《The Gift of Humanity》 Prologue - The End [Humans are ugly. That is the only conclusion I can see.] Aren Indube walked down the hall, sticking to the right side like he always did, feeling every bump and imperfection in the bricks that were coated with pure white paint, dirtied by the hands of many. [They steal, fight, injure, libel, ignore, isolate, murder, and above all, humans are pathetic.] A person stopped in front of him. He was 6¡¯4¡±, with black and spiky hair that shone with hair gel. When he grinned, every tooth in his mouth was perfectly white and straight, except for one canine that hung slightly crooked. He looked down at the relatively short Aren. [Humans cannot survive alone. They have no natural enemies biologically, so they made one out of themselves. Mediocrity is promoted; ambition is crushed.] Aren gave no facial expression. He looked up at the person in front of him, uninterested. His name didn¡¯t matter ¨C he wouldn¡¯t have to read it again after that night, after all. [The wounds that most need healing are left to fester in the broken hearts of the victims of such a horrible world. Happiness is nothing more than an illusion in a shattered world like this.] Completely unprovoked, a mass of bone, blood, and skin came flying at Aren¡¯s face, the knuckles hitting him directly in the nose. Blood immediately started dripping from his nostrils, and he turned away, bending over and holding his face. ¡°Che.¡± The guy remarked as he walked away, a satisfied grin on his face. [Such a world is not a world worth living in.] His detached, unhappy eyes scanned the hallway, plenty of people finally beginning to return to their original bustling state. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. [The lethargic spectators are even worse.] He swallowed his saliva, hoping to quell the horribly bitter taste in his mouth. It didn¡¯t work, of course. [What a joke.] He made it to class, nobody looking at him. Of course nobody would want to see an unsightly, bloodied face. Class ended uneventfully. After a long, agonizing wait for his bus, the telltale yellow coat of paint could be seen drifting down the road. He stepped aboard, attempting to escape the deafening roar of the engine as fast as he could. He found his regular seat, in the back corner of the bus. Nobody else was interested in the back, so he sat there. He stared out of the window, scanning the landscape. He attempted to block out the din of incessant pointless chatter ¨C unsuccessfully, of course. After what seemed like eons, he managed to escape the insufferable bus, a wind blowing by as the vehicle left. He stood in place for a moment, a frigid wind blowing through his hair, sticking a brown, half-crushed leaf right above his forehead. Not bothering to remove it, he sighed, and trudged home, the wind blowing up a tornado of leaves, staying behind him as though it were following. As he stepped onto his unkempt front lawn, it dispersed, and he made his way to the fa?ade of old wood and chipped paint. Not bothering to greet his parents, he instead chose to return once more to the mess of his room, glad to see the rope he had hidden wasn¡¯t gone. He sat upon his hard, uncomfortable, shredded mattress, looping the rope. He tied it to a fixture on his ceiling, and pulled over a stool. Volume 1 Chapter 1 - Leaving His World Aren awoke, and all he saw around him was white. There was no light, and there was no shadow. There was a single being that stood over him, eyes seeming to glow. ¡°Conscious?¡± The being spoke. Arin could decipher nothing more than the words from the voice. He could not tell if it was male or female. It held great force, but at the same time, it was soft, gentle ¨C as if it were handling a single dewdrop upon a piece of hot steel, into which it swung a great hammer. The voice held as much youthful energy as it held fatigue and decay, it held as much emotion as it was blank. [The hell¡­] Aren thought, unable to move his mouth. ¡°I am¡­ what your limited vocabulary would label as a god.¡± The figure responded. [Hah? Is this a joke?] His face contorted into a skeptical, almost angry expression as he looked up at the silhouette. ¡°I¡¯m not lying. It was my mistake for burdening you so greatly.¡± The ¡®god¡¯ responded, the voice¡¯s indecipherability seemed to convey some sort of guilt. Aren couldn¡¯t even laugh. This had to have been some sort of joke. His eyes narrowed, attempting to see into that slightly humanoid figure, the only darkness in whatever this place was, but couldn¡¯t. ¡°If you think you were just going to have some stupid, unsatisfying end like that, I pity you. Even more so if you hoped for such a thing.¡± It spoke, returning to its enigmatic original state. [Let the dead rest.] Aren immediately responded. The voice sighed, the shadow retreating. ¡°Alright, I will say it outright. It¡¯s entirely my fault that you had to go through what you did. It may be selfish of me, but I refuse to have your blood on my hands.¡± [It is selfish. Let me sleep.] Immediately as Aren responded, it returned another remark, evidently ignoring him. ¡°I¡¯ve decided. I¡¯m going to send you somewhere. It may be the same plot these guys read all the time in reincarnation stories, but it¡¯ll diverge at some point. Now then, it is in my power to grant you whatever you wish going into this next world. I will not force your rebirth, but will rebuild your current body there. I¡¯m sure the results will be satisfactory.¡± Aren had never been bad looking, nor had he ever been overweight. He always maintained himself, as he never had the drive or the means to do anything else. [Anything?] ¡°If it is within my power.¡± [In that case, just make it so that anything is possible.] ¡°Is that it?¡± The being seemed surprised. [If I can do anything, then there is no worry about my value. I will not be irreparable, nor will I ever be worthless, as long as I work hard. To be able to immediately or rapidly surpass everyone else would be boring. It may just be self-assurance, but if it¡¯s possible for me to have no limits, then that is all I want.] There was a long pause, as though the strange being was deliberating. ¡°¡­So, you want to be a human?¡± [? No. That¡¯s not what I said, I sa-] ¡°This is what the human race was created for. In the weakness of the human race are infinite different kinds of potential. All you need in order to be the greatest is to first be the weakest, the raw potential from which everything is drawn. In a way, you just asked to be you.¡± [Huh¡­] Aren stopped and thought to himself for a few minutes, the god deciding not to pry. [Alright. If you¡¯re so insistent on this, then go ahead and send me. Perhaps all I needed was to hear that from someone with actual authority.] ¡°Satisfactory.¡± The shadows spoke for the last time before they enveloped all that Aren saw. Everything became black, and the shadow thought to itself. ¡°I should definitely erase his memory, lest he fall into despair or hate those around him. After that, let¡¯s see¡­ I definitely can¡¯t just throw him there with no compensation, so I¡¯ll make him luckier, maybe make his face a bit easier on the eyes. Not too much so ¨C he won¡¯t cope well with too much attention with no experience. So, hmm¡­ Perfect. Off you go. Aren watched as his history flashed before his eyes, faster than he could process. Within minutes he had gone through 17 years, and he was left with nothing, not even his own thoughts. They were in a language he no longer understood, in a tone he had never heard. Everything disappeared. ------------------------------ Aren sat up, and realized that the place he was now laying in was a crater of flame and dirt. All around him were scattered bits of pulverized rock, and some blood covered the ground ¨C none of it his. He looked down and saw clothing he didn¡¯t recognize ¨C well, pants he didn¡¯t recognize. His shirt had been ripped into ribbons, and probably incinerated. Unable to and unwilling to comprehend the phenomenon, he stood up. He was entirely unscathed other than a scar that ran from his left pectoral muscle to his right hip. Unsteadily, slowly, he put one foot in front of the other, staggering his way out of the newly made, rather warm clearing. Before he knew it, all around him was green. There were oddly shaped leaves at his ankles, the blades of grass slightly stiff. A warm breeze blew past him, and as he admired the altitude and variety of the trees, the temperature of the warm breeze at his back escalated. He turned around, and instinctively muttered. ¡°Well, I¡¯m fucked.¡± ------------------------------ Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The temperature rapidly rose in the forest, and an intolerably bright light could be seen not too far away, and pitch-black smoke followed suit. ¡°Hurry!¡± A voice called. Five people dashed across the forest at a speed no human on Earth could even hope to obtain. The one who shouted out was slightly shorter than the rest ¨C a girl, no older than 15, led the mad dash, her long, almost luminescent silver hair trailing behind her. Her gray eyes narrowed as she saw the flame, and she sped up. What seemed to be nothing more than a refined stick bounced on her back. Of course, what could be noticed was that there was more that was bouncing than that. ¡°We get it, Lotte, just don¡¯t push yourself.¡± One of the other four responded. He was incredibly light on his feet, despite the needlessly shiny, engraved, likely unwieldy silver-blue armor that covered most of his body. As they approached, he unsheathed his weapon ¨C a pure black longsword with a curved edge, its hue perfectly matching his hair. The fire had long stopped, replaced by smoke. As they approached, the layer of darkness became deeper and heavier. Lotte coughed, slowing down. ¡°Oi, don¡¯t stop now. You¡¯re the one who told us to hurry, right?¡± Another one of them said. Despite the haze, his hair didn¡¯t lose its bright orange hue. He grinned back over his shoulder as the party continued forward. ¡°Oh, shut it, Telor. I was just caught by surprise.¡± She retorted, putting a thin white cloth over her mouth. Within a few meters, the smoke was no longer present ¨C it only formed a ring around what they found. In front of them was a massive creature. It was at least eight meters long, its slit golden eyes looking forward from its angled face to what was in front of it. It bashed its tail against the ground, folding its teal wings. A Drake. The drake was a Rank 12 monster capable of ripping apart its prey with long, serrated teeth, and shooting fire strong enough to burn a human body black all the way through. In short, it was quite dangerous. ¡°Erlend, distract it!¡± Lotte called out before rushing into action, unsheathing a moderately wide flat-bladed sword. ¡°Got it!¡± Erlend returned, running straight towards the Drake¡¯s mouth. This may have seemed like a bad plan, but Erlend happened to be a Rank 14 Knight, and if such a thing as this defeated him, they had encountered an Anomaly and were all screwed anyway. Telor got into position, and his dim blue eyes looked as though a drop of dye fell through his irises. Crimson pigment flowed into his eyes, and as soon as they went fully red, his hand glowed. From it shot a concentrated beam, straight at the left eye of the beast. The orange color of the beam changed to dark red, and eventually dispersed in a show of flame, but not before dealing some damage. The defensive eyelid of the Drake had been melted through completely, and the eye within completely exploded. This was a Rank 13 spell aptly known as Flame Concentrator. Lotte dashed in with her sword, bending her knees and standing on the balls of her feet, eyes narrowing as she crouched. She lunged upward, stabbing into the gap between two scales, tearing them from the beast¡¯s body. Ignoring its cries of agony, protest, and fury, she stabbed the sword into the exposed soft flesh, ending the drake¡¯s life immediately. The very one-sided fight was over within 15 seconds, before the Drake even had a chance to respond. One could probably see their cohesion as an elite group even if they were blind. However, a situation in which one could not see their cohesion as aforementioned elite group was the case in which one would have their entire back half charred and burned and be unconscious due to sudden onset of intense heat. Such was the condition of Aren, who felt the source of this comfortable warm wind he had caught. At such a convenient time, the group noticed him. Lotte immediately dashed over, putting two fingers to his neck. She paused for a second, and sighed in relief. ¡°He¡¯s alive.¡± However, she immediately switched gears. ¡°Erlend, carry him.¡± ¡°Hah? Why me?¡± Erlend responded, annoyance in his voice. ¡°You¡¯re the one who saw him first. You carry him.¡± ¡°Stop with your foolish quibbles and someone, pick up the poor guy. He¡¯ll probably be annoyed if he gets wind of the fact that you two argued over who didn¡¯t have to carry him. I mean, look at the beanpole. He can¡¯t be that heavy.¡± A new voice resounded through the immediate area of the forest. Its source was none other than a man in a white and gold robe, holding his hand at his forehead as if he were dealing with a particularly bad headache (which, in a way, he was). ¡°¡°You didn¡¯t do anything, so you carry him, Solas!¡±¡± Lotte and Erlend shouted at him in unison. Solas took the effort to walk over to the nearest tree, which was about a foot away, and swing his head into the trunk out of frustration. Author''s Note Spoiler : Hi, Tortellini here! I write this. Surprise, huh? Well, this is kind of a greeting, I guess? Hi. This novel has nothing to do with Aren''s previous life, I''ll tell you that now. The prologue intentionally glazed over the view of his life - it''s the same thing he sees. Now that I''ve said that, this is the first chapter! I hope you enjoy it. You''ll get all that boring as hell exposition and information later. Chapters will probably be about 2k words every 1-3 days. Until next time! -The Author of this Currently Useless Novel Chapter 2: Signing Up Aren woke up in no hurry, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. ¡°Awake?¡± A feminine voice asked. He looked to his side, but couldn¡¯t see correctly. All he did see was some humanoid figure. [I think I¡¯ve seen this before.] He closed his hands and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw a girl who was likely a bit younger than him, with silver hair going down past her shoulders, looking at him with concern. ¡°Who¡­?¡± He questioned, his voice still gravelly and heavy from his drowsiness. ¡°Oh-!¡± Her eyes widened in realization. ¡°Hehe, I should probably introduce myself first. I¡¯m Lotte, Rank 16 Bladeweaver!¡± ¡°Nn¡­ Rank? Bladeweaver?¡± Aren tilted his head, confused. ¡°¡­No, first, where am I?¡± He paused, looking down, and pulled his hands from below the mattress, gazing into them. ¡°¡­Who¡­ am I?¡± Lotte¡¯s eyebrows rose and her mouth slightly opened, the shock and concern evident on her face. Looking at him, she felt useless, as though she could do nothing for him. A tear fell from Aren¡¯s eye. ¡°Why¡­ why am I crying? Everything is okay, there¡¯s nothing left to worry about¡­ so¡­ why?¡± His voice wavered as more water fell from his eyes, making his palms wet with the tears. Spontaneously, Lotte stood from her chair, bringing her arms over his shoulders and embracing him, herself tearing up slightly as well. Neither said anything, until¡­ ¡°Oi, Lotte, the supplies are loaded up, we should get g-oh, I¡¯ll come back later, my sincerest apologies for interrupting.¡± Telor arrived, giving one of his trademark sarcastic responses. Lotte¡¯s closed eyes opened with a start, and she let go of Aren, sitting up straight as a pole, and her apple-red face creaked to the side, turning to look at Telor. Immediately, she jumped from the bed, leaving the suffocated Aren dazed and confused. Lotte pulled from her pocket a small dagger without a hilt, and grabbed it by the flat of the blade. Flicking her wrist, she spun her hips counterclockwise, throwing the dagger from her right hand too quickly to be seen by the layman. Telor held up his hand, and the blade stopped, hovering in midair. Telor sighed, lowering his head and closing his eyes in his exasperation. ¡°Impulsive as usual, are we?¡± He grinned at her. Lotte said nothing, instead preferring to rush past Telor, pushing him as she went, slamming the door behind her. ¡°Sorry, that girl is quite a handful. She was really worried about you, y¡¯know. Sat by that bed for all of 20 hours without food, drink, or sleep. ¡°Ah?¡± Aren snapped out of his breast-induced daze, looking at Telor. ¡°You are?¡± ¡°Ah, sorry. I¡¯m Telor, Rank 14 Blood Mage.¡± Telor proceeded to introduce himself and explained his class. ¡°Anyway, we¡¯re going to head out on another quest, so if you can walk, follow me.¡± Telor continued, stretching his arms and standing. Aren followed suit, pivoting and stepping off of the bed. Despite Telor¡¯s party having carried him here, Telor still hadn¡¯t noticed something. When he looked at Aren¡¯s upper body, what he saw was an accumulation of countless punctures, slashes, burns, and the like all over his body. The Wyvern didn¡¯t cause these ¨C these were scars, old damages. [Just how much has this guy been through to get here?] Aren looked toward Telor inquisitively. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? You¡¯re being pensive.¡± Knocked out of his trance, Telor quickly snapped back to normal. ¡°Nothing. Not a thing. I¡¯m fine, leggo!¡± A drop of sweat fell from his forehead, and his eyes dodged left and right. Telor was acting unusual. [Well, whatever.] Aren thought. [Not like it pertains to me.] ------------------------- The two arrived at a grand building. Despite the modest size of the town, the building was massive ¨C at least four stories high, extending outward in every direction for hundreds of feet. In front stood a courtyard of marble, with its center covered by a small garden. Giant pillars surrounded the courtyard, and beside each entrance to the building, a fountain shot water into the air perpetually. As they entered, they saw most of the other four waiting. ¡°Where¡¯s Archimede?¡± Telor asked, rather perplexed. ¡°Archimede said he¡¯d watch the carriage.¡± Lotte responded, still not looking directly at either of them. ¡°Ehehehe, I guess he just isn¡¯t good with large crowds of people, is he?¡± Telor snickered, a knowing look on his face. ¡°Shut up, Telor, we have stuff to do. Let¡¯s hurry up and get the guy registered.¡± Erlend cut in, sighing as he spoke, quite ¡®done with Telor¡¯s shit.¡¯ The group pulled Aren along in their pace, eventually arriving at the nondescript front desk, at which a nondescript receptionist stood, constantly shifting her glasses over her short angular nose. Lotte moved her face close to Aren¡¯s, and whispered. ¡°Do you remember your name yet?¡± She asked suddenly. Aren, upon seeing her move so close to him, hopped away from her out of surprise. ¡°Y-yes!¡± He responded, still attempting to regain his composure. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Okay, good. Polona here will help you get set up, we¡¯re going to leave now.¡± Lotte responded, nodding and attempting to look serious. Aren was still stunned into silence, and stared as the group left. ------------------------- Aren arrived at the testing area with Polona, exploring the area with his eyes, his curiosity insatiable. It was a massive room that likely took up most of the building¡¯s space, and at either end there were targets of every kind set up. The walls and ceiling shimmered and seemed to glow. Off to the side were three racks, each containing different types of weapons. ¡°Go ahead, take your weapon of choice. I¡¯ll call in your testing opponents whenever you¡¯re ready.¡± [This is a difficult choice. All of them seem interesting, and I have equal (zero) experience in using all of them. I¡¯d probably want to go with a regular longsword, just because of how effective they are in their simplicity, but a staff or halberd may be useful too. If I can get a durable staff, I can become unstoppable. Bows are out of the question; I don¡¯t like those at all. Hmm¡­ I guess I can try the scimitar; that one seems like a lot of fun.] After deciding on his weapon, he walked over, pulling it from the rack. It was heavy, and difficult for him to hold up. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± I said, gripping the handle so tightly that my knuckles went white. ¡°Alright, come on out, Lucius!¡± She shouted, and out walked a man. He had almost vampiric white skin and bright golden angular eyes that didn¡¯t fit his oddly blue hair. He was not burly, but his muscles were very well defined. In his left hand, he held the hilt of a longsword. It was likely as long as Aren was tall. Upon being instructed to do so, both sides made their way to the center of their side of the arena. The ground itself was painted similarly to a basketball court combined with a hockey rink. ¡°The rules are simple. Fatal and permanently crippling strikes are disallowed; the first contestant to be immobilized or otherwise rendered unable to fight is disqualified. Time is limited to three minutes.¡± Time trundled by slowly, agonizingly so. A single drop of sweat gathered on Aren¡¯s forehead. ¡°Ready?¡± Polona asked. Both sides nodded their heads, narrowing their eyes and lowering their waists. ¡°Begin!¡± She shouted, dropping her arm. Author''s Note Spoiler : Sorry for the short chapter! Got preoccupied with proofreading for a translator friend of mine. I''ll make a longer chapter next time to compensate! The Information Section (where I fit detailed information on stuff I don¡¯t know how to stuff into the chapter without boring you to death) Spoiler : Lotte: A girl with bright silver hair even more eye catching than her comparatively enormous breasts, she turns 16 a few days after the arrival of our hero. Rank 16 Bladeweaver, she¡¯s one of the lower middle ranked adventurers registered. Telor: A moderately tall guy with highly reflective bronze-colored hair and dusky blue eyes. He¡¯s a Rank 14 Blood Mage at the age of 19, and an incredibly sarcastic guy. Erlend: A Rank 14 Knight, he has a moderately strong sense of justice. However, he still doesn¡¯t like doing work that others should be doing. His hair is pure black, and his eyes are the same. Bladeweaver: A very high skill class, a Bladeweaver has near-mastery over any and all things with sharp edges. Highly dangerous if utilized correctly, they can be defeated by almost any other class if they aren¡¯t highly talented. Rank: Ranks go up as one gains Points. One can gain these through completing quests. One can accept quests with a difficulty level of one third of their current points. Points are spent upon Rank Up, so one who takes a Rank 1 150 point job will still be in less danger than someone who takes a Rank 2 10 point commission. At the beginning of one¡¯s employment in the guild, they have ability and aptitude testing, so it¡¯s rare that anyone is actually put into Rank 1. Anything below Rank 5 is very rare, so is anything above Rank 10. Most who are employed are Rank 20 or higher. The highest rank achieved by anyone currently alive is 100, and the highest ever is 2241. Blood Mage: Blood Mage is a form of magic that is rather common. The distinction between a normal mage and a Blood Mage is simple. Blood Mages don¡¯t have specific elements. On top of that, Blood Mages fuel their spells with their own blood. They have a higher capacity for spell use, but there is a much higher penalty if they overstep their body¡¯s bounds. Chapter 3: The Chilled Coffin Author''s Note: Wow, this chapter is deceptively short for the amount of progress made in the story. I''m so sorry that it''s taken so long for me to update. I went in for surgery a couple weeks ago, and I''ve been recovering since. I''ve tried to write, but I just can''t get it to a point that I''m satisfied with it. Thus, screw it. This is what little I thought was pretty decent in what I wrote. Again, so sorry for being slow, late, and jank. On another note, I need some time-skip opinions. Do I do big time hops at short intervals, small time skips more often, or no time jumps at all? Aren ran forward with a determined look on his face, preparing to swing his blade. However, he never had a chance. One moment, Lucius was standing in his ready position, and the next, his blade was pressed against Aren¡¯s throat. Aren¡¯s eyes widened, and he dropped the scimitar. In the background, Polona snickered. ¡°The result has been decided! Lucius is the winner. Lucius, you are dismissed, and as for Aren, your rank has been evaluated.¡± Aren was prepared for the worst. He knew that he didn¡¯t do well. He knew his swordsmanship was as shoddy as the definition of the word itself. ¡°You are Rank 0.¡± Polona grinned spitefully at him. ¡°Eh? Not even Rank 1?¡± A look of concern crept onto his face. He looked as though he was going to burst into tears at any second. ¡°Correct. Allow me to define Rank 0: It is the rank created by the Clich¨¦ Master to deal with people like you: The ones who get in on recommendation from people we can¡¯t afford to give up. The worst fighters imaginable who have such pathetic aptitude that it¡¯s almost funny. Just give up and leave of your own accord.¡± Polona practically spat the words at him, not hiding her disdain. ¡°Oh, and keep the sword. Anyone who touches it will probably be infected with your ineptitude.¡± ---------------------------- Aren had entered the forest surrounding the city. Out of frustration, he ran off, and ended up here. The guards just gave him a confused look, as though he were some alien, and let him pass. He dragged the blade of the scimitar along the ground and wiped the stream of blood from his forehead. Planting his feet, he pulled it upward with all of his strength, slicing through an amorphous blob that attempted to attack him. He was entirely surrounded, his narrowed eyes showing his insatiable anger. It looked as though he was a child having a murderous tantrum. From behind him, a giant rat jumped, biting his shoulder and tearing out a chunk of flesh. A slime jumped, hitting him in the back. A single drop of blood entered its blue membrane, and immediately, it began to spread. Within seconds, it had become a crimson hue, and grown to an abnormal size. Aren spun on his heel, swinging the blade into the slime¡¯s body. However, when it hit, the Slime simply stole the scimitar, taking it into its body. Aren shouted in frustration. He was now frail, injured, bleeding, and disarmed, and not even thinking straight to boot. He closed his eyes, clenching his hands so hard that blood fell from the gashes opened by his nails. A single tear fell from his eye. This is how it ends, then? Some hilariously impulsive decisions and it¡¯s all over. A single flash. Pure white permeated everything, even through his eyelids. As quickly as it appeared, it faded, and, falling to his knees, Aren opened his eyes. Around him lay charred, scorched earth. All that was upon that was ash. Only where he stood was the ground not ruined. He watched as the trees around him went rapidly down, the blue sky the last thing he saw. Everything went black. ----------------------- ¡°W------o¡ªf¡ªki---wa---p-al¡ªady?¡± The garbled sounds entered Aren¡¯s ears, disconnected, fading in and out of comprehensibility. The figure raised his voice. ¡°Would you fucking wake up already?¡± The voice was far clearer this time. It was a moderately young, energetic voice, but evidently annoyed. Opening his eyes, Aren saw his features. This person had bright blue eyes, a stark contrast to his moderately long black hair. He was of no diminutive height, standing at least two meters tall. ¡°Ah, Sleepyhead. Finally feel like getting up?¡± He remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Who¡­?¡± Aren immediately expressed his confusion, his eyes narrowed. ¡°Last thing I remember, I was fighting those things, and then¡­¡± ¡°I saved your sorry ass.¡± This guy completed Aren¡¯s sentence. ¡°By the way, the name¡¯s Gregorius. Gregorius Gelasius IV. Until training is over, you can call me Greg.¡± ¡°Training?¡± Aren questioned, his face once more blank. ¡°Dammit, say more than one word.¡± Foul-Mouth Greg remarked. ¡°You¡¯re pitifully weak. It¡¯s almost hilarious; I was only late to save because I was doubled over laughing. You need some help, so I¡¯m gonna help.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Didn¡¯t ask. I¡¯m leaving.¡± The now highly frustrated Aren attempted to stand, but a sharp pain coursed through his back like a bolt of lightning. He grunted and winced in response. Greg¡¯s hands immediately appeared below Aren¡¯s back, easing him back into the mattress. His face still didn¡¯t portray any emotion beyond the smug, mildly spiteful look that Aren thinks is normal for him. ¡°Whoa there, Zero. Let¡¯s look at cause and effect. When you get your shoulder gouged out, it takes time to heal. When something is healing, it is sensitive. Lay the hell back down.¡± ----------------------- After a rather long rest, Greg decided it was totally fine to drag Aren along with him, despite him still being rather sore. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Aren asked flatly; not able to be surprised by this firecracker of a guy anymore. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll like it, sleepyhead.¡± Greg gave off a mischievous grin, and ran straight into a wall. Of course, because he doesn¡¯t have any relation to logic, he glides through the wall as if there is nothing there, his iron grip on Aren¡¯s now red wrist dragging him through too. ¡°Eh?¡± Aren lets out a voice of confusion. ¡°Secret passage, genius! Catch on for once.¡± Greg continued in his dash, at this point practically dragging Aren across the ground. Very quickly, the passageway deteriorated from the clean, decorative marble and cobblestones of the surprisingly lavish building into a dank, poorly lit passageway. Some bluish-green liquid dripped from the ceiling, forming repulsive puddles that gave off some moderately visible putrid gas. Just as quickly as it deteriorated, the passageway returned to its decorative state, this time even more ornate. Gold plating and rich, deep blue gems decorated the walls. They reached a grand hall that wouldn¡¯t lose in size or decoration to the guildhall. Greg stopped, pulling Aren to a stop beside him. He let go of Aren¡¯s arm, pushing him forward. ¡°Go on. You know what to do.¡± In all honesty, Aren had absolutely no idea what to do. He walked forward, and around him, it was as if his steps formed waves. With each tile he stepped upon, the tiles to the sides rose sequentially, creating some form of wave. Everything about the room screamed, power. Finally, he reached the end of the path, arriving at a coffin. Something ominous emanated from the strange box. It was almost purely white with its silver plating, gold and countless jewels ornamenting it. He stepped forward, putting a shaky hand on the surface. A voice boomed all around him, shaking him to the core. [Grave robbing, hmm? Is this what royalty stoops to nowadays?] ¡°U-uhh¡­¡± Aren fumbled around his mind for a response, stunned. The voice held some sort of dignity that Aren couldn¡¯t even imagine. [Nn? You do not seem like the normal ones I get here. Usually, they just want to sell the coffin for money, or use it themselves. I can¡¯t count on two hands how many people come in here seeking money. However, you¡­ you are different.] The voice went into some odd monologue. [Gregorius¡¯s friend, I presume?] It spoke after a long period of deliberation. ¡°How did you¡­?¡± Aren asked, his silver eyes widening in shock. He stepped back, taking his hand off. [Mm-mm-mmm-mmph! Mm! Mmph!] The voice seemed exasperated; frustrated that Aren¡¯s hand had been removed. Noticing that the entity had become considerably quieter and muffled, he stepped forward once more, placing his hand on the coffin. [Satisfactory, boy. Now then, as I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me, eons pass like days in my consciousness. It has been only seconds since Greg last spoke with me, and let me tell you. That guy wouldn¡¯t let you pass even if it cost him his life.] The voice chuckled, as if fondly remembering something. [The only other way you could possibly get to me would be to overpower me, and trust me, there¡¯s no way that would happen as you are now.] It outright laughed. Aren felt frustrated, the voice was mocking his ability. ¡°And?¡± He grumbled, quite close to dropping a white glove on top of the coffin. [And the only reason that child would ever bring someone before me would be if they were about as frail as you who cannot even lift a sword.] Aren sighed, closing his eyes as a vein popped out on his forehead. ¡°Get. To. The. Point.¡± He enunciated every word with his annoyance. [Open the coffin.] The voice chilled, and Aren swore he felt the silver under his hand do the same. He shivered as he followed the order, putting all of his strength into lifting it off. The contents within shocked and underwhelmed Aren. Chapter 4: Thalia A/N: In case you didn¡¯t know, Thalia is the name of the comedy mask in theatre. This specific version takes a lot of inspiration from Hiruko Kagetane. Within the bright coffin, Aren saw a few well-defined objects. Among them, what caught his eye was a suit. It was just that ¨C a piece of pure black formalwear, with a silver and white undercoat below that. It was incredibly simple in its design, and it extended down into a long coattail. He lifted it up, further examining what looked like a flimsy piece of cloth. The collar folded inward, hiding a pure black hood. He decided that it was better than nothing, and unbuttoned it, pulling his arms through the sleeves and pulling it over to button. Much to his surprise, the buttons went through the loops with no input from himself, as if by magic. Aren¡¯s eyes widened in surprise, but he just sighed. [Nothing can surprise me anymore.] He grumbled in the back of his mind, eyes half-closed. The hood went up to the top of his forehead, and suddenly he felt a great surge of power coursing through his veins. As if. When the hood topped Aren¡¯s head, it shimmered as though producing its own light on the black surface. The coattail extended downward, splitting to two points at the end near his feet. Otherwise, nothing happened. ¡°Nn? There¡¯s more.¡± Aren looked over the open sarcophagus, seeing a couple more things. What he decided to look at first was the weapon, or rather, the hilt of a weapon. It was made from pure white silver, and on first glance, it was just a small stick. However, when he picked it up, he felt it expand in his hand. Within just moments, it had become a greatly comfortable fit, and it continued to grow. The top grew a symmetrical crossguard that curved up at either end. Within the center of the crossguard, a pristinely cut, transparent gem made itself visible. Aren felt a sharp pain in his finger, more tightly gripping the silver to disperse it. This horrible logic, however, only succeeded after the small blade that protruded from the hilt disappeared. The freshly drawn blood flowed in uneven paths down the body of the hilt, ending at the jewel. The trails of blood showed mild luminescence that the silver reflected back ten-fold. The blood covered the crystal, leaving it entirely invisible to Aren. When the blood disappeared, the crystal had changed color. It was the same crimson color that his blood had. Aren brought the hilt closer to his face, curiously inspecting every facet of the gem. He tilted it to the side, turned it, pressed the crystal, and jumped back, dropping the hilt as a bright red light came from the hilt. The light came from a bright red fire that shot from the end. This red was not the red of fire. It was a darker, more sanguine color, that of blood. The flames curled and twisted, but they ended two feet from the hilt. However, just moments after he dropped this, the flames withered, disappearing. ¡°The hell? How am I supposed to cut something with fire?¡± Aren mumbled to himself, both intrigued and irritated. He picked up the now dead sword once more, finding a pocket on the side of his new coat for it. ¡°Is that all? And here I thought that this was actually something worth fighting for.¡± Aren grumbled to himself, mildly annoyed that he was dragged down here for nothing. He leaned over the casket, and saw just one last thing. It was a bright white, elliptical shape. Stretching his arm, he grabbed it, and felt the odd smoothness of it, as if it held no friction. He pulled it out of the casket, inspecting it. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. It was a simple mask. It had three crescent shapes cut into it ¨C two small ones were next to each other on the top, and one larger one was cut into the bottom. ¡°A¡­ mask?¡± He muttered, turning it around. As he placed it on his head, he felt it connect to the coat. ¡°Interesting.¡± He muttered, surprised to find his voice to have changed completely. After putting on the mask, his voice lowered an octave, and his speech came from his lungs rather than from his throat. ¡°Interesting.¡± He remarked, pushing his hand against the side of the coffin and spinning on his heel. [So you did not forget about me. How unusual.] An all-too-familiar voice spoke, causing Aren to flinch. [Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t keep you long.] [I am one of two. The other is in the possession of that Gregorius character. My time has long passed. I leave these artifacts to you. In time, you will see why Greg dragged you down here.] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6f-49cGWD2Y) ¡°Elaborate?¡± Aren responded, narrowing his eyes. ¡°¡­Elaborate?¡± Aren repeated, his eyes narrowing further. ¡°¡­ ¡­ ¡­Elaborate?¡± He asked once more, his eyes practically closed. Eventually, he decided to just give up trying to force more answers out of this existence. Releasing his hand, he strolled away, the unusually simplistic mask retreating automatically with the hood into the back of the coat. ¡°Done already?¡± Greg called out as Aren returned. ¡°It¡¯s time for Stage II.¡± He spoke, a dangerous glint in his eyes. ---------------------- After an arduously long walk back, the two emerged from the wall into the empty hallway. They continued through the clean, decorated halls of the empty building that Aren could describe only as a castle. ¡°Do you really live in this kind of a place alone?¡± Aren asked, bewildered. ¡°Alone? Heh, what are you talking about?¡± Greg laughed, putting his hands behind his head. ¡°You live here too.¡± Aren stopped, stunned by the sudden remark. ¡°Is that really alright? I might be imposing on you or wasting your resources by doing such, if anything I should just take up work and find an inn, or-¡°Aren.¡± Greg interrupted Aren¡¯s antisocial nervousness. ¡°Shut the fuck up.¡± Aren¡¯s hand went straight to his face, hitting himself on the forehead with his palm. ¡°Anyway, it¡¯ll be far more convenient to stay here, so that you don¡¯t have to walk across the city half-dead after a particularly strenuous training session.¡± Greg grinned. ¡°After all, we¡¯ll be having a lot of those.¡± Author¡¯s Note Been particularly busy lately again. Anyway, I decided I¡¯d make time skips only when there would be an entire chapter dedicated to them, and decided that there was a bit of information overload if I were to include that in this. So, it is a bit underwhelming, but bear with it for now. Sorry, and thank you! Chapter 5: Resolution Aren swung the blade down. Again and again, his arms forced themselves to pull up and force downward, his feet stepping back and forth in time. His throat burned, his head felt as though it were collapsing in on itself. His chest tightened, his arms hardly able to lift. He could feel the muscular fibers tear with every swing, clenching his teeth. He was swinging downward a long steel sword that curved into a sharp end ¨C a katana. Greg leaned on a pedestal beside him, counting. ¡°Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two¡­¡± He drew out the last syllable of each number. Suddenly, he sighed, standing and stretching his arms. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re seriously exhausted at twenty-five? Huh. She was right, you¡¯re damn frail.¡± Aren, slouched over and breathing raggedly, suddenly stood up, a light in his bright blue eyes. [That bitch¡­] His words flared through his mind. He swung the blade in the exact same form, incessantly. He ignored the incredible agony building up in his muscles for an indeterminate amount of time. Aren bit his lip, a stream of warm blood flowing from the corner of his mouth where the teeth punctured the skin. [But even so¡­!] Beads of sweat rolled down his arms, flung off of the arms that had their veins clearly defined. The droplets quickly disappeared in the rain that started at some point. Aren had lost himself in thought for the entire day. Around him was the darkness of night he saw nearly nothing through. Greg had left at some point, unbeknownst to him. Water poured down from the black clouds in sheets, rendering the ground muddy and thick. [Even so, I have to try.] He could only think to himself as he fell backwards, the blade of the sword piercing the ground behind him. His hand reached upward, as if clawing at the sky, grasping at the water that torrentially poured down upon him. He fought to keep his eyes open, watching the perpetual nothing above him. Consciousness slipped from his body, the hand falling and impaling the mud. A foolish smile was plastered on his face. [Because what am I doing, if not trying?] Greg situated himself at a small desk. It was of grand quality, and made with a rare, tough wood. Despite its simplicity, it was unrivaled in craftsmanship. It was simply a flat table with compartments built into the bottom. Over the flat desk, Greg looked out at the practice field, nodding in approval, his face solemn. ------------------------- Location: Unknown A man sat upon an ornate throne of shining metal, his chiseled face holding a solemn expression, his brown eyes covered by his long hair of a similar hue. The messy strands fell down to his shoulders, mainly to the left side. Before him was a man, kneeling upon a purple path of fabric. The wide room was well lit by the countless sconces holding candles of bright red wax to the walls. ¡°How goes the boy?¡± The man sitting upon the throne asked, holding his chin with his fist. ¡°Yes sire, the young master has taken someone in. I am yet unclear on the details, but he seems far from exceptional.¡± The man kneeling spoke through his moderately long gray beard. ¡°I care not what he seems, Baurin. I care what his accomplishments are. His exact strength, magical ability, and ability to grow. I am not on top of this kingdom to ask your impression.¡± The man boomed, his chin raising and his eyes narrowing, likely out of spite. His anger was evident in his voice, but his body was completely still. The evident elder of the two, the kneeling Baurin, trembled, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. ¡°My sincerest apologies sire. I could not¡­ I didn¡¯t¡­ When I looked into his soul, I saw¡­ nothing.¡± He shivered even more unstably as pressure built up in the room, causing the candles to flicker around the two solitary figures. ¡°Oh? Nothing, you say?¡± The man mused, his mouth cracking into a smile. Baurin, below, looked up, his face becoming one of anguish and fear. ¡°Maybe, you¡¯re just losing effectiveness?¡± He looked down his nose at the subject before him, his expression lacking all sympathy. He lowered his brow, mouth curving downward into a mock-offended and sad expression. ¡°Are all of the resources and teachers I put into you to go to waste?¡± The threw his head back, his mouth opening wide and letting out a bloodthirsty, borderline insane laugh, his eyes wide. After several minutes of the extreme lack of composure, the man straightened up, standing with a blank expression as though none of that had ever happened. He spoke in a composed voice somewhere between normal speech and a whisper. ¡°I have decided.¡± He grinned widely down on Baurin, who quaked in fear of being disposed of with extreme prejudice. ------------------------ It is evening. The streetlights begin to illuminate the litter-ridden streets as the crimson sun crosses the boundary of the horizon, its light peeking through skyscrapers for the final time that day. Clouds glowing red and orange fade to a deep purple before giving way to the darkness of night. Aren shivers, his breath visible in the cold, dry air. His narrow eyes peek out of a heavy hooded jacket, its only openings at his waist and wrists. ¡°Gotta hate winter.¡± He mumbles to himself, hunching down. Few of the despicable beings known commonly as humans tainted the asphalt and concrete of the urban jungle at this time of night. However, three silhouettes make their presence scarce, disappearing from the dilapidated wall of brick of varying shades of red. Minutes pass, uneventful. Aren continues his brisk walk down the abandoned road, but is interrupted. ¡°Took you long enough, Aren.¡± The tallest of the three figures speaks in an exasperated tone, spitting his words at Aren. ¡°The hell do you wa-¡° Aren tries to respond, but halfway through his words, sees something traveling. It flies through the air at an unbelievable pace, and it contracts into a fist, impacting his face with peerless force. Aren¡¯s sight flickers between vision and black, fading, fading. The excruciating pain dulls his senses, the bright red blood falling into darkness. The world disappeared around him, leaving only the sadistic grins on the faces of his assailants. They burned themselves into his fearful eyes as they faded. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. -------------------- Aren¡¯s eyes shot open, his pupils contracted. He breathed rapidly, his chest rising and falling at uneven intervals. The sky he faced was still deep purple, host to the faint light on the edge of the sky signaling the beginning of the day. He attempted to get up with what feeble strength he had, but felt inhibited in some way, his limbs unable to move. He felt as though he was restrained. Looking down, he realized he was almost entirely buried in the damp, cracked earth. Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up within the minute, leaving an imprint of himself in a hole in the ground. Reorienting himself, he looked around, and saw Greg, holding a simple longsword. He stood before a dummy, his body sideways, leaning slightly backwards. He held his weight on his bent right leg, his hand wrapping tightly around the blade¡¯s hilt. Within no more than an instant, Greg was standing behind the straw doll, the tip of his sword inside the sheath, his eyes closed. He pushed the blade into the sheath before taking his other hand off of the end of the sheath. Finally, after less than a second, two silver strokes appeared through the air, making the screeching sound of metal slicing through air. Behind him, the dummy fell to the ground, sliced into near-perfect quadrants. Greg sighed, mumbling to himself. ¡°Still not enough, huh?¡± Following this, he detached the blade and scabbard from his hip and flicked his wrist, sending the blade flying through the air, directly towards Aren, revolving as it did so. Aren stood there, stunned at the sudden action. He nodded his head over and over as the blade spun, following the hilt. Finally, the end of the scabbard lost forward momentum, falling down and burying itself in the ground a foot from Aren, falling forward toward him. Aren grabbed the hilt, still dazed after waking up to such a phenomenon. ------------------- Two months passed since Aren first picked up the sword. Rather than being so feeble that his arms looked more like twigs than deadly weapons, a strong and noticeable musculature now covered his body. He was by no means bulging with muscle, nor was he burly in any way, but his complexion and physique improved drastically from before. Where he still held some despair over something even he didn¡¯t know before, he had left all of that behind in his training. It was as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He stepped towards the building¡¯s exit into the training area, the sky still dark. He pulled a practice blade from the wall and progressed out, watching his breath that flew from his mouth into white, swirling puffs that rapidly dissipated in the frigid air. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± A cold, detached voice called out to him. This was not Greg, most definitely. The voice was of someone at least 20 years older. On top of that, Greg never used such a voice, even when Aren¡¯s ineptitude frustrated him to the extreme. This was the voice of a killer, not the voice of an instructor. Not that Aren realized this fast enough. He walked out, bowing his head slightly. ¡°My apologies.¡± He spoke, his eyes closed, before standing back up. A puzzled look crossed his face. The man in front of him was not Greg, but looked remarkably like him. He had long hair that fell down over his shoulders that did nothing to cover the dark eyes of the same blue hue as Gregorius¡¯s. He looked down his angular nose, his lips contorting into a distasteful frown. ¡°So you¡¯re Greg¡¯s new pet?¡± He remarked. ¡°Hmph. You don¡¯t look like much.¡± He took his weapon from his back ¨C a wide, two-bladed axe with a handle at least five feet in length, but still not long compared to the incredible stature of this man. The handle shone a bright silver color, and the handle was decorated with dozens of small gemstones arranged into rhomboidal patterns. Without warning, he jumped forward, angling his body diagonally toward Aren. Aren immediately jumped back, drawing the blade from the scabbard now on his back. He bent both his back and front legs, putting both hands on the handle. As the man swung his massive axe downward, Aren slid his back (left) foot to the right side, bringing up his sword and angling it diagonally, downward to his left. The axe pushed the blade downward with incredible force, but almost immediately slid off of the sword. The man jumped to the side, swinging the axe to the right. Aren jumped away from the swing, meeting it with his sword. Such a thing was a terrible idea. The axe¡¯s tremendous attack power practically tore the blade in half, everything 6 inches past the hilt flying off to the side and planting itself directly in the center of an archery target. [¡­Dammit, me.] He thought to himself, biting his lip in frustration. ¡°Fool.¡± The man muttered before he landed, his feet digging into the cracked dirt. Bending his back leg, he fired towards Aren, who jumped back. Without a foothold, Aren was shocked when the man practically teleported to a distance of only two feet from him. However, he had no time to process this as the axe swung. In a flash, the axe dug into Aren¡¯s flesh, tearing into his abdomen. His blood soaked the blade of the axe and covered the ground that he flew over as he was knocked back, hitting a brick wall and creating a round crater. His pupils contracted, he gasped for air, instead coughing up a huge amount of blood, falling forward to the ground. Everything disappeared from his sight. [Hah? Is this really the extent of my ability? Enough just to lose miserably to some old asshat who just outright attacks people?] He berated himself, extremely irate. He picked the broken sword from his side, stabbing himself in the thigh. His eyes opened wide, his expression wild, almost insane. [Is this what I¡¯ve worked so hard for? Losing, being beaten down, made fun of further?] He drew the now bloodied blade of the shattered sword from his leg, and stared directly into the eyes of that man in front of him. The man wore a shocked expression for just a moment, before once more placing himself in a stance prepared for battle. Author''s Note Spoiler : Hi! Sorry I''m so late again. I''ve been infected with the terminal disease known as RL. Anyway, this chapter is 2187 words rather than my usual unnervingly short chapters. I''ll try to get another one out between Sunday and Wednesday. Chapter 6: The Wicked Aren bent his legs, leaning forward, his blood-coated teeth showing and clenched. He looked at the broken, contorted piece of metal in his hand, and threw it away, looking at it as he would an indeterminate piece of rubbish. ¡°Useless.¡± He muttered. He pulled from his damaged coat a piece of silver that fit perfectly in his hand. [No¡­ I¡¯m not going to be worthless like this. I¡¯m done. No, no, it won¡¯t happen again. Anything¡­ anything but that. Anything to stop me from being useless again. Anything¡­ I¡¯ll do anything, so¡­!] [Then surrender.] A deep voice spoke within the recesses of Aren¡¯s mind. It echoed seemingly infinitely. The patient voice spoke calmly, but heavily. It was the voice of a hungry snake conniving his prey into giving its own life. Aren responded in his head. His eyes widened and his hands gripped the sides of his head, ignoring the pain that delivered shocks through his entire body. [Oi, at least let me finish before you go making remarks. Surrender your consciousness to me. You said you¡¯d do anything. What¡¯s wrong? Are you too weak to trust yourself?] [¡­] Aren didn¡¯t respond. He didn¡¯t know what to respond to. This¡­ thing was right. He was weak and useless, and this was all that was left that he could do. Surely, he¡¯d die if he didn¡¯t let this event take its course. ¡°Manifest Insanity.¡± Aren¡¯s mouth chanted two words in a voice entirely unlike his own. The simple handle immediately transformed. The handle itself grew outward, two bands curling around the central hilt. The crossguard grew outward by several inches on each side, softly curving downward at the end. Out of the crossguard appeared a blade. A flat, rectangular rod grew outward several feet, and stopped. The corners cut off and the blade thinned on the edges, small elliptical impressions growing outward slightly. What was in his hand was a long vorpal blade in a bright red hue. It seemed to glow, too bright to look at, but its light was not radiant, only blinding. The downward-facing head of Aren turned upwards to look at the man. The eyes weren¡¯t Aren¡¯s usual calm, mildly disgruntled eyes. They were wide eyes dyed red, accompanied by a vicious smile. He stood up, his stance and posture uneven. ¡°¡¯Twas brillig, and the slithy toves¡­¡± Aren leaned forward, his smile widening. He bent one leg. ¡°¡­did gyre and gimble in the wabe¡­¡± What was left of the boy¡¯s sanity disappeared. He jumped forward with speed incomparable to before. Within a second, he had arrived before that man.¡°¡­all mimsy were the borogoves¡­¡± He danced around the man, not attacking, but waving the sword in wide, bright arcs. He spun and raved and laughed, the sword not once touching the man. ¡°and the mome raths outgrabe.¡± ¡°Beware the Jabberwock, my son!¡± He cried out suddenly, jumping forth and swinging the sword in a sudden, flinching movement. ¡°The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!¡± The man finally responded, swinging his axe. The sword was hit with tremendous force on the level that it should have been batted away. The power of the blow forced Aren¡¯s hand open. However, all this revealed was the presence of four silver spikes, each one penetrating Aren¡¯s hand, holding the sword to his hand no matter the cost. ¡°Beware the Jubjub bird and shun¡­¡± Aren swung again, entirely ignoring the axe. His sword swung downward, making a whistling sound as though it were cutting the wind. His ruthless slash was interrupted by the long haft of the weapon. ¡°¡­the frumious Bandersnatch!¡± ¡°He took his vorpal sword in hand¡­¡± Aren swung his blade again, this time from the side. Just as the man¡¯s axe was about to meet it, the blade stopped, retreating as Aren spun, the slash meeting soft flesh on the other side of the man¡¯s body. Aren¡¯s chuckling evolved into maniacal laughter as he saw the blood fall from the wound. ¡°¡­long time the manxome foe he sought¡­¡± He raised his sword again, pointing it directly at the man¡¯s face. ¡°So rested he by the Tuntum tree¡­¡± As the axe swung towards the blade, Aren jumped back, planting his feet a few meters away. ¡°¡­and stood awhile in thought.¡± ¡°And, as in uffish thought he stood¡­¡± He again lowered his waist, aiming his blinding crimson blade forth towards the tall man in front of him, who wore a grim expression.¡°¡­the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame¡­¡± He took one leisurely step, moving away from his stance, sword resting at his side.¡°¡­came whiffling through the tulgey wood¡­¡± Suddenly, he shot forward with speed inconceivable for a human. ¡°And burbled as it came!¡± ¡°One, two! One, two! And through and through¡­¡± Aren danced around his enemy as if playing, sword slashing endlessly, rending the body of his enemy. ¡°¡­the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!¡± He made one final stabbing motion, managing to plunge the blade into the shoulder of the man as the haft came up less than a second late, failing to redirect the blow. ¡°He left it dead, and with his head¡­¡± He spun around once, pulling his bloodied sword from the destroyed left shoulder of the man. Halfway through the spin, however, an axe met Aren¡¯s side, digging ruthlessly into his hip. The huge, cold blade met his hot blood, gouging out a great hole in his side, the force behind the desperate strike catapulting his body into the outer fence with tremendous force, splintering the wood and sending him further flying into a poor, innocent tree that was entirely bifurcated by the power. ¡°This vessel¡­ still¡­ too weak¡­¡± He mumbled in a pained voice as his eyes fluttered, blood pouring from his great wound. He blinked, his eyes switching from crimson back to blue. ¡°Dammit¡­ Greg¡­¡± He muttered as he went limp, a shadow appearing at the door to the mansion. --------------------------- [You again?] Aren thought as he looked up at the somehow familiar being of shadow. His momentary clairvoyance surprised him ¨C he almost felt offended by himself that he¡¯d forgotten his entire past life. His ingrained hatred, his perpetual depression, everything had just disappeared. Aren had enjoyed that freedom, and he hated himself for it. In the same way that had happened before, he could not move a muscle. His facial muscles worked just fine, but he didn¡¯t breathe. There was no need to do so. ¡°Yes, me again.¡± The shadow said flatly. A slight amount of anger could be felt in its voice. ¡°There is not much time.¡± [Hehe. That line has been spoken by billions at this point.] Aren thought, a mocking smirk widening on his face. ¡°And I know. However, this time, it¡¯s serious, so shut up and listen.¡± It spoke, a slight tinge of emotion threading through its voice for the first time. ¡°When I brought you across, someone else knew that I did so.¡± The shadow receded slightly, a tinge of guilt in the speech. [Someone?] Aren responded, earnestly flummoxed. What did that have to do with anything anyway? ¡°Yes. That someone is Caligula, The Mad God.¡± The voice paused, as if stumbling over words. ¡°You have no idea how greatly I have wronged you.¡± The words were not apologetic. They were self-deprecating, almost hateful words. ¡°Allow me to provide our history. I am among the existence of those known as Immortals. Immortals are the lowest class of Deity, below Gods and Elders. We Immortals, however, have a special privilege. Being immensely weaker than the Gods, we are not sealed. We can meddle in other worlds¡¯ affairs as we please, as long as we do not do so directly. Eons ago, there existed just one. Desius, the highest of Elder Gods, he is hailed by the Humans as the God of Creation. However, that is not who he is. Desius is the God of Rivalry. It has been decreed that through his Rivalry, all is created and destroyed. He created the prideful existences now known as Elder Gods ¨C Caron, Emperor of Gods, acted as the leading existence. Sylisith became the God of Betrayal. Avas became the God of Creation. Halia became the Goddess of Kinship. Finally, Falwen became the God of Ambition. Nobody, not even the Elder Gods, know how the world came into being. It has simply always been. Without it, Desius could never be created. In the creation of our pantheon, Desius split himself. He and his duplicate had perfectly equal power, and fighting will that has never been matched, not even by Falwen. Desius clashed endlessly against himself, and the power that he expended escaped, forming into Avas. Avas, deeply saddened by how destructive the combat was, took a part of the world and used it as a bond to link back together the two Desius. Together, the two competed to create something greater than the other. Through their competition, they created countless beasts, refining them and refining them as their opponents became more sophisticated. At the end, the two each had different races that had reached the peak ¨C these races could grow by themselves. Originally, they were known as the Ovos and the Essence ¨C after the two Gods that created them. Over time, the Ovos who continued to perfect themselves reached a state of variety. Each of them could be told apart very easily. They renamed themselves the Humans, so that they were known not to be simply the pets of a God. They banded together to create all that they could, just like their patron god. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The Essence split apart practically instantly. They grew themselves to beat each other, rather than for the sake of growth. Thus, small groups were formed that each grew differently. They grew further, and became called another name by the Humans. The Humans called them Desmond for a little while, but decided that was stupid, and called them Demons as a compromise. A single Human rose above others. He was an abnormal existence that walked around, gathering together the human race for the sake of a tantalizing goal ¨C the growth of Humans as a whole. He traversed the world with his small corps, gathering more and more people. Eventually, he led tens of thousands across the world ¨C a beautiful and horrible sight. He never looked down upon the people, as they were of the same race as he, and he firmly believed that all born of a race were born as equals. However, it depended on their actions to define them. Once the man had gathered every Human he had seen, he returned to his humble home and commanded the race with great charisma to build a city. He assigned people to plan different parts of the city, and assigned others to build it. Finally, the third group supplied resources to the people. Together, they built an empire of dozens of cities and hundreds of towns. The humans lived happily. However, each one had a limited time in the world. That man, Caron, died. Avas, touched, granted a part of his power to Caron, ascending him to godhood as the Emperor of the Gods that had given order. However, the Humans suffered a problem. They were originally a sufficient population to populate the cities, but nobody wanted to. The population was shrinking and no new generation was being formed. People died unhappy and young because they lived in populated cities where their will to create was suppressed by their lack of assets. They saw no advantage to living within cities, and they strayed from the path paved for them by Caron. Deeply saddened by this was a young girl who lived in a city and loved the people around her. This young girl, Halia, was a simple child in the original city, the capital. After so many of those that she loved to talk to left, she resolved herself to stop anybody else from leaving. To her, there was no pain greater than loneliness. Thus, she took it upon herself to stop the people from leaving the city. She taught them the wonders of growing together ¨C what could be accomplished together rather than alone. Later in her life, she also taught humanity of love, and the joy of creating a new generation to carry on their wills. That¡¯s another story. It also kind of ascended her to godhood as Desius was interested in her¡­ techniques. Meanwhile, the Essence was still in the natal stages of growth. The population had grown apart. From simple bodies of energy, they evolved into different species ¨C Imps, Succubi, et cetera. Of course, the Succubi were only created after Halia ascended. Anyway, one Demon was a child. He was a Spirit who possessed what Desius thought was simply a strong competitiveness. Desius blessed the boy with his favor, but did not know what that boy harbored within. With his newfound power, the boy won battle after battle. He became addicted to victory. It got to the point that he challenged others not for the difficulty, but so that he could feel the taste of victory. He did not limit himself in any way, and used dirty tactics and outright lies to get his way. In the end, he became the supreme, unquestioned ruler of the entirety of the Demons ¨C the first Demon Lord. It is because of him that Humans hate Demons. At the end of his own life, this man, Sylisith, extorted Desius into granting him enough power to ascend. However, due to Desius¡¯s reluctance, Sylisith only gained enough power to become an Immortal, about on my level. Only through his unique methods was he able to gather enough of the ambient energy of the world to ascend beyond that and become matched with the other Elder Gods. Through his meddling, the Humans learned hate. Those that left the cities became lonely. They lived out in massive areas with nobody near them for miles. They saw what love was, and they left their homes and returned to the cities. To their regret, the cities had already been filled with people. Those from the countryside grew distant, dejected, and lonely. They banded together and raised their swords against the cities. They were ruthless in killing people so that space would be made for the others that inevitably would return, feeling the same. When the descendants of Caron, the leaders of the cities, showed outright hostility towards them, they dispatched the nobles that descended from the construction directors and the Emperor himself with ease, leaving only the good looking women for their own sakes. They had no means of communication, so the cities grew apart. The nobles saw their power¡¯s potential and abused it. Through betrayal came corruption. They took from the people and didn¡¯t give back. Sylisith divided the people Halia worked so hard to unite, and thus they still share animosity to this day. There was one special case. A man born of a Succubus and a human male, someone who shouldn¡¯t have existed was made. He was named Falwen. In the beginning of his life, he was kept isolated from the world, raised by his mother. He was brought one day to his father, who lived in a small town. The odd appearance of this boy garnered attention. He had hair that was black with strands of white, and he had one eye that looked more like an orb that glowed bright blue in his head. He had two tiny, yet visible, fangs. He was ostracized, hated. He was viewed as a child that shouldn¡¯t have existed, someone between the Humans and their mortal enemies, the Demons. He was viewed as impure, a taboo existence. He was hated severely and cruelly, and it never stopped. The hatred spread to everyone he was close to. Those who didn¡¯t care about his aesthetics were scared of the mob of people that hated him so severely. He was alone. One day, his father, who refused to abandon him, was slaughtered. He was decapitated, his house burned with Falwen inside it. Falwen should have died in that fire, but he didn¡¯t. His right eye became normal, rather than being the translucent blue orb it was before. However, he became cruel, ruthless, dark. He held animosity towards the people who murdered one of the only two important people in his life. He manifested his fury in massive amounts of energy. He condensed the energy and imbued it with the element of fire. That same fire that razed his home and his past would be used to cleanse this world of evil. The flames spread incessantly, and nothing stopped them except for Falwen¡¯s own lack of power. However, such power was plenty to immolate all that lived in the small town. None were spared. When Falwen came to, he was surrounded by ash. When he looked to his left, he saw the burned body that he immediately recognized ¨C his father. He realized what he had done, and just how atrocious it was to end and ruin the lives of hundreds as revenge for his own. He used his own willpower to seal away that spirit of vengeance that existed within him. He lived on his own, afraid to hurt others, and studied the phenomenon he caused that day. He was the first to feel the flow of Mana. He felt it all throughout the world, flowing endlessly. He could manipulate it to his will, and created all sorts of spells. He wrote down his findings. When he finally came to a society, it was that of the Demons. The aged, starved man arrived in the settlement of the Succubi. His final action was leaving his dozen books of research on magic systems. The glowing orb in his eye socket, which had returned with his sanity, neatly rolled out of his eye as his body fell to the ground. Falwen became known as the greatest innovator in the history of the world, and he ascended with his own power as the God of Ambition and Innovation. Those six gods formed society. Desius gave them the will to compare themselves to each other. Avas made them, and gave them the will to create whatever they thought of. Caron gave them order, so that they would not scatter. Halia gave them kinship, so they could benefit even when together. Sylisith corrupted the Humans¡¯ minds, to balance the light with darkness. Falwen¡¯s sheer will to use his mind gave Humans the ability to use that vast potential of theirs. The orb is still in existence to this day ¨C in that crimson sword of yours, that clear gem is what remained of the strength of that alter-ego of Falwen ¨C Caligula. He influenced where you would arrive so that you would find him and contract with him. His prison is no longer that orb, but you. Oh¡­ time is out. I have spent too much time explaining these things, but you should have a far greater understanding. Remember this ¨C do not, under any circumstances, release the voice when it tells you to do so. If Caligula ever uses Manifest Fury, the world may not survive.¡± The ambiguous world of light and shadow disappeared around Aren. A soft, warm feeling enveloped him. He immediately forgot part of what the two spoke about ¨C probably the Immortal¡¯s doing. He sat up with a start, met only with an unfamiliar face.
Author''s Note Spoiler : I suppose I''ll leave it here. Exposition chapter, yay! Anyway, make sure to comment if you have any ideas or opinions. I want to hear them. I MUST HEAR THEM. I''m sure I don''t deserve half a star for this, but whatever. I''m not writing this for the ratings, I''m writing it for fun. If anyone hates it, they can stop reading and fuck off. Oh, and happy Thanksgiving!