Markus was unaware of the struggle Evan faced, as he stood guard in the dimly lit dungeon. His breath caught in his throat as his friend sought to save Lucia's life. He observed Evan and Lucia, so still they could be mistaken for statues, save for them breathing in unison. Which was odd now that he noticed it. It was as if Evan existed in perfect harmony with her every breath, his own movements mirroring hers with unnerving precision. Markus began to wonder what the limits of that skill was. And what the limits of all of their skills were.
Markus preferred to live life with a carefree attitude, not allowing excessive worry or unnecessary attention to consume him. To him, most things seemed unimportant, except for the individuals who made a positive impact on the world. Unfortunately, in the city he resided in, those people were scarce, a fact that he could count on his fingers. His aloof and carefree nature had always provided him with a sense of peace and freedom that he cherished.
However, when engaged in battle, Markus had discovered his demeanor transformed. His mind became cool and calculating, unaffected by the chaos that often accompanied combat. Though he had never been in a fight himself, until now, he had witnessed plenty. Through the battle he had just experienced, he had discovered that he was immune to the madness and fear that engulfed others when they fought. Instead, he felt as though a sense of direction and purpose guided him.
Paradoxically, it was within combat that Markus found a unique calming freedom. It was as if all his emotions—happiness, pain, love, and hatred—blended into an intoxicating concoction, heightening his senses like never before. In the heat of battle, he could forget his fears, anxieties, pain, sorrow, tears, and even his fury. Instead, he experienced an immense calm, a newfound freedom that allowed him to fully express himself, utilizing his body and skills in ways he had never imagined.
The arena of combat merged all aspects of his being, providing an escape from the burdens of daily life. It was a space where Markus could channel his emotions, transforming them into a potent force that fueled his every move. This revelation brought him a profound sense of liberation, as he embraced the serene yet exhilarating nature of combat. Was it strange that he’d found it kind of fun? He winced as he thought of Lucias fallen form, suppressing his guilt at even thinking such a thing.
A light breeze swept through the corridor, providing a brief respite to Markus's fatigued body. The cool air caressed his skin.
The breeze then turned into a gust of wind, causing dust to dance and swirl in its wake, while droplets of blood sprayed and scattered, borne away on its capricious currents.
Markus felt a surge of relief wash over him as the current of wind surrounded him. The coolness kissed his sweat-drenched skin, offering a momentary respite from the toll of relentless battle. The gentle gusts whispered against his wounds, soothing the myriad of cuts that marred his arms and shoulders. The pain eased, if only slightly, rejuvenating his weary body. Inspired by the refreshing wind, Markus instinctively rose to his tiptoes, as if leaning into the invisible current.
He focused inwards as he leaned and felt the tightly packed core of mana in his abdomen. and willed it to begin to loosen. With a flex of his will, the core of mana that made up his [Density Control] began to loosen and expand. It was infinitely packed, and denser than ever before, a weight he couldn't fully comprehend, drawing all the mana in his body towards it. The core began to unfurl, spreading like a wispy cloud around his stomach.
Markus felt himself becoming weightless, a sense of lightness overcoming him , suspended in the winds like a feather. He embraced the freedom that soared through his being, held steady by the tips of his feet, his body gently buffeted by the windy gusts. It was a sensation that resonated deep within his soul, as if he had finally found the purpose he was destined for.
As Markus began to float amidst the currents of air, his heart swelled with gratitude for the discovery of this new application of his skill. The pain and weariness that had plagued him moments ago seemed distant, eclipsed by the exhilaration of freedom. Although blood and marks of battle still surrounded him, he felt a profound sense of liberation, as if he were meant to soar through the skies.
And as he soared, suspended by the winds, his thoughts drifted to the previous fight.
The battle had been nothing short of gruelling, with the armoured foe displaying a level of skill and experience that hinted at decades of slaying adventurers. He felt surge of regret, and a tinge of pride mixed with disbelief as he reflected on their victory.
How was that the first monster? Not a slime, or some small creature, but that? at this early entrance of the dungeon the mana should be paper thin. It must be at least a hundred layers deep. Minimum. How was anyone expected to clear this dungeon? What was the gods' actual problem?
He made only his foot extremely dense and kicked a rock in annoyance, another trick he’d learned during the fight. The rock exploded in a cloud of dust, shards racing at speed into the darkness.
He smiled at his unexpected growth with the skill. Lightness and density, who knew they were related? It had been so hard to even use it the day before. Back then, he’d felt caged by it, and he found that fact hilarious.
Now, after the fight, he wouldn’t give up this skill for any other in the world. It was freeing.
The winds picked up, buffeting him with cool, calming air, And the peace it brought him inspired a torrent of thoughts and emotions, all tied to the events that had just unfolded. His mind replayed the clash of steel, the whirlwind of movements, and the raw adrenaline that had fueled his every action. The intensity of combat had pushed him to his limits, both physically and mentally. And yet, he had emerged scathed, and wounded, but victorious.
A deep sense of shock had washed over him, and it hadn’t left. The images of Evan's incredible feats played on an endless loop in his mind, leaving him dazed and awestruck.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Watching Evan effortlessly teleport around the battlefield, his movements fluid and unpredictable, was nothing short of dizzying.
The shockwaves generated by Evan's fists had added another layer of shock. The sheer force and impact he could generate with a mere mundane punch defied all logic and reason. He had been stunned, almost stopping in his tracks as they fought.
Markus couldn't fathom the limits of such a skill, it had boundless potential. It was as if Evan had unlocked a fourth skill, a power that surpassed conventional understanding.
For a skill like that, people would wage wars.
He questioned his own abilities in comparison, thinking of the limits to his own skill, [Density Control]. Could he transcend his current limitations and achieve a level of freedom akin to what Evan displayed?
The winds picked up, and his feet momentarily left the ground. He floated briefly in the air, suspended by only his skill and Adras’s Breath, and received an answer to his question.
In that suspended moment, Markus's thoughts swirled as he thought deep within himself. He had always lived for freedom, cherishing the liberty to navigate life on his own terms. But witnessing Evan's extraordinary abilities forced him to question the boundaries he had set for himself. Could he push past his own perceived limitations and unlock a new realm of power and liberation?
The weightlessness he felt, both physically and mentally, mirrored his yearning for true freedom. It was more than just the absence of gravity; it represented the unrestricted potential that lay dormant within him. Markus pondered if he had only scratched the surface of his own capabilities and if there were uncharted territories waiting to be explored.
The battle had shown him glimpses of what was possible, and he was determined to seize the freedom he craved, to transcend his limitations and grow into the warrior he knew he could become.
He would forge his own path, guided by the pursuit of freedom, untethered by the constraints of the known.
Markus was determined to break free and discover the true extent of his magic.
He hung in the air, swaying with the wind, and exhaled, almost tempted to close his eyes and surrender to the tranquillity that surrounded him, despite the danger. It was then that he caught a faint scent carried by the breeze – a mix of dampness and death.
Buffeted by the wind, and weighing less feather, he ceased all thoughts and just listened to the rustling of cool air around him. He swore he could almost hear an imperceptible cry resonating within the rustling winds, as if someone or something was pleading for his help. A wave of despair seemed to flow through the dungeon, and snapped him out of his reverie, bringing back to the bleak reality he found himself facing. But what was that feeling? That sound? He stood there, wondering if what he’d heard was real. Markus feared that the dungeon was playing tricks on his mind.
Amidst the silence, a distant, clear sound pierced the air—a rhythmic clang of armour echoing from the depths beyond the reach of the flickering torchlight.
A Crash.
Markus swiftly pivoted at the sound, his feet once again finding their solid footing, and his focus now directed towards the foreboding darkness of the dungeon. Turning his attention to the abyss that lay before him, Markus squinted, trying to pierce the veil of inky blackness.
A Clang of metal.
His grip on the blade he held tightened, each finger curling around the hilt with unwavering determination.
A Clunk of iron soon followed.
Markus raised his blade in front of him. its weight provided a reassuring anchor.
A Clatter then pounded through the corridor.
Sweat beaded his brow as he strained to see the approaching enemy. A flicker of metal glowed white in the distance-Was that one taller than the last?
One sound, then another, then another again. The ominous noises pierced the stillness, setting Markus on edge. The sounds of it’s approach felt like the ticking of a clock. He felt like the dungeon was mocking him, signalling his doom. He paused to consider that, and morbidly decided that a doomsday clock was both ridiculous and actually kind of funny.
Wasn’t telling someone the time of their doom the best way for them to avoid it?
Markus's gaze fixated on a distant spot ahead. All he could see was inky black depths and faint pin-pricks of white light, what was making the sounds? And how close was it?
Through the shifting shadows, he caught a glimpse of movement—a subtle shift in the density of darkness. Through the faint white of torchlights, he saw the faint outlines of three suits of living armour emerging from the shadows.
Markus's heart quickened.
His breath caught in his throat as the suits of armour began to march in unison, their steps sharp, measured, and perfectly aligned.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Each movement was practiced and perfect, devoid of any humanity. The eerie glow of their blue-flamed eyes, like beacons of cold fire, left trails of after-images in the distant darkness, and a blend of multicoloured flames gleaming off their metal swords.
Each suit bore its own weapon. The suit in the center of the march was wielding two swords; one in each hand's grip, and the other two brandished a single, elongated blade.
Markus's heart thudded in his chest, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon him. His mind raced with memories of the battle that had unfolded moments ago, the desperate struggle. He was supposed to fight that? Again? Three of them?
A twisted comfort caused him to smirk despite himself. He found himself relieved that only one of them was a dual wielding metal maniac, like the last one.
After all, weren't four swords flying at your head, better than six?
Still, the sight of Lucias broken body had pierced Markus's heart, igniting a fire within him. He had been the only one with a shield, and his skill made his skin the hardest among them. He stared at his arms and shoulders, riddled with small cuts. He barely felt them. He was supposed to be her protector, both of their protectors. All of their shields against the cruel whims of fate. Evan and Lucia had trusted him with the role. And he’d failed. Shields were meant to protect, to endure. He would not let them down. Not again.
Glancing down at his battered shield, now reduced to a shattered mosaic of holes and dents on the cracked muralled floor, Markus knew it was rendered useless, barely holding together. He would have to rely on his sword, then.
They won't be dying here, Markus resolved, a fierce determination burning within him. He had witnessed the limits of his own strength, the depths of his courage. And had just witnessed Evan transcend the limits of his. He knew he could do the same.
Every fiber of his being prepared for the imminent confrontation, his grip tightened even further, and the ground shattered as he stepped forward with unwavering resolve. Markus stood his ground, his body dense and immovable. And he knew, deep in his core, that he would fight until his last breath, if need be.
The rhythmic cacophony of metallic footsteps echoed across the hall as six mythril soles slapped the earthen rock. The sound was gradually growing louder and clearer with each passing moment. Markus's brow furrowed with concern, If they fought here, would Lucia survive the fallout? Would Evan? A wave of uncertainty washed over him, and unease settled in the center of his gut, before he made his decision.
Markus took a step forward, then another. He braced himself then charged. To keep Evan and Lucia safe. To keep the fight away from them.
He ran.
And they came at him from all angles, their blades flashing in the light.