotions catapulted him into battle. The trusty sword, death, lashed towards the barbarian’s neck. With only the flick of a wrist, Baron deflected the sluggish stroke. As he shifted stances and prepared to cleave the boy in two, a sharp pain erupted from his side.
The dagger that slide out of a wound had pierced his kidney, leaving a stream of warmth flowing down his leg. A glance towards his attacker revealed a girl. No older than nine, her face washed over with fear as tears welled up in her crystal, blue eyes. With no resistance, the Iron Bastard cut from shoulder to waist. Innocent, blonde pig-tails the length of her torso fell like feathers to the ground.
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Like an elementary school at recess, children crawled out of the woodwork. Each was no older than twelve with some as young as seven. They surrounded Baron with blades in hand; each sported a glint of regret and fear in their eyes. Baron had no qualms about killing children in the game, though he doubted any thrill would come of it—such a pity.
“Who’s stronger now? huh, maggot?” Luca’s face twisted in rage. ”I’m gunna fucking kill you for what you did to Teresa!”
Baron wore a grin of bliss as he awaited what was to come. He had been longing for a fight like this. Blood boiled and adrenaline coursed, fueling his intoxication. He even surprised himself with such a bloodthirsty appetite; these were children after all. Before going to prison he was never as violent as this. Rebellious and ill-tempered? More so than most, but he never craved the pain of others like he did now.
He first noticed the sickness as it began to fester two years after his confinement began. The unpredictability of a man sentenced to death warrants near complete isolation. Out of four walls, a bed with grey-tone sheets, a waist high sink, and a three-by-six-inch slot in the door, the latter held the most intrigue. It was the only non-static element to the room.
The scenery came alive as he peered through the window. The sole object in his view was a bleak wall, the same as the four in his cell, but this one showed him things. Only after weeks of tracing the brick pattern in his mind did he see it—the figures dancing in the shadows. Faceless, featureless, the beings liked to taunt him.
They enjoyed watching him suffer and played on his weakest emotions. They could show him things, times from his past that he would rather forget. His childhood rolled like a movie before him. He watched his step father assault his mother. He watched his brother try to help, becoming the victim instead. He tried to peel his eyes away in vain as the scene switched to that of a hospital. Once again, his brother left before he could say goodbye.
The cruel beings in the wall refused to show him any of the moments he was fond of. The memories he had of pure bliss began to die. He forgot about the baseball bat he got for his eleventh Christmas and his first time with a women, yet he could eidetically recall the streams of tears as they branched down the faces of those at the trial.
The people in the wall loved to show him everything to do with the night of his friends murder. With no memories of his to base the events, they experimented with what could have happened. They showed him with a gun, putting a bullet in the heads of each of his friends. They especially liked the scenario where he held a knife. The horror as he slashed those he loved turned to melancholy after a decade with the scene on repeat.
Years of being agonized by only the black versions of the crime crushed all hope he had for innocence. At first he tried to imagine the white versions in his mind—him and his friends were mugged. Although he tried to fend off their attacker, the man killed the three—these white versions soon became tainted by the black; imagination cuts in both directions.
The beings in the wall corrupted his mind until he enjoyed their convoluted tales. He hated them for it. Looking back, Baron could finally bring the faces of the featureless into focus. They were surprisingly young, innocent almost.
A sword imbedding itself in his stomach brought his focus back from oblivion. Shifting from memories of newly recognizable tormentors to his assailant brought a wave of recognition. Looking at each of the kids Luca gathered, sixteen in all, Baron could remember each of them from his time on death row. All he saw on the frightened children’s faces was a facade, hiding the mockery and laughter of those in the wall.
Inspecting Luca’s face he could see the most devilish being of them all. He was the one who handed him the knife and forced him to slaughter his friends. This child had put the memory on repeat for him to savor without end.
A torrent of fire engulfed the mad barbarian’s eyes. The children who had yet to tremble became stiff with fear. Luca told them their target was weak. He belittled this beast and gave them false confidence. They had thought this would be a fight to uphold Luca’s honorable name, but it turned into nightmare that drenched them in cold sweat. The valiant image they held of their leader faded. They could see now that he never cared for them. But pawns in another child’s scheme for revenge, they had no purpose to fight aside from self defense.
Baron began his slaughter. He culled the demons that tortured him for years. Within seconds the forest’s fog became tainted with crimson. The cold, crisp breeze became a warm mist; a taste of iron lingered in the air. Had their bodies not faded after death the scene would be scattered with giblets. The low-leveled players had no defense to stop their limbs from being cleaved.
Most of their lives ended with one stroke—sudden and painless. In seconds they could take the virtual reality headsets off and escape the game that had become hell. Their parents in the vicinity could console the kids and avoid any lasting, mental scars. Though, Luca wouldn’t be so lucky.
The sole-remaining child kneeled between two trees splattered with blood. His pride wouldn’t allow him to beg; he owed at least that much to Teresa. The indignity of failing shouldn’t couple with cowardice.
When he looked at his executioner's face, he saw an unbound inferno in Baron’s eyes. The heat they radiated could evaporate oceans, yet the barbarian’s tears seemed unaffected. The face of a man conflicted with rage, hatred, suffering and guilt conveyed a somber image. If only through their relationship of strife and disgust, Luca began to sympathize with the barbarian. He knew the feeling of painful eyes all too well, however, he couldn’t begin to scratch the surface of Baron’s sorrow.
The forest grew still as the Iron Bastard took its’ last life that night. The beast’s shirt was saturated with blood and sweat, clinging to his skin after the heat of battle. The demons that drove him insane were dead, but Baron’s broken sanity failed to mend. Left standing in a pool of scarlet, his mind shrouded in the ecstasy of massacre, only one thought remained—more.
House of WolvesPrevious ChapterArc 1 Conclusion Tomorrow
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Author’s Notes
Like I said this chapter is a little fucked up. I didn’t mean for it to turn out that was. In my fic Reaper this scene is just a bunch of random users in the hunting grounds that, like Luca, are jealous of Baron’s monopoly of the area. With the addition of the Skill Rapture I tried to keep it modestly strong while staying true to the goddess Teresa’s image as a motherly figure. The result was the slaughter of children…
Anyways, the Arc 1 Conclusion will be released tomorrow. I guess it just attests to the growth of RoyalRoadL in the fact that House of Wolves doesn’t even have half the average views that Reaper did, despite (In my opinion at least) an improvement in writing. Chapter length likely plays a huge role as well. For those that haven’t read my last fic, the average chapter length was 10,000 words, and by the end of chapter 2 it was as progressed in the story as far as HoW is at the end of Arc 1.
This chapter has yet to be proofread. If you would like to help you can do so Here. (this is getting repetitive):)