Chapter 94: Home
He remained standing, watching as the walkers disappeared into the distant neon horizon. The previous passersby who had reacted with surprise had already vanished.
The cold rising from his feet pierced through him. It functioned as a living reminder of the coldness of a forsaken city.
Sighing, he finally entered his apartment. The four walls once again suffocated him with their monotonous company. His things were in the same state as when he had left the place.
Without energy, he let his body rest. That day had been an adventure he would probably remember for the rest of his short or long life.
Never before had he thought he would visit facilities of such high confidentiality.
Should he thank Noel? It was a movie-like experience.
But he would probably be hit if he ever said it. Since in theory, he was still a prisoner against his will in that strange place.
"I suppose home allows us to be idiots," he murmured.
It was satirical. Because those thoughts had only begun to reproduce when he crossed the door of his apartment.
After all, only I remain. I have no one. I cannot even call someone when things get serious.
He was melancholic.
A sad smile adorned his abnormally pale face.
He had never been the extrovert. Only the lonely boy who constantly grew by force. But never before had he felt so empty.
His bonds broke one after another.
Others would probably grow with time, but none would truly manage to replace the past ones. Kael had died under the claws of a damned Pseudo-Tyrant.
He had been a hero until the end, betting his life selflessly for the well-being of his older brother.
He knew he could never dishonor that sacred image. That intention.
He dragged himself heavily to the cursed instrument that symbolized the key to the great evil: the neural helmet.
A trinket he had bought spending his last savings, with faults and unknown stains. Carefully he placed it on his table, with a thoughtful expression.
Are you the beginning of the end? Our damned Armageddon?
The object did not react to his thoughts. Continuing totally unaltered.
Probably he was going crazy. Or he was already crazy. It was only a matter of time.
With a strange smile, he expressed:
"Since when have you become my best friend?"
He laughed uncontrollably. He was slowly falling into the fragile certainty of his madness.
Apparently the great detonator of a dark and chaotic era remained innocently in the home of every citizen. It was absurd.
But real.
Finally he abandoned the hypnotizing presence of the helmet. It was a continuous temptation to taste the fruit.
To play, to have fun, to become even stronger... Indifferently ignoring the monsters that were becoming common.
He searched in his secret hiding place. Behind a pitted piece of furniture, there was imperceptibly a slight hole.
With effort he put his hand in, trying to extract his treasures. With his tongue slightly out, he tried and tried.
Until he finally brought out his precious treasures.
In his childhood the pirates of the outskirts were popular. The promise of incalculable treasures, of a life full of emotion and adventure.
In his scarce personal inventory, few things could be determined as treasures. His ancient books definitely were.
Two very ancient books he had inherited.
During his stay in the state embrace, due to his condition as an orphan, he had only managed to inherit mistreatment and those two books. They had accompanied him throughout his life.
One was an anachronistic history book and the other had no title. But his favorite part were the annotations that accompanied the complex texts.
Atlas and Prometheus. Safeguards of our lineage and tradition. Great be they... Damned imbeciles, decrepit old men, how can you trust him?!
That was the note written with anger in the credits of his history book. Simple and without pretenses. It had always caused him curiosity about who they were referring to.
But everything seemed to revolve around that event. The Great Disaster.
I have no words. The black earth grows through the four directions and the red spider lilies threaten to cover the land of the living. For the future: Question yourself. Be strong. Never allow authority to exceed your natural right... Survive.
Those words were the ones that stood out most frequently in his memory. They came from the book of unknown title, on its last page.
They had largely marked his ideals. Surviving had turned into preserving himself.
But at the same time they influenced in unthinkable ways his current situation. Who was the author? What had he seen?
Why those two books?
He still remembered having read them on days of darkness or storm. They were his two most intimate friends. Season after season.
With a small spasm, he discarded his previous thoughts. He checked the time with more attention.
Only a couple of hours remained until dusk.
The eight hours had probably already expired. It was his turn to return to camping inside the video game, with his daggers and a renewed spirit.
In a certain way, he had ended up forgetting the former Gabriel. An expert in provocations and escaping, acting boldly, only to end up playing a game of chance with destiny.
His hands were calloused. They hid a great experience behind a silent appearance. They were bloodied by ambition.
For glory. Not to see another dawn.
With the neural helmet on his head, he reclined comfortably. It would be another long session that would have a great impact on a physical and mental level.
He was no longer the same inexperienced one as before.
He observed his apartment carefully, until finally disconnecting from reality. A blackish screen once again struck him.
He still needed to fulfill a promise. Save Noel’s ass if a monster threatened to bite him.
But first he would see how he was nibbled for a few minutes. Only then would he intervene. His friend still needed to develop and acquire enough experience.
No one was safe.
In the blink of an eye he was transported from his home to the video game. An orange light made him frown with annoyance.
Soon he felt the heat and finally managed to recognize it. He was in front of a small campfire that was surrounded by silent men.
Suddenly they came to life, observing their surroundings with suspicion and recognizing each other.
They were members of the "Black Beetles" team. Not all had survived their own trial and the one who stood out most was, naturally, the leader.
He clenched his fist under his sleeves and wished for the well-being of the rest of his disappeared team.
They were still a squad prepared for an objective. They could not stop coexisting because of such losses.
Ethics? Perhaps scars.
"Report," he murmured.
He was evidently aggrieved and in a poor mood.
"Strong, Weak, Resistant," they began to repeat with ritualistic discipline.
Soon the vicious eyes directed themselves toward Gabriel, who began to understand what was happening.
"Jester." His voice was neither strong nor weak.
He only received an instant of attention. Those madmen addicted to death still respected the powerful.
"The situation is much worse than we had foreseen. Many of ours did not survive the hardships of this mysterious ruin. But even so, we do not dare abandon our original objective." Said Abyss studying every face of those present.
None presented any kind of demand before his words. They ended up accepting it as the natural law that was above all.
"What is the objective? What are we looking for?" Gabriel finally asked.
He had grown tired of being a mere moldable spectator. He had much more power than just that.
"The objective can only be said at the right moment, Jester."
"Is this not the right moment? Many of ours have failed. Nothing can assure us that we will not be the next."
He presented his reasons without haste, marking an important point.
What would happen if Abyss failed? Would his mission be incomplete?
The aforementioned seemed to doubt and carefully reconsider his words. After a few seconds, he said:
"A statue we are looking for. A female statue. Before these challenges even I could be the next to fall... Let us be strong," he ended with an unbreakable expression.
The others nodded at his words. Silently thanking his sincerity.
Gabriel was the only one who lingered on his words.
He had already seen statues in the game previously. He had smashed into small pieces an ancient statue with divine symbols.
What could Charles be looking for?
His thoughts united and concluded in a terrifying thought: Could the ruin contain divine statues?
That would explain the ecstasy of the various organizations. And the so important role they played as a world event.
The interface glowed before him, with a new notification.
_________________
CONGRATULATIONS, PLAYERS.
You have successfully completed [The Dream of a Butterfly]. New challenges will defy your perspicacity and strength with renewed ferocity.
Prepare for [The Hunt].
Remember: A lion and a man cannot make a truce.
___________________
It was the announcement they anxiously awaited.
The beginning of another challenge. In this case, a hunt.
He felt his blood boil under his pale skin. Slowly he experienced the change.
He had decided to leave behind the conscience... The human.
He did not seek to surrender to his lowest impulses. He sought to surrender to the impulses that guided him on a path irreconcilable with his previous mentality.
Devour.
Consume the rest to grow.
A path that mixed his lowest impulses with his highest ends.