Stanis walked along a rugged path. Leathery flora grew through the seams of the ground. The build-up of cracked stone made the path look like the rest of the natural terrain. But Stanis knew better. The last time he had been here, the last time he had walked up this path, well, he hadn't even been walking and he remembered very little of it. However, he did remember the fact that he had been crawling up the path, his legs torn and bloody, his mind numb but strangely determined.

The sun was now low in the sky, ready to see the other face of Earth. There were thick, grey clouds around the mountain, ready to unleash the rain they had chained up inside. He saw boulders around precarious corners, ready to break past their boundaries and accompany him to death any second. But they didn't, and the clouds didn't rain, and the sun didn't leave just yet. It wasn't the best he could ask for but it wasn't the worst either.

The suspicion deep in his heart was still there; he knew the village was hiding something. He remembered Pete giving him impure mana-water to drink during the war, which had in turn transformed him into a wild tempest, shredding through all and any. Then, he had become rightly enraged after seeing Jen, that bitch. He had fought her to the bitter end, literally for him and figuratively for her. The last thing he remembered was Jen running away in the distance, and his powerlessness as he lay there, unable to even tilt his head.

Stanis clenched his fists and growled, before forcefully booting a fist-sized rock out of the way. He had been helpless then; he had been pathetic.

As for what happened after that, he had very little idea. It was confirmed that Pete, Skint and Bear had taken him into their care. But why? And what had they done? His tanned skin was now paper-white and as soft as mud. The muscles and callouses that had made him him had turned into soft and delicate skin. He knew that Pete, nor Bear, nor Skint had engaged in the wars, instead opting to stay back and … do what? They were some of the strongest people he knew and yet they stood back like dodgy backstabbers. No, they were dodgy and sly: there was no question about that. And he knew they were up to no good, no good at all, and yet he had no idea where to find them.

He growled once more and launched another rock out of the way. He was now reaching the top of the mountain where the flora grew much taller and tougher. The curved, bronze-tinted plants grew like bamboo, making an impenetrable forest of their own. Stanis had to slash them out of the way as he got closer to the top. He had stolen a coarse longsword from Orena's house, although she seemed to not have minded him taking it due to its lack of elegance. However, what it did have was pure, messy power, but even it struggled against the tough plants.

An hour later, he sighed and put his sword down. Behind him lay hundreds upon hundreds of chopped plants, and in front of him lay the top of the mountain. Strangely enough, the peak of the mountain was arena shaped and sized, and was also clear of all the natural rubbish that had blighted the pathway. The top was completely empty of life, although Stanis knew better than that.

"Yils," he shouted with his palms around his mouth. "Zelgard,"

"Yils! Zelgard!"

He shouted several minutes, before finally giving up.

"I killed a tier-four," he said, "Just like you told me to. In fact, I also killed a tier-five, a Laeon rank,"

He was met with silence.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Stanis felt his temper rise but managed to keep rein of it. He was now stronger than he was before but he also knew that Yils was far above him.

"Where are you?" he eventually bellowed down the mountain slope, hoping that they were somewhere close enough to hear him.

But like before, he was met with the same response.

Close to an hour later, Stanis grumbled curses under his breath and sat down. He remembered how they could make their home invisible to all forces with just a simple click. If it was persistence and patience they wanted, then that was they were going to get. Besides, he knew that as long as he settled down here, they would eventually have to show themselves.

If they weren't so eager to help him out, well, he might as well start what he had come here for…

****

Caleb dowsed his great-sword with water and began cleaning it. There were blood stains across its blade, and the edge was chipped in some areas. He wiped the blade with a cloth, repeatedly scrubbing the cloth up and down. Some of the stains were much tougher and seemed impervious to his method but he kept going, giving no thought as to stop.

He didn't do this because he liked a shiny sword on the battlefield. He fought on it every day; it was his home. He felt comfortable in his home, whether he held a dirty sword or a clean one. He didn't do this because he wanted to maintain the sword either. That was just a side-effect of his diligence. No, he simply did this out of habit because he was so used to it that he could do it without a single thought or command. His body already knew what to do and that eased his mind.

There wasn't much to live for anymore. He had been someone before, someone with life, hope, and ambition. Then the apocalypse had come down like a hammer, crushing the lives of many. He hadn't been one of the many, no, he had been one of the few who had only risen further due to the apocalypse. He had risen to levels he didn't know possible; people peeked at him with respect and envy, far too scared to look at him outright. He had become a leader: a character people simply couldn't ignore. And then…

And then.

And then nothing. He had been worn down by time and experience itself. The more time he invested into fighting, the better he became, and the less illusioned he became. There wasn't any fruit to fell in fighting, no treats to pick up afterwards. This world prevented that; there was no life to be had except through fighting, and that was not a life worth living.

It was slippery slope downwards. They fought with the intent of winning, the hope of life afterwards, and if they lost, good riddance. But if they won, well, then they would simply fall lower into a tougher fight with worse odds. There was no time to breathe, no time to…

At least he was good at it though.

Caleb broke out of his thoughts and looked at the timepiece next to him. It was time for another soul-sucking meeting. There was a knock on his door. He opened it and saw David, an old friend. The two of them walked out and into the street, towards Alyona's luxurious mansion. They were greeted and he sat, blankly staring at the vase opposite him.

It was on Stanis again, of course it was on Stanis again. If there was one person Caleb pitied, it was Stanis. The stronger you were, the longer it took you to realise the downward spiral you were in. And Stanis had only become powerful recently. And he was young. And he was stupid. Which all in all meant that he had a lot more time of illusionment left before he saw the world for what it actually was. By then, however, it was most likely he would be one of the strongest beings in the universe, while Caleb would most likely be lying in his grave, content at the shot he had at least given.

"Do you agree, Caleb?" Alyona asked, bringing him back to attention.

"Yeah, sure," he said, absent-mindedly.

"Good," she said as she looked around the well-furnished room. "Tanya, Moonshine and Orena, you three find the necromancer and make contact. Make sure to take caution, and just escape if you fail. The rest of us will try and hold our ground meanwhile, alright?"

Caleb found himself oddly nodding. At least something was going to happen now, something more…