Knights Apocalyptica

Chapter 88: Soul

“The beauty of the soul shines out when a man bears with composure one heavy mischance after another, not because he does not feel them, but because he is a man of high and heroic temper.”

- Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics (1st Era, Unknown)

The Stag ran, and ran, and ran. Its lanky legs bounded over the earth in a desperate bid to flee from Erec. Without consideration, it barreled past the humans, tearing through those puppeted by it. It didn't distinguish between foe and ally; any in its way were flung with antlers.

Some took shots at the Stag; glyphs erupted in fire and lightning, slamming into the monster’s side and scoring hits. But it was too sudden, and they weren’t prepared. The damage wasn’t substantial enough to stop it, and the Stag ran by. Through everything it had into the flight, its hate and logic dissolved into pure fear as nature took its course.

Erec sped after it, never losing sight of his target. Each step brought him an inch closer. Nobody else could stick to its tail like he could; none of the Stag’s puppets were in a position to stop him.

Which was fine; Erec didn’t need anyone else.

Fire bled off him. His body burned with a silver flame that spewed from his core and enveloped his Armor like a second skin. Inside, he felt as if he’d thrown himself into a sun. His skin burned, and a scream left his lips as he pushed across the wasteland, yet it was worth it. Every step carved small holes in the wasteland as he flung himself across the earth.

He was like a comet, burning his way over the planet before it crashed.

In minutes he caught up to his prey. Erec barreled into the Stag’s side and knocked the creature over.

It tumbled across the ground, silver flames flickering and catching on the white coat—burning, yet not turning its hide to ash. Erec took to his feet immediately, just in time to dodge a desperate attempt by the Stag to gore him with its antler.

At long last, the pathetic creature turned to a direct fight.

Erec’s hand snapped out and caught the antler before the White Stag could rear back.

It tugged yet couldn’t break free from his grasp. Heat burned off Erec like a furnace; he felt his muscles coil and spasm as an unrelenting flood of Strength passed through him. It seared his veins and left behind a damn near limitless power. Whatever the cost of this was, he’d pay it. Twice over even. Nothing could take him down, and nothing would stop him from doing what needed to be done.

Erec yanked the Stag’s antler, yelling as he put everything into it.

The Stag’s head pulled towards him as its legs gave out due to unsteady footing. Right as it got close enough, Erec’s right foot snapped out and planted on the thing’s skull. Dazing it. But also, it gave him the leverage he needed.

Shock radiated outward from the creature—tainted by begging. But it was far too late for the Stag to get peace.

Erec pressed his boot firmly against the monster’s skull and tightened his grip on the antler. He twisted with his hips and back in one swift movement and pulled with every ounce of his Strength.

There was a crack.

Pained psychic screaming tore from the Stag; it was a goddessawful eldritch noise begging him to stop.

Erec didn’t. More cracking. There.

It snapped. An antler broke free from the monster's head right at the moment, and Erec’s body screamed at him in protest. Erec pulled back his foot and gave a quick kick to the monster that dislocated its jaw; it stumbled back, blood leaking from where his boot tore into its skin and hide.

It bled red, just like all the people it’d loved killing.

Erec flipped the antler around in his hands, then rushed the stunned Stag.

The tine of his new weapon dug easily into the monster’s side; the antlers were far sharper than they’d any right to be. With ease, he jammed the weapon into its ribs, then twisted, catching against the bone inside. A psychic scream rippled out from the Stag—it tried to tear his mind out of his head and flay him alive.

Erec held steady even as a river of blood ran down from his nose.

Not for a second would he lose sight of the goal. Erec kept twisting the antler, digging deeper into the beast's insides.

In response, it struggled and kicked. One of the flailing legs smashed into Erec’s shoulder and broke his Armor—along with the bone beneath, yet the pain faded in an instant. Taken away by his Fury.

Silver flame trickled down the antler into his enemy—seeping into the Stag’s wounds and burning it away from the inside, even if its flesh didn’t seem to blister and melt away. The Stag struggled against him, yet they both knew it was futile. Unless something could remove Erec, all he had to do was dig the weapon deeper and deeper.

Blood gushed from the White Stag’s wound, tainting its pure white coat an ugly crimson.

A minute later, the fighting died off. The Stag’s movements slowed and grew lethargic as its breath labored. What had been a knife stabbing again and again into Erec’s head faded into a whimper before vanishing.

The Stag stopped breathing and went limp.

Erec held the antler in place, his limbs shaking. He leaned against the makeshift weapon, using it to support himself.

Beneath his helmet, his blood caked his face.

Black dots danced in his vision as the silver flames caught and burned the monster below. Not that it actually ‘burned.’ No visual damage was wrought, yet the glow of the fire had a sinister, almost transcended quality to it. Whatever it was doing had to have been worse.

Perhaps it burned whatever was left of the monster as it died.

[…Was it worth it?]

“Fun.” Erec let out a barking laugh, looking at his hands. They’d shake were they not desperately holding onto the antler.

How many things had he killed today?

Still, he reached the prize in the end and claimed the biggest hunt of the day for himself. Pride tore through him—the feeling damn near as hot as the hell that scorched out his insides. But it was temporary.

Hell was going to leave him soon.

And when it left, he’d be a scorched-out husk.

[It tried to scramble your brain at the end. I did my best to protect it, but you’re lucky I had your synapses mapped out ahead of this battle. Though, I’m… Well, not to be the bringer of bad news, but when you come down this time, I’m not very optimistic about your chances at making it.]

That would’ve normally been sobering, terrifying even. But staring at the dead Stag beneath him, Erec felt peace.

If this opponent were strong enough to bring his death, it’d also earned its kill.

Erec stepped away from the corpse, his legs shaking as the inferno inside sputtered out. It knew it was done.

And so did he.

Erec sank to his knees ten feet away. A host of Knights were starting to gather at the scene—dead silent as they stared at the defeated cataclysm-level threat and the Knight Initiate that slew it. Erec’s eyes felt heavy as more blood poured out of him—but he held his chin up. Stared directly at the people in front of him.

Bedwyr ran to him, the giant sword recognizable anywhere. His brother’s Armor was substantially dented, with rends and tears in key places and a healthy coating of blood.

“Erec, what did you do?” Bedwyr asked.

“Won.” Erec put simply, his thoughts started to go hazy as the fire burned out. As his body turned to ash. He could hear his heart. Loud. Too loud. Soon it would struggle to beat at all, he was sure.

“Can you stand?” Bedwyr dropped down next to him, setting a hand on Erec’s shoulder. “Let's get you to some help—“

“Do what you will,” Erec replied, his head raising upward. He fought against the darkness, at the desire to let it sink. To allow himself to fall into the ground and never return from it. There was plenty of time for that in a minute or two. “It was a good ride, Bedwyr. Try to find happiness, alright?”

He wanted to look at the sky.

Deep and blue. Limitless. A damn near eternity of beauty—but beyond that pale blue, he knew what rested above. He had seen it clearly in that vision VAL showed him. Each time he looked up at it since he recalled that view. Millions of stars, all of them burning away above. What he’d give for that sight again.

“Erec—“

Erec fell over, face slamming against the dirt.

“Hang on! Someone help!” Bedwyr began to yell.

His heart weakened, the beating cutting off as it struggled to pump blood. Without Fury's fuel, his head felt as if it’d been gouged out with a spoon. Erec coughed up blood as his eyes honed in on the blinking notification in the corner of his vision. With everything else blurry, the blessing was the only thing he could focus on.

If it was going to end…

Why not see what his last bout of glory earned?

The notification appeared an instant later, even as Erec felt himself slipping away.

Strength Advancement: Rank D - Tier 2 → Rank D - Tier 5

Vigor Advancement: Rank E - Tier 4 → Rank E - Tier 6

Agility Advancement: Rank E - Tier 3 → Rank E - Tier 4

Perception Advancement: Rank E - Tier 4 → Rank E - Tier 5

Psyche Advancement: Rank E - Tier 2 → Rank E - Tier 5

Erec’s body shook as he failed to laugh. Such a massive gain, all he had to do to earn it was give up his life.

Blackness crept in, along with shivering cold.

Alone.

So alone.

— -☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

She sat upon her silver throne; a sword was resting against its side. Within Her eyes reflected an unknown universe. As they passed over him, there was nothing but apathy.

Until he amounted to something worthy to contend against Her, then he was beneath Her. As were all she’d come across in Her travels. Little stood at the pinnacle of existence in the way she did.

How had he found his way to Her court? She asked that of every one of these playthings blessed by Her fire.

A Stag? One that’d declared Her an enemy?

She had too many enemies to count; what was a small Stag worth? Let alone the weak human who slew it.

Was it a worthy fight, at least? Even though she barely cared, it was the typical question she sought to ask. One that determined what came next. From how he described it, it was at least a glorious battle.

These were the only things she concerned herself with as Her eyes saw into Erec’s soul. But there was more there—the burns of a flame, but not scorched by Her.

He’d scorched his soul by his own doing—a different fire.

She tilted Her head.

A thing worth little attention. More than a pathetic Stag. His soul was a seared thing now, but not devastated. Not incinerated. Nowhere near powerful enough to be worth proper consideration, were it not burned. She made it clear this wasn’t a blessing she’d chosen now to give. No. Simply a command so that she may see if something more worthy came of it. Her hand reached out and coated him in Her silver flames.

Live.