03 / 04 / 2019 - Mezakeir, Khtonres
"Huppp… Haaahhhh…"
Lifting his head, his blurry gaze now recovered, he focused on the growling three-headed hound, his clenched fist propping his body against the ground.
"Haahhhhh…."
They are both silent, sweat dripping to the ground; each of his breaths is steamy white mist, as if what he inhales is steam rather than fresh air.
The body is blazing with searing heat from the inside out — his skin red like a shrimp, his innards burning, his lungs scorching, his blood too.
And as he rises, even now, billowing smoke still rises from his body; the hair clings to his temple along with the shirt, outlining his lean, developing frame.
The corner of his mouth upturned, trembling — despite the pain, despite the wounds — in the end, all comes to nothing; it is either fight or flight, no?
So… he wants a moment.
And so be it, a breather at the expense of overloading his brain.
The brain jolted as if in an explosion — beating, jumping like a heart pumping wildly — burning energy faster than his body's repair system.
And in his vision, time punctured, masked, and deafened in the ambience of water; regardless, the sound of the tide still resonated in his ears.
'20 milliseconds, enough for self-assessment.'
His gaze was frozen on the Three-Headed Hound, unmoving, static.
The world is like an overlapping frame; each past makes up for the future, the predictive brain compiling data of one millisecond for the milliseconds ahead.
'Make it quick, make it fast.'
'Recalling Energy Status. Leftover meat of Black Hound still being digested — approximately able to sustain for a few hours.'
'Recalling Wound Status. Too many failures in the innards — gut, liver, cardiovascular — and even the brain is affected.'
'My back is charred, but it only affects the skin and shouldn't hinder movement too much.'
'Recalling Capability Status. High energy usage of the brain, instability of neurons that don't fully reset, and problems of misfiring.'
'Last magazine, fifteen bullets — lantern, silver sword, and silver dagger still intact. Switching to close-quarter combat mode.'
'Solution. Brain needs a cooldown for stabilisation, and at the same time, reset of signals and neurons.'
'Probably 10 times in rapid succession, depending on the cooldown — but it should be less if I'm forced to accelerate like this…'
His gaze flickered rapidly, flowing down from the brain through external and internal capabilities. After a moment, a decision was made rapidly, and self-inspection was done.
'Target. Temporary Name: Cerberus.'
'Decision: Engagement. Learn. Survive. Firing Neural Response.'
'Deactivated.'
It is like a trigger that has been pulled — a ping of sound signifying the end of a cycle, another jolt or shock, as if some invisible thing had jumped and crashed towards him.
Thump
Sound came back, along with unbearable heat in his head; his temple sweating, trickling to the ground with the same heat, breathing hard, gasping for as much air as he could.
His body hunched slightly, head hanging low, but his peripheral gaze never left the three-headed hound, which had now stopped sideways.
Head tilted, its six eyes gazed towards him, nose sniffing, front paws pressed to the ground.
Saliva dripped from its huge agape jaws, spewing a faint mist and a smell of sulfur that drifted to his nose; his nose wrinkled slightly, the corner of his eye twitching.
It circled him slowly; he lifted his head and turned it, tracking its massive body in this window of time.
'Estimation. Height approximately 900 centimetres, width and length unknown.'
Its fur was greyish charcoal — a bit like his eyes — coarse and weather-beaten; it felt uncomfortable to look at, like it could scrape you with a mere brush.
There was blood splattered on its skin; in fact, its fur was largely tainted with blood.
Its status was probably not much better than his — but wounds leave traces after all.
Sixty degrees of a circle, leisurely, growling as if sizing him up. In the meantime, he slowly tucked the gun into his pocket with the safety on, ever so carefully.
He watched as the Cerberus tilted its head in confusion — a hint of cunning in those red eyes — but it resumed its walk, front paws pressing to the ground with each step.
Seventy degrees in the circle, he steadied his body, brought his hands up, and moved towards the hilt.
Through his peripherals, the ground cracked; its front lowered, its back raised.
Eighty degrees in the circle, he lowered his body, left foot behind, mimicking the Silver Wolf.
Growl
It growled now with two heads, one still sizing him up — but he had no doubts about the next move.
Ninety degrees in the circle, directly on his right — the Cerberus disappeared, and tracking it, mid-air wind blew against his body.
Swooosh
"Woof—!!"
Night encroached as darkness enveloped them completely, dim.
That's it.
Trusting his body completely — the aftereffects of acceleration still in his mind, the neurons highly excited — he narrowed his eyes.
'Now.'
One second; the right foot pushed his body backwards.
Boom
The wind disturbed his movement, but in one, two, three consecutive steps easier than he had expected, he distanced himself left and right.
Stepping out of the billowing dust, feeling the wind on the right, knowing what came next.
Swish
The silver light fell along the skies — the blazing silver lantern, ignited as darkness fell — casting a shadow from his belt.
Right hand on the hilt, still — under his gaze, its grey like burning charcoal; even through the slick of wind resistance, the gleaming white claws appeared sharp, whistling.
'Now, unsheath.'
A moment.
Right hand pulled the straight sword halfway; proceeding, he tilted his body sideways to the right along the fourth step.
Screeches
As both met, the steel produced a brief screech as it clashed with the claws, until he spurted blood and was thrown by the force through his palm; no doubt, he would lose.
But it was his intention after all.
Boom
'Ah…'
His body made contact, followed by multiple thumps as he rolled across the ground, pain assaulting his body simultaneously — broken bones perhaps.
Gritting his teeth, his body resisting with everything it had to stay alive, back on its knees; the dust cleared as he forced the rolls to stop.
'No time to rest.'
No time — he lifted his head, feeling the gust of wind once more.
This time, a jaw enlarged into his vision — three jaws simultaneously — smelly breath hitting his face from a distance of perhaps 8 metres.
'No room to dash. Below.'
Gambling, he dashed forwards instead, limp right hand holding the overweight silver sword.
Two metres.
'Now.'
Eyes captured the vision at one metre as the surprised jaws missed his hair by a hair's breadth, and he guessed the next reaction.
Time punctured — the world frozen. Sense muted, leaving him with overlapping perception.
'Analysis. Its shoulder is certainly massive — likely to support the weight of three necks.'
'Analysis. Its front paw is heavy and larger than the rest.'
'Guess One. The jaw would try to catch him and strike the ground, inevitably missing.'
'Guess Two. It will decide to avoid me by using its momentum to drift past.'
'Movement Decision: Turn the body, get up, plant feet on the ground, pull the Silver Dagger.'
'Conclusion. Execution. Firing Neural Response.'
The world resumed with a thump as he felt the breeze, sliding out from under the greyish fur while his hair flapped at his temple.
Boom
Execution — out from underneath, the body of the hound stopped, turning its feet and planting them on the ground, toes and knee as an anchor.
Kneeling, he lifted his head, only to be greeted by the leftmost head of the Cerberus. No time.
'Override previous neural response!'
'Movement: Swing and Dash. Execution. Firing Neural Response.'
'Deactivated.'
Enlarged — the red, bright flesh and gums no less than 20 centimetres away; its red eyes disappearing behind, overshadowed by the huge mouth.
Clank
His right hand limp, swinging at the flesh deep inside…
"ROarrr—!!!"
A pained roar echoed — the creature had miscalculated, using its open jaw to attack him.
Now it was stuck — struggling to move on. Knowing the chance, before it could close,
'Adjust and use the body's momentum to drag it!'
'If not, abandon and use the dagger!'
'Execution. Firing Neural Response!'
"RAAAHHHH—!!"
Roaring, his arms bulging, dragging as hard and as fast as he could, and then…
Swiiisshhhh
'Success.'
But then a force from behind — blood spurted from his mouth.
Boom
Rolling multiple times across the ground again, his hands vibrating and bloody.
"Cough… Tough, huh…"
On his knee, blood trickled from his mouth; feeling the pain, bones broken once again — but the feeling of warmth and burning stayed the same.
Dust cleared as he gasped for air, one eye open in a slit, looking over the hound still in its place, looking back with hatred in those red eyes.
"RAWRrrrr!!!"
Its mouth agape — he didn't know what he had struck, but he was sure it was flesh as blood trickled from those huge jaws.
World frozen along with his body, reaching for higher understanding — he would rule over certainty with this.
'First Exchange, data gathered.'
'Conclusion One. It is an explosive type, with unstoppable charges due to its weight. Its momentum can also be used against it.'
He retrieved the image captured throughout the fight, examining the biological structure.
'Conclusion Two. Its keel is broader accounting for three heads — higher lung capacity and endurance.'
'Conclusion Three. Its paw is heavy and large, and also broad. Assumption: used for balance of the front body and its weight.'
'Assumption. Its method is probably charging, endurance, and using its heavy front load — paw, jaw, or body.'
'Open to remaining possibilities, exert caution.'
'Solution. From the Black Hound model: fast attack, wound accumulation, no initiative.'
'Open to remaining possibilities, exert caution.'
Then, before his flickering eyes close this moment of the world, a thought or hunch surfaces — something in the plan he had to test.
Hence the dim eyes burned brightly. So be it — he would develop and test it. If this succeeded, he could at least increase his survival chance.
'Solution. A request to activate another potential ability to counter rapid movement — [Manifestation: Observation] and [Manifestation: Analysis]!'
'[Observation: Critical Rapid Sampling]!'
'[Analysis: Enhanced Short Term Memory]!'
'Decision. Observation samples the movement; Analysis provides neural response and meaning.'
'Deactivated. No Neural Signal.'
The static became dynamic once again.
"Haaahhhhh…"
Pursing his lips, he puffed out a breath of steamy white mist, the shirt still clinging tightly; propping his body up with the sword, he stood.
'The outcome will be decided in the next exchange.'
The left hand slipped to the right belt, pulling out the silver dagger — feeling the coldness jolting his mind awake — while the Cerberus had already growled in his direction, clearly furious.
RingRingRing
But the angrier the creature, the clearer the outcome would be; amidst the ringing of the bell, he switched the dagger to his dominant right hand.
So…
Swish
The Cerberus pounced flat, running on the ground, raising a cloud of dust, towering over him in a matter of moments, casting a shadow — and the second exchange began.
…..
Hours later.
'Left. Right. Down. Backwards.'
Eyes bluish-silver, weapons held tightly in both hands, the bell ringing — nimble, seemingly at ease, but not at all.
Avoiding a series of actions, he followed his thoughts and predictions.
Dashing left, he avoided the middle head's jaw; hearing the whistling wind, his heart was now calm, not panicked — he trusted his judgment.
Lunging right into a backwards roll, on his knee already, he ducked to dodge the tail sweep above him.
In this brief moment before the next action, he activated another rate sampling to capture the Cerberus's full movement.
His mind like a camera, snapping every detail of the Cerberus's body in one second.
Its position now was in front of him — body leaning sideways, blood dripping from its stomach, scarred legs still carrying its momentum to the right after the failed sweep.
The right head was preparing to bite, jaw already opening by its head movement, predicting his next move.
It seemed this creature wanted to force him toward the left head — just like earlier.
Everything completed in one second at the back of his mind, generating a predictive motion before the Cerberus even began, so…
'One second passed — either left or slide… I must hollow out its stomach.'
Just two hits — he counted just two hits before he fell. The hound had clearly become much slower and more lethargic.
'Execution.'
His throat tightened as blood accumulated; a breeze blew above him, and he stood, turned his feet, and pushed forward.
Mid-air, he watched as the heads missed him — and it was at this moment that his blood became useful.
"Puhhh…"
Spitting as he planted his foot on the ground, rotating his body to the right while swinging the silver dagger — the rings echoing endlessly; even now, he didn't understand their effect.
"Roarrrr—!!"
Hearing the low, weakening scream, he gritted his bloody teeth — the wind whistled between his ears once again, this time coming from his own dagger.
Shwick
"HAHHH—!!!"
He ran forwards — hard, like slicing through bark — but he would use what he could use.
"ROARRRR!!!"
Ignoring it, blood spurted out, dyeing his hair and skin red; gaze forward, dragging the dagger along the side of the stomach — even if the exchange was his own flesh, he wouldn't care.
"Ughhh…."
Blind to his back, blood spurted from his mouth again; crashing and rolling to the ground, gasping this time, he looked at the darkening sky as his body stopped.
'Tired…'
But…
A cry of whimpering and a growl — gritting his teeth, he stabbed the dagger into the ground and used its handle to prop himself up.
Blurry, he looked at the Cerberus walking towards him, stumbling — eighty metres.
"Puh…"
Spitting to the side, he tried to stand, forcing his entire body to work once again, no matter what.
"HAahhhh… move… dammit!"
Trembling like the hound, his left hand limp and twisted, no longer holding the sword — like a body bathed in blood — his whole body scarred, a huge gash across the waist.
Standing like a zombie, his left side drooping, forcing the connective flesh at his shoulder to rise, he roared in pain, eyes bloodshot and wide, beginning to walk unsteadily.
Fifty metres — growling, the eyes of two heads scarred, blood flowing along its side and stomach; it didn't care either, the same as him.
The silver sword stuck in its neck, blood gushing from it.
Thirty metres — his right leg essentially useless, limping and hanging unnaturally; only the right hand still gripped the dagger.
From his shoulder, blood dripped through his clothes to the ground.
Twenty metres… ten metres…
Thud
His steps stopped, body swaying like a drunk man — but still he stood, trying to hold steady.
"HAhhhh…. Hahhh…."
"Haahahah…. Hahahahhahahha!!"
Laughing loudly, a mix of saliva and blood spattering from his mouth. Looking ahead, the hound was the one that fell first — even in this last moment.
'You are still looking at me like that?'
Those remaining eyes gazed at him with hatred, but he ignored them and walked towards it, standing five metres in front of the hound.
Seconds stretched to minutes as the whimper and growl grew softer, until silence — warm red pooling at his feet, a little dark.
Beneath the messy dark-red hair, the gaze was lifeless and blank, lowered to the ground, looking at the three heads lying still.
The night was still long; what awaited was a long night of rebirth and the next step. He might regret it or perhaps not — that the price of protecting someone was so painful.
"Then…"
Thud
Thud
With each step to the side of the stomach, he fell to his knees, his right hand stabbing into the flesh, allowing more spurts of warm blood to fall onto his body.
"Time to feast…"
———
Four hours later.
"Hmmmm… Mmmm… Hhhmmmm…"
Humming to himself, bloody-ashen eyes thoughtful — then, stopping the hum of his bloody mouth, he turned his head to look back over his shoulder.
The open station spread as a huge area; no more gears or depth here, as it was supposed to be.
Many cargo trains parked at the endpoint, rails scattered everywhere — from the viewpoint above.
In the end, he turned his body while the wind blew through him, the scenery now so small in his vision.
His face pale in complexion, painted in dried blood, red lips flat and pursed; the lower half of his cheek dark with a line of smudge.
The messy hair had lost its dark colour, leaving it in the dark red of coagulated blood; a few strands fell to cover his dim, bloody-ashen eyes, gazing downward.
On the platform speeding upwards, the wind did not even stir his shirt — now fully red and dark, with a nauseating smell of dust, sweat, and rust.
The shirt was essentially useless now, more rag than garment; the back charred, both shoulders torn open.
Feeling the hollowness of his shoulder as the warm wind blew through the exposed flesh and bone — a bloody gash from the waist extending to the chest, deep enough.
Regardless, he felt nothing; or perhaps what was more strange was how he could still be alive at all.
'I don't know either…'
He was like a doll — breakable but fixable, never allowed to die at all, perhaps.
Well, that was it. He hadn't left a scrap of that Cerberus, eating it clean — now inside his stomach, which was like a black hole.
'Four hours straight…'
Shaking his head, turning back towards the distant factory, he approached the gate visible ahead.
No darkness — under the illumination, the gate was as wide as a canyon door, wide open with billowing red mist, a track running down below; beside it was darkness as if he were isolated.
'Wow….'
His mouth agape — it rose from the ground and stretched to the vast skies of Mezakeir. What was actually hidden behind this gate? And what was that colossus — Gollus — that had managed to hide behind it?
"Hahhh…"
Entering the red mist and passing through the open gate — perhaps only now could Bezgarz's view be revealed. His heart started beating fast as he adapted to the very hot mist.
Walking to the centre of the terminal — a lonely rectangle as big as a vending machine, likely connected to what lay below, a mesh of gears.
Gears connected from small to large, and then part of a huge golden gear.
The detail resembled the architecture inside a watch — but rather than a needle, there was a terminal above this gear structure.
He gripped the lever of unknown function and pushed it down, then darted his gaze around, looking for any sign of change.
'Where is Bezgarz? It could be here, huh?'
All around was shrouded in red-orange mist — he couldn't see a thing. And that was when…
"Huh…"
Eyes wide open, the platform began to descend downwards — fast enough; it was no longer just an elevator, was it? Trembling, he put his knee on the ground, trying to make sense of what had happened.
But he couldn't — or probably there was only one conclusion…
"Bezgarz is underground? Then what the hell is this mist?"
Sweating heavily, he put his hands on the ground as the force of the platform began to accelerate.
He was afraid of heights now — gritting his teeth, he looked down at the patterned platform, hoping it would be over soon…
Twenty minutes later, he was essentially lying on the ground.
Teeth chattering, he had stopped wondering when it would end — perhaps he had touched the wrong lever? But how could it be wrong? There was only one lever there.
'Make it stop!'
As if hearing his desperate plea, the white mist began to thin, and the force began to slow; despite this, everything around him was still the same.
"Huh???"
Confused, he lifted his body as it slowed considerably — so gradual now that he was no longer floating but staying on the ground, held down.
Then…
Vision cleared as the mist dispersed.
"What…."
A murmur as he stood slowly, looking over the scenery so far away — only now did he realise it.
'Am I in a hole?'
Walking to the edge and looking down — he was in a hole. So was Helzogg a hole or a gate? Or perhaps both? And the River — perhaps that referred to what was down there.
But regardless, he took back his gaze to look ahead, spun his body, and took in the view.
Four directions, four huge buildings — looking from above, each occupying the compass points: zero, ninety, one hundred eighty, and three hundred sixty degrees in a circle.
"With Helzogg as the centre…."