Hello, thanks for all your reviews.
About 30-40 days have passed since the beginning of this fanfic. I count them :0. To be fair, pretty much each one of those days is accounted for, morning afternoon and evening haha. The Terrarians get no rest, because They don't really need it. They just... go go go go.
Rather shamefully, I have yet ot read the new lore. Imma made co-author read it so eh.
Armour: Brimflame
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (400/500)
The silence was far more profound than any sound he might have uttered.
For indeed, in the muted velvet, in the lips that quivered over tightly clenched teeth, in the trembling shoulders that drooped in defeat - was a grief so profound, the men and women who came creeping out of their homes - their lives saved - dare not utter even a noise of celebration. The Man with Dragon Eyes, the one who they had dealt treacherously with mere moments ago, was standing over the remains of The King's weapon. And he mourned for it - silent tears spilling abundantly over his cheeks. He mourned for that hated misshapen thing which terrorized all who ever had the misfortune to look upon it. He mourned it not as a friend, nor as family... no, he mourned as if he were watching his own flesh and bone dissolving into black sludge on the grass.
And yet, none of the townspeople felt it right to simply turn around and leave. Did they not owe their lives to this man? At the very least, he deserved to hear their gratitude. But as it stood, it appeared he was in no state to graciously accept their thanks. Indeed, their Hero, their savior... how pained his expression was. How crestfallen and how heavy laden. It dampened their victorious joy until it was merely smouldering ash.
So if they could not give him their gratitude, at least they could attempt to comfort him.
"Young man..."
The Dye Trader approached carefully, walking slowly and steadily in order not to startle the figure trembling in the dark. His voice was rugged and heavily accented, but he tried to make it as soothing as possible. He came to a halt to The Man's side, looking reverently down upon the monster's ashen remains. He spoke once more as the breeze chipped away at those charred bones.
"She... must have been very precious to you."
"..."
The Man glanced up at him, those glowing eyes burning in his skull with a strange watery intensity. He opened his mouth to answer, but his breath hitched and stuck in his throat. Something in his expression crumbled; he turned away to wipe his tears with trembling hands.
"No I... I didn't know her."
His voice cracked as he responded. He was clearly making a great effort to speak normally, but his grief was so apparent, it would be far less pathetic than if he'd just fallen to the ground and started sobbing. The Dye Trader averted his eyes to grant The Hero some modicum of privacy.
"I see."
Silence fell over them like a wet blanket. A blanket soaked in kerosene. Cold, tense, heavy, silent and apt to erupt into violent flames with a single spark. The Dye Trader thought it best to say nothing, allowing the air to stretch thin as the remains of The Wretched Clone were dispersed into the wind. Overhead, the deep blackness in the sky faded. The moon once more shone in the sky. The stars twinkled in their places. The Hero's face was bitter. He spoke in a rancorous, self-loathing sneer.
"If The Immortal Hero can't even save himself, then what's the point of all this power?"
There was more being said than just what The Hero uttered, but The Dye Trader dared not pry. He tentatively patted the man on his shoulder before quickly withdrawing when the flesh beneath seized on contact. He pursed his lips and offered a few bland words. He was a warrior. Not a preacher.
"Young man, it's not your fault. It was cursed by The King a long time ago, a lost cause. You couldn't have saved it, but at least you gave it rest. Don't allow this death to weigh upon you."
"...What?"
The air pulled tight as a wire. The Hero's expression twitched into wrathfulness and the dull flame in his eye lit in fury. When he turned to glare at him, those odd dragon-eyes were blown wide open; his teeth bared to the base of the gums. He hissed, a guttural strained hiss as if he were doing everything in his power not to scream and throw himself at him in a feral frenzy.
"Not my fault? A lost cause? How dare you! All terrors I endured were not my fault. I too was branded a lost cause, so worthless my creator abandoned me and left me to die on the frozen tundra! Should my deaths not weigh any of their minds?! Would you give the same advice to them, that they should live freely and breathe easy after having done so much violence against me?! I-..."
The Hero tore his eyes off of him to stare daggers into the sky. His voice crescendoed until it grew high and wild. Was he crying in despair, or shouting in anger? Likely something in between. He babbled half-nonsense as angry tears streaked down his face.
"Perhaps she could have been saved, but what could you, mere human that you are, ever know?! You haven't seen magic! You haven't seen the strange and terrible miracles that can give life anew as easily as it plows countries with the blood of its citizens. No! You haven't seen anything! Your magic is mere sparks and fireworks! You can't fathom the world I've survived! I have died a hundred deaths. I've felt my organs crushed, my muscles torn, my skull burst like an overripe fruit as I sought to escape the dead body of a worm-infested god - yet - by magic- I stand here before you as whole as the day I was born."
The Hero covered his eyes with his palms. His shoulders rocked and his teeth clicked violently against one another as he spat out the words - one after another until they petered away into a whisper.
"How I wished somebody had saved me from that miserable existence. How I longed to be 'a person'. To be given dignity above a mere tool. To be granted refuge, or a kind word, or a gentle embrace. I hated that I was nothing but a weapon which my master would bludgeon his enemies ... oh, how I longed to be free."
The Hero pressed his lips together tightly and breathed heavily through his nose. He averted his eyes and ran a hand across the crown of his skull, slicking the hair back as if to compose himself. There was a long silence, a silence made longer by the many eyes fixed upon them from the small silent crowd.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was hoarse and loud - yet a current of exhaustion ran beneath his breath.
"And I was freed... when all who sought to enchain me fell beneath the blade."
"..."
"Now tell me where The King's fortress is."
He... truly couldn't believe his eyes.
The Clone had been killed? Impossible. He had heard story upon story of how destructive Calamitas could be. During the great war of Yharim's conquest, she had earned her moniker with tremendous magical prowess and blind ruthlessness. No mage could stand before her. She crushed all her opponents with an overwhelming, brute strength. From the sky, she would rain bloodflame. From the ground, she would cause geysers to burst. Now, The Brimstone Sorceress languishes in her tower, crooning, unhinged, over her necromantic creations and wholly unfit for battle.
Not due to lack of strength.
No, her strength has only grown since her debut as 'The Witch of Massacre'.
She was unfit for battle because she would not be controlled.
And so - a monster was made of her. A Clone. That abominable thing controlled by fluids and curses and needles and wires, possessing only a fraction of The Witch's strength, but a fraction was than enough. It was The King's own weapon of mass destruction. A herald of his wrath.
And it had been killed.
It had been killed easily.
Its opponent danced about it, talking to it. Mocking, perhaps? Trying to reason with it? The Cyborg (his nickname, granted to him because of some headgear he'd grown partial to) could not hear the words spoken amidst the battle from such a distance. All he could see was The Resistance scum had taken down The Clone with scarcely a scratch until both fell from the sky, one chasing the other below the treeline and out of sight.
And The Cyborg had waited there with bated breath to see who would rise. High command had requested he do one of two things: Capture The Resistance Agent, or kill him and be sure to fetch his armour. But it appeared he would be doing neither... for the Resistance Agent, on wings of spun glass, lifted into the sky and shot off due west. The Cyborg sighed as he watched the figure go. He plucked out his radio and connected to CC Central.
*kzzt-*
"CC Agent #1290 reporting in."
... We're listening Agent. Have you secured the target?*
The Cyborg grimaced. He really hoped Draedon wouldn't deconstruct him for this failure. Well, truthfully, this was mostly a fear the earlier generations dealt with. He was genetically perfect. Central didn't dispose of their top soldiers easily. He would probably get a tongue lashing though.
kzzt-*
"Negative. I don't know what kind of monster you sent me after, but the bastard killed The Clone and flew away."
A long silence. He could nearly hear the shock over the Comms. A different voice butted in to speak. Looks like I'm on speaker.
*Calamitas' clone is dead?*
"Yes, Sir."
*Fucking hell... where is he heading, agent? Are you tracking him?*
"Negative. I don't have wings... but he's heading west. If I had to guess, I'd say he's coming straight for the Capitol. You have... a few hours if he keeps at that speed."
Shuffling and muffled shouting as commands were issued forth in the background. The Cyborg could not make out exactly what was being said, but understood from the urgency that these were battle orders. After a moment, the handler once more spoke over The Comms.
*Agent #1290, get in there, gather whatever remains or salvage you can find and come back to The Capitol. Don't leave anything precious in the field. Either destroy it or bring it back. Understood?*
*kzzt-*
"Clear as Crystal. Best of Luck out there."
*You too, Agent.*
Faze: What's the Difference between Jam and Jelly?
Monster Knight: The Sugar conten-
F: Wrong! I can't Jelly this sword up your ass.
MK: idk man that's pretty ga-
F: stop!
Heroic!