Knights Apocalyptica

Chapter 30: Talent

It's been a year.  

We managed to crawl into this cave, dug out, and used it for... some kind of experiment?. They didn't label any documents, and their projects contained sparse information. The best we've been able to determine is that they were trying to create miniature self-contained environments, though why bother doing so far beneath the earth?

It doesn't matter to us. We've been able to start small farms thanks to their work, and a few have begun to make use of the Blessing.

At least that's what the church is calling it. They said a glowing figure came out from the sky and told them to come here, and we took them in; they're humans, after all, not like those monsters out there.

Everyone we send out above dies, eventually. Gets sick and dies over time, aside from those priests, which I don't get. But they say in time, they'll be able to heal the sickness, and it'll go away.

Is this hell?

- Aaron Dunwick, Assorted Notes (2, 3rd Era)

After submitting his form, the priest sent Erec back to the other initiates. One by one, the instructors called them up in pairs to fight in the ring.

Garin was one of the first to fight, along with a girl from the Order of the Crimson Lotus.

If you could call it a fight. The Dame tried using Mysticism against his friend, but Garin could easily counter and break her concentration by pressing an assault. She’d worn down in a few minutes, yet the fight dragged on and on.

Garin never went for the kill. Either it was because he felt embarrassed for her or knew her in some way, he withdrew just before landing an ending blow. It was like he kept trying to give her a chance to shine on the field, yet she never did.

Eventually, the girl, outmatched, forfeited.

But the overall effect was that the fight made Garin look like he lacked the drive to win, while it made the girl appear hopelessly weak. To Erec, it seemed crueler than a decisive victory.

Another rather disappointing match-up was Lyotte against her former maid, Olivia. At the announcement, Erec leaned forward to watch.

Within the first ten seconds, Olivia intentionally threw herself too far into a swing and took a ‘lethal’ blow. The two gave one another respectful bows and had a small conversation afterward.

One might argue that Olivia simply made a mistake, that it wasn’t an intentional loss and just an overestimation. But Erec doubted it; that would be too convenient. There was something hidden beneath the surface of Olivia. A Knight Commander yelled at them to break up their conversation and clear the battlefield.

Before Erec knew it, the Commander Knight yelled loudly, “Sir Erec of House Audentia.” He broke apart from the crowd and headed to the weapon rack. Even as the announcer yelled his opponent’s name. “—and Sir Soren of House Crisimus.”

The Prince. He was to face the Prince. The crowd burst into cheers and hoots of excitement.

Erec stuffed down his nerves and the accompanying flare of excitement. This was only a spar. Even against someone like the Prince, it changed nothing; Soren was simply an opponent with far more training than himself. Yet the thrill of pitting himself against a superior enemy was palpable. It also meant he’d have to rely on the ‘experiment’ to compensate for that skill difference if he wanted any chance of winning.

He didn’t want to stomach a loss—that drive to win burned higher and higher with every attempt to temper it. So many times growing up, he felt the sting of lingering in Bedwyr’s shadow. Whether it was at his job in the bio-cavern or at primary school, where their teachers hounded him about getting worse grades.

No, he didn’t want to win. He wanted every voice crying out for prince Soren to yell out his name instead. To hear them chant, “Erec!”

His fingers shook as he took in the weapon rack.

Of course, there were about five styles of dulled swords, as would be expected. A couple of spears with their points removed. And a one-handed axe with a flat edge—not as balanced as his new weapons, but it fit nicely in his palm.

A fine enough weapon for the job.

He took his place on the field as Soren picked out a simple longsword. He took his position and stood stoic in the Academy Uniform.

The dark-haired Prince wore a blank expression, whereas Erec fought to keep his heart from hammering in anticipation of the fight. There was nothing from the Prince. A calm, serene gaze that bordered on boredom. Even with the crowd cheering him on and filling the ring with more energy than any match before,

“What’s your deal?” Erec asked, waiting for the Knight Commander to start the fight.

Soren tilted his head. “Deal?”

“Yeah, you look like you’re watching a protective coat dry on your Armor. Is facing me boring to you? Are you that confident you’re going to win?”

“This examination is an inefficient use of our time.” The Prince said and nodded toward the Knight Commander, trying to quiet the crowd. “Instead, we could already be training, so yes, I don’t care for this fight in the least.”

“Fighting against me isn’t training?”

“You’re a Knight. Not a monster.”

Erec wasn’t sure how to feel about that. There was a solid line of logic there, but there was something more. It was as if Soren didn’t care how this went either way. His heart wasn’t in the fighting—meaning if Erec won, it wouldn’t feel like a victory. If he lost to a man not even trying… Well, that’d be even more devastating.

“Then pretend I’m a monster. I want to see you give it your all. If you’re going to do something, you should give it your best. Test yourself against me; let’s see who’s stronger.” Erec beat a hand against his chest, stirring up his own drive to fight. He wanted to see what an heir to the royal family was capable of. How far did his training go against someone like that?

“Truly? You wish for me to put my all into this game?” Soren gave the barest trace of a frown.

“If you don’t, it’s a far greater insult.”

“As you will. I’ll honor your request from one Knight to another by not holding back.”

Soren shifted from the relaxed stance of an uncaring man to a practiced combat position, with his sword held neatly between them as the air around him shifted. Erec took in a shaky breath, his focus on the situation narrowing on his opponent as he sensed a change. The entire feel of the spar shifted. There was an atmosphere now he’d felt once before—that same intensity of when he’d tried to bash in Colin’s head.

A tangible killing intent hung in the air. Soren’s eyes narrowed with the focus of a hunter tracking their game.

“Begin!” The Knight Commander called.

Erec tensed in his spot. He wanted to see what Soren did, to pick apart his capabilities before playing his strategies out. Understanding the enemy was key to victory.

Except, Soren didn’t move at all. He hovered in the same spot, those intense eyes of a hunter digging into Erec. His sword held ready as if waiting for Erec to start the fight. It made no sense; surely the Prince had a higher degree of confidence in his skills—

[What are you doing? MOVE BACK!] VAL screamed in his head.

Erec didn’t have time to question it. He backpedaled quickly.

Soren vanished from the spot he’d been standing; his sword tore through the space where Erec had been. Erec blinked. Did he… teleport? Or is he that quick? Following the failed attack, the Prince pulled back and paced around Erec towards the right in a neat circle. Erec twisted to track the movement, following Soren and trying to anticipate the next blow.

[What are you looking at—to the left. DUCK.]

Erec dropped down as a sword swiped over his head. The Prince vanished from his right side and suddenly appeared on Erec’s left. How the hell?

Seeing his prey escape another attack, Soren followed through with a kick; Erec couldn’t block the blow. The force sent him tumbling over the ground, his uniform tearing across a rock and bruising him all over. As he scrambled to his feet, the Prince stood still. “Where is he?”

[What do you mean? He’s running at you! Use your eyes, Intern!]

Erec’s heart was going a mile-a-minute; he’d tasted pain from the blow. Yet, despite what VAL said, he only saw Soren swaying in the place where he’d last kicked him. “Tell me when to swing.” Erec tensed, his instincts racing. Logic started to leave his head. It didn’t matter that Soren was standing far away—no, that didn’t matter at all. All that mattered was getting a blow in.

[Now.]

Erec lashed out with his hatchet—connecting with the side of a sword as Soren converted a strike into a block. He could suddenly see the Prince again, teleporting from his position far away to a foot in front, fending off Erec’s attack. That was all he needed. Erec barreled forward, pitting the Strength behind his arm against Soren’s guard—causing the other boy to step back.

Another step forward—dirt piled behind Soren’s boot as he slid back along the wasteland's surface. As long there wasn’t distance, Soren couldn’t use his trick.

He just needed to get closer. Erec’s heart hammered. His breath grew heavy as his vision colored red. “Start the test,” Erec said, the words coming out terse and filled with violence. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he would take the Prince down.

[Early onset of Fury confirmed. Experiment commenced. Employing packet dosages of sedative as required. ]

Erec’s arm buckled as the pure force pouring into the clashing steel stopped ramping up—plateauing into a higher degree of Strength but not giving him what he needed to finish the job.

Soren was quick to react, sliding the edge of the axe along his blade to a flourish and disengagement during the small gap that Erec adjusted. Before Erec could yank back and throw out another blow, their point of contact dissolved. Soren leaped backward.

Erec smelled blood in the water; if his enemy was fleeing, then he’d chase him down.

[DODGE RIGHT. YOU'RE ABOUT TO RUN INTO HIS SWORD!]

After the loud shriek, Erec’s body reacted without thought, yet it lagged as if too slow to respond. As if it physically couldn’t keep up with the instincts. The blade’s edge skimmed his side, turning what would have been a skewering hit into a nasty cut—had the blade not been dulled. As it was, the metal still managed to bite his skin and draw blood.

The pain only drew the Fury out more. His weapon jerked outward, but his arm lagged behind the instincts, giving Soren enough time to slip out of range and disappear—or rather, appear to flee backward.

Minutes flew by, yet the dance of their fight remained the same, Soren would dart in, and Erec would react, often nicked but still surviving. He was unable to retaliate with his axe. Every second that the fight dragged on, his body felt less responsive. Dulled and drugged.

It was frustrating. Pain and anger swelled in him, numbed by the constant feeling of sedative unleashed in response—a limiter keeping him from flying off the edge.

But it also limited him from winning.

Retaining the barest of his senses and drugged, his body couldn’t react with the pure instinct that this fight demanded. All he needed was to let fury take control, and he’d have Soren. As the drugs and fury rampaged his mind, his sense of logic hung by an increasingly frayed rope.

“Stop the sedatives.”

[That would violate the goals of this experiment.]

“I don’t care,” Erec growled as another stab came in from his right, kindly warned by VAL before it happened. The blade scored a nick on his cheek, its dull edge catching and ripping enough skin to cause blood and pain to swell. His vision pulsed in waves of red, deepening in crimson only to flush back to color as VAL released more sedatives to keep him in check.

[You’re aware you’ll lose control?]

“I want to win.”

[We must let new employees make their mistakes to learn. Experiment concluded.]

The change came ten seconds later. Erec’s vision filled with red completely; he tasted his blood. That deep metallic and beautiful taste.

There was a buzzing in his head. But he didn’t need it anymore. No, he sensed the direction of the killing intent. A blow was coming directly for his midsection. Erec jumped forward with sudden abandon; his axe caught the sword’s edge. He slammed the weapon, his Strength spiraling, whacking the sword far aside.

The edge of the axe went in for a killing blow to the neck—only for the target to redirect the weapon with a deft movement of their blade. After which, Soren used fancy footwork to twist away and maneuver his blade to jab directly into Erec’s heart.

No choice but to pull back; Erec put temporary distance between them. The failed assault only deepened his fury, especially as Soren tried to fade away again, his shadow running off in one direction.

He wouldn’t get away.

There was another annoying buzz in Erec’s skull.

Erec yanked his arm back and threw the axe for all it was worth—spinning through the air directly to where he knew Soren was.

There was a clang of metal as Soren’s sword barely deflected the weapon. A feat that should’ve been impossible, yet this enemy pulled it off. Erec grinned, taking a stance to move in with his fists, charging in after they blocked the hit.

A sword hit the side of Erec’s neck as he closed the distance.

But he knew that the enemy’s sword couldn’t slay him. It’s blade was too dull. They’d picked the wrong weapon for this fight.

Erec sprang forward and tackled the enemy to the ground. They should’ve brought a real sword. That poor excuse for an axe was just as useless.

He’d bash this enemy into a pulp with his bare hands.

He raised a fist to start raining down blows against Soren and secure victory. A hand grabbed him by the collar and flung him far away.

[Administering sedatives.]

Erec tumbled across the ground, gasping as more pain filled him—but the moment he stopped, he scrambled to his feet. His legs shook; they threatened to give out as the drugs pumped in him without end. Each muscle strained and started the spasm. It felt like his body was heavier than it had any right to be. An overwhelming urge to lay down and accept defeat poisoned him.

No

He took a few steps towards the opposite side of the field, weathering the struggle. It’s not over.

The one who threw him flew in and slammed a fist into Erec’s stomach.

Erec doubled over from the pain, collapsing to the ground with a gasp.