Ch.12: Awakening

Chapter word count: 2840

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By the time Airot awoke, a firm hand was shaking his shoulder.

“Sheesh, you’re quite a sleepyhead,” Darc said, his tone more amused than annoyed.

Airot groaned. “What time is it?”

“It took longer than expected,” Darc stated as he offered his hand to Airot. “I’d say we’re pretty late.”

Accepting the hand, Airot yawned. “How late are we?”

“Well, I’d say we’re nearing nightfall.”

Airot shrugged off his weariness and turned to Darc. “Nearing night?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s been a few hours.”

“There’s no way your book club takes a few hours,” Airot mocked. “This makes no sense. I wasn’t even tired—why would I sleep for that long?” Airot squabbled, his tone was thick with confusion.

“Hey, man, you’re rambling,” Darc interrupted Airot’s befuddlement. “Let’s just finish off now,” he gestured for them to leave.

Still bothered by his inexplicable nap, Airot begrudgingly followed.

He returned the books while Darc bid farewell to his clubmates.

Exiting into the alley, Airot looked up, it was still day with the sun overhead, its brightness undimmed.

Darc began leading them through the alleyways once more. As they walked, Airot lingered in thought, his unease deepening.

‘A multi-hour nap? That’s so unlike me… In fact, thinking about it, haven’t I been… unlike myself recently?’

His thoughts churned over his recent behavior.

‘I’ve ended up following people before, that’s fine, but with Darc specifically, haven't I caved to his words too often?’

They exited the alleyway, but instead of heading straight to the library Darc went across the street.

‘Something’s wrong.’

“Hey,” Airot called out, his voice sharp. “Where’re you going now? Or are you breaking your promise?”

Darc stopped in his tracks for a moment before turning around to face Airot.

He released a sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. “We’re going to the library. I just thought we’d take a detour.”

“Oh really?” Airot doubted. “A detour when it's literally straight ahead?”

“Yes, really,” Darc looked up to the sky with a wistful smile on his lips. “Come on. At this point, we’re practically friends, no?” his tone was uncharacteristically soft. Before Airot could respond, he continued on, his voice tinged with melancholy. “I just want to spend a little more time with you, even if it’s wasteful. I mean… who knows when again we’ll meet.”

The smile he wore seemed genuine, yet something about it unnerved Airot. He couldn’t help but follow along once again.

They walked in silence as Airot thought back to his actions throughout the day.

He knew that taking such a long nap was abnormal for him, but he just had to accept it.

The irritation from his own unusualness piled up as Darc took them through a few turns.

Despite the streets being nearly identical, this alleyway was a bit larger and more complex than the one hiding the book club. The twisting passages grew narrower and more oppressive with each turn.

Old and worn posters were seldom placed over the walls flanking them, sometimes peeling slightly.

Muffled thuds could be heard coming from within buildings.

A faint breeze traveled alongside them in the narrow path.

Piles of trash lay undisturbed in the corners—empty cans, cracked glass, and a sour smell that grew stronger with every step.

The air itself felt heavier here, stale and humid.

Darc slowed his steps, and Airot silently matched pace.

Making one final turn, the passage came to an abrupt stop.

“Go on ahead,” Darc motioned for Airot to go further down the alley.

“Isn’t it just a dead end?”

“Trust me. I mean, we’ve already been through an alleyway.”

Shrugging it off, Airot stepped forward.

This end was especially dim.

His shoe stepped on old cardboard on the ground and crunched on a shard of broken glass.

As he neared the wall, he could make out the gritty surface with pipes snaking along it. Even in the poor lighting, the grime streaks were apparent. It was certainly a dead end.

Turning around back to Darc, he saw him looking up to the sky.

“It’s time,” Darc muttered, his voice low yet clear enough for Airot to hear.

Before Airot could question him, something shifted.

They were suddenly covered in shade.

Looking above, the center of the sky darkened.

Watching it again, it seemed that the darkness started right above the library. It quickly spread out and devoured the rest of the sky like ink spilled across a page.

Within moments, the daylight was gone. Pitch darkness remained for a moment as Airot watched the night appear for a second time.

Sparkling dots began to bloom in the sky, glimmering like scattered diamonds in a velvet abyss.

And just like before, a large space was reserved for the moon. The blinding celestial orb appeared in the center of the night, aligned directly above the Library of Panceia. Enormous and radiant, it casted an unearthly glow over Panceia.

The eerie beauty of the serene scene momentarily mesmerized Airot, his thoughts stilled by the spectacle.

“Hey…” Airot began, his voice quiet. “Didn’t you act like once we went to the library, we’d never see each other again?” Airot slowly peered back down. “But… aren’t we staying at the same inn?”

The lack of torches or any other light source made the alleyways they were in especially dark. But the moon’s light spilled into the alley just enough to illuminate Darc in silver hue.

He raised a hand to his head, rubbing his temples in silence.

‘Something’s off…’

Airot looked straight at Darc, who seemed oddly luminous under the moon’s glow, his features sharp and shadowed.

‘…very off!’

“Ah, finally,” Darc spoke to himself, seemingly disregarding Airot’s presence. “These nagging voices will finally end. I don’t get what’s so special about you, anyway.”

He began walking toward Airot, his steps slow and deliberate, his hand still clutching his head. The vibe he exuded was far different than just earlier.

Airot took a step back as he inherently felt something was wrong here.

“Hey!” Airot called out. “What’s with this?” he forced a chuckle trying to diffuse the unsettling atmosphere.

“Nothing much, kiddo,” Darc spoke coldly and detached.

“This isn’t funny!” Airot yelled, panic creeping into his voice.

“I’d disagree, actually. But I don’t have time to argue.”

“What happened to your promi—”

*Whack!*

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A heavy punch cut Airot off mid-sentence, slamming his face with brutal force.

He flew backward, hitting the ground hard and sliding across the grimy surface.

Dazed, he struggled to sit up, his hands fumbling as he tried to create space between himself and Darc. The alley’s claustrophobic walls left him nowhere to run.

Even though there was some distance between them, Darc suddenly connected a punch faster than Airot could perceive.

His mind raced as he pieced together the signs he had ignored.

The force of the punch, the distance Darc seemingly traveled instantly, the way Airot had been inexplicably pulled along, even his feats of speed displayed back during the air hockey match, and all the awkward bits throughout.

Airot thought over everything as the pieces finally clicked into place.

“You… You’re a yapper,” Airot stated as he quickly forced himself up.

“So I am. What about it?”

Darc advanced, his figure now cloaked in shadow, the moonlight not sparing a sliver of light to this dead end. His movements were unnervingly calm.

Panic clawed at Airot as he reached for his pocket, searching for anything that could help in this situation.

His hands closed around a pen, hurriedly pulling it out in a pitiful attempt to defend himself.

As he yanked it out, his notepad and the everything bar Haruku had given him tumbled to the ground.

Ignoring the loss, he brandished the pen as if it were a dagger.

Darc let out a low chuckle. “How deadly.”

Before Airot could even swing, another crushing blow launched him straight into the wall behind him.

The pen slipped from his grip, clattering uselessly to the ground.

“I don’t like being messy, you know?” Darc spoke, his tone almost conversational. “Typically, I’d have done this in a cleaner fashion. But you’re quite resilient, and the screams for you are too irritating. I tried enduring it, but it’s too much at this point,” Darc ranted on.

Darc’s foot crushed the everything bar as he stepped forward, the wrapper splitting open with a sharp crunch.

The noise pulled his attention, momentarily distracting him.

“Ah, so you had an E.T. bar, huh? They’re convenient,” he mused as if nothing was happening. His eyes drifted to the other object. “But what’s this? A notepad?”

He stooped to pick it up, flipping through the pages as he approached Airot.

“How silly,” he noted, reaching Airot in a few strides. With a single hand, he grabbed Airot by the throat and lifted him against the wall.

Pinned, Airot was unable to do anything as his airways constricted from Darc’s tightening grip. However, Darc’s attention was focused on the notes.

“So… you arrived at the southernmost district. Zoren’s nurse office… yeah, I don’t know who that is,” Darc commented. “The Library of Panseah?” he chuckled. “Kid, you spelled Panceia wrong. It’s ‘C-E-I-A’, not whatever nonsense you wrote."

“Kurk!” Airot choked as he helplessly tried to rip Darc’s grip open.

Darc simply slammed AIrot into the wall while still lifting him. He turned back to the notes.

“Vryco’s station… I think he’s some transporter. I haven’t met him, though.” he flipped the page. “Elfin? Right, that’s who you were with at the library. Vryco again… Ah, so he uses dust portals? How informative,” he feigned a smile. “Narrow—Narrowah…” Darc pondered the name. “That’s the random who has free entry with the big shots, no? You’ve met him?” he curiously glanced at Airot, who was barely able to breathe. “Strange.”

Summoning every ounce of strength he had, Airot bit into Darc’s hand.

“Ow. That hurts,” Darc remarked dryly, his skin unscathed, not even the markings of a bite imprinted on it.

He released Airot only to deliver a knee to his gut, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Gasping for air, Airot reached for the fallen pen, but Darc’s foot came down on his outstretched hand, pinning it to the crusty floor.

Turning back to the notes, Darc continued where he left off. “Simon… something. Can’t believe you crossed out his last name,” he snickered. “Bubble yapper, friendly guy,” he listed off what was noted. As he saw the next word, his face showed amusement. “Yapst? Like its name?” he rolled his eyes. “Kiddo, you can’t write or openly share anything even remotely related to a yapst name.” Small chuckles slipped out of him. “Intending to do so would get you killed. Did you really have to decorate the words, too?”

Airot strained to move his aching body, only able to bite weakly at Darc’s shoe in desperation.

Ignoring the futile attempt, Darc began to read once more. “Fear of cr—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

For a moment, he stood motionless, the notepad falling from his hand.

Airot’s heart pounded as a thick liquid began to drip onto him.

He turned to look up at him.

Darc weakly took a couple steps back, trying to hold his ground.

Airot grabbed his pen and tried to get up, but his body was unresponsive; no doubt, he’d broken something from Darc’s hits.

Settling for just sitting up, Airot could see Darc’s face.

Even in the dark alleyway, it was clear that blood was seeping out however it could.

It gushed out of his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

Staggering back, his hands trembled as they tried to stem the flow.

He gave a disturbed look to Airot. “You…! How…?!” his voice panicked, thick with rage and confusion.

Darc spat out a concerning amount of blood, with even more leaking out.

Desperation flickered across his face.

In his panic, Darc stumbled to Airot and grabbed him once again.

One hand hoisted Airot by the throat like before; the other held the hand clenching the pen.

*Crunch*

“Gahh!”

Darc crushed Airot’s pen hand.

Letting go of it, he placed both hands around Airot’s neck. This time, there was no mercy.

The world blurred, a dull haze clouded everything but the burn in his throat and chest.

Fingers, iron-strong and unyielding, dug into his neck, sealing off every desperate gasp.

His remaining hand clawed instinctively at Darc’s grip, but the strength behind it was fading.

Darc’s eyes exuded a serious desire to end this fast.

His chest convulsed helplessly as it tried to pull even a sliver of breath.

Sound dimmed to a muted roar as blood pounded louder, drowning out everything but the rush and pulse in his ears.

Shapes and shadows closed in from the edges of his vision, collapsing in slow, inevitable waves until his hand fell limp, no longer clawing.

The struggle bled away as his fading thoughts drifted into oblivion.

Yet in that oblivion, an indescribable weight pressed down on him.

It wasn’t the suffocating grip of Darc—it was deeper, heavier, as though his very soul was being crushed.

Then, from that burden—that void, came a voice paradoxically silent yet omnipresent echoing throughout.

It resonated through him, carrying an impossible weight and undeniable authority.

The First Foe. Fall.

For whatever reason, Darc released his grip and collapsed down to the ground flat, as if an unseen force was pressing him down.

Airot rapidly gasped for air, relieved to find himself unaffected.

Darc, however, was being crushed downward with increasing intensity. The ground beneath him cracked and buckled, breaking apart as his body was forced deeper into it.

Airot reached out, grabbing his head and attempting to move it, but it was immovable. He could see Darc’s mouth moving, but no sound emerged.

“W-What’s wrong with you…” Airot very weakly spoke, still breathing heavily.

Suddenly, Darc’s head jerked as if freed from the oppressive force. His body remained still.

“Y-You! What are you?!” he shouted hoarsely.

Airot didn’t know the answer himself, but he chose to ignore the question. Instead, he turned slowly to gaze up at the night sky.

“Tell me… what’s your yapst?” he softly spoke.

“As if! Release me!” Darc demanded, choking on his own blood.

Airot didn’t react, staying motionless as his eyes fixed on the shadowy veil.

“...If I tell you, will you release me?” Darc asked, his desperation breaking through.

Airot remained unresponsive, his silence pressing heavier than any words could.

Spitting blood and wheezing for air himself, Darc eventually relented. “...I can affect a person’s mind—how they think, act, and what decisions I want them to make.”

“I see…” Airot murmured as he reached for his pen for a third time. The missing puzzle piece fell into place. Thinking back to the book club, he muttered, “That’s why I fell asleep.”

“Yes! I mentioned my yapst for that, now let me go!”

Darc’s desperate cries evoked no reaction.

Sluggishly panning back down, Airot asked one final question in a regretful tone, “Was it all a lie?”

“What? Hah, of course it was! Someone like you should’ve died off long ago! Just like your parents, you’re better off dead!”

A faint, melancholic smile flickered across Airot’s face in the dim light.

He leaned closer to Darc’s head, raising the pen high above.

And then, he swung it down.

It aimed at Darc’s eye with strength he didn’t know he could muster in this state.

*Shluk*

Darc let out an agonizing shriek that tore through the silence, his voice raw and desperate. “You can’t do this to me! I’m the killer here!”

“A yapper sure is tough,” Airot coldly remarked.

Darc continued his ragged and unrelenting screams. “Again, we’ll meet! Let me go!”

“Again, we’ll meet, huh.”

Without hesitation, he twisted the pen and wrenched it free, only to bring it down again.

Over and over, he stabbed, the pen sinking deeper with every strike.

Blood splattered across his hands and clothes, staining them.

Darc’s struggles weakened, his voice dwindling into faint, breathless gasps.

The pen plunged down once more.

Silence settled, vast and still.

Darc lay motionless, his face a ruin, blood flowing outward in dark rivers. Airot panted heavily, then slowly, he withdrew the pen one final time.

Despite his own injuries and exhaustion, Airot felt better. He stood, unsteady but resolute.

He recovered his notepad and tucked both the bloodied pen and notepad back into his pocket, his movements lethargic.

Instinctively, his gaze turned upward yet again.

A calmer, but still imposing, voice was heard once more.

Gifted be, Earth's Sin.

The words reverberated within him with a strange, inherent understanding.

He dropped to his knees, overwhelmed.

His body heavy, his consciousness slipping away.

Just as he began to collapse, a familiar, much friendlier voice could be heard approaching.

“You better be screaming over that ruined everything bar!”

Airot fell, assured that at least someone he met today wasn’t a liar.

With that, his vision faded to black as the rhythm of the running entered the dead end.