"On your left!"
Gregor tears himself free of his thoughts; he ducks and rolls, holding fast to his silver battleaxe. A hand as large as a small car careens by just above his head, pulverizing the trunk of a large pine tree he presses against.
SNAP.
Woodchips splinter out as the troll's attack lands; an entire tree comes crashing down. Gregor sidesteps it, twirling his massive weapon and gripping the long handle with both hands. He swings down, driving the axe-head deep into the troll's wrist. "RAAAH!" He bellows, splitting capillaries and cracking bone.
Blood nearly the color black spurts form the new wound; the troll wails in pain, backing away with slow and thunderous steps. A thick and unwieldy monster, the troll shakes the ground with every movement it makes, causing birds to flee nearby trees just from its voice alone. The writing above its head glows a deep purple, nearly matching the pale and almost bruised hue of its skin.
Cave Troll. Lv. 66.
With a form of primitive sentience, it stares at the new wound in its wrist, before eyeing Gregor. It growls angrily.
Down here, in this wooded forest path, Gregor, and a small group of his fellow classmates turned heroes; they have pressed deeper and deeper into the unruly Dalgora Woods, a wide stretch of untamed wilderness more than a day's journey from the capital on foot. It is a dark and forlorn place; most of the sun's rays don't make it down here. Monsters in the area can reach as high as level 75, which if this was a year ago; such a level would spell the end of any of the heroes, even Gregor.
But they have come a long way since last summer. Not only through their level, but through their teamwork as well. Granted, their class has gone against Gregor's wishes, and split up, many falling into parties of four or five, consisting of either old friends or newfound allies.
He wasn't happy about it, but it was bound to happen. Asking a group of 27 highschoolers to "stay together" and "work together" in such a strange fantastical setting as they have found themselves in; it's a miracle none of the classmates have tried striking it out on their own yet.
On their own… Alone…
A certain distraught face comes to mind, as they were teleported away to their death, before his very eyes. Gregor grimaces.
"Dude! Stop spacing out!"
A spear is all that stops the troll from crushing Gregor underfoot; it bores into the monster's eye. The troll bellows in pain, as Julian comes to a crooked landing beside Gregor, bloodied spear in hand. He takes up a guard position, eyeing the troll warily. This red-headed lanky kid was always known as the "class dummy" in their 8 a.m. Earth Science period, who was always chasing the bell and usually the last into his seat. In fact, Julian is the very same that first saw this new world; he never stayed anchored to his assigned table and would usually wander around class most days.
Gregor has come to get to know him this past year and change, and despite what he once thought, Julian is actually a very reliable person. He never took school seriously, but it almost feels like a spear would always be his calling. He's exceptionally proficient with it, to an almost alarming extent. He prefers lighter armor, and has never even touched a shield. He yearns to stay mobile, and strike from the shadows whenever possible.
Julian claps Gregor on the shoulder, giving him a little shake. "You've got some serious balls, man. But now's seriously not the time to be daydreaming. Just keep your head in the game, yeah?"
…
Incredibly proficient, and sometimes it feels like Julian lets it get to his head a little too much. But, oh well. Gregor would rather have an overzealous teammate than a dead one. He shakes away the image of the face that's occasionally haunted his dreams, setting his thoughts straight. He can agonize over his "great mistake" all he wants on the carriage ride home. But for now, he needs to survive, and thrive.
He takes a deep breath, and gives Julian a solemn nod. "Alright." He answers.
A young and snarky female's voice echoes through the forest, as the troll tries and fails to adjust to having only one good eye. "Are you boys done sucking each other off?!" The sharp snap of a string being released, and three arrows zip through the dim and humid air in tandem, all sticking into the troll's left knee in specific points. Something critical within the knee gets severed, and the troll falls, bellowing in agony as its leg bends unnaturally. It crashes to the ground, shaking the very air and causing dead pine needles and pinecones to come falling out of nearby trees.
Gregor and Julian both glance back, at where a short and petite young woman has situated herself atop an ancient looking boulder, knocking a new arrow into her bow. Her dirty blonde hair has been braided and laid to rest over her non-dominant shoulder, giving her unrestricted leverage to pull back on her bowstring. Her eyes are sharp, and she gives the two boys a frown, loosing another arrow to finish her job on the troll's knee, hitting something only she can see.
Martha is her name, a "pretty face" that Gregor would occasionally find himself ogling at whenever they were in a class together. He's only recently learned she has an attitude to her as well, and a sour one at that. She's among the minority in the class, in that she hates this world, and wants to go home as soon as possible.
Despite his accusations of everyone else, Gregor has found himself preferring to only work with these two, despite their strange personalities. It's much simpler to tackle monsters in smaller groups. Especially when the groups are all still young adults. There's less chaos involved.
Martha gives particularly Gregor an accusing eye, sliding down from her roost and joining him and Julian. "Hate to break up your 'bro sesh', but go do that someplace else. It's distracting." Julian scoffs at Martha's comment, leveraging his spear over his shoulder. "Who spat in your stew, lady?" Martha faces him; both of them disregarding the troll, who's been almost completely forgotten ahead of them, still writhing on the ground.
Not that Gregor can complain; he's been just as distracted today.
He marches forward, readying his battleaxe, leaving the two behind him to bicker. "All I'm saying is," Martha continues, not even attempting to hide the bite in her voice. "That if you want to make out so badly, do it behind a tree somewhere." Julian makes a noise akin to a choked gasp. "And leave you out of all the fun? Even I'm not that heartless. I bet you'd want to watch."
Whether it's because the name "hero" is starting to get in their heads, or because they finally let their true selves out, these two are nothing like how Gregor remembered them in school. Not that he ever got to know them before.
Maybe it's just his interest in psychology talking, but Gregor has often wondered how living the life they do, fighting with their lives on the line day after day, in the name of leveling up; how does it affect them? Does the personality stay intact? Does it change depending on circumstance?
Or is it only a matter of time before they change? So subtly that they themselves don't know it. Until one day, when their hands are covered in blood, and they realize they just took their first human life?
The Nameless's face becomes a murderous one, as he stares daggers into Gregor. Those are eyes of resentment, hatred, and brewing malice. The eyes of a killer; eyes the Nameless never had before. Gregor was certain of it in that moment. If the Nameless was free of his chains and had a sword in his hand, he would run Gregor through in a heartbeat.
The troll sees him coming, and struggles in vain to flip over, balling up its fist to try and swat Gregor away. He tanks the blow, his heavy armor barely even budges. The smallest sliver of his health chips away, but it regenerates before it's even noticable. He hears an impressed whistle behind him from Julian; a primal sort of fear take should of the troll's eyes. "Grrrgh! Nrrrgh!" The humanoid monster utters, moving its arm to attack again. But it doesn't attack. It holds an open palm toward Gregor, barring him to stop…
Begging him to stop.
"Nrr… No! Nooo!"
A cold dagger digs into Gregor's chest. He kicks the troll's large hand out of the way, and with a heavy blow, drives his battleaxe deep into its exposed neck. Blood erupts. The troll seizes up with a gurgling scream. It falls into a strangled sort of death throes, losing control of its body, until it falls still.
Gregor stands as still as a statue, finding his eyes staring down at his raised hands. He left the axe in the troll. Thick and fresh blood coats his fingers, trailing down and dripping off his elbows.
...
Where is the line? When does a bipedal monster that can speak their language, stop being a monster?
Gregor beats the Nameless to a bloody pulp on the palace steps. Even then, as he stands over the boy's unconscious body, he's still not sated. He makes a decision then and there, which he may regret for the rest of his life.
When does a human, with their own classmate's blood on their hands; when can they tell that they're not human any longer? What does it even mean to be human?
In the corner of his vision, the exp bar creeps up by a small increment, and a quiet chime sounds. Text in a gold font appears in his vision, as that blasted number next to the exp bar counts up from 49, to 50.
Level Up!
He finally reached level 50, an important number to humans in this world. Among the strongest people in the kingdom are level 50; it is the pinnacle of human achievement. Some spend their entire lives to reach that number, and Gregor reaches it in a year and a half. He should be proud of that. He'll surely make the King proud with this news.
But he can only stare at his hands, wishing nothing more than to clean himself of the blood he sees. But even then, his blood will be there, no matter how hard Gregor tries to wash it away. How much his sister must resent him, up there in heaven.
Hopefully, she can forgive him. Hopefully, the Nameless forgave him, in his last moments on a mountain somewhere. Hopefully, he can one day forgive himself.
…
Even he knows when some things are too good to be true.
A human becomes a monster…
Julian saunters up, inspecting Gregor's gruesome work. "Damn. You messed him up." Gregor eyes the red-head. "Him?" He asks. "Yep." Julian answers, pointing toward the troll's lower region, where a ragged loincloth has been hastily tied around the monster's waist. "Him." The troll stares at Gregor with one lifeless eye, the iris relaxed and pupil dilated. His mouth hanging open, two large tusks sticking out of his pronounced underbite.
For just a moment, Gregor wonders if the troll had a name…
He sighs, letting his hands droop to his sides. That's enough humanizing monsters for one day. If a carriage with a family passed through these woods, this troll wouldn't hesitate to crush the horse and devour the women and children. This isn't Earth anymore, where morals and modern laws are in place. If you want to survive here, then its either them, or you. It was simply this troll's time. Laid to rest by Gregor's blade.
Martha crouches next to the troll's head; its bigger than she is. She pokes its face with her index finger, before she stashes her bow with the quiver on her back, and slips a dagger out from within her boot. She begins to carve at the root of one of the tusks. Ripping and popping noises sound out; Julian physically recoils from it.
"You're seriously sick, woman. Do you know that?" "Spoils of war." She answers plainly. "What would even use with one of those." "New bow material." Julian gives Gregor an exasperated glance, but Gregor merely shakes his head. Knock it off. Julian complies with a sigh, turning to go back the way they came.
Something catches his eye, but he doesn't lower his spear, and Gregor can hear the approaching footsteps before the King's servant speaks up, clapping his hands. "Wonderful, heroes! Absolutely wonderful!" The short and stout man exits and scampers up to the three of them from behind his cover, careful to avoid the pools of blood from staining the bright green robes he wears. His heavily receding hairline is only saved by a smooth red cap stuck on his head, which doesn't look at all particularly comfortable. He's up there in his years, and he always has a placated smile on when talking to Gregor and his classmates; the man reminds Gregor of a rat, in more ways than just his personality.
Then again, because of the way he dresses, he looks like one of those pimento olives you'd find stuck on a toothpick in a cocktail.
He addresses Gregor specifically, clapping his knotted hands together. "You felled a cave troll like it was nothing! Such might as that is unheard of these days! You truly are a walking legend." Everyone's always buttering him up with high regards and the like, and he used to think they actually meant it. But recently, he's begun to suspect they only do so to get on his good side. Saying you're friends with the "Great Hero" is enough of an advantage for the King's servants and acquaintances to go out of their way to kiss his boots every chance they get, in the hopes that, one day, he'd vouch for them or feel obligated on their behalf in some way.
It's begun to sicken Gregor. He's not worthy of their praise.
"Oh there you are!" Julian exclaims; it's obvious enough to see that he's grown tired of the compliments and applause as well. "I see you're still alive! Tell me, did you find any cool looking worms, hiding behind that little rock of yours?" The servant blanches at that. It's not a particularly nice thing to say, but Gregor himself only thinks of the man as the "King's servant", despite the knowledge that he's told Gregor his name countless times on the way here. Frankly, he doesn't care how abrasive Julian acts.
Martha rips the troll's tusk free, pulling it into her inventory with a flash of light and inspecting it. Gregor dislodges his battleaxe, speaking without talking to any particular person. "It's a good time to leave. Let's make our way back home." The King's servant stammers out his words, still put off by Julian's somewhat accurate remark. "But, we've only just arrived, Great Hero! It took us so long to come out here, into this, wretched place." It may take a day to walk here, but the ride over was under an hour by carriage. It's not the end of the world.
Gregor stashes his battleaxe onto the hook near the top right of his back, letting the metal click into place. He stares out into the wilderness beyond, seeing faces in the shadows everywhere. "We've made enough progress for today." He says plainly. Everyone stares at Gregor's back. He folds his arms, letting the sweat on his face cool from a soft breeze swooping down from above the treetops. "I've hit level 50, after all."
Julian raises his eyebrows, Martha isn't even listening. The King's servant just about explodes, jumping in place. "Oh! Positively marvelous! You're right, Great Hero! We must return and celebrate at once! Your wisdom knows no bounds!" The King's servant spins on his heels, scampering away happily toward where they parked the carriage, completely oblivious to the danger that always lurks in the shadows around him in these woods. "Oh, wait until our Majesty, the King, hears of this!"
His distant voice drowns out. Julian sighs, tapping his spear against this shoulder almost rhythmically. "Man. Do they always have to talk like that?" Martha clicks her tongue in dismay, and leaves the troll's corpse, following the King's servant's trail. "You're just not used to compliments." Julian and Gregor both know there's an insult somewhere in there, and the redheaded spearman accuses her of such. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He calls. "Wouldn't you like to know." She calls back. Julian kicks at the dirt, yet a small smile splits his face. "Sheesh, that woman drives you up a wall." He turns on Gregor. "Right?"
...
Gregor doesn't immedietly answer him. He takes a deep breath, still staring off into the distance.
"Julian."
...
"Yeah?"
Should he truly ask this? Will it give away too much?
"Have you ever done something that you truly regret, but have no ways to make amends for it?" Julian scratches his head. After a moment of silence, what he says makes Gregor's heart stop. "You talking about the Nameless?"
Gregor is glad his back is turned; his eyes widen and his mouth slackens. He's said too much. Everyone will know now. He's sure of it.
But Julian continues, drawing in the mud with his spear's endcap. "That guy already paid with his life. Shouldn't that be enough?" He says it with a twinge of fear in his voice, as if he's suprised he's even able to say such a thing with a straight face. Gregor composes himself and turns to the spearman, raising a questioning eyebrow. Julian meets his gaze, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't mean to piss you off, but you keep finding every chance you can to talk abut him, like you're trying to milk our sympathy raw. It got old a long time ago, and yet you're still doing it."
He turns to leave as well, a little perturbed. "Just give it a rest man, honestly. I'm sure he regretted killing your sister in the end, and he made his amends. Forgive and forget about him already." Julian follows Martha, leaving Gregor behind.
...
But that isn't what Gregor meant. He finds his eyes on his hands once more, stained with blood. He clenches them to fists.
That isn't what he meant at all.
. . .
Could you be any slower?!
BANG.
CRASH.
ROOOOOAAAAAR!!!
I'm trying!
I move as fast as I can. Frostbite is faster. The massive dragon stampedes toward the tunnel I disappeared into, mouth frothing and red eyes manic. In a frenzy he forces himself into the smaller opening, pulverizing icicles and cracking the walls. His wings carve into the ceiling, his talons dig into the ground. His head snakes back and forth, snarling and hissing and reaching further and further.
He eyes my fleeing form ahead, and his maw snaps open.
Get down!
I drop. Whether it be because I wanted to, or felt the burning sensation that I needed to, I don't know. But whatever the case, I duck out of the tunnel, falling into a branching path with that glowing crystal held close to my chest. Not a second later, and a horrid noise of a belching snowstorm echoes through the cave system, and a torrent of icicles ravage the ground where I once stood, shattering against the walls and obliterating a lone skeleton sticking out of the ceiling. I stare back with wide eyes, not fully comprehending just how close to death I got.
What the hell?! I scramble to my feet, slipping on the ice and hobbling away on my frostbitten leg. He's gone insane! He wants me back. What? I can hear Frostbite ripping through the tunnel behind me; his alien bellows of horror echo off every surface, filling the air about me in a cacophony of sounds like metal shearing against metal.
Just as it sounds. He's not ready to let me go yet. What did you make me do? You rescued me. That's what you did. There's no time between our words; her voice no longer sounds like a distant whisper. Every time she speaks directly into my mind, the crystal flashes along, like it was annotating every syllable. Well, what am I supposed to do now?! The ground shakes; I slide around a corner just as a large white forearm grasps the ground on the other side of the natural tunnel.
Buy me time. For what!? I need… to decide. Decide on what?! The crystal, Apollyon, hesitates. On whether or not this will be worth it. Make yourself scarce. Not like I have much else of a choice!
Frostbite and I play a game of cat and mouse, one that pratically shakes the entire mountain. Like an insane hobbit after their precious ring, Frostbite bellows and snarls, forcing himself through small tunnels and thin openings without hesitating, even as bones in his wings begin to fracture from the pressure.
Fresh cracks dance by in the walls around me, small chunks of ice skip about from powerful vibrations. It feels like the entire mountain is about to fall on me, and for not even a moment does Frostbite relent. I run, and run, and run. I whip around corners, shuffle down tunnels, and-
Move!
What do you think I'm-
Something enters me from my back. A bloodied tip of an icicle exits out from my sternum. In an instant, my health simply disappears. In a wave of a tingling sensation, blood mixed with bile rushes up my throat from my destroyed stomach, losing pressure as the valves in my heart dry up, and my muscles slacken. I vomit crimson, as my shirt beneath the icicle stains with fresh blood. My other leg locks up, my vision wavers. I was mere steps away from entering another cave, from saving myself from Frostbite's breath attack.
Other icicles bury into the walls about me, skipping along the ceiling and nearly taking my head off. The skin of my chest darkens, the dead flesh spreads rapidly, climbing up my neck, my chin. It rises past the frozen tears on my cheeks, and takes my eyes.
I fall, and everything goes black.
. . .
I'm back in the void. A senseless place, which robs me of everything that lets me know I'm alive. Though, when I try to talk, I hear my own mind's voice echo.
"So, this is the afterlife then."
…
A woman's voice answers me.
"No. But it's close enough." In the darkness, I turn. Once, I was unable to tell which way was up. But now, my legs are planted onto a surface I cannot see, and the voice I hear comes from directly behind me.
And when I lay my eyes on her, I see Apollyon.
She approaches me in the void with a graceful gait; her bare feet planting onto nothing just beneath the long skirt of the flowing white gown she wears. The gown's sleeves flare out considerably past her slender elbows, trailing behind her like flags in the wind.
She is, frighteningly beautiful.
A heart shaped head with sharp and mature features, beset with thin eyebrows, mounting long eyelashes and a pair of soft almond eyes, whose color is of the most vibrant sky blue. Her lips, pursed and full, are coated in dark lipstick, which seems to drink up any light that dares reflect against it.
Her hair is long and obsidian black, flowing down in silky strands to her lower back. Her pale shoulders are bare, and the fabric about her chest seems far too tight to be considered comfortable.
She has a few accessories too; the first that catches my eyes are her earrings. Two thin silver chains, ending with glowing sapphires that hang a finger's length down. She has a bright white rose on the left side of her head as well, whose petals look almost like sharpened glass. And what holds my attention the most, is the cryptic choker she has about her thin neck. The piece itself looks like it's been carved into her very skin, in a complex design that has a vain form of elegance to it. And at its forefront, resting just beneath Apollyon's chin, is that same blue crystal I found in the box, now cut to shape and glowing brightly on her neck.
She is, for lack of a better word, utterly intimidating, and as she draws close, gazing upon me with cold and calculating eyes, I notice another thing.
She's tall. Like, really tall. I'm not short by any means, yet the top of my head doesn't even reach her shoulders. She must be nearly eight feet in height. Her voice reminds me of a singer's, if that singer was pushing forty. She has a sardonic attitude about her, like she was mocking me just for standing here.
"So, you are a human after all." In an action unbecoming of anyone normal when they first meet somebody, she places a closed hand beneath my chin, raising my head up to gaze right into my eyes. I swallow. She looks me up and down, practically towering over me. She pouts. "You're a lot smaller than I thought you'd be."
I don't like that I'm blushing. Not at all. I try to hide my face, and to stop staring at the chest that meets me at eye level. "So, is that it then? Did I die?" Just the two of us in this void, until Apollyon changes that. "Not yet." She whisks her right hand out, letting her loose sleeve fall away nearly up to her shoulder.
With the movement, I'm given a view of a strange ring and bracelet she has on. Once more, it looks like they've been carved into her skin. These carry no stones, in fact, they look more like runes.
From the ends of her fingertips, which have been sharpened into claw-like nails, the light of a spell hums to life, and the blackness before her flushes with color and light. "Though, that may change very soon." The lights and colors take shape, and I'm given a harrowing sight.
It's me, like we're watching my body from the third person, in the dark confines of the ice caves. My body has fallen limp, the last remaining areas of my skin blackening from frostbite. There is a large icicle that runs right through me, nearly as long as a yardstick, dripping bloody droplets off its tip that fall in slow motion, freezing and becoming like red marbles by the time they hit the ground. I look like a corpse already. And yet, the open jaws of an ice dragon have yawned open behind my frozen body, mere seconds away from snapping me in two.
I myself, standing beside Apollyon; I clasp my hands to my head, my eyes widening. "No. Is that…" "Quite the predicament." Apollyon surmises. My fingers dig into my scalp. "Great. Great! This is just, freaking perfect." I wheel on Apollyon. "So, that's it then? Game Over? Just like that?" Apollyon scrunches her nose. "Don't count yourself out yet. We have time, and an ample opportunity here." I find myself giving her the most incredulous expression, feeding wholeheartedly into my outburst. "What the hell are you talking about?! It's over!"
...
Am I crying?
…
I am. I'm certain of it. My vision is blurred, and my eyes feel hot. Stinging tears roll down my cheeks, as my hands spring off my head, as if my skull just exploded. "I didn't even get a chance! It's all over! It-"
Apollyon's hand grabs the top of my head, arresting me in place. My heart skips a beat, as this towering woman with flowing black hair stoops her head to meet my gaze; she stares long and hard into my tearing eyes. "Calm down." She practically commands, her demeanor a heartless one. My rampaging words get caught up in my throat, failing to leave my mouth. Apollyon searches for something.
"You're talking about more than Frostbite, aren't you." She narrows her eyes; it's now that I realize her pupils are slit, like a reptile's. "You did something to have your name stripped of you, Nameless." She hisses. "So, just what did you do?"
I meekly point at the still image of my body, about to be devoured by Frostbite. "But-" Apollyon cuts me off. "Don't worry about that. Time works differently here. You're currently in my soul, after all." She hovers her face inches from mine; her breath is unnaturally hot. "We have all the time we need." "Your… soul?" I echo.
To answer me, Apollyon loosens her grip on my head. A terrifying grin spreads across her face, stretching her black lips and baring her sharpened white teeth beneath. "Yes." She extends her hand out at the darkness around us. "My soul."
In a flash, the darkness erupts. Nothingness becomes bright blue fire; the invisible floor ignites with azure flames. For a moment, it feels like the entire world is burning down. Yet, the raging inferno buffers from the two of us, forming a tight ring, but staying well away. It's like we stand on a lone platform, amongst a sea of incinerating flames.
Apollyon looks about at the fire; her eye color matches their hue perfectly. The sudden updraft of heat causes her hair and gown to wave about, dancing like they were black and white flames themselves. She looks even more like a deity.
Her draconic eyes lock back onto me. "It's easy enough to see you don't trust me. So, I suppose true introductions are in order." She places just the fingers of her hand to her chest; nearly every time she stops, it looks like she's striking a pose. "My name is Apollyon the Black. A Harbinger of Calamity, and wielder of the Azure Flame. I once held the title of Queen of the Dragons eons past, though such a calling has since left me."
She places her hands to her hips, cocking her head ever so. "I was slain long ago, by a group of humans no less, and have since been trapped under this mountain, with nobody but a boorish mate for company."
Frostbite, is her mate? "How does that…" I trail off, blushing furiously. "…Work?"
Apollyon's grin becomes almost mischievous. "Oh, little one. I only use this form because it's practical." She takes far too much pleasure in saying it. "In reality, I'm a dragon as well." I find my hands holding onto one another behind my back. Forget deity. She's more of a demon. A monster in human skin.
"And what about you?" She asks plainly, not missing a beat. "What is your story, Nameless?"
...
A memory of Jen's face makes my insides twist up. "I… I don't want to talk about it."
Apollyon loses her smile. "Is that so?" A second later, she's back to grinning wickedly again. "Well, I suppose I'll have all the time I need to pry it out of you later. After all, we'll have plenty of time to talk, after this."
I feel something begin to well up within me: an impending sense of danger. Not in the physical kind. But the psychological kind. Something bad is about to happen; I can practically taste it in the air. I give her a wide-eyed stare, missing some piece to accurately decipher her words.
"You said," I begin. "While we were running, that you needed to decide 'whether or not this will be worth it.' What did you mean by that?"
Apollyon sighs, which sounds terrifying when she isn't frowning. "Humans, just as uneducated as ever. Sealing One's Soul is an irreversible process, you know. A monster won't do it with just anyone they meet." She crosses her arms beneath her bosom. "How strong are you anyways? If you're too weak, this may just kill you." My mind goes completely blank.
…
Does she mean my level?
Apollyon shrugs her shoulders, making up her mind. "Oh well. Not that it particularly matters. I only wonder if you will be able last."
…What? She takes a threatening step towards me. "Oh, how I wonder."
I thrust my hands out wardingly, frantically shaking my head. "Wait no! Wait wait wait wait wait! What?! Wait, what do you mean this might kill me!? What is even happening?!" She takes another step forward, the blue flames encircling us seem to grow even higher. "We're getting out of this damn mountain, right now. You. And me." My skin goes completely white; that image of my impending death burns away in the azure blaze.
"But, we can't! He's a level 2,048 dragon! There's no way we can win!" I still don't even know what's about to happen. I only know I'll certainly regret it. Apollyon falters. "Only 2,048?" …Only? She practically laughs mockingly as she speaks. "This is going to be so easy!"
The flames rise high into the heavens; I run out of room to retreat on this long platform. She corners me, fully deluded in her madness. "There is no other choice." She says it like it's the best thing in the world. "Unless you wish to die, of course."
I hit an invisible wall of heat, which she pins me against, wrapping up my arms and holding them over my head. She gets close, close enough that our bodies press against one another, and her head bears down me, locking down my frightened gaze. She's ecstatic.
"Now, submit to me. Cleave unto me. Become one, with me."
Our forms mix together, and everything goes black.
. . .
With a start, I'm thrust back into my body.
Without even needing to open my eyes, I can feel it coming. A pair of jaws as large as a small home, lunging at me from behind. I'm a split second from dying, as my health bar completely disappears.
But…
Are you ready?
My health bar doesn't disappear, it corrodes away. So does the time, the exp, even my inventory. Like a blessing being torn from my very being, the brighter hue on everything burns away; my ancient sword goes flying out of my collapsing inventory, clattering away across the floor. Every sense that this world is a game leaves me in an instant; the final piece of artificial fantasy I see is a single notification, flashing across the dark vision of my closed eyes.
Barred by a green rectangle, the white text reads:
You have successfully Soul-Sealed with Apollyon: Lv. 0.
...
The notification freezes; everything freezes. Like I exist outside of time itself. Frostbite doesn't move; that ancient sword hangs suspended mid-spin in th air.
The notification vibrates, shakes, ruptures. The green rectangle corrodes to black, and the message is replaced with blood-red lettering, each letter hastily scribbled with sharp edges and uneven angles.
But a single phrase, floating and glitching amongst the darkness. For a moment, just a second, I hear a far-off scream of horror; one that pierces my very intertwined soul.
HOW DARE YOU.
And with that, the notification burns up in blue flames, and time starts once more.
Let us begin.
Like a flip switching, a shockwave of sweltering heat ruptures out from my body, partially melting and shattering the walls and ceiling and floor of the cave. Frostbite is struck from the blast, knocking his jaws off-course, sending him crashing and rolling away, shaking the very mountain.
The icicle through my torso melts away, leaving a gaping hole in my chest. My body lifts off the ground, but I'm not standing. Like gravity itself can't chain me down, I rise, levitating weightlessly into the air.
Frostbite raises his head, snarling. But as he cranes his neck to look back at me, he halts, his draconic eyes widening.
I lose my grip on the uncut crystal, but it doesn't fall. It hovers beside me, its form morphing into a polished gem. It arcs violently, burying itself into the hole in my chest.
CLICK.
Like plugging into the power source, my black frostbitten flesh is melted away, replaced by pale white skin. My wounds close up; the hole in me closes in around the gem. My mute brown hair corrodes into an obsidian black.
My frozen tears I shed for Jen run once more down my cheeks; they evaporate before they ever reach my chin.
My eyes snap open, and my irises ignite, becoming the deepest glowing hue of azure. The heat intensifies, like an EMP firing off again and again.
Frostbite roars. To me, they sound like a word.
"NO!"
The ice dragon lunges for my hovering form; I extend my right arm. A bracelet and ring, etched into my skin like runes…
Like shackles laid on my mortal coil.
My own flesh ruptures. I disappear. A black arm as large as a telephone pole, ending in ebony talons, lunges, making cataclysmic impact with Frostbite's. The blow compresses the surrounding air; a shockwave capable of tearing a human to viscera cavitates.
Parts of the ice cavern caves in; the distant rumbling of triggered avalanches outside thunder through the splintered walls. It feels like the whole mountain is coming down.
Frostbite backsteps, hissing as talon-shaped marks on his scales leak whisps of smoke. His spines along his back bristle, and amongst the generated steam, he can only see a large dark shadow standing where I once was, partially illuminated by the blue flames that leak from her snout.
The steam whisks away. And I am gone.
In my place, is a shadow of the divine; a monster in every sense of the word. A body covered in rigid black scales, standing atop four bulky yet lean legs. Three stepped rows of spines shaped like shattered obsidian line the back, ending in one single large spike in the form of a blade on the tip of a long and muscular tail. Two large wings fold in, the wing claws at their elbow joints dig into the ground. At the end of a long neck, an angular head with curling dark horns and sky-blue eyes glares at Frostbite. Her signature flames spout from her nostrils when she snorts. A size larger than him, thicker and mightier than the slim white dragon.
I have disappeared from view, and Apollyon the Black has taken my place.
"A-Apollyon!" Frostbite chokes out, unconsciously curling his tail up around himself, making sure to keep his head lower than her's. A rumbling growl utters deeply within Apollyon's throat. "Frostbite." The ice dragon, for how terrifying he once was, acts like a deer caught in headlights. "I… uh." He stares down at his own front talons. "I didn't know you had revived."
I'm somewhere within Apollyon's body, in a place where I can easily feel her lungs press on me when she breathes. I hear the constant beating of a heart all around me too. For me, the cold is gone, and it's terribly hot in here. Yet, the heat is a welcome change. In fact, I could say I'm almost comfortable in it.
But when I open my eyes, I don't see muscles or blood veins or bone. I see what Apollyon sees, and what I see, is a mighty Lv. 2048 dragon submitting to me, dropping his wings and averting his eyes. "But, it's good to see you are back." He says almost desperately.
I can feel Apollyon's emotions; her thoughts are an open canvas to me. To some degree, we are two souls sharing a body. So, when she begins to growl, I feel a building sense of resentment grow within me. It might be because she's a dragon, but these emotions feel so raw. So volatile.
So, powerful.
"No thanks to you." She snaps. Frostbite backs up ever so slowly; I can practically smell the fear emanating off of him. "I-I promise I was looking to find you a new body! I swear!" He backs into a wall of ice, jumping from the contact. "I… I was just-"
One of those frozen corpses falls from a fresh crack in the ceiling, breaking apart and tumbling in pieces between the two dragons. Both of them go silent; Apollyon recognizes the design of the corpse's armor.
Like viewing the shattered clips of a movie in my mind's eye, I see flashes of images, of the time when Apollyon was slain.
The land is a hellscape, blue fires rage. Apollyon rears her head in fury, her sword-like tail spike lashing back and forth furiously. An army of humans, numbering in the hundreds of thousands with their ancient swords and shields and armor, devastated from her fire. But amongst them, a small group of humans in gleaming armor and exotic weapons stand strong. A party of valiant heroes, facing Apollyon in a battle that will destroy the very continent.
Just as her memory ends, one of mine begins, when I recognize the ancient swords those humans wielded long ago.
The sight of the bodies, frozen and submerged. The large galleon, locked in wave-like shapes of ice and stuck hanging out of the wall in the treasure room. Frostbite laying there, box that contained Apollyon's soul held tightly in his talons.
Our memories, thoughts, and assumptions come crashing together, until an idea forms in our mind.
Apollyon snarls.
"I see. So that's what happened." Frostbite squirms. "What?" Apollyon takes one step forward, then another. She stalks toward the cornered ice dragon, playing with her words as fury begins to burn underneath. "Let me guess. After I was slain, you attacked the ship that carried my soul, freezing it and its crew, before carrying it all back to your lair." Her rows of spines bristle against one another, making a noise like a rattlesnake made out of glass. "In doing so, you went against the Great Creator's wishes, and was threatened to have your blessings rescinded. And we simply can't have that."
She admires her wings, like what she says is the most boring thing in the world.
"To make amends with him, you vowed to take the place of his puppets, guarding my soul from everyone that draws near, like a good little guard dog. So, you got keep to keep your levels, and you got to keep me. Trapped here. Like a pet."
If dragons could smile, Apollyon is doing it. "Am I wrong?"
And if dragons could go pale, Frostbite turns whiter than he already was. "How did you…"
...
His eyes narrow. "Wait. That human. Where did it go?" My own eyes open. He quickly glances about, finding no trace left of me.
Something must click in his head, because he looks at Apollyon like she grew another pair of horns. "No. You didn't…" Apollyon begins to quake with anger. "You gave me no other choice." Frostbite looks distraught, offended, and enraged. "You Soul-Sealed, with a filthy human?"
"12,000 years…"
"What?"
Apollyon explodes; her lungs constrict drastically. "YOU KEPT ME LOCKED IN THAT DAMN BOX FOR MORE THAN 12,000 YEARS!!!"
With a rush of rancid adrenaline, Apollyon's black maw snaps open, and a bright pillar of pure light ruptures forth, instantly ionizing the air and combusting, becoming an incinerating plasma that splashes against everything in a rushing wave of superheated azure flames.
As if Apollyon held the power of the distant blue supergiants of space's endless void.
A sound like constant thunder echoes through the melting ice caves, light almost too bright to stare at with the naked eye flashes, giving everything a stuttering shutter effect. Apollyon's body casts long shadows; her eyes reflect a deep white glow.
Amongst the godslaying flames, Frostbite roars out in agony, shielding his head with his wing.
Apollyon cuts the fuel, and Frostbite collapses to his side. The wing he used to defend himself has lost all of its membrane; large patches of his scales have melted away, exposing burnt flesh beneath. Steam and smoke rises as Frostbite heaves, snarling angrily as his wounds slowly dig into him.
"He didn't… I wasn't given a choice!" Apollyon's tail lashes back and forth. Entire waterfalls have been created; the ice of the cave has all but been completely melted away. The two dragons stand atop bare stone that nearly glows red hot, splashing into large puddles of boiling water. Apollyon snorts.
"Of course you had a choice. You could've chosen to join me."
"And do what, face eternal torment?!" Frostbite snaps back, and despite his gruesome injuries, he fights back. His scarred white maw snaps open, and his frigid breath, which dances on the edge of reaching absolute zero, tears forth from amongst his teeth.
Apollyon snarls, using her own wing as a shield. Despite her destructive power, she doesn't shrug off Frostbite; he's a boss-level monster in his own right. The icicles, which can freeze an entire limb dead just by grazing the skin; they slam into Apollyon's wing like hail against a sheet of metal, exploding and boring into the black scales.
Permeating frost grows from where the icicles strike, joining together and increasing in size, like spreading mold. Puddles of water instantly freeze over where shards of the icicles land; red hot stone shatters in explosive bursts as they cool in the blink of an eye.
Half of Apollyon's wing freezes over, and Frostbite scrambles to his feet, bravely charging her. "Do you really expect me to tie myself down to a sinking ship?!" He slams into Apollyon, lashing out his claws to try and rake into her. She grapples with him, halting his advance in a show of brute strength.
"You've spent so long around the Great Creator, you're starting to sound like a human!" She bellows. She gains the upper hand, wrapping her talons around Frostbite's neck, and she throws him. A dragon as big as the largest of civilian airliners, and she throws him like it's nothing. Undeterred, Frostbite sticks the landing, preparing to use his frost breath once more.
"Like you can talk! You've merged with a human yourself!" In a spinning motion that happens almost too quickly to track, Apollyon whips her tail out, stabbing its lone spike into Frostbite's neck near his head, causing the ice dragon to stagger; frigid blue blood gushes from the deep wound, interrupting the breath attack.
"Oh, but compared to a spineless lizard such as you." The rows of obsidian spikes along Apollyon's back rattle against one another once more; Her heart beats rapidly in my ears. "He's a greater dragon than you'll ever be." Frostbite roars in defiance. "Take that back!"
The two tear into one another, locking talons and tails and unleashing the two extremes of outer space like it's second nature. Frostbite moves quickly, slashing at Apollyon's snout and forcing her to get tripped up by firing his failing frost breath erratically, freezing entire lakes worth of water to ice under the Dragon Queen's feet.
Apollyon uses her tail spike like how a duelist would, switching to her claws and unleashing her incinerating blue flames without notice. Her spikes normally rattle just before she's about to attack, then she rattles them without ever attacking, or attacking without ever rattling them at all. Even as she fights to the death, she plays mind games, performing the dragon's equivalent of feints.
Frostbite is slashed across the side from the spike, and he whips his head with a snarl, unleashing his breath attack at point blank range. Apollyon answers with a pillar of blue fire of her own. What happens next teeters on the edge of the supernatural.
The icicles plunge into the fire, and they detonate, each a bomb that explodes violently, turning to vapor in an instant. That water vapor ignites, cavitating into deep vermillion fire that expands, collapsing, then expanding again. The air feels like it tingles; dancing arcs of lightning crawl out of the fresh flames, erratically lashing out at everything, including the two dragons.
The noise is indescribable, but the effect is simple enough to understand.
The mountain peak explodes, as a critical point is reached, and the fireball ruptures out faster than the eye can track, enveloping the two dragons and pressurizing every crack and hole in this winding cavern. Suddenly, the entirety of Frostbite's Lair becomes one big bomb.
To someone outside, the entire top of this mountain erupts, like a dormant volcano raging to life without warning. Amongst a billowing cloud of soot, Rock and and dust is launched thousands of feet into the air. The shockwave is loud enough for those in the kingdom to hear it, hundreds of miles away.
The ground shakes like an earthquake has begun. And when the dust clears, Apollyon is unfazed. Gone are the caves, gone is the treasure room and the ship and the bodies. Rocks and dust and singular golden coins come raining down, as the howling winds of the blizzard rush into the mountain, blowing the smoke and soot away.
We're no longer deep underground; Apollyon stands at the center of a colossal inverted cone in the mountain, the shattered walls of stone and melting snow rising high up in every direction. The peak is gone, and all that's left of it is a crater full of rubble.
The black dragon stalks amongst this rubble, finding her quarry partially buried under boulders and dust.
Frostbite heaves. Part of his skull is missing. The life is slowly leaving his eyes, as the first snowflakes begin to fall around the two of them.
"…Heh." He chokes out, one of his teeth falling from the edge of his shattered flesh, where the top part of his jaw is gone. "Even after all these years, you're still breathtaking." Apollyon growls, grabbing Frostbite by the horns with her two arms. "Apollyon the Black… I almost feel sorry for the Great Creator…"
Apollyon lowers her head, snarling between her teeth. "When you see him, tell him I sent you. And tell him, that I will come for him next. And I will finish what I started." With that, she wrenches Frostbite's head violently.
SNAP.
The ice dragon ceases to move, falling still as his eyes unfocus. Apollyon backs up, and she stares at his corpse. I feel twinges of sadness and regret take hold of her, as her mind echoes a forlorn farewell.
Goodbye. My love.
With a sudden jerk, she staggers, losing her grip on the strength to stay standing. Woah. Are you alright? Apollyon heaves, as if her body was suddenly running out of oxygen. Ah, Nameless. So you survived…
Her ravaged wings droop down, head going slack as her neck muscles fail her. What's happening? What's wrong? I can't maintain this form for long. It's beginning to fail me. She chuckles darkly to herself. Honestly, I'm surprised it lasted more than a few seconds.
Her arms and legs buckle beneath her, and the black dragon collapses, taking shorter and shorter breaths. I'm sorry, but my consciousness is slipping away. I won't be able to help you get off this mountain. You will have to do that yourself.
My real body squirms in panic. What? No! If I go out there, I'll be dead in minutes! Humans. So weak and frail. How did I ever lose to one? Her breaths weak, her heart slowly failing to beat. I can feel her body dying all around me. Nameless, my powers are yours's. Our souls are intertwined. When you leave this corpse, tap that gem on your chest. Even if I'm not awake, I will help you. Just don't die. If you do, then I will as well.
Her words in my head begin to slow; Apollyon the Black's eyes unfocus. Both of our lives are in your hands now… Don't waste them… If we want to free this world…
Then…
…
Apollyon goes slack, her heart beating its last. One moment, I simply exist in her body. The next, I'm trapped in it. Oxygen cuts off; I'm being suffocated by a mess of meat and bone. I flail frantically, tearing away at the tendons and muscles that connected to me, splitting veins and arteries that ran under my skin like a mess of IVs.
I fight to free myself as splotches show up in my obscured vision, and before long, I'm crawling out of Apollyon's gaping mouth, gasping for breath.
I collapse to the floor, naked, caked in blood, and coughing. My health bar and buttons never return, no notifications pop up. But I can feel the cold, as it bites into me. Despite the lingering heat in the crater, snow slowly piles on, sapping the place of color one flake at a time.
I shiver, and curl in, unable to retain my body heat. It's freezing out here. Even still, I'm alive. An in my fetal position, I glance down at my chest.
Just as Apollyon said, there is a glowing blue gem where my sternum once was. It's partially embedded in, sticking out just enough to be noticeable. With shivering fingers, I tap it, and my vision goes dark.
At least, that's what I initially thought.
The gem flashes, and black scales flood out of the gap betwene it and my skin, wrapping over my body in a split second. It devours my legs, grouping up and smoothing over into a set of lithe greaves. It hugs to my chest and waist, hardening into a form-fitting cuirass and jagged pauldrons. My hands are lost in the void, and sleek gauntlets take their place, ending my fingers with small yet razor sharp claws. My vision darkens as the scales flood over my eyes and head, before my sight is returned, and with interest.
I gaze through a visor, and everything gets… sharper.
Shadows lighten, and every object comes into focus; not a single detail is missed. My sense of smell heightens, and I swear I can hear the heartbeats of animals somewhere beyond this crater.
I reach at what rests on my head, and with some persuasion, I'm able to take it off like a helmet. I spin it around in my hands, and a menacing looking helm stares back. The visor is a set of thin bars kept close together, though the semblances of rows of teeth just out above and below it. The rest of the helmet, and the armor for that matter, follows a similar motif. It's like human armor has been forcefully mixed with draconic properties; a clash of ideas that somehow procures an effective result.
My gauntlets and vambraces are thin yet bulky in all the right places, pauldrons layered and the chest piece formed out of three separate and overlapping plates, completely leaving just the gem on my chest exposed. My legs are the same as my arms, with the smooth plating growing thicker in areas that need it. The plates themselves have sharp edges, like I'm wearing an assemblance of black blades for armor. And beneath the outer plates, at my joints and neck, I'm covered in a thin layer of flexible scales, like chain mail without a single hole in it.
Despite the bulk, I look thinner wearing it, and it seems to drink up the light; it reflects nothing. I look like a black splotch; I look like a monster. I look like I now have what it takes to survive.
With the armor comes a warming type of heat, and with it goes the bitter cold. I can't help but smile. Apollyon! This is amazing! She doesn't answer, but I can sense her. Like a presence standing beside me. She's still here; she's probably just in the soul equivalent of asleep. What she's said, and what she did; she's not a good person by any means. Still, even if she's just using me, for reasons I can only slowly begin to understand, she still helped me.
I'm still alive, surrounded by two dragon corpses, in the center of a massive crater that only just recently formed. I can have a second chance…
So where do I go from here? What's the next step?
Gregor standing above me, so high and mighty that he wouldn't dare apologize and admit he's in the wrong. "Do you regret it?" He asks.
…
There's somebody, a few somebodies, and entire kingdom really, that I'd like to pay a visit to. I'm not so foolish as to believe that Apollyon will come quietly, it sounds like she's declaring war on someone only fools would face; her scope is far larger than just petty revenge. But I glare at my armor, opening and closing my free hand, feeling the dormant power that seems to flood like an unending well out of this gem in my chest.
I'm not powerless anymore. I'm not a whelp that can be beat and spit upon in a cell any longer. Nobody can force me to bow, to concede, to come quietly as I'm carried to my death. Kings can't control me; nations can't stop me. Gregor's throat is within my grasp now, and I wholeheartedly intend to squeeze down tight.
It's possible. I glare at the heavens, grinning like a madman. You bastards. I will make you all pay. My blue eyes alight with fire. Your retribution is nigh.
GROWL.
A biting hunger overcomes me; I nearly keel over. With whatever kept me alive in those ice caves gone, so too goes my optional desire for food and drink.
It, without a doubt, feels like I haven't eaten anything in over a year.
I clutch my gut, writhing as it feels like my stomach is trying to eat me alive. I don't have anything, and I can't access my inventory anymore. The cold may be staved off, but I might die from starvation before I ever even leave this crater.
I gaze about, unsure of what to do. My eyes land on Frostbite's corpse…
…
A boss level monster, dead. The game no longer responds to me, but Frostbite was still a part of it. He must have drops, loot of some sort that I can scavenge. But I don't stare at him; I stare at his body. His burnt scales, his exposed muscle and seared flesh…
His cooked flesh.
I nearly drop my helmet.
"I suppose there are, other things." I say it out loud, and I start, pressing the bladed fingers of my hand to my mouth. My tongue is back. I hadn't even realized. I haven't heard my own voice in, well, over a year, and it sounds nothing like how I remember it...
…
A terrifying smile splits my lips, and my hand presses against my cheek in a vaguely feminine manner. My pupils constrict to slits, irises glowing as my overgrown black hair catches in the breeze, flowing like flames themselves.
"To a body, than just their drops."