FINAL CORE - Chapter 102 (Patreon)

Sorry for the delay. The chapters of this arc are critical and I am doing my best to make them perfect!

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Let us never forget, in our obsession with living our lives, the brightness of fire.

For as long as mankind has existed, born unto this world, fire has been our companion, given to us by the gods. Fire guarded the entrances to our shelters from the monsters of the clawing dark. Fire cooked our meats and provided us with warmth and societal development. Fire is the same light that embodies the human spirit, and yes, while we do need other elements to survive, such as water and air, fire is the essence of the soul.

The bright spark behind hungry eyes, the hotness of rage, the heat of passionate love — all of these manifestations of the soul in the material world are things born of fire.

Do not be afraid of fire.

Fire is a pack animal, and we are its brothers.

~ Spirmagio’s Great Tome of the elements, Chapter one

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???

Human, Female, Monk

Location: The City

Smoke drifts through the air, the heat of so many fires carrying vivid sparks up towards the night sky, filling it all around the city as if the stars had crashed down low to the world. Despite the abundance of flames and lights in the sky, the darkness of the night is oppressive and crushing, as if these stars had, too, brought the void in which they rest down with them.

Endless screams and cries ring out aloud, piercing through the air with the striking of a bell tolling an endless number of times towards a witching hour — midnight — that never seems to come.

She lifts her gaze, looking at the monster in blackened armor, rising up unnaturally to its feet. Its boots stand firmly on the ground, yet its breastplate and helmet lie separate from one-another, pulling back together after a moment as if the suit of armor was possessed by a damned spirit. Metal rattles, and glass clinks as the giant rights itself back up again, looking at her.

It lifts the axe, readying itself for another round. Monsters crawl out of the darkness behind it. Countless silhouettes of fangs and claws reach out of the smoke in pursuit of the people escaping.

— The world around them takes on a vivid glow of a new color of sunshine as an uncontrolled burst of radiant magic careens down the street, crashing into the houses between them. The wall breaks through, debris and rubble flying out in all directions as the house collapses down across the road, taking the neighboring structure with it, blocking off the entire way.

The monk lowers her arms from her face as the last of the debris settles and looks down at her feet, where a face is lying upside down, staring up her way.

“I flew too fast,” says Orange, holding her hand over mouth and coughing, rain splashing down around her wings that lie on the street. “Ow.”

She bends down, grabbing the uthra, and helps her to her feet. “Why are you here?” asks the monk. Orange looks behind herself at the destroyed houses and then back at her and shrugs.

“Because you’re here,” replies Orange, looking at the monk.

She sighs, shaking her head. “This isn’t the time for games,” she says. “Go back to the tower,” explains the woman, turning around. “You aren’t safe here.” She walks off, needing to find a new way to reach the heart of the city.

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(???) has used: [{04} Savannah Crush]

The zombie’s body shudders as her fist breaks its ribcage, a wave of energy pulsing through its body at once, breaking all of its bones and causing it to fall down to the ground. With a sweeping kick, she knocks another two down and then jumps over them, clinging onto a statue that she clambers up, before kicking off of it and grabbing hold of an upper-story window of a house that she swings into.

She looks around the child’s bedroom, panting, and then runs to the window across the room to climb back out of it. Dolls and toys lie strewn over the floor and the furniture.

Grabbing hold of the window, she pulls it open and then looks down to the street on the house side of the house. She climbs out of the window and drops down, catching herself with a small roll over her shoulder.

People scream down the way, and she turns, running toward their direction.

A group of city guards is surrounded, but they are holding their own with a circle of tower shields against a swarm of monsters.

She runs forward, jumping over rocks and rubble to move towards the group of men, their metal wall covered in deep, heavy scars and surrounded by heaps of dead monsters that more and more simply crawl over, in some areas bypassing the tower shields entirely by just dropping over them after ascending a staircase of corpses.

— A massive wooden support beam, hundreds of kilos in weight and the length of several men together, crashes through the mass. An explosion of dust and debris flies into the air as the defensive line quite literally explodes from the force. Monsters rush in, undeterred by the chaos that had mangled several of their own, and tear the men down to red stones.

The monk turns her head, watching as her body shakes with slow, rhythmic pulses that she would mistake for the beat of her heart, if not for the fact that she can see the vibrations being caused by the heavy, crushing steps of the dark giant.

The same one as before.

It turns its head, looking towards her, its dented breastplate marred by her fist, and lifts an arm, striking against itself as a hoarse voice rings out around the plaza. It's a deep, heavy exhalation feeling, as if she could feel it on her face even at this distance.

She runs forward, the beads on her arms rattling as she plants a foot on a dead man’s chest and presses off of it, her fist raised as she lunges.

(???) has used: [{07} River Impact]

The woman flies through the air, the sharpness of her form cutting through the smoke and the ash; the streams of air traveling behind her fist resembling flowing waters trailing behind her fist as she presses onward, striking at the monster who catches her hand.

A quake of energy blasts out around them, the shockwave throwing monsters away into the night and rolling corpses off into the flames that burn abundant all around them, forming the arena of their duel as they take light, the dense fats of their bodies burning hotly.

“What are you?” she asks, glaring into the helmet of the man as the ripple moves through his body from his arm through to his chest, shaking his form into something inconsistent, that then returns to the form of a man once the energy dissipates.

His chest heaves as he breathes, his breath pressing against her like a summer storm as the metal of his helmet touches that of his breastplate as he looks down to meet her gaze. “Strong,” is all that he replies with.

His hand clamps down over her fist, and he flings her to the side. She hurtles through the air, tumbling over the stones and then catching herself, sliding as she meets the edge of the flames around them. They lick her skin, the orange and red tendrils rising up to meet her hair of the same color, as if they were seeking their brethren.

— She jumps forward, returning to the fight, her fist crashing into his leg, his leg breaking off and flying backwards, connected by a sickly tendrils to the rest of the body that glitters in the light of the flames. But instead of losing his balance, the giant simply crashes his hand down over her shoulder, striking down into the space between her neck and her shoulder with a bundled fist. Wood rattles as she just barely catches it, blocking it with her wrist, bent up over her shoulder.

Grabbing his wrist, she twists it, instinctively trying to throw the man onto his side as she would do with any armored opponent. A heavily armored enemy’s greatest weakness is their footing. If they lose it, they’re at a significant disadvantage.

Of course, this muscle memory proves useless.

The man’s wrist simply twists for as far as she can turn it without a further problem.

— A heavy hand grabs the back of her head, wrapping its fingers around her head and then slams her down to the stones.

(???) has used: [Meadow Spring]

Her boot presses off of his chest, kicking off of his body. His chestplate, held together by an inconsistent force, gives way. His arm, unable to resist tension, pulls out of its socket as she yanks on it, flying forward gracelessly from the power of the ability, skidding over the stones and the rubble, bloodying her face and arms as she rolls. Her bent knee lands in a row of brightly burning flames, and she screams, pulling herself out of it after a moment of panicked daze.

Panting, she rises to her feet, wincing and looking down at the gauntlet in her arm and then at the blackened spot on her leg.

— Wet dribbles out of the metal, dripping down to the stones like blood.

It drips the stones and then, puddling, begins to flow like a serpent back towards the monster in the armor, returning to become a part of the whole once again.

She looks down at the empty gauntlet and then at the monster, before tossing it to the side.

The giant pulls itself back together, its legs and chest back in place, its legs restored and from the missing arm comes out a lashing, slimy tendril.

Without emotion, without light in its eyes, without the grace of anything akin to the love of a god, it lurches forward towards her — unrelenting; like a monster from a nightmare that never stops its pursuit.

She moves forward, getting ready to return to the fight for another round. But she winces, falling over as her knee fails. The monk catches herself and then jumps forward with her other leg instead.

In her old life, she was a dungeon killer, a member of an extermination team.

It was her job to go to the new-born dungeons of the world and to eliminate them if they were incompatible with humanity. In pure theory, this magic phrase meant ensuring that they were safe for society to be around. But in reality, it meant that she was simply tasked with destroying the dungeons that couldn’t be easily milked for a profit, as if they were beasts trapped in a horrific farm.

In her life before that one, she was a monk.

She trained day in and day out for years to become someone strong, someone capable of protecting the world through sheer advanced mastery of her own heart and soul, using those as powers to tighten and strengthen her body beyond human norms.

Strong.

She became strong.

The woman’s fist collides with the giant’s, ripples moving through both of their bodies as their impacts meet one another. Something cracks deep inside her elbow. Her arm is broken.

— The tendril slaps against her from the side, sharply whipping against her head. She flies to the side, falling over her bad leg as something burns on the skin of her neck.

But in that life as an exterminator, did she ever really help a single person?

She jumps forward again.

Why, when she was so strong, was she sent to fight dungeons? Why wasn’t she sent to fight witches? Why wasn’t she sent to fight the real, true monsters of this world? Why wasn’t she sent to hunt the horrific, gnashing teeth in the endless night of the soulless oblivion that exists within this world?

— The giant’s eyes glint in the midnight that she shares with it as they both lose their footing. She lands on her bad leg, wincing and stumbling back, falling.

The woman gets up again, bracing herself, and then returns to her fighting posture.

Why did she waste the fruits of her soul to help a few people become richer than they already were? Why did she waste that beautiful gift of life and strength she was given? The spring of her existence, as Isaiah would call it?

It was only through the entity that she even came to realize the road she was on. She, unlike her colleagues from the extermination team, was the only one spared from ending up where it led.

The monk leaps forward again, fire in her spirit, and the giant comes barreling straight at her.

The human spirit isn’t something that should be wasted.

The fire of the soul burns so brightly, with so much radiance and heat, that to simply let that flow off into the endless night, rather than allowing it to warm the hearts and lives of those around oneself is such a waste that it is perhaps the greatest tragedy that could take place within life. To be cold, to be empty, to be without love, faith, and passion, to live without the spark of fire in one’s eyes, is to be separate from the true purpose of life.

— To shine brightly and warm those around oneself, before the fuel runs out.

She lifts her non-dominant arm, wood rattling in her ears, proof of the devotion to her principles and soul as she lunges towards the monster that comes to meet her in the middle. Her hair flies through the air like wildfire.

Strong.

She burnt strongly.

Gods bless Isaiah.

— Her body flies out of its trajectory as something crashes into her. The heavy fist strikes against Orange’s back, and the two of them fly, tumbling over one another, her body being tightly held as they roll.

The two of them come to a stop.

She looks at the uthra, trying to orient herself. She’s lying down on the ground. Orange is lying over her. Visible behind the uthra is a broken, crooked wing. The monk grabs the uthra, pushing her up.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Why are you here?!” asks the monk, staring up at the dirty, crying face with an ugly expression and a quivering lip. Droplets fall down onto her face, separate from the rain.

“B- Because you’re here!” yells Orange, flailing and howling out of the woman’s grasp, hitting her repeatedly, a burning shine of fire reflected in her wet eyes. She tries to fly up into the air, but her left wing is broken. “You’re my only friend!” cries the uthra.

Heavy boots shake the ground as the giant stomps toward them, coming closer and closer. She looks past Orange, seeing the giant raise a hand into the air, holding a heavy piece of rubble in it.

The monk, holding Orange’s shoulder, uses her good leg to flip them over so that she herself is on top. The uthra screams as she lands on her hurt wing, the monk laying over her.

She closes her eyes as the stone comes down.