Chapter 55: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 2

Sylvester jerked awake. He had fallen asleep while showering, and as a result, he slipped and almost fell as long as he was. He managed to stop the fall by leaning against the wall with one hand and the glass with the other, but it wasn't a pleasant awakening, that's for sure.

It would be ironic if someone like him died slipping in the shower, which was a depressingly common cause of death. Of course, it was impossible for him to die that way due to his inhuman body, but the idea was amusing nonetheless. In a macabre way.

He shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He couldn't dry off completely like wringing out a mop, but the water would be replaced by more falling from the showerhead.

The near-fall, the pressure of the water, the warmth. Yes, it had definitely not been a pleasant awakening. But the thing was, he had woken up... Well, he had no idea how long he had been asleep, but it wasn't night or anything. He had woken up at eight-thirty in the morning, longer than he usually slept, and immediately went for a shower.

Why had he fallen asleep so easily? He had slept well for a change. He felt rested for a change.

"Not everything has a convoluted explanation." Talking to himself could be productive, and he believed that everyone did it when they were alone; the truly crazy thing would be doing it surrounded by others. Crazy or sad. Being alone, feeling alone, might seem the same, but... "Tonight was the exception that proves the rule. I'm always training, tired. It's not strange that I fell asleep."

That was probably the truth. And saying it out loud helped, as if it made it more real.

The reason didn't matter either. Anything that helped, helped. Well, it was time to finish the shower, wake up for real... and what? Another day of training with Heather, struggling to break down the wall of his inferiority complex, knowing he wouldn't be able to, only ending up more frustrated, more inferior?

Another day of just waiting for news from the other two Champions of Roman’s world, out there somewhere, scheming and plotting to destroy them all?

Perhaps that's why he had become numb in the shower and ended up sleeping.

Because things were on pause, and he didn't handle it well.

Sylvester stepped out of the shower. Drying off and then putting on anything other than pajamas, obviously. But he couldn't even complete the first step. He felt pain that he first registered throughout his leg. By the time he realized it was located in his ankle, he had already fallen to the floor.

His left ankle was brutally slashed, to the point that he wouldn't be able to put weight on that foot until it regenerated.

Was he under attack? There was no trace of an enemy or the weapon used. He hadn't seen or heard anything, but what else could he have cut himself on? And so easily. Clearly, someone had attacked him.

An enemy? That wouldn't explain why he hadn't heard or felt anything, considering how sharp all his senses were. But he couldn't have accidentally cut himself on something; he had been cut. Right now.

The enemy was here, even if he couldn't smell it.

Sylvester crawled on the floor toward the door, reaching for the handle. There were no cameras in the damn bathroom or his room. In other words, the cavalry wasn't on the way. He had to alert them that this was happening.

Sylvester opened his mouth, but he couldn't scream either. At that moment, "something" sliced his throat with the same ease and speed as his ankle.

Of course, somehow, it was just as impossible to detect.

He brought his other hand to the wound, pressing. What the hell was happening? He couldn't even let his guard down while showering in a secret base, surrounded by allies. And this, what the hell was happening?

How could he fight or defend against an enemy impossible to track?

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He had no idea, but damn it, it couldn't end like this. Naked and defenseless, murdered in his own room. The enemy had to be here, somewhere, so he just had to attack indiscriminately.

He used [Mountain of Needles], filling the bathroom in the blink of an eye with those spikes, harder and sharper than ever. The bathroom was unrecognizable. He heard the mirror in front of the sink shatter, its pieces scattering everywhere.

Did he catch it?

Optimism wasn't his thing, but he didn't see (haha) how it could have dodged that. Too fast, too numerous, practically instantaneous, and in a closed room. He wasn't saying he had killed it for sure, but at least he must have injured it.

If he was, however, he couldn't even see it bleed.

He frowned.

Sylvester was practically trapped against the door because of the mountain of needles.

Not really trapped, of course. What he meant was that if, somehow, it had escaped those spikes... he could catch it without room to maneuver, between the wall of spikes and the door, before it had time to get up, before it could leave the room.

But he hadn't even felt the attacks, not once! Only the pain. Only the blood.

So, he wouldn't know until it was too late.

Damn, there has to be some way, he thought. Think. Think.

***

Ryan was on his way to the training area reserved for them. Well, usually Heather and Sylvester monopolized it. On the way, he encountered many agents and other union workers.

His comrades, or at least in theory. At least on the battlefield. At this moment of peace, so to speak, they might leave him alone, but they weren't as subtle as they thought. How quickly they moved away from him in the hallways. The whispers.

"I don't understand how he's allowed to walk freely, as if he were one of us."

Exactly, that's what all the insults behind his back were about. That he wasn't one of them. That he never would be. The worst part was that he couldn't even get too angry; deep down, he knew he would act the same way if the roles were reversed.

Oh, he wished he could be better, wished he could be one of those who would reach out a hand to someone in need.

But deep down, he knew how hard it would be to see another like him as anything more than a Lunar Remnant disguised as a human for now, if he hadn't been through this.

That's why Cynthia's hatred had been almost comforting.

She had hated him for quite some time for what he had done when he was still a normal human, not just for what he had become. Something he had had no control over.

The door to the training room opened by itself as soon as he approached, sliding out of his way. It wasn't like a supermarket door, of course; it only opened for those who could use it. He didn't know the system used for it to distinguish him, and he didn't care too much. He just needed to know that it would open for him.

Inside was the Lunar Princess... That is, Heather. Cynthia too.

But no Sylvester.

"Weird. He's always the first to arrive."

Heather nodded.

"Yeah. We both said the same thing."

"He must have fallen asleep." Cynthia shrugged. "We're just waiting for the next battle, and he still doesn't stop, it's like he's hungry. If I were him, I'd have crashed out too. Maybe he could sleep for days."

"Could be," Ryan simply said.

"Could be, but you don't believe it?"

"As you said yourself, he's so serious... But I also don't think something could have happened to him in this base without anyone noticing. It's probably nothing."

"People from that world are too big," Heather said. "There's no way they could go unnoticed in the base, even if they got rid of the armor and disguised themselves somehow. Good luck finding clothes that size!"

Yeah, those were all good points, but Ryan didn't fully believe even in what he himself had said. Anyway, he felt uneasy.

Well, there was nothing wrong with taking a look, just to be sure. He would feel stupid once he saw that it was nothing, but he wanted it to be nothing.

***

Sylvester tried to get up slowly and as best he could, the spikes significantly restricted his movement. In fact, he didn't even manage to stand up; he found that his limit was crouching.

That was what he had intended, intending not to give the intruder the chance to escape the mountain of needles.

But if he hadn't died, and he probably hadn't, then he was just an inconvenience. Sylvester didn't even turn around. He opened the bathroom door with his back, with enough force to tear it off its hinges, he would have fallen on his ass on the floor, but instead, it fell onto the door.

He hadn't attacked him again, but it didn't mean he had won in one blow.

It didn't even necessarily mean he had been seriously injured, or not. It could be, but it seemed too optimistic an idea. In reality, he was convinced that somehow the intruder had slipped away, and the only thing that had prevented him from reaching him before he left the narrow bathroom was the obstacles in the way.

Sylvester grabbed the katana, resting next to the bed. Luckily, he never left it too far from him. He couldn't fall asleep without it.

But it was useless against an enemy he couldn't cut. If he couldn't even smell it, it wasn't merely invisible, it wasn't entirely there. Or here, in this world. In any case, one thing was clear. The powers of the Lunar Remnants could be very esoteric, but this was not a Lunar Remnant.

One of the two remaining champions that the union had been looking for had come to him.

"Better men than you have tried." The cut in his throat was healing. Not enough to shout, not yet; his voice lacked power. But he was sure the intruder heard every word clearly. "And I win, I always win. Because I'm a survivor."

***

I am too, Kurt thought. Let me prove it to you.

The Two Remaining Champions, Part 2: FIN