02 / 04 / 2019 - Mezakeir, Khtonres
"Haaahhhhh…."
His eyes are lifeless and empty, a bloody-ashen reflection full of red and haziness. Yet his hands did not stop — or perhaps couldn't stop at all — like a numb machine.
A warm white breath escapes his bloody lips, and a few drops of liquid drip from his mouth and chin down onto the fur already soaked blood-red.
The scent of metal and rust filled his nose, blending with the taste already in his throat, no longer resisting the sense of hunger.
'It's… thin… and salty…'
Breathing heavily over the huge gaping wound — the half-flayed jet-black skin.
Lowering his head to the warm flesh and blood now thickening, like a gooey syrup, as his bloody white teeth sank into the meat.
Pop
The connective tissues finally yielded as he lifted his head hard, two hands at his sides propping it up; the deep crimson like a ruby elongated as if torn apart.
Following the wet crunch, the teeth adapted to grind the piece of meat — like chewing a tire or rubber — a dense mass of meat filling his mouth, jaw already sore.
As the white teeth chewed and bit, blood squeezed out in a spurt from his mouth, coating the tongue with intense metallic tang and a slippery feeling on the roof of his mouth.
Cough
Cough
It is a feast of blood and flesh; his dim eyes empty, the heavy sense of liquid — raw and slippery — some of it refused to be gulped down by his throat, coming back up in a cough.
"Hahhhhh…."
No words could describe it, and he never tried to resist it; for him, being alive is his priority, everything else unneeded.
The upper half of his plain face had regained its healthy colour, though the lower half was painted in red, bright blood. Turning his head to the side, he spat towards the concrete, lips curled.
'Disgusting… how the hell can fur get stuck in my teeth?…'
Kneeling on the ground with both knees, he held his hands at his sides, eyes lowered, as his head turned back to the front, looking at the remains; his mouth slightly open.
A strong breeze on the rooftop, without resistance, ruffled his hair and caressed his cheek, eyes half-lidded.
The black torn jacket already set aside, along with the gun and magazine, leaving only a formal white shirt, torn in some places, nearly devoid of its colour, decorated in red.
After a moment, he moved his two bloody hands to his chin — the thumb of his right hand pressing into his back molar, gripping his chin with his left hand.
'I thought there was something amiss… turns out my jaw is dislocated…'
Thinking, two hands on his lower jaw — clearly a bit out of shape, dangling and half-agape — then…
CrackThump
With an eventual grunt and a few tears at the corner of his eyes, head facing upwards, a vibration ran through his skull causing him to spasm slightly; the joint felt loose and throbbing.
"Huhhh…."
Letting out a sigh, he placed his hands on his knees and shook his head. The corner of his mouth upturned as he tried to stand up.
The feast is over.
Standing in the breeze, he took a moment to feel the energy now coursing through his body, along with the irritation as it continued its repair progress.
The gentle warmth moved to his wound, shoulder, and back; the crushed bones slowly built and realigned, even enveloping his recently dislocated jaw.
"All that is done is done, but it is a waste to leave this…"
Stepping forward, his right hand hooked over the silver dagger embedded in the flesh and, with a motion, took it out effortlessly — it was not stuck too deeply — and slipped the silver dagger back to his right belt.
Burp
He covered his mouth with the back of his left hand, eyes widening slightly as a foul white mist escaped his lips; he tilted his head. Was the acid in his stomach really that strong?
Or perhaps, with the help of 'that,' did this raw meat get cooked and then digested inside? Well, he was a bit curious — with a half-smile, he walked to where his jacket lay.
"Hmmmm, it's no use wearing a jacket anymore — after all, the magazine can be stored in my waistband, perhaps…."
Not a bad idea at all. His head tilted to the side, eyebrows raised, feeling the lamp still intact on his back, looking over his shoulder.
"What kind of metal and sorcery is this…."
Endless questions but never close to an answer — well, let's leave it at that. He turned his gaze back to the front and lowered his body to pick up the gun and the remaining magazine.
Picking up the gun with his right hand at chest level, he pressed the magazine release, letting the sliding magazine drop, and caught it with his free left hand.
"Hmmmm… seven left?…."
His gaze a bit downcast, clicking his tongue — then returned the magazine to its slot, racked a round with his left hand, and slipped the spare into his inner waistband.
'Now, I must use it sparingly — and in the meantime, I must also learn to use the dagger or the sword…'
'The method of fighting is still the same after all; as long as I am still alive, I can recover by consuming flesh and blood…'
'Like a perpetual motion machine — and as for the price, that's for later.'
Thinking for a moment, he looked back at the abundant flesh on the left. Again, a bit reluctant, biting his own lips hard.
And that's when his dim eyes brightened slightly.
'Wait, I can search for something at last — rope, bag, or anything! There is a residential area not far from here…'
He licked his lips at the thought, then it was decided — Helzogg would wait a little while; this concerned his safety.
Nodding his head at the plausible reason, he walked off the street with a smile. It wouldn't surely take long after all.
———
2 hours later, network ground rails.
"Hmmmm…"
Eyes narrowed at the front. Sometimes, as he walked, he would tilt his head to the right, looking at a gear as big as an elephant, and then towards the edge, looking at the depth.
While humming thoughtfully, his body shivered slightly; in that depth, another complex mechanism of gears, chains, and things he couldn't even comprehend slithered as if alive.
'It's like standing above a frozen lake, or perhaps Antarctica…'
Taking back his gaze and striding to the centre of the network, he was reminded of this: when you know you are walking on ice and below it are entirely unknown things…
'Well, it is surely exciting, but the prospect that you might fall to that depth is what must be kept in mind…'
The left hand on his chin, eyes rolling upwards, right hand in his pocket. As he walked, the huge sling bag rustled from behind, leaving a dripping blood trail.
'It's probably been two hours plus three hours, and I haven't even seen the gate itself — how could it be that far…'
Basking in shadow and dim light filtered through the many sky-streets above, he was not that surprised — or maybe he enjoyed this view more; above and below, a dense network.
'It's all the same…'
He let his body stop for a moment. The scent of oil, metal, and perhaps gasoline drifted to his nose since earlier; it really smelled like machinery — though there were also other things…
'I wonder, how could it smell damp and cool at the same time…'
'It feels dusty but at the same time exudes a fresh smell, the kind you often get after rain…'
Basking in sparse falling light like pillars of white. These smells kept getting stronger when he was on the sky-streets above, and coincidentally, it was also a bit humid up there.
"Hmmmm…."
He wondered what it could be. Anyway, he opened his gaze after a moment of contemplation — all things would be revealed later, perhaps.
Then, looking back at the machinery — now silent as far as the eye could see — he felt a little melancholy, or a seed of suspicion about it.
'Then where does this smell come from? Some machinery is perhaps still working, no?'
'How much time had actually passed after the riot or the outbreak?'
Again, endless questions and no answer yet. Jumping onto the large track, hands holding the edge of the metal cargo and hopping onto the platform, feeling the rust on his palm.
Huff
Right as he did this, his ears caught the sound of something flying, and he quickly hid behind the metal supplies, leaning into the shadow.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to identify things with his peripheral vision.
'It's the thirteenth time already….'
'What will it be this time?'
Bloody-ashen eyes reflected the partial light in the sky. It was not the first time since the jet-black hound that he had seen creatures wandering around in this city.
'The danger exists both in Day and Night…'
'In the night before, there was a Puppet…. A darkness that corrodes, and then that Veiled Wolf…'
'And now the Day: there is the Black Hound, some Ghastly Goats, and a swarm of Red Crows… so what would it be now?'
By this, he was no longer surprised — perhaps numb — knowing that this city was not as peaceful as it looked; and true to his words, as he thought now,
"Khhhh…."
But it came from something different. He took back his gaze; one of the source characteristics of this city that he could identify was shadow or darkness.
"Hahh…"
Letting out a small breath in a whisper, his eyes winced — remembering that the creature was perhaps still somewhere out there, so he must keep silent in this shadow for a moment.
Again, the feeling was like that night: extreme bleeding, corrosion, and also concealment.
The repair did not stagnate much, but perhaps hindered slightly — creating a contradiction of irritation and corrosion.
'Huhhh… It's dizzy….'
The feeling of being stabbed by needles, or perhaps stabbed by needles and then hammered deep inside — well, he must use it soon enough since this kind of thing would become a norm in the days to come.
Still, he gritted his teeth, face full of sweat, while sniffling though no tears came out, his eyes remaining dry and dim, hands clutching the wound on his stomach.
'At least let me take a look at what it is…'
Leaning, he turned his head to the side, peeking just enough… and there, he could see it — blazing orange eyes and an otherworldly atmosphere.
Its body ghastly green, the same as other creatures or entities. Abnormally tall, reaching the height of a two-storey house, perhaps.
'A reindeer…'
It just floated amidst the gears, casually pecking at the ground or its own body, and with every exhalation it froze and decayed the dirt; the metal around it instantly began to rust.
His pupil shrank slightly, gasping; he took back his head. This was out of his league compared to the previous — this entity wasn't even flesh and blood as he had fought before.
"Then again, that Black Hound could impale a person without them even realising they were dead…"
Whispering under his breath. To think of it, they were not ordinary in any sense; it was a matter of compatibility — the speed and stealth of that hound had been countered by his perception and observation, resulting in its death.
'Clear is clear, but what now…?'
He knew his condition; he knew it. But now, what should he do? Wait? His head hung low amid the intensified, crippling pain, eyes lowered.
"Haahhhhh… I need to get to the Gate today, no matter what… if I can, I'll have to go through the gate today…."
Eyes in a slit — it was no longer an unconcealed whisper. He was tired and weary, but he must keep going; time was once again running out.
The memories of Næfr gave him no explosive information; he could read the man's thoughts and feelings of that time, but the meaning was still nil in his mind.
So, in the end, what he could do was assign a pattern and match it with what Næfr thought that day — then guess the sense of "place" and meaning that existed in his words.
'The chaos presumably came from something called Bezgarz, or maybe he called it Althr Baldr…'
'Combined with the sense that these creatures conform to some standard of Earth, I think it's not a coincidence, and my objective should lie in that place…'
'Assuming that the monsters or puppets came through the Gate at the Helzogg that Næfr defended, then my goal is the same…'
'That is to investigate the source of all this and trace it, beyond that Gate…'
Then so be it — having a clear objective in mind, he let out a sigh and sat in silence for a moment, his right hand slipping beside his left, clutching his stomach.
He took out the gun and held it close to his chest, switching off the safety.
'I can dally for a second — just a second — but this creature is blocking my way as it pleases….'
Lamenting briefly, he inhaled a mouthful of breath and then rolled out of the shadow, time punctured as his eyes flickered rapidly.
'One decision for one millisecond.'
'Distance approximately 100 metres.'
'Positioned behind a large gear and the cargo train, its silhouette blocked.'
'Calculating optimal decision — not enough data.'
'Optimal option is to run and collect data.'
'Decision. Firing Neural Response.'
At that moment, his brain felt submerged under the sea — senses becoming ambient, muted and deaf — though his eyes were clear; what he got was data, and data was all he needed.
For that, his brain jolted for a few seconds, overheated, then cooled for five precise seconds, before his mind could fully stabilise and keep itself together for another burst.
He pounced to the left and ran along the snake-like platform following his decision. The gun still held close to his chest, the faint breeze swaying his hair.
And he activated another thing to aid him —
Huff
Taking a moment, looking to the right — the deer was following him along; by calculation, its speed was on the verge of peak athletic human speed, surpassing him slightly.
Huffing as it ran, everything in its path either froze or withered.
Compensated by its massive body, the deer had another advantage; it bulldozed its path — a cargo train rammed head-on and sent to the side.
While he ran at pace, regulating his breath and legs that were practically screaming at him, his two small legs constantly hopped and did what could only be called parkour.
The two creatures were on different platforms, walking on a cliff, with an endless depth of the unknown on both sides.
As the two platforms drew closer and closer, he knew — and the creature also knew — that this was their best chance.
And that was the moment.
Under Akane's gaze, as expected, the deer stopped in its tracks and prepared to jump onto his rail tracks.
But how could he allow it? Slowing his pace —
'Movement predicted….'
'Hold the trigger….'
'Incoming in five seconds…'
'Predicting trajectory alignment…'
'Decision. Firing Neural Response.'
Time moved once again; transferring the gun to his left hand, then swinging it backwards, correcting his posture mid-movement. He turned his upper body slightly.
'Two seconds.'
Raising his hand, aligning the muzzle, he held his breath, eyes narrowed, resting on the rear sight — coincided, held, and fired.
'Four seconds.'
'Five seconds.'
Thump
Thump
Thump
Three bullets fired.
Without waiting to confirm, he turned his body and continued to run, trusting his judgment — even if the probability of a hit from this distance was nil.
Mid-air, like a deer leaping, at 40 metres in range — and even if missed, he just had to make sure the probability increased from multiple shots.
"Haahhhhh…."
Letting out a breath — apparently, things did not go his way.
Creak
Boom
"Gruff…"
The deer was unscathed, and now it was behind him. What was the next decision? His gaze stayed to the front, same as always, sweat falling with each strained step.
There was one option left.
'It's been five hours, so Helzogg shouldn't be far…'
'Ten minutes or twenty minutes — if the deer is still following me and the Gate is still unseen…'
'Then I have no choice but to try to eliminate it.'
For him, this was the most efficient and realistic plan under unknown circumstances with limited information.
He decided to run — as his life always depended on it.
….
Hours later, the sky had darkened considerably.
It far exceeded the agreed twenty minutes.
"Haaahhhhh…. Haahhhhh…."
His gaze a bit blurry, the dizziness from earlier had reached its peak in his mind, and whiteness consumed half his vision.
The deer was tireless — or perhaps it was no longer just the deer following him, as noise filled his ears.
Boom
Boom
Boom
Having looked back ten minutes ago, he was no longer curious.
The hair damp, the lantern and sword clanking at his belt, his empty left hand now clutching the bag of meat.
'Ghastly skeleton, swarm of birds, spectral hounds, phantom horses, wraiths, etc.'
Under his gaze, a bluish-grey ball of fire flew through the sky, aimed at his tracks — gritting his teeth, eyes wide open.
"Hupp…"
Simple analysis — he jumped through it, the ash causing him some lethargy as his breath became hard and stuck, spitting blood to the ground.
He continued to run; the thought of stopping was not in his mind, since he had failed to account for other creatures attracted by the noise alone.
'It is my oversight — I'm truly dumb….'
Lamenting would not solve the situation; the best he could do to atone for his stupidity was to reach the Gate alive and sound. That was it.
Another minute passed under his desperate, blurry gaze, his vision nearly blacking out.
'Please…'
It was not his place to plead like this; the ground network seemed endless. He had avoided all the attacks that came to him and shot some birds that pecked at his hands and body.
His back was charred, his shoulder missing half its mass, bloody; the sack of meat had been abandoned, and he was now on his last magazine.
So…
Under his desperate gaze, as he finally wanted to give up…
'Huh?'
Just a tiny glimpse — a grand gate appeared from the mist of the sky, warmth beginning to hit his body, blazing and searing. Helzogg…
'Finally!'
Trusting his last thrust, he heaved a steaming white breath, his whole body red, smoke rising — on its last breath, he ignored everything.
Vision narrowed towards that Gate, and that Gate only.
The tracks and cliff-like empty sides began to disappear, replaced by the source of all the network rails — the ground, flat and centred; he had arrived.
'Ah…'
He tripped on his steps, fell onto the hard concrete, his body rolling until he landed before the huge open station.
Various wreckage formed a wide open circle, and behind it was a Gate wide open — multiple kilometres across — but before it…
Cough
Cough
Kneeling, his hands trembling, puking on the ground — white and red.
He lifted his head; at this moment, all was silence, and silence was all — no words nor creature to disturb him.
"Growl… ROAARRRR!!!!"
Reflected in the bloody-ashen eyes was a hound with three heads, like a legendary Cerberus, towering over the gate — this encounter was imminent.
The fight was inevitable, and dawn would be decided.