A/N: A Knight of Cygnus fan fic. This was in my mind for a very long time.

Hope ya will enjoy this! R&R!

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"I feel…cold…"

His sweat came down from his face. That feeling of anxiety still tied up to his heart in shackles of many. He still felt the tingling sensation of being surrounded in a wind of cold, despite being surrounded by a hot desert with a raging sun in the midday curtain. Even with the reasons of his coldness unknown, he still went on training. His harden muscles rejuvenate as each slash delivered a satisfying kill that made him thirst for more blood to be shed.

His palm which was ripe from the scorching sun gripped the hilt of his sword. Being a level 29, it was unusual for a Swordsman like him to wield a sword of low dignity. His sword was the sword that was stained with his cracked skin in his palm, a sword everyone received, that is the sword of a beginner. As he trained to be more powerful than he currently is, fighting through the hunger for food and water, he finally made it.

"That level…"

"…level 30…" muttered the lightly tanned figure.

He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. He trained so hard for so long, it felt like an eternity's worth of torture, and all of that torture just to get to level 30. The eerie silence came in grasp. His eyes narrowed until only an atom's worth of vision could be seen where the scenery turned cold black seconds later. He had passed out in glory, reaching his goal before the long-awaited unconsciousness that set in.

His determination had proved that he is strong. To train without knowing night or day, his will was handcrafted to overcome the toughest of tasks, his body callused from the indifferent, but raging sun, not knowing pain until the highest of pressure. As his motionless body lied down, the sand started engulf him slowly, as if dematerializing his existence.

If that was to be a reason for his death, then a valid reason it was. His standards were overkill if compared to the people 20 levels higher than him. As his body was set in the sand, the torment of the sun was far from his unconscious mind. The miracle of passing out was a godsend to him.

In his mind, he could not think of anything other than peace. That similar tone when the gentle wind set in his thoughts might be the only the time he could ever experience the mellow silence. For all the thoughts when he was conscious were just valid deaths by the ends of his aged and rusted sword. Nothing was more satisfying than this to the middle-aged self-made prodigy.

Suddenly, the war cried back to his head. The peace was fading away. The peace was no more. His veins started running. His frame began to move under the confined space of the scorching desert sand. The sand blinded his eyes as he opened it, but no, it was nothing to this man.

Even his eyes are callused. He is a monster of a creation, but whatever supernatural ability he had been bestowed, it was his hard work, not someone else's. As the man dug himself up, he hulked his arm to the surface. The relief of air came in an instant and the authority to breathe again was very much obliged.

His body towered above the deep sand as he got out and gazed the horizon of hot sand.

"Still the same." muttered the huge figure.

"That was some good…good…rest..."

He flexed his head. That blood rushing back to all over his body. It was that time of the moment again – to train. Without this purpose, he has no reason to over walk miles upon miles just to get to the desired training spot. They call this flaming desert Ariant, a place where no dweller can dwell without some protection. As the locals say it, "It's like being cooked alive".

Being knocked out, it means that he hadn't been drinking his regular dosage of soothing, magical liquid. They call it 'White Potions' and like any other potion, the taste was bitter. Drinking it like a normal adventurer was not enough for him. He took out the white potion and did the unthinkable.

He crushed it in between his hands. The liquid combined with shards of glass was really nothing more than just a good drink to this man. He trained in all aspects, from fighting to rejuvenating; he sought for the power and glory of being a better person, as he is imperfect in everyway.

How he started out was no point to argue; he was just like any other regular Warrior working his strength to the way up, but having a disadvantage that made everyone uncomfortable when they're in visual distance of him. His face. It was an ugly one with no visible cure. His face caused discomfort and sometimes chaos. Of course… with a face like his, it was no wonder even if it caused everything bad upon this world.

He lied down and sunk in the sand. He, however, did not plan to disappear into the sand again. He just wanted to reminiscent his fate. A fate he did not expect. A fate of being scarred as scarred as someone could be. A fate of being ugly… and that fate was depressing.

He had eye sockets for eyes. His nose was in no visible shape either. His scalp was clean, pure of any strand of hair. His skin had not received violent justice such as his eyes, nose or scalp… His skin was an unscratched surface. Having one good point in a sea of bad points was still frowned upon the community.

He had a special place in everyone's hearts; a paralyzing fear for his unsightly appearance. The thought of his face merely gave these people a reason to be sick, and to see his face was as equivalent as cutting your own arm off. Yes, everyone thought that he was a terrible human being, undeserving of the land he treads.

That feeling of dread and disgustingness could be felt miles away. Since he was a child, he cannot cope with the mental frustration of being known as the most horrible creature that had been draining this land's resources, and until now, he still wasn't prepared.

He then brought back his soul to reality. Memory lane wouldn't do any good now. He took up his sword and started a brawl, just like the way a true Warrior should be doing. He frenzied his hands to the nearest opponent.

"Scorpion…"

It might be a scorpion but it was miles away. Even though being a hulk of terror, he still had wits to accompany him. He planned it out perfectly as he threw his only sword. It hit the Desert Scorpion, but not in the right spot.

Expecting a kill with only throwing his sword was not his specialty – one more thing he will improve on. As he did some quick warm-ups, he readily hasted to the weakened Desert Scorpion. He ran faster as he got nearer.

From 3 meters away, he jumped and did a flying shoulder tackle, only that it was not a shoulder he was aiming, but a certain open wound by a certain Desert Scorpion. The tackle had been executed perfectly. His shoulder pulverized the scorpion into two. The trace of life was gone forever from the dead carcass and luckily for him, he found a sword under the carcass. It was not his but a new one. The shiny crimson hilt was handcrafted exquisitely for a warrior and thief's grip.

It was a Cass. He rejoiced in his mind as he gave a dead smile. Being unfamiliar with friendly people, he hadn't smile for ages, and thus making the illusion he can never smile at all. But in any case, he has a new weapon. A weapon fit for his lightly tanned fist. Besides, it was light too.

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He had arrived in Ariant. The streets were wild with children playing tag as the sultry wind washed the smile of all the faces of the working residents here. The well-built palace stood unshaken as always. Usually, when it comes to public places, he would cover his head with enough bandages that at least can hide the shape of his head.

So whenever he walked into town, he looked like a giant light bulb. Some the kids laughed when they see him, but the residents knew what secret was imprisoned behind that mask – a terror, a very significant one.

He walked slowly into the city streets in order not to bump into anyone that may be passing in front of him, at the same time giving a chill to the people surrounding for walking like a mechanical stud. To add, all this time when he was training, he didn't even wear a shirt, seeing that his beginner clothes tore apart when he was level 16. His masculine features showed a slight glow of red due to not applying some sun block.

As he walked down the street, he took up his white potion and shook it lightly in front of him. He turned left and right while he shook it in order to give these people an idea what he really wants. Ironically, this added even more fear the hearts of the residents. A red giant bandaged dangling a potion – to the residents it felt like a death call that no one even wanted to fear.

But in reality, like everyone else, he just wants to buy a potion. But unlike everyone else, buying a potion to him is a subjective subject.

"Warrior, Come over here!" shouted a frail old man with a decorated turban. He signaled the largely-framed Warrior to come over to the primitive store that sold replenishments for hard working travelers like him.

Then, the goliath started to run to the direction of the voice. The ground shook slightly with every step he took. The residents watched him run while holding their breath; their hearts skipped a beat every time his gigantic feet left a print on the ground. Anyone that was in his way quickly took notice of the rampaging light bulb, they did not think long; a good thunder-roll stopped turning them from being tender meat.

"Stop!" barked the old man.

"You've come for some more white potions?" asked the merchant while fiddling with his box of rejuvenating goodies.

The titan immediately responded by shaking the small white potion that was held between his two somewhat-tanned fingers. It was his way of saying "Yes, I would like to buy a crate of them". The merchant got the message clearly. Behind him laid a crate full of white potions, he handed out the crate as if he was expecting for this training warrior to come again to his shop. The eager buyer accepted it without much word.

"You don't need to pay for it. My other customers have enough Mesos to feed my family." said the old man while he gave a quick laugh.

The merchant's light-heartiness and the will of giving an expensive crate full of life-saving liquid somehow touched his heart. Never had he received a gift from a regular stranger he had been visiting over the past month, only to request for health-restoring items.

"There's also 20 blue potions in there too." softly said the kind old man as he smiled.

He shed a tear somewhere in that stuffy and confined space that was used to shield the ugly masterpiece that he called his face. His instincts got through his brain and he could tell from only his words that the merchant was a good man and that he accepted everything as if they were already indigenous to him.

For once in his life, the traveler that was restricted in complexion actually found someone that wasn't afraid of him, even though he didn't showed his beastly face, but still in this world where prejudice was the one-eyed king in the land of the blind, he felt a deep sense of comfort and warmth, something he never felt for nearly a lifetime.

Then, he somehow made an odd request. The huge hands grabbed into one of the crates and touched every bottle in it. He then picked up a long and fancifully crafted bottle.

"You want an elixir? That'll cost ya." said the merchant, seeing that he didn't want to lose his business.

The gargantuan threw a bag of Mesos to the man. It was more than enough, but what happened next could be deemed as an event of a lifetime. The elephantine power-house shattered the end of the bottle, letting the glowing liquid slip out in huge amounts. He then proceeded to draw the sharp end of the bottle near the bandage.

He ripped the bandage layer by layer. With each increasing layer successfully being torn off, the hot vibes of the sun was coming back to his vision again. The last layer was cut, and accidentally he cut a piece of cracked skin between his eyes. It was too hard and it was deep enough to make him bleed.

The now exposed ghost saw that his vision was coming back and stared down at the old merchant. Then he tried to 'drink' the white potion in a similar fashion like before. He immediately ate the potions with the glass vessel still intact. The crunching sound was more than enough to alert back the attention of the people of Ariant. Once they saw that face, they were paralyzed in fear.

Some had the courage to move, but it was meant for these brave souls to be unconscious the next minute. That single face that nearly everyone was glaring was so horrible and destructive, they didn't have second thoughts when they saw it; the verdict was final: This warrior is ugly, and nothing could change that.

The warrior however, didn't felt that way with this man and waited for his response. He wanted to feel accepted, to feel loved and wanted badly to experience the lighter side of humanity. That was about to change.

The merchant slowly fixed his gaze on the muscular swordsman. Those hollow eyes…that hole for a nose…the cracked skin of the face… the mouth with no lips…

He felt dread and fear was spreading fast in his veins and he finally blurted a response,

"That is one ugly sight."

The automaton felt as if his life was over. The never changing fact that his face was the worst of the worst, made him feel hopeless of the beings that dwelled in this world. Why did he suddenly tore up of his masked-prison, used to protect humanity from his ugly exterior? He knows the answer and he knows it well. He just wants to be accepted as a normal being again.

He doesn't want to be a monster; in fact, he never ever chose to be one. Fate had a cruel way of playing with people's lives and somehow, this life was on top of fate's list of repulsive objects. He just wants somebody he could depend on, somebody to look up, somebody get past his offensive complexion and acquiesce his lonely soul.

But to him, that was all wishful thinking.

He was so sad, he thought so lowly of himself, with every piercing thought he gathered strength. Not the strength to kill or cause affliction, rather, the strength to cry. He opened his lipless mouth and a wail came out. A wail that sounded like how a little boy would cry when's neglected and alone. A sepulchral voice that indicated a dire need of human attention, but in the end, was given nothing. A sound that indicated the pandemonium of lost hope.

He, who had no name, opened his jaw as wide as he can and did a heinous act unthinkable. He immediately bit the old man's head. Everyone saw it as the unleashing of the beast. With the cue of bloodshed starting to become present, nearly everyone fainted; some left the scene in haste and carried the expression as if they just had been shot. The merchant however didn't die, but was battered with amounts of pain unbearable. The old man was raised from his position and was greeted inside the mouth of the lion.

He had no strength to fight back as the scattered shards in the demon's mouth became a very sturdy barrier that held his revolt in place. Seeing that as the man was small, frail and weak, the mouth of the monster immediately closed and something was snapped into an uneven two.

A headless, bloody vessel came crashing down to the ground, a head was spitted out of a lipless face. That was the end for the merchant man, but that single act had caused uproar. The citizens of Ariant had seen enough of the power of this wingless demon. They were pushed to their final turning point. There's no going back when it comes to the citizen of Ariant, what has been thought must be carried out. They were armed and ready to fend off the unlucky traveler.

With their weapons standing by, one of them shouted,

"Kill him!"

Short and sweet, the residents charged at the enemy with no sense of remorse. For this damned being, he sighed as he waited for all the dwellers of Ariant to attack. They came from all directions with countless weapons made from blacksmiths around the land. The ground boomed as the growing rage intensified in deep in the hearts of the citizens, as they would not let this thing have his way with the people on this barren land.

The first strike had been executed. Stars from distant travelers whipped through the air in a blur. The jagged stars hit their target perfectly as the citizens armed with swords and spears flatly attacked the walking fortress. They were pushed aside by his huge, masculine hands.

The frontline attackers flew into houses and stalls, breaking each and everything they hit, including their own bones. They never stood up again. The travelers plus citizen combo actually had a fighting chance against this beast as the arrows, stars, spears and swords broke through his callused skin and into sensitive nerves.

The cyclopean shielded the incoming missiles with great ease, but at the same time his callused body was breaking down in defense. The overwhelming response from the attacking side was too much for him. But this leviathan wasn't known for giving up so easily.

In the end, he just ran through the unfortunate residents and travelers. They were squished under his massive foot in seconds. The being thought that it was best to leave these villagers alone seeing that he didn't want to fight them and end everything there and then.

To him, retreating was not giving up; it just meant he didn't have the heart to hurt anyone anymore. But the people did not want to let this thing get away. They want retribution. They want this monstrosity to be lifeless the next day. They thought he didn't deserve to live on this rich and peaceful land. They were right; he didn't deserve it, as the people on this land were as monstrous as him.

He had made haste, the clear route towards the gate of Ariant was coming closer and closer, but there was a little sly surprise waiting him at the end, a somewhat magical gift. A gift of 2 dozen fire mages appearing at once in front of the gates of salvation.

In terms of magic, this beast was outmatched. He just stood there in a defensive pose as he waited for the last blitzkrieg of the revolting citizens. Sparks were formed as devilish fire made its way into the hectic air of Ariant. The mages took out their proudest skill, Explosion.

Medium-sized balls of blazing energy were formed in the wake of the immense traveler. All of them were centered around him. His breath grew heavy, as if death has just won a game of survival with this man. He looked at the spheres as they started to radiate ever so brightly. The titan wasn't affected as he was dumbfounded by the light energy of the power of fire mages. His surroundings glowed as sparks hit his body in continuous fashion.

The orbs grew darker and larger as the sparks became more intensive. This was goodbye for him. An explosion occurred. The eruption rose up into the air as the fire quickly ascended into the atmosphere. The final tactic was finally executed; the beast was slain.

Before the last second, the bloodied gargantuan, with stars and arrows spread across his body, stretched out his hand. He inspected his large closely and he found a callused surface with a hint of rock-like texture. What he saw made him realized that all his life, he had been improving and fighting all the way to where he is now. He thought, it was a life full of regret and hate and there was no significant or sweet memory that he ever contained in his short, automotive life. It was a dreaded realization that came all before the second of the eruption. Deep in his mind, he said goodbye to himself and muttered the words,

"I'm going home."

However, like before, all of that was wishful thinking. The overwhelming display of fire power had knocked the wind out of his body, not his soul. However, his mind was in a state of happiness, being tricked that he was already dead. The people of Ariant triumphed.

There was one more final deed to be done. After half an hour, 20 men had volunteered to carry off the body to a more sacred ground where it could not been seen forever. The men had trouble carrying the body as the charred parts seemed to be the hardest, as if, made of sharp diamond. They got through it with a slight sense of hardship. They shipped it across the scorching sand and stopped near an indigenous pit with depth unknown.

The men had no second thoughts; they quickly tugged the body over their shoulders. Then a man said sarcastically, "Any last words?"

Unfortunately, the elephantine actually did want to say final last words. The only way he could express it was through his fist. He quickly got out of the 20-men grapple and punched 5 of them into the pit. Cold shrills were the conclusion. The charred traveler was not happy. He was still alive. He kneeled down and expected a divine intervention from above.

He wailed in his heart,

"Save me!"

He didn't want to be saved in the traditional sense; he just wanted to be saved from this world. His wish was granted. He was going to be saved by the men who wanted to kill him. Coincidentally, most of them were hunters and assassins.

They let out a furious storm of stars and arrows, hitting the vulnerable traveler with so much force that he began to draw back and nearer to the mouth of the pit. Finally, all of them stopped for a short moment and drew back their arms, ready for the final assault.

The stars and arrows were released and hit the monster's left chest perfectly. Nearly all of the missiles hit it and with that final blow, they wished for the damned beast to go down the pit without further retaliation. Their wish was granted, the beast fell into the pit.

With his arms stretched, he was falling down into the pit of the unknown. The tunnel of light was beginning to fade from his vision. He felt the wind whispering rapidly pass his ears. He then saw signs that excited his very mind:

His breathing began to slow…

His vision began to blur…

His body felt stiff…

And finally, he felt his heart shutting down…

He closed his eyes and hoped for the best. To him, this was the best event there was through his whole life. A peace that was real. A peace that wasn't restricted to only his mind. A peace that will bring an end to his suffering. He mustered his last supply of strength and he said,

"Fallen."

Then he felt two very calming hands grabbing his body.

And then nothing.