VOLUME 1
- CHAPTER 35 -
THE END
This is it, death. The highest form of freedom a being can have.
You simply lost in a game of luck, nothing more nothing less. A mistake, an accident, an unfortunate event, a hopeless situation, an injustice. It doesn’t matter what you call it, the fact that you died is immutable. It’s as simple as that.
But look at the bright side, your death wasn’t all that bad. How many people have died in an instant without a single achievement? They are born, play around, make friends, have dreams, study, train, build strong ideals… all to die in the first second of a battle.
Mancro: “Such bad luck, don’t you think?” – The gravelly voice of an old man echoes.
With a startle, the scenario lightens up with the sudden opening of an eyelid. The dark iris trembles as the man who just woke up searches his surroundings with rapid movements.
Mold, rough stone walls, rusty iron bars, and darkness are the only things in sight.
One drop of water slowly slides up the middle of his nose to his forehead and drops to the ceiling, splashing a puddle of water on the brick stone.
Mancro: “But you’re different… you are lucky.”
The man vainly tries to free himself, but the thick chains pin him upside down. His shaded silhouette struggles in the moonlight coming from a graded window above, right in the middle of this small dark room.
The chain’s metal clicks against each other and the steps of a shadow in front echo.
Mancro: “Because you see…”
The old man steps forward, moonlight illuminating his face, a wrinkled demon with dark purple skin, long grey hair, and yellow teeth.
Mancro: “You were granted life after death!”
“Mhmmmm-mhmm!” – The cloth in his mouth muffles his complaints.
Mancro: “How wonderfully lucky! To think I could revive a Hero, what splendid luck indeed! How lucky I am for finding you, and how extremely lucky you are to have met me, Dark Strider! This must be the work of the Gods!”
Strider widens his eyes, remembering everything that happened, the village, the battle, and the fact that he lost. His battlefield escape attempt failed. His right eye ruthlessly remembers him of that, when an excruciating pain burns once he tries to open it, but it is in vain, his eye is all but lost already, no healing magic could repair it at this point. On his face, a long straight scar begins at the top of his temple, passes through his injured right eye, and ends above his chin.
Mancro: “Now, now. No need to be scared. If Lord Neralg wanted to kill you, you would be dead already.”
“Mhmm-mm, mmm!”
Mancro: “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take that off when the ritual is done. I can’t let someone as important as you bite your own tongue unsupervised, can I? That would be very, very unfortunate.”
The old demon walks back to the entrance door, extends his slim arms to a lever at his right, and pushes it down. The chains are suddenly released and Strider falls violently to the ground, hitting his shoulder on the stone and laying with his belly upwards.
The chains quickly descend link by link to his chest. A thunderous clank echoes from a metal bar above, and in a scare, Strider rolls to his left, successfully evading a ball of iron crashing into a crater where his head was but a moment ago.
“Fhuk.”
Mancro: “Come on now, I didn’t wake you up for you to die. Don’t be unlucky and end up dying like that.”
The old demon speaks as if he was scolding a little kid.
“Bhmmmm, a-mm ghmm hm mmmmh-mm,” – he growls furiously.
The demon steps out of the prison cell where a torch illuminates the outside corridor.
Mancro: “Lord Neralg is waiting for you, we have no time for this futility. Get up and follow me.” – His eyes shine purple.
Energy comes to Strider’s eyes like an electrical current and the metal collar at his neck heats up, making him stand immediately.
He shakes his head confused and he grabs the thing on his neck, just now noticing the strange collar with small iron thorns pointed outside. He tries to pull it off, but it doesn’t budge, the metal is too strong and it seems to have no visible locks to open.
His attempts only make the heat rise.
Mancro: “I told you to follow me.”
The old demon stares from the corridor. Strider hesitantly lifts his feet from the chains he’s now free of and goes forward, still grabbing the collar with discomfort and trying to stop the heat from burning his throat. On each step forward, his collar cools down.
Strider reaches the outside, where the same pattern of rough stones as in his cell repeat. The demon takes the only torch there was from the near wall and points it forward to light the narrow corridor, its blue flames wavering with each step.
Mancro: “To think you could defeat five thousand of our army with only three-hundred units. That’s impressive.”
Strider looks at the demon’s back with a frown, going in steady steps.
Mancro: “… very lucky, very lucky indeed,” – he whispers to himself.
Then, only their steps echoed in the silence.
At their sides, there were only rows of iron bar doors just like the room Strider was in before. At first, it seemed that all of them were empty, room after room after room, there was nothing inside besides scraps of cloth leaning on the corners, but the strange was that: as soon the light came, they moved.
Only around the hundredth cell seen, that Strider saw the skinny people trembling weakly and peeking from below the blanket scraps. They were like skeletons with only skin, their dry eyes popping from their eye sockets like they didn’t belong together anymore. It was terrible, some stunk more than others, the scent of rotten flesh. It was nauseating, Strider had to cover his nose or he would throw up.
It was like there was no end, but after a few minutes, the cells end in a spiral staircase, allowing them to go up.
Mancro: “Our Lord is kind, but no kindness comes without respect. So, behave yourself in front of our highness.”
Another electrical shock hits Strider’s collar, a weaker one that didn’t change its heat.
After an almost full minute of going up, the stairs lead to a better structure with less filth, more light, and wider rooms.
The demon leaves the torch on the wall, and they keep walking through what appears to be a big stone castle or mansion. Tall armored guards stand on the corners of the corridors, all with different skin colors from the rainbow, but with the same shiny metal uniform and clean spears. Every time Strider passed close by one, their eyes beyond their helmets would lock downward at him.
After a few minutes of walking, the old demon stops at a big redwood door at the end of a large hall, a black mat with golden diamond-shaped details covering the middle path of the floor toward it.
Mancro: “Here we are. Our Lord is expecting us.”
The two green-skinned guards on the sides nod, extend their hands in sync and touch the great door with their fingers. Red energy spreads out within the gaps in the wood like pouring blood. What at first appeared to be a random patterned door, now lights up specific paths on its design to draw two great axes hitting their blades against each other, thorned roots all over. Once all paths connect in the center, a heavy metal lock clicks from within.
With heaviness, the mechanisms crack and tick to slowly make it open inwards, only now showing it being half-meter metal thick. The wood from outside was perhaps but a decoration, a misleading texture hiding the great door’s strength.
And so, the purple old demon marches in.
The leading hall is the size of a mansion but of pure empty space. Giant columns lay on the sides and a wide mat covers the floor’s central path to show its elegance.
The slightly-arched ceiling hits a dozen stories high, filled with a picture of an army facing toward the throne from an upper view. It’s like you were seeing a mirror, where tens of thousands of top heads were stacked on the other side. It’s so trippy that it might take you some time to realize it is not a simple pattern.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Mancro: “My lord, I brought the human hero, as requested.”
The old demon bows to the other end of the hall, where at a slightly elevated ground, the biggest demon Strider has ever seen in his life was seated on the throne.
Neralg: “I see.”
The deep voice trembles the room with prowess.
Neralg: “Dark Strider… Fallen Hero. Lufeape Village’s commander. And killer of Adiana, she who was the seventh elite demon of my army.”
He stares down with an overwhelming aura.
Neralg: “Come forth.”
Strider goes up the few steps, looking wearily at the golden throne made of skulls and bones and at the four demons protecting its sides, these, whatever, have different equipment from the rest of the guards, all their gear is legendary, if not above in quality.
The first looks like a tall human, though he is mostly covered in a blue watery full armor; the second has black smoke constantly coming out of his leather clothes, his skin is green, and long ears poke his lifted hood from the sides, though he looks like a goblin, he’s taller than the average; then on the other side, there’s a muscular horned-demoness using a pulsating giant sword made of hardened flesh; and the last is the silver-haired short girl with a white cloak that was at the battlefield earlier, there was no way Strider could forget her “friendly” smiles.
The two male demons on the left glare at the human with disgust; the big demon-woman on the right glances focuslessly to the paintings at the ceiling; and for the short girl, she excitedly stares at Strider.
Strider halts once the King lifts the palm of his hand, still many steps away but at the same elevation as the throne.
Neralg: “You have lost. Been captured. All your soldiers fell as you fled to save your own life.”
Strider stares unflinchingly at the King, who wears a type of light armor made of shiny dark metal with gold details, his crown having thorns pointing to the ceiling and mending together with a metal helmet that covers his ears and nose.
The Lord leans forward.
Neralg: “I give you two options.” – His voice echoes in the hall. – “Die in shame, or serve me as an army commander.”
Mancro, the old demon, smirks and moves his hand in the air to magically remove the cloth blocking Strider’s mouth.
But the smoky demon nervously taps his feet and turns to the throne.
Skom: “Ranking a Human?” – He hisses loudly. – “Even if he was a Hero, he’s worthless! Too weak to even be a soldier!”
The Lord heavily turns his eyes at Skom, making the lesser demon step back.
Neralg: “A commander doesn’t need to be strong, but to lead with strength. That strength can come from many sources other than pure muscle, Skom. I thought you of all commanders would know that.”
Skom lowers his head, gritting his teeth.
Skom: “Yes, my Lord.”
Neralg: “So, what do you choose? I won’t repeat myself.”
The hall is dominated by silence. Strider glances at everything around him with cold sweat going down his temple, it takes him a few seconds to build enough courage to stand straight and then bow.
“I accept it,” – his voice trembles, – “…my lord.”
The little girl demon opens a happy smile, and the Lord heavily stands up from his throne.
Neralg: “Welcome, Dark Strider.” – His heavy steps come closer to the human almost half his size. – “New seventh elite demon of the Shadow’s Army.”
Strider sees the king’s boots in his view, so he lifts his head to look up at him.
Neralg: “But nothing comes without a price, Commander Strider.”
His enormous hand pushes the air forth. Strider goes a step back to try evading it but it’s too late, he’s grabbed by the neck and his entire body is lifted in the air.
Neralg: “To be trusted, you need to show loyalty.”
Strider holds the Giant’s hand, hardly managing to grasp for air.
“Dammit--.”
Neralg: “Accept this bond and be free. Disrespect me, run away, or betray me and you’ll burn to death. Great ritual bond,
Neralg’s eyes shine purple, way stronger than the old demon’s from before.
Strider’s eyes burn as they become like headlights, shooting purple rays everywhere. The pain travels from his neck towards his entire nervous system, and his metal collar becomes hotter like the sun and brightens orange. His mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out besides the erratic light rays.
Neralg: “You’ll obey every order of mine, that’s the only way for you to earn my trust.”
Strider’s lost voice rises from the depths of his throat. Like molten lava erupting from a volcano, he finally manages to emit a sound, a terrifying glitchy screech of a dying animal as his entire body gradually glows brighter.
“Ã̴͈̣͉̤͕̰̹̣̮͉̦̇̎̈͋̽̆͋̀ͅ-̶͇̲͇̫̬̻̺͛͝ą̵̨̨͎̟̩͚̘̥̜̂̎̾̅̏̀́̆͆̽̔̍͝-̵̛̤͍̉̂̿͝A̶͇͒̍̐͛̈́́̈̈́́-̸̡̥̺̞̥̪̝̫͍̟̀ͅͅa̴̡̢̨̡̛̠̼̦͇̣̜͍͔̍͂̍͛͑̓̐̄̏͘-̸̞̯̙͈̦̟̬͚̭̻͓̩̽A̸̟̰͍̎̍̆̏͂̇̓-̷̢̡̺̗̺̮̄͌̆̓̅̔̿̏̚̕͝a̵̢̭̥̥̙̣̬̗̹͚͉̽̉̆̈͗̅-̴̡͎̬͔̄̋͗̆̒̒͝ͅa̸̫̓̀̀̍̽̌́̀͑͘͘͝-̵̡̻̯̪̓̍͂͒̀̾̉̏̐̏̾͘͜A̴̧̨̨̡̛̪̝̳̫̙͑͊̂̄̄͗̅̎̓̈́-̵̡̛͉͇̣̺̈́̉̋̀̑ͅḁ̷̛̟̮͆̈́̈̂̂͆̚̚-̶̢̼̭̺͉̞̥͈͈̪͛̄͒̀̽̚͜ͅh̷̫͎͔̝͈̘͛̐̎̚͘͝ͅ-̶̨̺̤̠͇̩̪̞̖̱̖́̓̿͑̓̓͒̀̓͒̌̏͝H̴̩̫̄̓͊͛͆͝-̵̬͙̙̲̬͓͍̘̱̮̟̎̐̏H̸̺͍͛̓͒̓̅̄͑̌͘-̸̙͙̝̰̖̯͉̯́͆͌̍̔̈́̇͜h̴̗̼̙͖͎͇̻́̂-̷̦̯̤̀̅̆̉͐̌̇̏Ḫ̴̺͚̼̃̓͌̆͗̿͗̂̔̉͌-̵̧̠̤̱̳̋Ḩ̶̫̥͓̥̖̖̟̏͋͌̽̉̈́͂́”
The entire hall becomes purple, and then, everything stops, again going to the dark void.
…
…
…
- - - - - - - -
To think it was all but a game…
For it to turn like this. I’m wondering if this is something completely different.
Though it doesn’t fully explain it either.
It’s like we are connected somehow.
- - - - - - - -
The corridors of the white labyrinth are empty, its fancy stone walls and golden luminous baseboards untouched near its entrance, but as you go deeper, red splashes begin to appear on the walls and floors; they become more frequent with each step in, quickly turning into pools of pure blood; then pieces of giant meats lay scattered on the cold floor, ranging from fingertips to separated torsos or perforated corpses of Ogres; in every corner turned, the scenery gets worse.
It all stops at the last Ogre lying on the floor, and a tall man drenched in red breathing heavily as he takes his giant red pickaxe’s prickle out of the monster’s three heads. Tired, Willrus jumps and kneads the floor with his weight and glances around, certifying that there are no more Ogres alive.
Small steps echo behind him, he turns to see a little girl with pink wolf ears extending both her hands and offering the man a piece of cloth for him to clean himself. With hesitation, he takes it with a bit of annoyance.
- - - - - - - -
But what would that make of us? who is between it all?
Are we ghosts? Mere apparitions? A recurring event?
Or but observers of what is to come?...
No, that’s clearly not it. We’re way more than that.
- - - - - - - -
On a monitor screen a video entitled “Advanced AI or player stuck in-game? – Samsara Fall Online” plays on a webpage, showing three players running from War Ogres as messages pop in the chat with the purple name of an NPC called “DArkstrider”.
The view counter rises from a few dozen to hundreds, to thousands, and then millions. The commentaries rise at the same pace, flooding with doubts and conspiracies.
- - - - - - - -
We’re players. That’s the only fitting word.
And look at that…
So many possibilities are opening now…
It’s endless.
Just like when stars were born in genesis.
- - - - - - - -
In the northeast mountains, someone wearing grey-furred clothes hikes in the middle of a blizzard, her legs cutting through the deep snow. Suddenly, the strong wind reveals her black wolf ears and strong dark-skinned face in a swipe. With a grunt, she grips her hood and closes it, never slowing down her pacing.
On the plain fields somewhere down southwest, the noise quiets down with the calmer climate. Where birds sing peacefully and the grass rustle with the wind, a puffing white-cloaked mage uses a long wooden staff as support to stagger directionless;
Traveling far towards the northwest, passing over a great stone wall, we reach the shady back alleys of a city. The bar’s entrance doorbell rings with the coming of a new visitor, a big-chested woman with dark long hair and fancy pirate clothes of a renegade sailor officer. She stumbles with her first step in and falls unconscious to the floor. All its ugly customers stare with a frown at her, unsure if they should unsheathe their weapons or not;
Then in the east, beyond the many forests and hills, a dark-skinned short girl with dragon-clawed hands seats over a small bolder in front of a ravine-like cave. She yawns with a long stretch and gazes at the clear sky with sad eyes, waiting for something to happen;
And going into the forest in front, a red-haired knight walks ever so cautiously with his thin sword pointed forward. His handsome face sweats nervously as the greens and browns around contrast with his character while he moves stealthily. And in a leap forward, he strikes.
- - - - - - - -
So dazzling it blinds…
The moon lights a slim silhouette stepping forward from within the darkness.
???: “Damn, finally.” – He opens a smile. – “I was getting bored.”