02 / 04 / 2019 - Mezakeir, Khtonres
"Huuuuhhhhhh…. Hupp…"
Heaving a sigh, he then pursed his lips and propped himself to stand unsteadily; his whole body seemed to echo with cracks and creaking sounds, but regardless, he needed to move.
Trembling, head facing the ground, gritting his teeth, while sweat began to accumulate. Slowly and surely, he finally stood up amid the pain, hands holding his knees.
'What a hassle…'
Leaving a final sigh at his lips as warm breath escaped, he pushed his knee to straighten his body, following the pain and stings with an irritation he seemed to know.
"Even now, the repair is still ongoing, huh…"
Betting on these guesses, as the breeze blew his dry, messy hair, hands limp at his sides — he is now in the open square, his lifeless dim eyes reflecting the unveiled scenery.
Away from the night and its darkness, the city of dwarves has finally revealed itself.
"It is sure a sight from another world."
But before this, there are two things he needs to confirm.
He shook his head, then lowered his eyes to the ground in front of him, where he had fainted before, and finally put the gun in his inner pocket.
It is the corpse of the wolf — its body bearing various bullet holes piercing the dark veil, the result of point-blank shots; a total of thirteen bullets fired that night.
'Serves you right…'
His gaze calm and plain as always, moving his feet, he walked a short stride to the side of the corpse, much larger than him, crouching and inspecting it.
The whitish-silver fur had lost its gleam, leaving an ordinary coat softly swaying in the breeze, soaked in blood, leaving a dried puddle overnight.
Feeling nothing, he tilted his head, one hand above his knee — moving and touching the soft but somewhat sharp fur, tracing it until it met the edge of the dark veil. He is curious, and that's it.
He slowly lifted it — what lay beneath this veil? He called it a wolf because it resembled a wolf in anatomy, but what if that was a lie — beneath this veil, was it a hound? A cat? A crocodile? It was just a scientific impulse up close.
To the top of its head, the veil fell to the edge; his lips tilted flat, and he shook his head, standing up once again unsteadily.
"It is a wolf after all…"
The wolf's head is whitish silver, its jaw open, tongue out, eyes wide, and colour faded. That's it — he thought there would be some surprise.
"Well, isn't there something else?…."
He remembered a scene from that night — ominous and unkind, yet at the same time holy, standing in silver light and darkness, untainted, holding a silver dagger and a lamp.
'Now look at yourself, a corpse.'
This entity was cool, but its health bar was still there after all; the speed that could kill a human in the blink of an eye — not to be underestimated.
Snorting, he stepped backwards slightly and lowered his head. Regardless, he won and proved himself.
In his gaze, loosened from the wolf's hand on the ground, lay a silver dagger.
'Hmmm…'
Humming internally, he lowered his body, hands reaching out to grip the dagger — feeling its coldness and other sensations — the corner of his mouth upturned as he rose.
Amidst the light, he brought it closer to his face and inspected it.
The dagger carried no brilliance even as he directed it to the light; the guards spread thin on a rounded form, in the shape of a moon.
'Not long, also not short — approximately 25 centimetres?'
'Also… the grip is comfortable, but it's cold, then again… it's a bit big for my hands.'
As he thought and analysed silently, he took it down to chest level, his left hand tracing the straight blade.
Holding no reflection whatsoever, leaving only pale grey — as if it did not receive light at all — the edge of the blade bluish-white and subtle.
Then…
He looked beneath the pommel, which hung a small silver bell bound by a thread of black.
It didn't ring even once as he held it; he tilted his head in confusion at what this was supposed to be.
'Well, all in all, it's great…'
Flipping it to a reverse grip, the blade sticking out of his fist — he just had to make do with it. Slowly, he slipped the dagger between the pincer of his belt and his pants.
Patting it, he lifted his head and looked to the other side of the body, where lay a silver lamp, now extinguished.
'Should I take it or not?'
Humming, right hand on his hip, he stood in silence for a moment, but then shook his head and walked in a circle towards it.
'It's not going to hurt to carry more things…'
Lowering his body, hunched and a bit breathless, he took the silver lamp with his right hand — then his eyebrows raised; it was not quite a lamp as he had thought, more like a lantern perhaps.
'Hmmmm…'
Humming thoughtfully, right hand holding the circular handle at eye level, he inspected it with narrowed eyes.
'Seems like European, vintage style?'
The frame is dark metal, likely aged bronze or iron, with a weathered patina. Rising in hexagonal form, narrowing at the top like a spire or tower, each face framed by slender vertical supports.
There is no glass to encase it — instead there is a platform where the silver flame is supposed to be.
'But it has extinguished…'
He scratched his cheek with his left hand in confusion. He shrugged his shoulder and hung the silver lantern behind him, tied to his belt.
Turning his body to the right, he found the puppet — familiar, as he had seen it in Næfr's memories — its body featureless, a human skeleton with two hands and two legs.
Walking towards it and stopping at its side, its hands holding a straight silver sword — which he also took; why not? He slipped it to the left belt.
"Much weapon, much better…"
As tonight's accident — or maybe not — had left him a bit paranoid about having no power, he would grab whatever he could, the best he could; either to throw it or to hinder the enemy.
The case usage is endless.
"All that is done is done."
'Took some time enough.'
Walking unsteadily, he turned his body to the left, towards the full light and scenery that awaited him.
The breeze was getting stronger, then stronger — warm and yet cold, as the two came from different sources altogether.
Arriving at the edge of the round square, standing, hands on the cold metal railings, feeling the dust, he narrowed his eyes while taking in the sight.
The smell is ancient, like an old book opened for the first time in a century; among it is also damp and earthy, all stimulating his long-dormant senses.
'A bit watery, like an aftertaste of rain… fresh and invigorating…'
Illuminated by white-yellowish light are various pillars connected to the sky.
Sizing them from the bottom to the top, a wide ramp and stairs circle from the base to the peak of each pillar as an accessibility feature.
He tilted his head slightly, focusing on the various decorations and structures around the pillars.
And if he had previously wondered why the street seemed so deserted and empty, the answer lay there.
"What a unique architecture…"
Within each pillar itself, there are depressions — resembling round platforms or plates — set apart from the pillar, leaving a space he called a square.
Leaning forward slightly to make out the detail: there are many such squares up there, and also structures similar to how bees build their hives, drilling into the pillar itself.
Then how could one pillar be connected to another? The answer was easy; there is also a bridge — a sky structure connecting various pillars.
Pulling his body back, two hands on the railing, he looked downwards. What about the ground? What lay on the ground? And what was reflected in his eyes puzzled him slightly.
There are many tracks on the ground — concrete? Yes, but there are other things; if he assumed and assigned meaning to his current view…
'Logistic tracks? Cargo logistic tracks? What an advanced thing… if it surely is…'
On the ground, many boxed cargoes are held by machine gears. There is also what seems like a train carrying this cargo, along with a dense network of rails spreading far and wide.
Eyes fully open, the spirit of a knowledge seeker ignited at this moment — know it, understand it, assign meaning to it, and by then…
An alien term seemed to adapt to his mind and emerge from within.
'[Saturation]? That's…. seems… right? I guess….'
Uncertainty flashed in the depths of his eyes as he gazed at the complex ground full of gears that replaced the usual ground, along with a dense network of rails and posts.
'But I'm sure that, perhaps, at the end of this journey, my faith and my duty as a Reader will be fulfilled.'
Believing it to be fifty-fifty — he just needed to do his best in this short time, that's all. Hmmm, wait….
'Short time?'
The corner of his eye twitched as the circuit inside his mind connected to other things. Urgency filled his heart, and the grip on the railing tightened.
'I need to be fast, I have no time to dilly-dally here…'
'Let's sort out the clues we have now…'
The lifeless and dim eyes regained their clarity and luminance for a bit as he loosened his grip — for every second spent here, the lives of his family might be in danger.
So…
His gaze traced the faraway scenery below, following the network rails and grounds, existing between huge gears rotating in the empty spaces beside the concrete.
That night, his mouth twitched wildly — unknowingly, there had been a relief; if, just if, he had mistepped for a moment when he ran like a drunk person—
'I would have fallen and been crushed between those gears, wouldn't I?'
Well, what has passed has passed; he needed to learn and adapt, not make the same mistake again. He shook his head.
Continuing with the task at hand, his gaze lowered, following the cold trail — the source of the network — to find where these cargoes would go.
Until—
'As expected indeed…'
A wide open gate visible in his vision; what lay beyond the wall, hidden behind the hazy red mist, he didn't know…
'But it is obvious that it is my destination…. Helzogg, huh.'
He took his hands off the railings, turned his head and body without waiting further, and commenced after knowing what he needed to do.
But as he walked away to ascend the ramp—
Growl
Growl
"Akh…."
His stomach rumbled as he clutched the wound on his stomach, face crumpling in pain — ignoring the fact that his digestion was still functional, he had forgotten one thing.
'How am I supposed to get food?…'
The hunger was unbearable; eyes gleaming red, he figured it out — probably because the regeneration required a huge amount of energy.
And that's precisely what he lacked. Dammit, this hunger wasn't even ordinary at this point; he could feel it affecting his mind like a black hole.
'Whatever it is, I need to get food — anything! As long as it is flesh and blood…'
"It's you then…"
A hoarse voice rang out as his eyes settled on the walking creature on the street between two pillars; leisurely, he licked his dry lips at the sight.
….
3 hours later, the sky street platform, between two pillars.
Ducking behind the transportation car resembling a steam box, eyes fixed on the huge figure now sleeping carelessly amidst the wide street.
It is a hound — pure jet-black — thought leisurely, by his hunch, to probably not be asleep at all, or maybe just pretending.
'You sure are enjoying the warm breeze, aren't you?'
He thought, sideways, hidden in the shadow, his side planted on the metal now a bit warm, without even a dust on it — probably blown away by the strong wind.
His right hand slipped into his inner pocket to take the gun silently, eyes staying fixed on the jet-black hound. Feeling the grip in his hand, analysis began.
'The magazine in my inner pocket is emptied out, leaving it three in my pants pocket, still there.'
'Having reloaded, the magazine now contains fifteen bullets.'
'Considering the speed of the wind and distance.'
'Due to our height right now, unable to be measured precisely… but roughly, my safe distance is probably 20 to 10 metres, risky.'
'The distance between this hound and me is now 200 metres. Ability unknown, characteristics unknown.'
'The hound's size is estimated to be 5 or 6 metres, perhaps? Due to the size difference and unknown characteristics, the conclusion is none.'
'Lack of data, unknown conclusion, further testing required, I guess.'
As expected. Without any information, he couldn't assign the same parameters to the jet-black hound on Earth and the jet-black hound in this place; a premature conclusion was risky.
Closing and opening his grip, he narrowed his eyes. He eventually walked slowly out of the shadow, crouching, his left hand creeping to his right belt, and stay, without actually taking it.
'180 metres.'
Shuttling behind various cars and shadows, his steps masked by the song of the wind at this height, his gaze never leaving the hound.
'150 metres.'
'100 metres.'
Time passed slowly, but his heart remained calm. The lesson learned was that haste makes waste, and anything could go wrong in the process.
'70 metres.'
'40 metres.'
Right as he was closing in, the hound suddenly opened its eyes, gazed in his direction — directly towards the shadow where he hid — then stood up with a swift motion.
'Got you right…'
He never doubted that any animal could carelessly fall asleep amid a strong breeze like this; aside from comfort, the ambient sound of the wind would probably blast your ears.
'Let's test it slow…'
The world slowed down, but — under his lifeless gaze — he clearly captured the hound's movement, which didn't slow much at all.
It charged towards him in a straight line, bashing everything, and in a matter of seconds would probably reach him.
Slowly, urgency filled his heart, forcing him to go further.
'Not enough.'
Watching the closing jaw — probably 10 metres in front of him — he knew it was probably too late, but he did not regret it.
This time, he would throttle beyond.
'10 milliseconds for 7 decisions in time…'
'The result is decided for this last millisecond…'
Consumed rapidly, the decision density had increased; his mind and energy were burning, and time kept ticking.
'Conclusion. No time to dodge.'
'Conclusion. Left hind legs will sweep.'
'Conclusion. Incoming impact in two seconds.'
'Conclusion. Survival chance 40%.'
'Conclusion. Possible survival methods include escaping and guarding the front. Using transfer of momentum to distance yourself.'
'Conclusion. Let the hound come to you.'
'Conclusion. Brace yourself.'
'Decision. Firing Neural Response.'
The decision made, the response trigger fired — the dim lifeless bloody-ashen eyes stopped flickering; the world resumed its movement.
No thought, lightheaded, blood flowed from the eyes, then the ears, then the nose; hands moving to cross-guard his face and body.
Thump
Boom
First a slow thump as the legs swept towards him — reflected in his eyes as he floated in the air, a grin carved on the hound's face, its stance jumping backwards.
Then, followed by a booming sound, his back struck a metal wreckage of the transport car, embedded; he coughed blood — there was no time.
He didn't need to do anything as everything had been decided; he just needed to execute it, like a program that could not be stopped midway — or could he.
Ferocity and irritation flashed deep within.
Once again, the sound of the billowing tide, crashing on the shore. Along with the rustling leaves, this time the sound of the bell was much clearer.
Spitting blood that trickled from his mouth to his throat and lips, his hands grabbed the steel wreckage — not even a minute, with various cracks and bloody scars.
He propped his body up from the mess of steel; some of it had even punctured him, but he didn't give it much care — his left hand grabbed a protruding steel shard and pulled it free.
"AKGHHH—GHH!!!"
Gritting his teeth, a whimper escaping his lips, he slid down to the concrete street below under the watch of the hound, eyeing him — curious or cautious? Who knew.
His knee trembled as if wanting to give up, but he persisted, enduring everything after all.
"Huuuhhhhh…"
Letting out a foul breath, he stood in silence, waiting for the next move of the hound, for the next read or decision cycle.
And under his gaze, he grinned, gleaming in red.
Slowing down, its movement caught in his vision — the hound's leg was…
'Falling into shadows? So that's how it is…'
'Shadow, huh….'
One millisecond and then two, deactivated — but he did not fire a signal, hands still clenched tight. Heh, hahahahahah.
Cough
Spitting blood, his eyes darted around. He wanted to laugh, but couldn't; it was exhilarating — true to one's words, enlightenment is often accompanied by great distress.
'I'll call this [Micro Window Spike] — and I've got you…'
'Caught you. Deactivated. Firing Response.'
Only a short burst — time punctured — and in that very moment, the finer slice of time and decision captured and completed; no useless decisions needed.
At the expense of 10 milliseconds,
He dashed to the left; under the great stress, pain assaulted his mind in a shock and jolt, his bloody arm limp.
Seamless, he turned his body mid-air and whipped his limp hand towards the large expanse of shadow on his right, concealed behind the large board.
Eyes narrowed as movement coincided — hand and muzzle perfectly aligned in range as the hound's head, swallowed by shadows, emerged; he held his breath.
Its big head, jaw wide open, as—
Thump
'10 metres.'
'Not enough.'
'Deactivated. Firing Neural Response. Steps Ahead.'
Perception crumpled for a moment; his steps landed on the ground as he adjusted his limp hand to the right — muzzle and trajectory coinciding with the temple.
Thump
Thump
Thump
Thump
Hand aligned and re-aligned until his body fell backwards — his body had finally given out amid the strain — and under his lifeless gaze at the last moment:
The bullet pierced the temple, one by one; he could not see through it, but had guessed — it traveled towards the skull, and then the brain.
Thud
Thud
Falling back first, his eyes widened in pain once again as the crunch of breaking bones resounded in his ears, along with other sounds as the hound came out of the shadow.
Landing motionless.
Finally, he let out the breath he had held, and his eyes reflected the skies of Mezakeir — no more movement, only silence and a breeze.