Chapter 40: Time Stands Still
The wind that howled in Hugo's ears was not a wind. Even in his half-awake state, he could tell that much. It was like the moan of a great beast, or a mournful dirge that told of the death of the world.
Hugo clawed his way back into consciousness from the deepest sleep he had ever known. He felt as if he had rested for an eternity, as if he had slept through the ages. For a long time, he lay staring into blackness, his mind fumbling for context. Where was he? When was he? Then something yielded, and memories came flooding back into his head. Painful memories.
He struggled to rise, fumbling with numb arms before reaching a sitting position. He looked down, and was shocked to see that his nightmares were true. His right arm now ended in a sharp cut at the wrist. He tried moving his lost hand, and could feel the fingers twitching, even though they weren't there.
He stared in mute horror. The wound had been cauterized, but not by fire. The flesh was pale and grayish, with dark swirls of ash-like blotches spreading over the stump.
Something else tugged at his attention. He hadn't just lost his hand.
The True Fire Rune was gone, too.
A sense of profound loss washed over Hugo. He had struggled with the rune. He had fought against its tremendous, terrible will, and he had dreaded having to bear it for the rest of his life. Now that it was gone, he felt no relief. He only felt loss, a sense of something missing. As keen as the loss of his hand.
Numb and bleary-eyed, Hugo surveyed his surroundings. A desolate field of crimson sand stretched out in every direction, broken up only by jutting brown and black rocks. The landscape was featureless and without landmarks. Turning his eyes to the sky, he found it black as charcoal, and without a sun.
There was no sun, and yet, there was no darkness, either. No shadow fell upon the land.
The sight chilled Hugo to the core. Am I dead? Is this the realm of the Spirits? Desperately he clawed at the ground, feeling the fine-grained sand chafe against his skin. He touched his face, raked his fingers through his hair. That much was real, at least. He was real. But what did that prove?
Shaken, Hugo pushed to his feet. As soon as he straightened, the land around him seemed to drop away. The barren field that had seemed to stretch for an eternity in all directions, now plunged all around him, curving out of sight like a too-short horizon. Hugo froze, heart beating faster. Judging from the shape of the land beneath his feet, the landmass upon which he was standing was little more than a great boulder, perhaps ten or twenty paces across.
A boulder floating through empty space.
Hugo sank back down, trembling. The strange perspective hid the shape of the rock once more, showing only trackless sandy landscapes around him. This time, he thought he saw mountain ranges in the distance, veiled in thick mist. The illusion did nothing to soothe him.
Heart pounding wildly, he got back up.
And found that he was not alone. A tall figure clad in plate armor as black as night stood there, back turned to him. Impossibly, the black armor was sharply outlined against the black of the unnatural night.
Yuber! was his first thought, and his hands – one hand, now – scrambled for daggers that weren't there. But no, the dark knight standing before him was not the fair-haired demon. This one had long black hair that spilled from beneath his horned helmet.
Another memory returned to him. "You're the dark knight who fought against Yuber."
The black-armored figure turned to show the profile of his face. It was a strong, handsome face, sharp-featured and graced with high cheekbones. The dark knight's eyes, however, were veiled behind the lowered faceplate of his helmet. Even so, Hugo had chilling sense that the man could see right through him. In fact, he felt that even with his back turned, the dark knight had been watching him.
"I am called Pesmerga," said the dark knight.
"This isn't the realm of the spirits," Hugo said. He took in the darkness of the void that surrounded them. "Where am I?"
"In all existence, there are countless worlds," Pesmerga said, "Each brought into being by the Twenty-Seven True Runes. Between those worlds lies the World of Emptiness. The nothing between the something."
Hugo felt cold, suddenly. He wrapped his arms around himself. "You're saying this is… outside the world?"
Pesmerga's lips curled into a smile, but there was no mirth involved. "Outside all worlds. Outside no worlds."
Now that his eyes had grown accustomed to the unnatural night, Hugo began to see features in the blackness. Other landmasses floated in the void. Some were tiny, others looked enormous. In the far distance, there was something that resembled mountain ranges. And there were things between – pinpricks of light, like stars, but duller and darker. Hardly emptiness, after all. He strained his eyes, half expecting to catch sight of other figures moving atop their lonely rocks, but he saw nothing of the sort. He did not know what frightened him more – to see ghosts, or to know that he was alone.
"So, if this isn't the realm of the Spirits, then… I'm alive?"
Pesmerga held up his gauntleted hand. A dull crimson rune flashed there before him, its pattern a mandala of infinite complexity. "The power of the Ninefold Rune has saved you from death. Though I do not know if you will count it a blessing. The restorative power of the rune is not what you would think of as healing."
Hugo swallowed. He stared at the stump at the end of his arm again. Still he felt shock in seeing it. He could not imagine it was gone.
Memories came rushing back to him. The battle against Yuber on the forest path. The confrontation with the Destroyers in the Sacred Glade. Yun's death. Percival's betrayal.
Chris.
"How long was I asleep?" he asked, horror thundering in his chest.
Pesmerga hesitated, then shook his head. "Such things are hard to measure here, in the World of Emptiness."
Hugo clenched his fists – his one fist. "How do I get back?"
"You do not," Pesmerga said. "You made a bargain. Your old life ended. You were bleeding out, the potentials of your fate cut short." As he spoke, the dark knight paced back and forth, each step measured, first advancing, then retreating, always returning to the exact spot where he had started, to mirror his previous position. "You have been brought back and given a new life. This time, your life is not a mother's gift, given freely, with no hope for recompense." Pesmerga's steps now brought him to stand right before Hugo. The dark knight was at least a head taller, and towered over him. "You are offered a pact, Hugo of the Karaya. If you wish to live again, you will become an instrument of Dharma."
Hugo stared up at the dark knight, searching the cold, hard features of his face for some measure of compassion – some measure of humanity. He found nothing.
"Instrument? Dharma? What the hell are you telling me? You want me to be your slave?"
Pesmerga was silent for a moment, and Hugo could sense his thoughts turning elsewhere, as if searching for something. "The creature you know as 'Yuber' has escaped me. I can no longer sense his presence. Therefore, your assistance is required."
Hugo frowned in confusion. "Why? What could I do that you can't? You obviously know a damn lot about Yuber." To prove his point, Hugo rapped his knuckles against the dark knight's chest, drawing a loud clang from the black armor. "If you can't find him, then what makes you think I'd do any better?"
Once again, Pesmerga's lips curled up in that cold and mirthless smile. "If Yuber had fled, I would indeed sense his trail. The fact that I cannot sense it means that he is hiding somewhere in the Grasslands, under the protection of a rune." The dark knight did not gnash his teeth, but he might as well have been.
"You brought me here to help you," Hugo said. He started to run his fingers through his hair, then realized the futility of the gesture even as the stump of his right hand moved to his head. "What if I refuse?"
"Dharma compels us all, Hugo of the Karaya. Life is order. Structure. It only seems like chaos to our unaccustomed eyes. You, however, have more choice than most – you can choose life, or you can choose death. The same cannot be said for most who fall on the battlefield."
This time, it was Hugo who wanted to gnash his teeth. Hesitating, he knelt to scoop sand from the ground. He let the sand sift through the fingers of his remaining hand. From this low vantage point, the field of crimson sand looked to be endless, without boundaries.
He felt trapped, as surely as if he had been locked in a cage and the key had been thrown into a lake. The dark knight offered him new life, and yet he expected servitude. He took no issue with the task itself – the demon Yuber had murdered Chief Zepon and many others. He had helped to plunge the Grasslands into chaos and war. He had brought about the destruction of Karaya. Hugo would gladly hunt him down and slide a dagger into his neck.
"Once we've dealt with Yuber, will you give me my freedom?"
"Yes. You will be free to return to your old life. If you still want to."
Hugo crossed his legs and leaned his arms on his knees as he considered the bargain. He had misgivings, of course. Who was to say that Pesmerga was any better than his quarry? How long would it take to find Yuber? And who was to say that Hugo would survive the encounter? He was needed elsewhere. His place was with the Karaya. With the clans. With Chris.
And yet, Pesmerga had saved his life. To deny that was foolish, ungrateful. He seethed at the implication that Hugo owed the man his life, but in the end, it was true enough. Like a gambler wagering his freedom, Hugo was caught at the mercy of his opponent.
Dusting off his one remaining hand, Hugo awkwardly pushed onto his feet. "Fine," he said. "I accept your bargain. I'll help you."
The dark knight's only reaction was a curt nod. He placed his hands on Hugo's shoulders. "The pact is sealed. Now, hold still."
Trying not to fidget under the cold touch of Pesmerga's gauntlets, Hugo asked, "What are you doing?"
"I draw upon the power of Dharma," Pesmerga said, awakening his rune. "I shall complete your healing." The Ninefold Rune came alive with a bright flash, manifesting its complex symbol in the air between them. Tendrils of power reached out, weaving patterns around and through Hugo.
At first, Hugo felt only a spreading numbness. It began as a pleasant warmth, like worn muscles aching dully after a long run.
Then the pain began. It started as a tiny thing, something barely noticed. But then it built, until it utterly consumed him. It brought him to his knees.
It drove him out of his mind.
Rising from dunes of crimson sand, the crumbling walls and columns of a lost city stood out against the dark of eternal night. An unnatural wind stirred the fine-grained sand, setting it swirling and pooling up against the bases of the stacked blocks of dark stone.
Hugo stood within a courtyard, its flagstones half-buried in sand. On all sides, the gaping archways of broken buildings watched him, like the empty eye sockets of monsters hiding in the shadows. The only sound that reached him was that of his own breathing.
A feeling of desolation filled Hugo as he turned to take in this place that Pesmerga had brought him to. Even with the dark knight standing opposite, watching him, he felt utterly alone.
Pesmerga leaned on his great sword. The dull dark blade seemed carved from the same substance as the dead world around them. Now and then, a reddish light gleamed over the blade's edge.
For the thousandth time since the healing, Hugo clenched his fist. He stared in marvel at his right hand. His new hand. The fingers moved as expected, the wrist bent without issue. But something felt awry. Pesmerga had drawn upon the power of Dharma to restore Hugo's missing hand, but the appendage was as empty as the world from which it was spun. The hand was a thing of void matter. It felt solid, worked exactly like he would expect his hand to, and responded to touch and pressure as before. Still it felt wrong somehow. It might've been his imagination, but he could feel a numbness spreading from the void hand.
Hugo surveyed the ruins again. "There's nothing here," he said. "Why bring me to this dead place?"
"Draw your sword," said Pesmerga. The dark knight resembled a statue carved from basalt where he stood. More and more, Hugo had begun to see Pesmerga not as a man, but as a cold, dead thing – like a steel blade, or a rock.
Hugo spread his hands in disbelief. "I don't have a weapon."
Pesmerga stamped a foot down in front of him. He flicked his sword up. "Draw your sword," he repeated.
"You're mad," Hugo said, staring.
Without warning, the dark knight launched himself forward. He covered the distance between them in an instant. Hugo tried to move, but the attack came too quickly. Pesmerga's sword flicked sideways, then slashed horizontally.
Hugo felt the sword bite through his stomach, felt the blade slide through his flesh unopposed. A keen burning sensation blossomed in his body. The shock and pain almost knocked him unconscious. His entire body felt feverish, and his vision swam with stars.
Slowly, the pain subsided. Hugo found himself on his hands and knees, sucking for air and clutching his disemboweled gut. Only, when he looked down between his fingers, there was no wound. Even his clothes remained whole.
"What… happened?" Hugo said, breathlessly.
Pesmerga towered over him, his dark form outlined against the unnatural night of the sky. His steel helmet hid his eyes, but his mouth was unsmiling.
"There's a difference to the flow of things," Pesmerga said, "here in the World of Emptiness. This place shares many of the qualities and characteristics of the physical worlds woven by the True Runes, but this place represents the pure potential of order and… chaos." Pesmerga lingered on the last word, and his mouth twisted in distaste as it passed from his lips.
Hugo pushed to his feet. He rubbed his hands over his stomach. The memory of the searing pain of the blade lingered. He still expected it to blossom back to life at any moment.
"Pure potential," Hugo said, hesitantly. "That means you can stick a sword into someone's body and draw it back out without so much as a drop of blood falling from the blade?"
Pesmerga glanced at the great sword in his hands. "Among other things. Now. Draw your sword."
Hugo gave an exasperated growl. "I don't understand—"
Pesmerga's blade took him in the shoulder this time. The dark steel sword slid its edge through his torso and came out the other side.
The pain was worse, this time. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he was on the ground, quivering and twitching, gasping for breath. For a moment, he thought he would die, so fierce was the agony. As the pain dimmed to a dull ache, only the horrid memory remained. When he pushed back onto his hands and knees and scampered away from Pesmerga, he ran his hand over his shoulder and felt his chest, searching for lacerations, the dampness of blood.
Again, there was nothing.
Pesmerga advanced, each step slow and measured. The dark knight held his great sword out before him in a balanced attacking stance. Hugo backpedaled, looking around for a sharp rock, a piece of driftwood, anything to serve as a weapon. He seized upon a shard of broken column shaped almost like a rod, and snatched it up. He held the impromptu weapon out in a warding gesture.
The greatsword came down again, forcing Hugo to parry the blow. The stone rod shattered in his hand, exploding into tiny fragments that pelted his cheeks and forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut and backed off further, gritting his teeth against the pain. He recovered just in time to see Pesmerga thrust his sword at his midsection. Enough time to see the blade leap for him, but not enough time to do anything about it.
The sword bit into his chest, pierced his heart. The pain staggered him, but it was the shock that stunned him. He blacked out.
When Hugo came to his senses, he found Pesmerga standing over him, sword thrust into the ground, studying him.
"Get up," the dark knight said.
"You bastard," Hugo croaked. He crawled onto his elbows, pushed unsteadily onto his knees. "Why are you doing this?"
Pesmerga took some time in replying. "You do not suit my needs. You must be shaped into the right tool. With training and conditioning, I can accomplish this."
Hugo stood, tried to ignore the bobbing and weaving of his vision. "So that's your master plan. Stab me repeatedly until I'm ready to face Yuber?"
"Part of it is a lack of sufficient training," Pesmerga carried on, as if he had not heard Hugo speak, "But equally important is your lack of resources. If you are to help me defeat Yuber, you will need certain things. First of all being a weapon."
"I had weapons," Hugo said, bitterly. "You left them in the forest."
Pesmerga ignored his comment. Instead, the dark knight said, "You must learn to draw your sword, no matter the circumstances." Pesmerga held the blade out towards Hugo's throat.
Hugo reacted instinctively. Close enough to grapple the dark knight, he lashed out, grabbed Pesmerga's wrist. He twisted the man's arm, then hammered the edge of his hand into his wrist. Pesmerga's fingers twitched, and the sword fell from his hand, thudded into the soil.
Hugo lunged for the weapon. It was overlarge, too heavy, but if he could reach it first… His fingers closed about the sword, and he yanked it up, feeling the awkward weight of the two-handed weapon in his hands. He pointed the blade at Pesmerga, and grinned coldly.
"Get me out of here," Hugo said. "Now."
For a moment, Pesmerga stood in silence, hands at his sides, watching Hugo. For a moment, Hugo thought he'd forced the dark knight to capitulate. He began to slowly inch forward, as if to strike. "Now!" he hollered.
Calmly, the dark knight lifted his hand, and made a swift gesture.
There came a hissing sound. Hugo looked down to see the greatsword smoldering. A layer of metal had peeled back from the blade, revealing burning embers beneath.
Hugo almost dropped the blade, fearful of burning his hands. But there was no heat coming off the blade. As he watched, the embers flared up, burning brightly, and the metal dissolved like burning paper.
He stared at his empty hands in shock. In a mere few seconds, the sword had vanished. It had been unmade.
Pesmerga held out his hand, palm turned up. His gauntleted fingers resembled the talons of a bird of prey. A bright crimson light burgeoned in the palm of his hand, growing into a flickering orb. As Hugo watched, the light exploded out into something twisting, something alive, something that jerkily took form. The light was so strong, Hugo had to shelter his eyes. From the baleful light, glinting metal sprang into existence, forming like liquid and solidifying into the shape of a sword. As the greatsword took form, Pesmerga's hand sank with the familiar weight of the weapon.
"Witness the power of the World of Emptiness," the dark knight said, "King Crimson."
Hugo lowered his hands, squinting away the afterimages. Amazed, he drew closer, all anger draining from him. The sword looked so real. He reached out and touched the flat of the blade. He'd seen the sword form out of thin air, moments ago, but in his hands, it felt every bit as real as any weapon he had ever held.
"King Crimson," Hugo muttered. "Yuber spoke that name, too. I'm beginning to see a great resemblance between the two of you."
Pesmerga flicked his blade down, staring at the edge. For a time, Hugo thought the dark knight would react in anger, but then Pesmerga shook his head slowly. "It is true that Yuber also wields King Crimson. His Eightfold Rune is the manifestation of chaos. Our powers are as the two faces of a door. At this moment, the power of Dharma is ascendant, and the servants of chaos strive to topple the order."
Hugo hung back. Now that the initial amazement had died down, he was reminded of his anger. His hands still clutched at his chest, unable to forget the pain. He seethed at the cavalier attitude shown by the dark knight, but he still felt weak-kneed and wobbly after the very real feeling of being stabbed and dismembered by Pesmerga's sword.
"This is what you expect out of me?" Hugo said, shaking his head. "You're wasting your time. I don't have your rune. I can't do that."
Pesmerga advanced with his sword hefted upright, following as Hugo retreated before him. "The power of King Crimson is not something that comes from a rune. It comes from the World of Emptiness. It is not a skill – it is an instinct. It cannot be taught. It must be felt."
Hugo backed up against the remains of a crumpled column, its fluted surface distinct against his back. He felt with his hands behind him, retreating step by step from the advancing dark knight.
"This lesson is… painful," Pesmerga said, lifting his sword.
Darting around the column, Hugo tried to evade the dark knight. A jutting piece of rubble tripped him up, and he stumbled and slid down towards the dark knight. He heard the dark knight's boots crunch on the stone, and a moment later, pain exploded in the back of his neck.
There was a long, drawn-out moment of unimaginable pain.
Then there was only darkness.
Hugo's breakthrough came almost by accident.
Trapped in the World of Emptiness, beneath the darkness of the void, he had lost all sense of the passage of time. He felt no hunger, no thirst, and had no bodily needs. His time was divided only between restless anxiety and Pesmerga's tortuous, endless training.
In the World of Emptiness, there was no sleep, no rest. There was only the interminable training. Always, Pesmerga pushed him to the brink, allowing Hugo only momentary respites between his brutal assaults. Hugo had tried running, but Pesmerga knew the strange land better, and would always follow unerringly. When the dark knight had turned his back, Hugo had tried hiding, but Pesmerga had found him. There was no escape. There was only the training.
Always, the dark knight was there. Relentlessly, he pushed Hugo towards mastery of the unique powers of the World of Emptiness. Hugo had long since lost count of how many times the biting edge of Pesmerga's greatsword had taken his life. But Hugo was learning. With each thrust and each slash, his reactions improved. With each stroke, he gained a fraction of an inch on the dodge that might save his life. After what felt like a very long time – a day? A week? A month? – he began to be able to predict the dark knight's pattern of attacks. He began to slip the kiss of the dark blade.
But always there was another stroke. Pesmerga would simply press the attack. The dark knight recovered with lightning speed, and if not the immediate follow-up, then the third stroke would strike home, burying itself in Hugo's body.
At first, excruciating pain had wracked Hugo's body. He had fainted on numerous occasions, and always he would wake again with Pesmerga standing like a sentinel over him, like a statue commemorating a fallen hero. Always, they would start over again.
With pain, anger had come. A furious flame built within Hugo with each thrust, each slash. The pain and frustration gathered within, building to an incendiary strength. At first, Hugo had focused on this anger to get him through the pain. At first, he had held on to that feeling, willing himself to ignore the worst of the pain. With time, he had begun to resist the pain. He learned, slowly, to shrug off the wounds, to keep moving, to keep fighting. He learned to abandon fear.
Then he had begun to feel a change. The pain and anger began to fade. Hugo no longer hated Pesmerga with the same passion. When he looked up at the impassive face of the dark knight, Hugo shocked himself in realizing that he felt no emotion. Passion bled from his body – from his hand, the right hand that Pesmerga had healed using the power of Dharma. The numbness that had started in his hand had begun to spread throughout his body.
It had seemed so innocuous. He had seen it a thousand times. Pesmerga's sword thrust and slashed, and each time the blade would flash darkly crimson. It was a tiny thing, but it was there, if you looked closely enough. In his fixation with stopping Pesmerga's attacks, Hugo had watched the sword closer than a lover's face. He had noticed. And as their endless sparring went on, with each plunge of the sword into Hugo's flesh, the full pattern slowly dawned on him.
The light originated not from the dull black blade itself, but from the air around it. It was a light that bled from the void, flowing into the supernatural steel in faint tendrils, crooked and forking like varicose veins of blood.
In that moment, staring down at the blade planted in his midsection, Hugo knew he should have felt pain and shock. All he could feel was a dull and lingering fatigue. Something clicked in his mind. He saw the weapon not as a physical object, but as the manifestation of something larger. The sword was a manifestation of the World of Emptiness, the very substance surrounding him. The blade might give him pain when it sliced through his body, but this weapon could no more kill him than could the air around him or the sand whirling on the ground.
Reaching down, Hugo clasped his hand about the blade of Pesmerga's sword. He did not care that the sharp edges of the double-bladed sword cut into his fingers. He did not even flinch. With a shove, he pulled the blade from his flesh, knocking a surprised Pesmerga off balance and sent him dancing back to regain his balance.
Hugo held his hand up. The regenerated hand. He drew upon the essence of the World of Emptiness.
He willed it to respond.
At first, nothing happened. Hugo held his hand up, heart pounding, waiting for a miracle. Then he felt a pressure against his mind, and he pushed back. Slowly, tendrils of dark crimson glinted to life in the air around his hand. These veins of power began to converge and gather over the palm of his hand. A jolt of power shot through his body from his arm. A strange numb feeling followed in its wake. Hugo limbs felt weak, and he struggled to stay upright as his knees buckled. He sank to one knee, placed an insensate hand against the soft sand.
Then the feeling rushed back through his body, and with it, came a searing warmth. Hugo felt the coarseness of the individual grains of sand pressed against the palm of his hand. In his other hand, still raised up, he felt something solid gripped between his fingers. He looked up, saw a sword held there. A long knife, after the fashion of his ancestors. A weapon of the Karaya. But the shaft was cool metal, not bound in leather, and the blade was forged from the same dull black metal, lacking all carvings and ornamentation. He held in his hand a weapon of the World of Emptiness.
King Crimson.
Slowly, Hugo got to his feet. The dark knight stood at a distance, facing him, his great sword lowered against the sand. The man seemed to be watching him, curious and thoughtful.
Hugo looked at the long knife in his hand. He had expected something different. He had expected the two-handed monstrosity wielded by Pesmerga. Or the long slender swords used by Yuber. Certainly not this.
"King Crimson can take any form," Pesmerga said, as if sensing his confusion. "It is a force, not a thing. And this force follows the will of its wielder. In your case, it takes the form of the weapon with which you are most familiar."
Hugo turned the knife over in his hand, felt the cool smoothness of the flat of its blade. He twisted the blade, peering at the dull metal, searching for even a glint of light reflected off of its matte black edge.
He had a sudden thought. Yuber had wielded twin swords. Could it be…? Hugo held up his other hand, reached once more for the fundamental energy of the World of Emptiness, and drew of its cold and merciless power. And in his free hand, once more King Crimson manifested. It came in a flash of darkly crimson light. The cool feeling of metal.
A perfect twin. He held the two blades out before him.
"Good," Pesmerga said. "Now, the training can begin at last."
The blades clashed with a sharp keening, like the dying wail of a beast.
Hugo and Pesmerga sparred. The dark knight's greatsword spun and twisted, rose and fell, and always Hugo had to dance with the blade, thrusting his own blades up at the last minute to turn aside eviscerating blows.
King Crimson protested. Each time it tasted its own metal, it wailed. But underneath it, Hugo felt a sort of excitement, the stirring of an ancient hunger. The twin blades he wielded were born from a place between worlds, where titanic forces lingered, held in reserve after the creation of his world and others. This force could be detained, but never broken.
"The World of Emptiness," Pesmerga had explained, during those few times when he allowed Hugo a short break to let his lessons sink in, "Is the fringe between existence and non-existence." Hugo lay exhausted in the sand, squeezing his eyes shut and listening to Pesmerga's voice over the sound of his own beating heart, his own lungs slowly filling and expelling the air. His body could not exhaust its strength in this strange place, but Hugo cherished those short breaks, a chance to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind.
Hugo had all but given up on escaping. Pesmerga knew the way from this place. Hugo knew that. He had sought to trick the man, to coerce him, to defeat him in combat. All tactics had failed him. Now, he explored the pathways of the power, Dharma, that Pesmerga controlled. The power that allowed him to summon King Crimson from the void between worlds. Hugo knew this power was the key. The key to escaping the World of Emptiness. So, he fought, crossing swords with Pesmerga, while searching for a way to steal the knowledge from the dark knight's mind – the secret to escape.
How long they had lingered in the barren, lightless world, he could not say. Without the sun to mark the days, Hugo had lost all track of time. Their endless sparring sessions had blurred into one long torment. There had been a time, while parrying a blow from Pesmerga's great sword, that Hugo had noticed with some distress that his reach had increased. He had grown, his arms and legs at least an inch or two longer.
When he asked about this, Pesmerga had said, "This place is but one aspect of the World of Emptiness. My aspect, Dharma, is Order. Think of it as the clockwork hidden beneath the surface of a clock. The minute and hour hands, the tolling of the bell at hours whole and half, they run on an intricate clockwork of tiny cogs, gears, and springs. To a child, taking apart the clock reveals an infinite complexity. It cannot be comprehended. But the clockmaker understands this complexity. She can bend it to her will, to make time pass more quickly or more slowly. Of course, it is but an illusion. And the true measure of a great clockmaker is the one who can make time run just right, to follow the sun's movements."
Pesmerga had paused for a moment, then carried on, "Your world, too, runs on a clockwork of sorts. This hidden structure beneath the worlds, that is Dharma. Order. In your world, because it is an aspect among many, time runs according to the clockwork embedding that world. Each world is a reflection of a certain configuration of the Twenty-Seven True Runes. Each one, a structure, an order, but tainted with chaos. Your world is flawed. It was not created by the sure hand of a master. Here, in the World of Emptiness, time runs at its proper course."
Despite the growing numbness in his mind, Hugo had felt horror. "What are you saying? It's been years since I came here? What about my friends? My family?"
"Time passes more slowly in your world," Pesmerga had explained. "Once we return to face Yuber, you will find that little time has passed. Days, perhaps weeks."
They did not often speak. Pesmerga showed little inclination for talk, speaking only when it was necessary to impart some crucial information. With the void as his only companion, Hugo felt as though he were plunged into an abyssal pit, left to rot in eternal silence. Slowly, his body numbed, lost sensation. Sometimes, he would start awake as if from a deep sleep, to find himself in the middle of combat. Those moments scared him the most. He felt as if he might drown in this empty world of silence and longing. As if he might, in the end, never start awake again, and find himself lost, without knowing it.
He thought of his mother sometimes. He wondered if she had given up hope. Did they think he was dead? Would he ever see them again? And he thought of Chris. He longed to see her face, to hold her in his arms. And he worried for her. He wondered how the fight he'd left behind was going. But as time passed and the numbness of the void spread through his flesh and bones, he thought of them less and less.
"Your control of the blades is improving," Pesmerga said once, after what seemed to be an eternity. Hugo started awake, woken by the dark knight's words. With the sweat on his brow – as always – he realized they were in the middle of sparring. "But you have yet to summon your armor," the dark knight chided.
Hugo frowned. He backed off, grateful for the chance to rest his mind. "Armor? I'm no ironhead. I don't need it."
In an instant, Pesmerga lunged. His great sword swept out towards Hugo like a viper, its speed belying its great size and weight. Hugo tensed, raised the blades that hung at his sides in reaction. But he was too slow. Pesmerga's blade plunged into his chest, pierced his heart. The pain cut like fire through Hugo's body. His muscles spasmed, depositing him on the ground, breathing heavily, sweating. When he came too, Pesmerga stood over him as he often did, watching and waiting for him to recover. His great sword planted in the loose sand. The blade had slipped from Hugo's flesh without protest. No blood marred the matte black of the sword's edge.
"Only the dead," said Pesmerga, "have no need for armor. You are a fool, Hugo of the Karaya."
Hugo took slow and deep breaths, rising back on unsteady feet. "Armor slows you down. A helmet narrows your vision. Karayans don't need to hide in a steel cage to fight."
"Your people are brave, Hugo of the Karaya. You are strong, tenacious, and you have a talent for the blades. But if you face Yuber without the protective sheath of King Crimson to arm your limbs, he will hack them from your body."
Hugo shook his head. "I've faced that bastard before. With our training, I've gotten faster. I've gotten stronger. I know it. I know I can take him on." He advanced on the dark knight, pleaded with his eyes. "Send me back to my world. I'm ready. You know I am!"
Pesmerga stood in silence for a time, face unmoving. His mouth betrayed none of his thoughts, and his eyes were sheltered behind the ever-present visor of his horned helm.
When he finally spoke, he said, "Your swiftness with the blades is much improved. The speed of your movement, the strength of your blows, these things too have increased. I will admit that." A concession from the dark knight? Hugo had not expected that much.
"Then send me back," he said. "Let me help my people. Let me help you defeat Yuber!" Pesmerga turned his head down, staring at the sand. Hugo watched his every twitch, hoping his words had moved him.
"First, you must learn to summon your armor."
Hugo felt an ashen taste in his mouth. He anticipated what was coming.
Pesmerga raised his sword above his head. "Prepare yourself, Hugo of the Karaya. I will prove to you the folly of your ways, until you learn. And believe me. I have patience. It is in fact the only thing I have…"