Seconds(1)

Underneath a sky wreathed in smog lay a broken castle. Once beautiful ramparts were smashed to pieces, and broken stone lay scattered amongst its tarnished inner corridors. 

Acrid smoke curled out from shattered stained-glass windows, coating every breath in sour ash. The once impressive images were no longer visible, but the only piece still visible was the scene of a human falling. 

Ornate tapestries and crafted rugs lay tattered as smoldering embers licked at their heavily burnt edges. Every now and then, a draft of wind sifted through the many holes blown through the castle’s walls, sending sprays of ash and sparkling embers into the air. It was as if an army had gone through the building with the intention of razing everything to the ground. 

There were claw marks, larger than any beast had any right to be, slashing through whatever stone still stood. They were strewn throughout the building like a testament to a beast that simply wouldn’t stop attacking. 

In addition to the claw marks there were also scars from a multitude of weapons: daggers, spears, arrows, swords and everything in between left a wound on the once pristine hallways. Then, there was the blood that still hadn’t dried, staining the gouges each weapon left a bright red. 

However, despite the sheer degree of carnage, there existed only two beings in the entirety of the castle. 

Thair fight tore apart the building, and led them to a large artium: the throne room. It’s ceiling was crumbling, revealing only the edges of the dome it once was. In the middle of the broken ceiling was a hole large enough to let trickles of moonlight spill through the smog that choked the sky. 

The walls of the room were barely standing, some holes gouging into their sides sent small, loose pebbles tumbling down into the throne room’s floor. Ash and debris swirled with every cold wind that flowed through, and small dust clouds began to form around the larger pieces of shattered castle that lay on the ground. 

Claw marks danced with weapons along both the stone and carpet once again, and splatters of blood followed every trail as if to paint the scene with more devastation. What was once a beautiful red rug lay on the ground, forgotten and in tatters, yet it still did its duty. It still led everyone’s eyes to the throne that stood erected in the middle of the room, the only thing that still was standing. 

The throne was a crude piece of iron and stone, melded together in such a way that one couldn’t quite tell the two apart. It wasn’t too grand, but it served its purpose: that those who sat on it were the Kings of Demons. So perhaps, its crude nature was perfect for it. 

Yet, the one sitting on it was neither demon nor hellspawn, it was a human. One who looked none too pleased at the moment. He was leaning forwards in the throne, his right elbow propped on one of the armrests while his left palm was gripping his left knee till his knuckles turned white. They were white enough to match the two bands that were stuck on the man’s ring finger; one fit perfectly while the other looked like it was forced halfway onto his finger before it couldn’t go any further. 

His hair was brown, shaggy and wild as if it hadn’t been tamed in years. Ash coated his hair, and flaked off with every gust of wind that blew the hair from his face. 

He was a man whose features were tired and rugged. An unkempt beard clung to his chin and lips; pieces of it were uneven as if a blade had gouged through it at several different angles. His skin was leathery and rough; years spent under the sun and many more spent under war had changed them to what they were now. 

On his body was an armor of dull white, without any accents or decorations. Each piece linked together as if it were forged right onto his frame, and all of it glowed as if a flickering flame within the night. It was made with one purpose: to protect. And considering that the only wounds he appeared to have were small, dried lacerations on his exposed hands and arms, it could be said that the armor delivered. 

However, it was his eyes that drew the most attention. They were silver; an unnatural, dull luster that seemed to drink in the moonlight despite how lifeless they seemed. 

The man’s silver eyes stared, unblinking, as they watched the being below him. Though, to call it a being was a little too many words to describe it. 

All there was below was a head, sitting upon its severed neck while a massive body was smoldering behind it. The creature’s face was grotesque; half of it looked as if the skin had melted off, exposing rippling muscle and sinew beneath its cheeks. One of its eyes were slagged, drooping from within the socket while the other was a deep orange with two pupils that overlap in the middle. 

Its skin was a deep purple, nearly masking it from sight if it wasn’t for the occasional ray of moonlight that pierced down from the sky. Despite any organism being dead in its state, the singular eye roved in its decapitated skull, lolling till it found the human in the throne. The unmelted side of its mouth opened, revealing long, narrow teeth that were yellowed all the way to its blood red gums. 

“Haha! That was wonderful! Truly a battle fit for the legends! Don’t you think so too, young hero?” The head spoke, laughing as if its wounds were nothing to it. 

“Quite a disgusting thing; why can’t it die when it is clearly dead?” A high pitched voice rang out, echoing from behind the throne. 

The man sighed, line of sight never leaving the head. “Perhaps, it is too stupid to die. He certainly fits the bill after charging into every single one of your spells.” 

From behind the throne, something floated over to the right side of the man’s head. It was an ornate lantern. Four panes of frosted glass were connected by a frame of gold, forming a sloped ‘roof’ that had a large, gold loop at the top. Inside the lantern one could see a spherical flame that flickered and pulsed as if alive. 

“True! I’m a great and mighty weapon for the hero, after all!” The lantern hummed. 

“Indeed.” The man smiled, but it looked awkward, as if he couldn’t quite remember how to do it. 

“Say Lumen,” the man yawned, neglecting how the lantern snapped towards him as if ready for action. “You used up a lot of energy earlier, so do you want to rest? I should be fine watching this guy die, after all.” 

Lumen didn’t seem to answer, but its frame twirled as if excited. “Sure! But make sure you rest! Your body cannot handle both your blessings for too long, okay?”

“I know, Lumen.” 

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Lumen began spinning. With every rotation, the lantern looked like it was getting smaller until it shrunk from the size of the man’s head to a small earring that promptly clipped itself to the man’s right ear. 

After a moment of silence, the man sighed, turning back to the severed head. “For what it’s worth, you really can’t blame me for this.” 

Slowly, the man brought up his left hand to his left ear, cupping it around two silver earrings in the shape of teardrops. He clenched his hand, and slowly brought it away as a silver short sword appeared to be unsheathing itself from the air next to his head. 

“Of course!” The head laughed again. “I knew a hero would come for me when I took in the piece, but the chance to fight a warrior of your caliber was something I couldn’t pass up! I still want your name, too!” 

“Mason…” the man said, tasting the name on his tongue. 

In one motion, Mason stood from the throne, his joints popping as his straightened. He leveled the point of the sword at the head’s last eye. “Now, I would say this wasn’t personal, but you’re standing between me and my family.” 

“Is that so. Well then, as the loser I have no say in the matter! Do it hero! Kill me and take the burden that all heroes carry!” 

Mason’s sword didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” 

The head grinned with its visible features, needle-like teeth bared. “Are you interested now, hero? What about your little family back home? Do it already!” 

Sighing, Mason pulled his sword away from the head, and raised his free hand. The dull white armor at his shoulder flickered a bit as if a forest fire about to be released. Then, fire began to drip down from his armor, flowing over his skin until it reached the fingertips on his right hand. 

Glowing blue armor covered what was once bare skin. 

“You truly are like everything I wanted, hero!” The head grinned. “You sent away that little one so it would be just us two! Truly you deserve the throne; you deserve the Devil that comes with your reward!” 

Mason just moved closer, raising his glowing hand to the head’s skin until the skin started to blacken and the blood underneath began bubbling. He refused to move his hand even as the screams petered out to whines. 

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Only after what seemed like minutes did Mason pull away, staring at the heavily breathing head. “I think you understand what I want.” 

The head began laughing again, hoarse grunts echoing between every breath. “Truly… you were the best… of the five…” 

Mason scowled, watching as the head continued to laugh. It’s voice slowly getting softer with every growing second until the only thing he could hear was his own voice. 

“So, he really was getting closer to death…” frowning again, Mason turned around to eye the throne. 

He didn’t even spare a second before his silver short sword cut through it, sending the stone and metal backrest toppling over to the ground. His breath was heavy as his hand released the silver sword, letting it fade into a stream of silver light that reattached itself as the two, silver teardrop earrings on his left ear. 

With a final sigh, Mason sat back down, sending plumes of dust up in his motion. He stared up into the stars that dared to peek through the cover of acrid smoke. 

In that moment, all his eight years played through his head. He thought of the time where he first was summoned, scared and alone. Honestly, the Mason then truly was small compared to the man he grew up to be. 

He laughed as he remembered the knights he trained with at first. They were all friendly guys, but they kept kicking his ass until he learned every weapon they handed him. 

The mage who taught him all about magic was first shocked about his inability to use mana, and tried desperately to teach him it. Though, Mason held reservations as that training only led to the two getting into increasingly precarious positions till he decided to ask her to marry him. He never did learn magic, but that didn’t matter much to him. 

Remembering the elves who helped him throw off the demons chasing them in the woods kept the smile on his face. The wine they had still burned the back of his throat as he remembered the taste. 

They were only matched by the dwarves in that aspect. Those small humanoids sure helped liven up the party, but their tempers were something that the elves simply loved to poke. 

Each scene of merrymaking and adventures pooled in the back of Mason’s mind. He smiled even as he remembered the moment he lost them all. Each of their smiles were etched into his mind, but he never wanted to remember that moment as something sad. That wouldn’t be what they wanted. 

So, he smiled. Smiled until his cheeks hurt, and the tears running down his face cut paths through the dirt clinging to his face. Because if he remembered how he hunted down all the nobles who plotted his loved one’s demise, how he burned a nation down to its roots in anger, he wouldn’t be able to face them with a smile on his face.

As, even in death, their smiles never faded when they told him they loved him. 

His silver eyes looked back up to the sky, and the dull white armor around his body dissipated, flaking off in small flecks of flame that sputtered out as they left the proximity of his body. The disappearing embers curling around his body, always keeping him warm despite how cold he wanted to feel. 

“I want to go home.” Mason whispered as enough moonlight pooled into the room to pour over his back and extend his shadow over the severed head. 

As if finally giving in, Mason’s eyes closed. He felt something brush across his skin like thousands of sharp bristles trying and failing to find purchase. Then, his breath was stolen from him. 

Panic came first as the man’s eyes shot open, and the first thing he saw was nothing. There was only expansive, empty void around him, surrounding him from all sides with only tiny lights far off in the distance. He tried to push his arms and legs to gain a physical sensation, but all his flailing accomplished was to spin his body in the empty space. 

The blood in his veins was pulsing, pushing against his skin as he felt his body began to swell. Pain assaulted him from every direction, and it felt as if needles were squeezing through all his veins, tearing against their walls as if in protest. Despite everything, he was slowly getting his wits about him, realizing that he was in severe danger. 

He had experienced pain akin to this before, so he ignored most of it, wincing occasionally as it got the better of him. Mason knew he needed to escape whatever trap he had fallen into or else he wouldn’t be able to accomplish his goals.

However, before he could do anything, something slammed into him from behind. His body bent around the object as the back of his head slapped on the surface of something hard. 

Darkness finally took him. 

----------------------------------------

“Hey, hey! No need for that! I’m fairly sure he’s not dead!” 

The first thing Mason did as he woke up was relax. Capturs would normally notice if he tensed when he woke, so he calmly felt his body without moving. His muscles slowly warmed themselves until he felt confident to respond to any threat. 

Oddly, whoever had captured him hadn’t put restraints on him, so that either meant they really wanted to fight or they wanted to talk. He paused his choices as he took in more of where he was. 

His back was resting against something soft, gel-like in how it cradled around his back. He could finally breathe again, but he assumed that whatever trap he was previously caught in had been taken down to reach him. There was a soft noise behind his head, almost like the shifting of tiny metal plates against each other. 

“His heartbeat is stable, and so is his breathing level. My sensors are indicating an increased level of brain activity.” A robotic voice whirred behind his head. “He’s awake and conscious.” 

Mason’s eyes snapped open at the announcement, eyeing the first person who came into sight. A woman with light blue hair whose clothes were baggy enough that he couldn’t tell her body type. It didn’t matter at the moment, so he immediately rushed her as shouts echoed out in the room. 

His hand reached up to his left ear, clicking his tongue as he found nothing. Thinking quickly, Mason simply cupped his hand around the woman’s throat. 

Several other people in the small room shot up instantly. Some of them had already been standing around carrying some kind of weapon Mason had never seen before, and the misplaced man could only blink as all of their weapons began to glow with different kinds of lights. 

“Damnit Jenna! I told you we should have put him in restraints!” Said one of the men leveling their weapons at him. His head was shaved till it was shiny and his eyes were milky white, but somehow he was still able to follow their movements. Mason stuck more of his body behind the woman, Jenna. 

Jenna swallowed heavily within Mason’s grip, her arms up as if to say she meant no threat. “Oops…” 

“Let go of her, you brute!” A woman spoke this time. She was wearing a piece of cloth that barely covered her breasts, but still allowed for her bulging biceps to poke through. If anything, Mason wanted to question why he was the brute between the two of them. 

“Shut up, Quincy!” Jenna said, not daring to move a muscle. She made no move, but Mason could tell she was addressing him now. “Now, maybe we can settle this without everything turning to violence, alright? I can stay in your grip, if that makes you feel better, but obviously I don’t like my throat getting torn out.” 

Mason frowned at how easily she was taking her hostage situation, but his grip didn’t loosen. “Where am I?” 

“We don’t know.” Jenna said nonchalantly, not caring for the people in the room flinching at her blunt statement. “Probably two and a half jumps away from Beta-Kalfos, I think.” 

The words reached his ears, but no matter what he did Mason couldn’t put that name anywhere he knew. However, training dictated that he shouldn’t reveal that piece of information. “I see…” 

“Sensors indicate an increase in heart rate as well as stress hormone levels.” The robotic voice echoed again, and Mason zeroed in on a humanoid golem of metal and gears standing next to the bald man. It looked like there were several familiar medical instruments stemming from its open head. “He’s most likely lying.” 

One of the people in the room froze, their jaw hanging open. “You mean, you don’t know of the latest scourge of CF plague? What rock have you been living under?” 

“A smelly one, that’s for sure.” Jenna answered, and Mason was about to make his threats more serious, but before he could move, he felt all the muscles in his body lock up. 

His jaw clattered to a close as pain sparked within him until steam began to rise off his skin. Twitchy muscles were all that was left, and Mason was left spasming on the floor. All he could see was that there were a series of burn marks on the back of Jenna’s shirt. 

“Geez, I hate using that.” She whined. “Gotta change shirts again.” 

Mason continued to twitch on the floor, unable to open his mouth through the pain and spasms. 

Jenna pointed over to him. “Hey, Nathan, Quincy, since you guys wanted to lock him up, put him in our brig or whatever. We have a prison on this rust bucket, right?” 

“Do we really have to deal with him?” Quincy grumbled, crossing her muscular arms. 

The bald man with milky eyes, Nathan, also seemed to share in her apprehension. “I agree, he just held you captive and tried to threaten your life. Even if he was confused, that’s not a normal reaction.” 

“Well,” Jenna smiled awkwardly, trying to avoid their eyes. “We did accidentally hit him in the void, so I’m a little curious…” 

“Denied!” Quincy said, getting a round of nods from more people in the room. 

“Come on! Please! There’s almost no living settlements or terraformed planets nearby, so isn't it exciting that we found him so out of place?” Jenna’s eyes practically sparkled with excitement as she spoke. “Think about it, he could lead us to some resources, and more importantly, food.” 

Her words seemed to send an unspoken acknowledgement through the crowd, and several of them were frowning still but they nodded along. Quincy still looked unconvinced, though. 

Nathan placed a hand on Quincy’s shoulder, shaking his head. “Captain has a point. We’re severely understocked to care for those kids, so if he can lead us to some pirates or something, its our best bet.” 

Mason grunted, forcing open his mouth with sheer force of will. “What… the hell… are…” 

Jenna jumped at his words, staring at him like he was a monster. Quincy and Nathan sighed at the sight. 

“Did you forget to adjust your output again?” Nathan asked. 

“What? No, that was when I first had my implant put in, I swear!” Jenna hurriedly said reaching down to Mason’s head. He could clearly see sparks traveling from something on her back to a glowing metal strip in the center of her palm. “I put enough electricity through him to short out any implant in him, too!” 

Her palm touched his head, and pain blanked Mason’s mind again. His teeth nearly chipped with the force they closed as his body was forced to wriggle on the cold, metal floor. 

There was only one thought on the hero’s mind at that moment: where the fuck was he?!

Author's note since I can't put an afterward in yet: Not sure how much time I want to put into this. WIll probably see how the turnout for the first couple chapters are before deciding anything. 

As always, Enjoy