"Move! Move!"
Denki feels a strong arm slam his back, propelling him forward. He nearly collapses on the stone pavement, but manages to regain balance quickly, retaining the merciless running pace. His whole body is screaming, muscles crying out with ripping pain. It's the ninth lap, and his knees are about to give out. Yet he pushes on, determined to meet his trainer's quotas. He straightens himself out, sweat drenching his tank top, and jogs forward.
And to think he was expecting to be cold in his outfit.
After Watcher led him to his new "mentor", there wasn't much time for him to rest and get his bearings. The very next day marked the start of his training programme. Both of the undead said that, if he wants to become worthy of joining The Legion, he must be up to par with their capabilities, or bring something unique to the table. Since the human never trained or fought much before, he was clueless as to what he could offer. Aldehan Adler, his new assigned supervisor, stated that the only way to find out more about his talents would be bringing them out by training. Worry sparked in his chest, for what mercy could he expect from someone like him?
He stumbled on a small crevice between the stones, dragging the attention to himself once again. It was hard to not be the most interesting part of the session when he was the only one training. Adler screamed out to him, and though his voice was deep and echoing, the human could sense a certain fierceness and anger lining the words.
"So far, you're proving to be more of a potential liability than an asset. Get. A. Grip." Adler hisses through his teeth, making Denki groan and push onwards through the pain.
Adler's irises twitch in satisfaction. Although the fresh meat was weak, it could listen to orders. He crossed his arms, watching as Denki moved on to the last segment of the loop. The exhaustion is clear to see in his every movement. The clumsiness of his steps, the slow pace, the limpness of his arms. And yet, despite all that, Denki keeps moving.
When Watcher first brought the human to his chambers, Adler only laughed. Denki looked pale, disoriented and weak. He wasn't anywhere near fit to be a soldier, let alone in his formation. Membership required skill, devotion and determination, and at first Adler saw in him only faults and flaws. His human-like condition aside, it quickly came to light that Denki couldn't even complete the warm up of ten running laps. After the sixth he fell, knees buckling and breathing heavily, hands scraped to blood on the flooring. Adler genuinely expected him to curl up and cry, like some of the mortal militia he takes on sometimes. Just as the undead was about to mock the mortal, Denki stood up. With much pain he dragged himself upward, and waded on. Of course, Adler didn't want to interrupt him - he only had to step in when, at the ninth lap, Denki nearly coughed his lungs out.
It would be safe to say that, despite the ending flop, Adler was pleased with him. If nothing else, Denki had the determination to complete his training.
As the first few days passed by, the general would come to learn more about his trainee. Except for the resolve, the young Sakurai had an unusual pain resistance as well. Despite the intense cardio and hours long training, he never complained or whined about exhaustion. To test this, Adler ordered him to drop down and do push ups, presenting the action to be purely for his own amusement. The hatred for him, pulsing and throbbing through Denki's entire body, was extremely obvious. But among the racing images of violently killing his mentor, Adler sensed no regret.
Even when Denki was allowed to stop after thirty seven push ups, far beyond his endurance of that time, he still walked to his quarters by himself and came back tomorrow, fresh and ready to improve. The muscle gain was also noticeable, or more precisely - it's unnatural speed.
But that would be nothing unusual for The Fly Lord's work. As much as the thought of Sunqu made Adler's non-existing stomach turn, he couldn't refute his superior designs' perfection.
Agonizingly, the human dragged his body towards the finish line, his jog a laughable parody of the word "run". When he arrived at the destination, Denki fell to his knees, panting heavily. Adler nodded.
"Decent performance. Catch your breath, and we'll move to the next exercise."
Relieved and immensely thankful, Denki drops to the ground. His eyes, barely ajar after the strenuous cardio, lie idly on Adler's form as the undead speaks in his language. In comparison to all the other undead he met so far, Adler stood lower in posture, yet he was still bigger than Watcher. Despite his unremarkable stature, the general instilled a passive aura of command and competence. He spoke with confidence, loud and imperative in each word. Adler's equipment was more than fitting for a general. His golden, decorative armor was complimented by a thin wool cloak, covering his back down to his shins and extending into a full hood. Steel boots struck the ground with audible heaviness as he walked, so much so that every undead he passed could recognise him by his steps alone. His skeletal hands were covered by thick leather, concealing their true fragility. Denki never once saw him without his blade by his side, sheathed, but imposing nonetheless. Aside from the fairly modest, weathered crown on his hooded skull, the most eye-catching trinket of his was the handful of small, metal items attached to his belt. Some were thin and slightly damaged, others were thick and whole, every one of them maintained and polished to perfection. The sigil resembled a flame of sorts, not unlike the spread wings of a phoenix without its head or legs. When he moved, the baubles would clatter against his armor, announcing his arrival in tune with his thundering footsteps. The clasp to his cape was a black Vision, with a white eye symbol engraved within. The bronze casing consisted of two sharp, polished shards on the gemstone's top and bottom.
With a groan of extortion, Denki lifted his exhausted body back to a standing position. His eyes landed on a wooden table Adler was pointing at.
"Pick one." Adler said.
With nothing else to do, Denki approached the wooden structure. On the worn out wood lies a selection of weapons. A sword, a katana, some sort of a curved sword he saw on pictures from Sumeru, a thin Fontaine rapier, and a heavy claymore. Every blade is painted matte black, but the frequent scratches of silver prove that the armaments are not newly forged. Denki reaches for the sword, just as his teacher suggested before. He stops, and turns back to look at Adler.
"Who will I be facing, master?" Despite his best efforts, his voice doesn't sound firm and confident, coming out more as a fearful plea.
Adler points behind him with his thumb. "A rankman. Standard issue equipment, standard training, average skill. He shouldn't be a challenge for you, if you were listening at all these past few days."
The words of Adler hold no comfort as Denki looks over at his opponent. The skeleton, clad in plate armor, stands taller than the general, nearly matching his own height. The skull, with the unmissable and ever piercing white irises in the eye sockets, is well maintained and whole. The helmet is a fairly standard steel cover with twisting horns of a ram mounted on the sides. Just as its superior, the Wight has full chest, arm and leg armor, coupled with leather gloves and high boots reinforced with steel plates. Its sword, still sheathed, was accompanied by a broad shield.
The undead sends its mortal opponent a friendly nod, and Denki turns back to the table. The weapons were dulled, so the risk of cutting would be minimal. Not like cutting the skeleton would do anything, of course. And so wouldn't stabbing it. Despite the claymore being the sensible option in his mind, Denki looks towards the katana. This is definitely the weapon he is most acquainted with, or at least that is what he thinks. The sword looks familiar to him, and rests well in his hand. He is from Inazuma, so he most likely used it before. Even despite his hardest efforts, he can't seem to recall any specific memories.
He picks up the blade, and turns to Adler. "I will take this. What are the rules?"
Adler eyes Denki, his voice full of unmissable amusement. "Three hits for you and first blood for him. You'd want to get a shield for that."
Something creeps into his mind. Someone told him in the past that a shield is a weapon of cowards. Denki shakes his head politely, and slowly walks away from Adler, getting into stance.
These words… Who shared them? His father, or his teacher? Maybe he read that somewhere? His mind holds no answers, just more questions.
His eyes never leave his opponent. The skeleton walks up to its place slowly, plates quietly rattling against each other as he moves. Denki narrows his eyes. It doesn't seem too agile, with all of that armor weighing it down. If he manages to dodge attacks, he will surely win. He takes a deep breath.
"I'm ready." He says, adjusting his grip.
"Ready." The skeleton replies.
Adler steps back. "Begin!"
The skeleton moves first, stepping up to him and striking right away. Denki dodges to his side, catching the blow with the edge of his sword. He tries a quick riposte, but the skeleton takes the full force of the blow on his shield. Sparks fly into the air as the attack slides off of the steel surface. The human barely manages to stop a hew aimed at his side. Despite his fast reaction, he fails to dodge it completely - the tip of the blade grazes his Chest plate. He returns the attack right away, but once again it is blocked. Denki is able to block an overhead chop, striking the undead's blade right as it swings down. He tries to spin around to deliver a hit on the recovering enemy's side but he is struck with its armored shoulder, making him stumble back. He manages to whip his katana into position to just barely block an incoming strike, but the next attack comes too quickly to react. The heavy shield's edge is struck forward, landing right on his face.
The sheer force of the sends him back. His foot, placed awkwardly and unable to stabilize him, bends and Denki tumbles to the ground. His skull slams on the stone bricks paving the training square, making his vision go dark. His hands tremble, desperately searching for his weapon. Just then does his adrenaline rush come down, and the throbbing, sharp pain in his jaw makes itself known. He screams out in pain and clutches his bleeding mouth, eyes squeezing shut. He rolls to his side and curls slightly, breath heaving and tears welling in his eyes. He feels blood pouring from his wound, and so he spits it out on the floor. As his vision slowly comes back, deep, mocking laughter fills his ears.
"I told you what to use, didn't I? But no, you wouldn't listen. Now look at you, squirming like a worm and crying like a baby." Adler crouches down to his level, and pries Denki's hands away, gripping his jaw painfully to examine the wound. "Ow, the toddler got his tooth knocked out and now he's throwing a tantrum! What a despicable excuse for a man you are, Sakurai Denki."
A slap falls on Denki's face, adding insult to injury. Adler lets go of him and stands up. A muffled sob escapes the human's lips as he rolls over and tries to stand up. After dragging himself up to his feet, pain and tears clouding his vision, he comes face to face with Adler.
"Get out of my face, scum." Adler points towards the gate leading out of the training field. "Come back when you stop being a whiny maiden. I don't want the likes of you anywhere near the Legion."
"Y-yes, master. I'm sorry." Denki looks down in shame.
"Out. I don't want to see you back here unless you decide to get a grip." Adler growls, his irises gaining a red hue. "OUT!"
Without further ado, Denki scurries back towards the gates. The skeleton guard looks at him emotionless as he passes by. His fingers, stained red with the running blood, rest on his face protectively. Not because of the pain, but due to shame.
How could he? How could he not mind the words of his mentor, his guard, his teacher? He is meant to heed his advice, learn from him, trust his judgment and words. He wants the best for him, does he not? And yet he disregarded his words of wisdom and paid the price for his own stupidity. He deserved it, all of it. He is worthless, useless, whimsy and weak. Denki cries silent tears of embarrassment as he makes his way down the Citadel's corridors. His pathetic feet place unworthy steps on the dusty red carpet lining the passage.
One thought rages through his mind as he knocks on a heavy, dark oak door.
How could he be so ungrateful?
"Come in."
Denki pushes the door open, his eyes landing on a familiar figure. Sitting by the wooden desk is Watcher, a notebook in his hands. The pages are filled with an unknown scripture. The Liche turns to face the newcomer, and sighs.
"With what do you come today?"
Denki uncovers his mouth. "Tooth."
Watcher motions to a large adjustable surgical chair, and turns back to his writing. Denki slowly makes his way to the pointed seat, and lowers himself to rest on it. He always felt somewhat uneasy in his caretaker's lab. Although he knew that the skeleton wouldn't do harm, the familiarity of his tools was far from comforting. As he settles down, Watcher offers a clean piece of gauze in his gloved hand.
"Bite down on this." Denki does as instructed, wincing as pressure is placed on his wound. He looks over to his right, and sees the Liche cleaning the mouth spreader. Just the sight of the polished cage of small metal rods brings him back.
"Iz that really nesheshary?" He speaks, bindings still soaking in excess blood. The guardian turns to him, his irises narrowing.
"If you will restrain yourself from flinching and let me work, then no. If you do, then I'm going to put it on. Did I make myself clear?"
Denki nods, and much to his relief, the device is placed back on the counter. Watcher opens a drawer, replaces his gloves with thinner, rubber ones, and retracts a few surgical tools. He grabs a stool and places it next to the chair. The trainee gulps as the tools close in.
Gently, the blood soaked gauze is removed, revealing Denki's mouth. Watcher hums, and turns to a nearby tray.
"The first front tooth on the left is broken in half. I will have to pull out the root, but don't worry. You'll get a new one right away." The human's eyes anxiously watch as his medic eyes a scalpel and a pair of pliers. Just the sight makes his hands clutch the armrests tightly.
Denki closes his eyes. Every muscle tenses as the cold metal touches his skin. Suddenly, the scalpel cuts into his gums, slashing the tissue like butter. Denki whines, and tears dribble down his cheeks. His grip becomes iron, mind focused on calming itself down. Blood wells in his mouth when the cut is made. Setting down the scalpel means no relief, as Watcher takes the pliers right away. The tool wanders around his mouth, probing the wound and looking for a suitable angle. His skin crawls as the sounds of steel hitting his tooth become audible.
"Right here…"
Watcher's voice is quiet when the pliers lock on their target. Denki braces himself, and the awful sensation of ripping floods his mind. He wants to scream, cry, escape, but he knows better than to misbehave.
The pain is brief, but awful still. Watcher quickly presents Denki with the bloodied remnant of his tooth. He sighs heavily in relief, and closes his eyes. The sound of shuffling reaches him, and Denki looks in the direction curiously. Watcher drops the tooth into a cloth bag, setting it on the counter. His hand reaches a handle and tugs on it, revealing a cupboard full of teeth. The bones, of all shapes and sizes, are each placed on a piece of cotton and marked with symbols he isn't familiar with. Watcher picks one and slides the rest back into storage. After a short cleaning and another change of gloves, he positions himself back on the stool. Wiping the blood, he places the tooth into Denki's jaw. A firm twist is all it takes to fit the missing part into his jaw. Watcher taps the enamel a few times, ensuring its stability. He nods to himself.
"Fixed. Don't drink anything too hot or cold for some time now. The nerve endings need time to fuse back together. Does the injury feel numb?" He asks, offering Denki a bundle of cotton.
He takes it, and gently swabs it on the injury a few times. "Yes. It feels strange…"
"It's normal. The feeling will be back in an hour or so. How are your hands?" He points a finger to Denki's hands, still locked over the armrests. He takes a breath and presents them.
The pale skin on the insides is littered with purple and red cuts, some scabbed over, others still exposed, but not one bleeding. Watcher rubs his finger over the biggest ones, gauging his patient's reaction. The human only hisses quietly.
"They're healing up nicely." He chuckles, but Denki only frowns in response. "At least he taught you how to hold a sword proper, no?"
Denki looks away and remains silent. Watcher shakes his head, and pats the mortal's cheek with his blood-smeared hand. Denki gets up. He turns for the door, but he hears his caretaker's voice behind him.
"Wipe those tears. At least try to look presentable."
Denki shuts the door behind him with a loud thud, and turns on his heel. His head throbs as he marches towards his room. He doesn't feel the pain anymore, a sensation of dullness resonating through his jaw.
Exhaustion, anger and pain mix inside him, threatening to boil over at any point. Denki pushes his door open, and, with all his resolve, stops himself from slamming it shut. Desperately he pushes his thoughts away, focusing on unbuckling the armor and stripping down.
He's just tired, he thinks. That is why he is feeling angry. He needs to take a shower and rest his head for a while. Yes, rest will resolve everything, he figures while stepping into the rudimentary bathroom. Mistakes happened today, his mistakes. He was at fault here. It was he who disregarded the words of his teacher, insulting him. Adler had all the right to react as he did. Perhaps he should be grateful for being set straight.
They care, for sure. Otherwise, why would they be so strict, if not wanting to keep him safe and alive in his future encounters?
He sighs as the hot water hits his white back, steam quickly building up, filling his lungs and nostrils with the comfortable, stuffy sensation. He can feel his body relax, and he gives into the feeling.
One thought sticks in his mind, however. Should he? Should he indulge himself? Today, he made several big mistakes and was punished for it. Nevermind his missteps, this type of behavior will only get him used to comfort and safety, won't it? A warrior's life is never easy, and treating himself will only cause more pain when these distractions are taken away.
He can't do this. Adler was right. These types of pleasures are for whiny damsels, not for real men. Real men must suffer to succeed. He can't weaken himself with luxuries, else he becomes what his mentor suggested - a pathetic excuse of a man.
Denki growls and moves his aching arm to turn the valve of the shower, turning the pleasantly warm water frigid. He screams as the icy liquid pours on him, body trembling from the sudden change in temperature.
This is the way.
It's for his own good.
He deserves this.
—
A wave of chill strikes him as he steps out from the Citadel. The scarf does its job, but the cold wind still bites his exposed face, reddening the porcelain skin. Denki's breath is fogging. He looks up at the sky for the first time since… forever, he thinks. A sigh of disappointment leaves his lips when his vision is filled with thick, gray clouds. Not a single ray of sun pierces unimpeded through them, covering the city with gloom. He doesn't fail to notice the unnatural purplish tint of the skies above him.
His eyes fall lower, resting on the city in front of him. Only a handful of structures tower over the rough level of the capital, impressive in their stature. Below them the buildings are a blend of gray and black, with a few sprinkles of color here and there - sticking out like candy amongst ashes. Every chimney in the city pumps out smoke, warming the inhabitants within the homes below, and filling him with a certain sense of… coziness. He shudders as another gust of wind blows icy droplets of rain into his face.
His underground dorm beneath the Citadel has little commodities, no doubt about that, but at least it is warm.
Although the downpour makes them hard to pick up, Denki can just faintly hear sounds of the hustle and bustle, unlike that of Inazuma City. His brow furrows at the thought of street vendors and passersby going about their business in such weather. Despite the noticeable scarcity of decorations, the black banners hang frequently from underneath roofs and overpasses. On the soaked, black material the eye symbol is intricately sewn, its gaze piercing and unrelenting on anyone who dares to look at them. Over the tall wall surrounding the Citadel, only a few spots catch his eye. He sees a few balconies hanging above the streets. Their whole construction has not an inch of wood, consisting of painted steel and stone instead. Warm, orange light pours from the windows and doorways behind them, painting the lush potted plant life in bright softer color.
The rain doesn't seem to let up. Unsurprisingly, the undead within the Citadel's perimeter move about and patrol unphased, their armors slippery and shining with moisture. Wooden crates are being carried from a point outside his range of view, and placed on iron carts mounted on rails. The individual forges lining the sides of the barrier form a hermetic link over the left area, stopping only as the main exit route parts the two fragments on the courtyard. To his right, he hears the audible clash of weaponry. He looks over, noticing multiple pairs of knights, locked in individual duels. The fight with no boundaries - shoving, kicking, bashing with shields - Denki notices one undead using his fists, his sword laying far from him and his sparring partner.
Suddenly, Denki feels a hand on his shoulder. He snaps around, pushing the stranger's arm away. Much to his embarrassment, behind him stand two armored guards. Contrary to the trainees in the courtyard, they have matte-black chest plates and arm guards, their armors split in half by a leather strap holding their rifles firmly on their backs. Every one of the four irises is focused on him.
"Forgive me for this interruption, sir." The undead speaks, in a deep, dull tone. "I couldn't help but notice you, standing here for a few minutes now. Do you need any help? Are you unwell?"
Denki pulls down his mouth cover and replies. "I… Yes. It's my first time outside, to tell you the truth. Lord Watcher gave me permission to visit the city, but I am not sure where to go. He gave me some coins, but I can't read the symbols on them."
After fishing the small pouch from his coat's pocket, he pulls the string and drops the silver coins on the palm of his hand. The second guard takes them into his hands, and examines them closely.
"That's three hundred Ether. Those two are hundreds, and those two are fifties. You can buy a lot with that, sir." After pointing to the specific coins, the undead hands Denki the coins.
"Thank you." Denki looks back at the city behind him. "And where could I… spend them?"
After readjusting his weapon, he points right in front of him. "Leave through the main gate, and you'll be at Imperius street. There are many stalls and restaurants not only there, but all over the city as well. I am sure you will find something to your liking, sir." Denki can feel a smile in his voice as the skeleton delivers the final invitation.
"I can suggest a few places to visit if you wish to hear me, Denki Sakurai."
All three turn towards the entry to the fortress from where the sound came. In a steady pace, a uniform-clad figure approaches them, arms slightly open in courteous invitation. The tall, waxed leather boots step quietly as the newcomer approaches. He stands a head lower than Denki, but his formal black cap extends farther above. The black outfit is perfectly clean and straight, the three polished medals on the right side of his chest placed in perfect symmetry to each other. As every undead, he wore gloves, but in contrast to the rest, his were thin and lined with golden thread at the sides and edges. Behind his formal trousers, with straight purple lines sewn on the outsides of his sleeves, waved a thin black cloak, further adding to his uniform's impressive cut. On his left wrist a copper-clad Electro Vision shined, tied to his skeleton with a leather strap.
The guards straighten out, and place their hands across their chests with a loud thud, before putting them back along their body. "Glory to the Great One!"
As the black-clad undead stands next to Denki, he too places his arm over his chest. "Glory to the Great One. At ease, soldiers."
The guards relax, and he turns towards Denki, extending his right arm.
"I believe we have not met yet. My name is Felix Waltz, General Artilleris of The Legion. It is an honor to at last meet you in person." Denki shakes his hand carefully and bows in reflex.
"It is my honor, general."
"Oh, I believe it is all on my side." He tilts his skull downwards. "Shall we take a stroll?"
Denki's eyes focus on his irises, and he nods.