[Book II Chapter 99] ZENTRIAS: The Voice In His Head


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    <<You’ve become so weak, it’s pathetic>>, said the voice. <<To think we used to take down any opponent with ease…>>


    That was just because we were lucky enough not to run into any immortals for as long as we did, Zentrias answered back.


    <<You’re ignoring the real point>>, the voice chided. <<We killed saints back then. Compared to that difference in strength, how can you be struggling with this foe?>>


    Zentrias said nothing as he forced his battered body to pull itself up. Ever since being brought back to life, uncharismatic thoughts had been surfacing. It was one of these which had incited him into a rage against the bone lich. He’d kept the development to himself, writing it off as a byproduct of the pain and stress.


    After blocking that last attack, the words had become crystal clear. In some dark corner of his head, the figure of his younger self was speaking to him.


    It’s nothing I can’t endure. Everyone is desperately fighting. As he rose to his feet a hideous cry assaulted him. Anchoring itself to a patch of bedrock, the tyrant had roared again. Without a second thought, Zentrias jumped and interposed himself in front of his comrades, drawing in the undead’s destructive magecraft.


    Amidst the agony, he heard his younger self. <<Look at what you’re doing to yourself. It breaks my heart seeing you like this.>>


    I am saving my comrades, he grunted.


    <<Are they really comrades if they don’t know the real you?>> His younger self mocked.


    You aren’t the real me, Zentrias countered, collapsing brutalized and exhausted. Not anymore. He vaguely felt more bandages wrapping around him.


    <<But I am.>> His younger self pressed. <<The proof is I’m here.>>


    <<Rather, you are the fake who denies the gift he was born with. ‘Never using your eyes on the living’? What kind of joke is that?>>


    It’s a promise I made to myself, Zentrias answered weakly. So that I wouldn’t fall back into old patterns. So I wouldn’t become the bastard I used to be.


    <<That’s only half of it.>> His younger self laughed. <<The truth is you’re scared. You remember how people used to look at you. Your killing prowess makes you an aberration, and you fear how others will react if they learn the extent of it.>>


    Zentrias lay motionless without responsing. There was a way the world worked. Channeling ability and skill in martial arts roughly correlated with strength, and large disparities were insurmountable. Yet, with his eyes, he’d violated that order, striking down those who should have been far above him.


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    A child who can snuff out your life is terrifying. He understood this, yet his experiences had left a deep scar. One that affected him to this day.


    <<If you’re treated like a monster, you might as well become one.>> His younger self said coldly. <<Embrace the power they hate, take pride in it and strike down any who deny you. Carve out your place, crushing all opposition.>>


    Zentrias recalled that dark period. It was no way to live, not relying on anyone.


    His younger self sneered. <<Your so-called-friends want to take these gauntlets away, even though they’re perfect for us. We can strike deeper with more precision. Better yet, they make us unkillable. We finally have a defense to match our offense. How could we possibly give this up?>>


    And go through life with these freakish fingers? No thank you.


    His younger self shrugged. <<They’ll return to normal once you stop thinking of taking them off.>>


    … What are you? How do you know that? Zentrias asked.


    <<Sola created this pair of artifacts to breathe life to the deepest recesses of the repressed self. In Nuzou’s case, this produced a wide cast of characters. For you, it’s just me.>> His younger self revealed. <<Make no mistake, I am what you think: the person you used to be. I just inherited knowledge about the gauntlets and their potential.>>


    If you are what you claim, then you wouldn’t be trying to sway me, Zentrias replied skeptically. I always had ——and still do—— too much ambition to surrender to madness.


    <<Then accept me.>> His younger self entreated.  <<As long as someone is fully at peace with themselves, the gauntlets have no drawbacks.>>


    Zentrias sighed. I can’t afford to. The price is too high.


    His younger self grimaced and shook his head. <<The more you reject what I represent, the stronger I’ll grow. Eventually, you’ll be unable to deny me.>>


    <<But enough of this.>> He continued.  <<Isn’t it time we seek retribution against the enemy who’s injured us twice?>>


    At least we are in agreement on that, Zentrias willed himself to stand and gazed towards the battle.


    <<Supercharge your martial arts.>> His younger self advised. <<The bandages will hold your body together.>>


    Frowning, Zentrias channeled a flood of chaotic magic through his veins. His muscles buckled under the strain, but somehow held.  This works.


    His younger self grinned. <<Time for some payback.>>


    Zentrias dashed faster than he ever had, flying by his surprised allies. The tyrant swerved to greet him, extending a hand with claws as long as daggers. He let them pierce him, driving home his own talons into the the lizard’s scaly torso.  Tyrant, this exchange will cost you more than me.


    <<This is it, our power.>> His younger self declared proudly.  <<How could you throw it away?>>


    He was blown back as the undead’s right side exploded. Good, but not enough. He charged again, but his off-balance opponent swatted him back with its tail while backpedaling. It doesn’t intend to let me close again.


    The flow of battle changed in their favor, but the advantage faded as the tyrant gradually regenerated. Eventually, it succeeded in reaching a piece of bedrock and roared again. Zentrias once more moved in front of the others.


    <<I never would’ve sacrificed myself like this.>> His younger self lamented.


    This time the hellish wail wouldn’t end. It was as if the tyrant was determined to down him for good. His consciousness frayed as the accumulating damage overwhelmed his bandages.


    Then Stannis Gilron dropped from above, chopping off the tyrant’s head.