Zeal to find.
Vigor that conquers.
Like a pebble rippling the peace.
A single droplet woke a mighty celestial from slumber.
I remember stepping into the grasslands, with no clue as to why or how. Neither did I care, as my entire being left its earthly desires and unearthly wants behind. For my sole focus lingered on a mighty battle, fought in a realm known by few.
The warrior had no form for my mind to register. Yet somehow, I perceived it to be on the run… tired… furious, and with the sole purpose of conquering and destroying everything that stood in its path.
The opponent who dared face this fanatic was the realm itself.
Within a thought, I joined the warrior’s side. Back to back, we faced the realm together. I tried to protect his blind spot; I suppose! With no time to think, with no words to express, with only my instinct to guide my actions, I began ripping apart an enemy who wasn’t even trying to fight back.
The battle contained no weapons, no bloodshed, nor anyone suffered a bruise from any of our attacks. Still, I grab and rip the flesh out of something that didn’t even have a physical form.
My enemy is all that my mind says. My enemy is all that I see.
Bigger and stronger than I was. Like its form, its power had no limit. Yet it tries to calm me down, instead of using its might to subdue me. I knew it could bury me alive if it so desired. For all I perceive is its form of never-ending green, ethereal, and omnipresent. A might that consumed everything in its path.
Still… the realm feared me and its fear fuelled my pride.
I unleash my wrath upon this almighty realm, ripping its colossal form bit by bit. With every chuck of flesh I rip out, I can sense its power—diminish, its resolve—falter, and its fear—grow.
How many chunks later will it retaliate? Can I find its core before it does? For every swing I take, more flesh forms, increasing the beast’s colossal form.
Like an endless sea of green, in which I swim, forever dicing away, hoping to find a shore. Whether it be mine or the beast I faced, death was the only way out.
A flurry of questions invaded my mind. Why hasn’t this mighty ocean drown me yet? Why am I fighting a downhill battle? Why hasn’t my foe turned hostile? For all my questions meant nothing to my rage. Unanswered and left a stray, my rage fuelled itself over a cause unknown to me.
I forced myself to stop, and the sea transformed into an ocean, swirling around me. I wondered whether the beast was still scared to attack or had increased its size, hoping to survive. My heart still flared with blinding rage. I knew not the cause, for deep down I relied on a mysterious strength which held the power to rip the ocean apart.
For all its might, the ocean wouldn’t dare stand in my way. My entire being was filled with a singular mindless hunger to devour. For reasons unknown—Over a mindless rage. Going against me seemed foolish, which made me marvel if I had to stop. A battle ragged within myself. Here I declined myself from what I know, what I knew, and what I felt. The ocean waited patiently until I moved, for I decided the next move.
Only once logic overtook reason and when I moved against my very being to bow, defying its will, I understood. I and the warrior were the same. Two entities bound by fate. Like a shadow bound to my will, once I held myself back, he stood impassive as well.
My silence gave the realm hope. A false hope of defiance, which it gladly leaped on. A stream of agony spewed through my entire body. In between, I would sense a spark of defiance, which I held onto. Maybe I wanted to understand the flow before I retaliate. Once I let loose, the ocean backed away and once I held back; the ocean tried to dissolve me from the inside out.
Fight! I rage with fury, then later decide to give up. After switching back and forth, I figured out how to regulate the flow.
Let the stream flow: I guided the power to dance at my command. Restrict the rage from entering the flow: With intense focus and my entire willpower, I denied my rage any control.
The power I drew upon wasn’t under my control. It flowed on as usual, while I flowed by its side instead of trying to oppose or defy its power. This technique wasn’t stable, so I switched to denying its every move and failed even more miserably.
Step, I opposed my shadow—the warrior behind me. In one solid motion, I guided my shadow to avoid the mighty ocean. Not to attack, nor to defend, but to dodge. At times when he gets agitated, I let him free. Before his rage increased, I stopped him and guided him toward my next position.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
You might be a surfer over a wave. The wave isn’t yours to control, yet the board lets you choose your path. Let’s just say I found my board.
This is how my journey began…
In my birthday suit, in a field infested by tiny grass blades, a blistered hand filled with crushed grass, an headache that screamed louder than aunt Pettrone and about one billion questions.
Name: Tetsü K Tenco.
Race: Human {---} Level: O | Initiate? |
Class: N/A.
Affinity: N/A
Bond: N/A
--*--*----*--*--
[STATUS]
Health Pool: 60/60
Mana Pool: 0/40
Fatigue: 70+
-*--*----*--*--
[INDIVIDUAL STAT’S]
Dex: 0 :: Flex: 0 :: Flash: 0
Stamina: 0 :: Rex: 0 :: Fort: 0
-*--*----*--*--
Senses: 7 :: Regen: 1 :: Tork: (-7)
-*--*----*--*--
Will power: 9 :: Perception: (-18) :: Intellect: (-26)
Luck: (-144)
Free Points: 0
-*--*----*--*--
Titles: N/A
-*--*----*--*--
“Am I dreaming or does my stats suck even more…?”
----
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, a few scouts watched with amazement, fear, and confusion in front of a screen displaying an unfinished tutorial area. They were shocked to see something moving in this area, which was not yet ready for use.
“We have something on the tutorial grounds,” said one of the scouts.
“What?! The grounds aren’t ready yet,” exclaimed the other.
“I know,” replied the first scout.
“Half of that pocket dimension isn’t even finished yet,” continued the second scout.
“I know!” The first scout yelled, his voice getting louder.
“He’s human! We don’t have enough data on them yet,” said the second scout.
“I know...” The first scout’s voice trailed off into a squeak.
“If you know so wolfin’ much, fix it,” roared Harriot, their boss, from the shadows. This was followed by a lot of spit and a dark crackling Mana-spike.
The scouts were too afraid to face Harriot’s direction, and their mouths were too dry to reply. While the question was directed at one scout, all of them realized that they had to help each other survive. For if one failed, the entire group bore the punishment. Harriot ran a strict ship, and scouts either got their act together or got chewed out - quite literally!
“Speak up, runt,” Harriot growled, and two pairs of eyes and five pairs of claws illuminated from within the dark, leaving an ethereal trail as they moved. Harriot drummed with his hand, patiently waiting for a reply.
In fear, the scouts always forgot. Silence meant defiance, but speaking always meant an even worse punishment.
“A code error,” a casual voice intervened.
Everyone turned their attention to the vice-captain of the group, who had spoken. He was known as MEL the Scout, who had a self-appointed title as this group’s vice-captain. With his skill, “Resonate speech,” he could pick and choose the people who could listen to his precious words. This meant everyone heard him, except for Harriot, who was too proud to acknowledge the fact. His intervention calmed everyone down as they followed his lead, pretending that Harriot had heard him, too.
As per routine, everyone nods at the vice-captain, popularly known as MEL the scout. Yes, his name is pronounced with the help of screaming letters and his class is mentioned after his name so that no one mistakes him for an official.
“Own your mistake, you all bark and no brain,” MEL yells at Harriot as he points at the scout. “Get back to work.” He shoos the others and gets back to sipping his coffee.
Harriot growled in frustration. Despite his quick reflexes, he struggled to catch MEL’s speech with his heightened senses, a skill for which his race is known. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he followed the scout’s eyes to notice MEL speaking.
As usual, Harriot pretended that he understood everything and agreed with MEL. “He is right, of course... Blame it on the kid, tell them he was too strong and broke out or something.”
“But sir, the code...” one of the scouts began to say, only to be cut off by Harriot.
“I will finish the code within seven days,” Harriot said, his glowing eyes fixed on the scout.
Reluctant to get his point across, the newest recruit mustered up his strength to mention the big boss’s wrath. Before his vocal cords pronounced the entire word “boss”, Harriot shut him up with an intense glare. His piercing eyes warned the scout to not bring that word into this conversation.
Harriot was suspicious that the mere mention of his name and the big boss would instantly know about this major screw-up. A weird skill or just an omnipotent beings thing! The word boss was banned at the Harriot workstation. His scouts weren’t allowed to call him boss, either. Who knew if said word had the power to activate his skill?
“But sir—” The Scout paused mid-sentence, wary of his next word. They juggled too many rules, based on their supervisor. Harriot placed one iron-clad rule above the rest: the word “boss” was forbidden in his workspace. In times like these, everyone wished they were MAL.
Before the scout mistakenly says his last words, MAL warns him. “I suggest you speak first and daydream later.”
Only the scout in mid-sentence heard MAL. No time to think. He did what they all do best. “You are way too calm. How do you do it?” He praises Harriot.
“Shit happens.” Harriot shrugs away the praise.
“For him… yeah, a lot!” MAL taunts prompting a gasp from everyone.
“Woolf, what did I miss now?”
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