AN: Sup, sorry for not doing this earlier. You can expect updates Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but typically late at night. PLEASE review, honestly, this is my first fic in 3 yrs and the other one sucked. (I hope this one doesn't). And now, enjoy.
Forged In Fire
The walls were black, and sleek. They lined the top, the bottom, and the sides, all uniform, all unblemished. They had been there when the earth rose, or so it seemed, and they would be there when it crashed, wailing, into the sun. They all flew connectively into one another to form a box of sorts. Yes, box was the right word; there was no entrance or exit, and there was such crushing finality in the way they looked that any poor devil trapped within would know that there was no way out.
And speak of the devil- the poor one indeed. A boy- a man, rather, lay on the bottom one of these walls. A dragon roared in his sleeping mind, but was quickly covered by those walls, those sleek walls. They made up many of his dreams now. The man awoke. It had been so long since he'd had a memory. Any memory, even a corrupted one. The man thought back. 50 or so sleeps ago, that was the last time. He sighed. He hadn't been able to hold on to anything specific, just the vague aroma of fire. He sat up, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes again. Fire- smoke- dragons- people- the man's eyes flew open. And then it was forgotten. The man cursed and stood up. The outside world was an elusive beast, one which almost never showed itself. He'd wasted his opportunity.
There was nothing to do, as usual. He didn't need to eat, or even breathe, though he did as habit. That was new, the man thought. New to the box- but that was not new to the man. He was pretty sure that he'd spent longer in the box then outside of it- but he was never sure. Time was funny in the box- the absence of any way to tell it made the man have to use sleeps to measure. He knew it was imperfect- he'd done the math. If he really had spent this much time inside of the box he'd be dead. But it kept him sane. He began his daily routine. As mundane as it may sound, routine kept his mind from falling to pieces. He started with 50 pushups. Pushups and other easily accessible exercises were easy to remember, and helped to break the monotony. He had noticed that his muscles were getting bigger, so at least that could change. As the man exercised according to his routine, breaking it up once in a while so his brain would not turn to mush in his head. He counted to a thousand. He'd pushed the limits of it before- counting to a million, ten million; but a hundred million had broken him. He'd vowed to never go that high again. He went back to the push ups.
And then something happened. A cry echoed, and the smell of sand emenated throuought the cube. The man felt chilled to the bone. And then, he began to remember.
Coming Thursday: Die Hard The Hunter
AN: Just a thank you to mylifeisogre for the kind words.