Free Web NovelChapter 7: Faith and Fury
Covered in grime and blood, the warrior’s body did not stop.
It did not rest.
The circumstances had not changed or improved, yet an unspeakable madness was beginning to accumulate in his mind.
Occasionally, a chuckle would escape his wordless mouth, suppressing something that was always threatening to surface.
The chuckle passed through Slave 135 as well, as he was trapped in the body.
He couldn’t help laughing with him, nor did he have the same confidence in his movements as the warrior had faith in his own.
Amidst it all, the body always aimed for eyes or stomachs. The same instinct smaller animals used when fighting something larger.
The footwear slowly tore apart, leather loosening and peeling away. The more the bare feet touched the ground, the more Slave 135 felt rooted.
Like an ancient, unshakeable tree.
With both feet pressed into the soil, the world felt smaller. The warrior moved through it like a reaper cutting grass.
Slave 135 didn’t feel at ease; this wasn’t a normal situation... Days were only bearable thanks to the fortitude of the warrior’s mind forced upon his own.
Yet, sometimes he found himself wanting to laugh as well...
’Dammit, why isn’t anyone coming to help?’ He cursed; surviving for so long was already insane.
In his imprisonment, Slave 135 wondered why no reinforcements came.
The question lingered.
He wished for help.
He could feel that the body had reached its limit long ago. Slave 135 was desperate. He was afraid the warrior would not be able to hold out till the end.
But the heart did not.
Slave 135 couldn’t understand... He would have fallen into despair long ago.
He would have died tens of times even.
Yet the warrior wasn’t feeling any of these things in the slightest. Maybe Slave 135 was more aware of the current deteriorating state of the warrior’s body than the warrior himself.
He was long lost in battle.
In survival.
In the quiet joy of ruling the battlefield alone.
Like a wave, madness rose.
Madness that devoured fatigue and pain.
Madness that consumed hunger, thirst, and accumulating damage.
Madness that erased the need for sleep.
It replaced everything with belief.
Faith.
Faith in the self. In his his existence.
"I cannot die." The warrior’s lips parted every once in a while.
But in his head, like a chant, it was being repeated without a pause. Devouring the noise and everything he didn’t need to give attention to.
The whisper echoed endlessly, mixed with images of fallen monsters and the next steps to take.
Madness slowly became a certainty; he truly, in a way, believed he couldn’t die. And this belief took a physical manifestation in his next actions.
A dance.
The body stopped safely hunting monsters at the edges, luring them in circles.
Stopped hunting them one by one.
He stepped forward.
Then broke into a sprint.
Slave 135 thought it was some form of flanking tactic at first, but the flood of images in the warrior’s mind was chaotic, filled with instinct and other things he failed to properly see.
Before abruptly stopping in the center.
He opened his arms wide, inviting every monster. "Come!" To surround him.
Once they did, it made even less sense to Slave 135.
Or rather, it stole his breath away. The awe of that moment overwhelmed him more than the countless kills he witnessed.
The warrior placed his body where they would attack, closer than ever...
Yet,
The monsters could not touch him. He slipped between teeth, claws, and paws.
Greedy, they struck each other instead.
Frenzy took hold. Blood and gore blurred intent.
Even the grudges they kept accumulating failed to let them off their prized target.
And that very target brought only death. His weapon always found the path to end a life.
’This is like the swamp.’ Slave 135 couldn’t help getting this feeling; the monsters only had one man in their eyes.
The spear Slave 135, or rather, the warrior, held shattered. But it didn’t matter... His dance-like movements didn’t cease, the bleeding didn’t stop, and the frenzy didn’t cease.
The beauty of his spear movements, unlike anything Slave 135 had ever seen, carried a sense of freedom. Every strike felt like a declaration of dominance.
The warrior’s feelings for spears were starting to infect Slave 135.
Yet, all the spears on the battlefield had broken long ago. More continued to shatter as the fight dragged on.
And amidst the slaughter, something changed.
Not in the monsters.
Not in the warrior.
But in the way the warrior perceived them.
Wounds opened by their own attacks revealed fatal points once protected by armor-like hide, and these very fatal points were what the warrior sought.
It was like the warrior was exploiting them, or studying their structure.
Eyes that could see death, or rather, had memorized where a strike would lead to death. Stripping monsters of their form within the realm of imagination.
Or so was the conclusion Slave 135 reached.
Then, amidst the endless call of death, something began to approach.
The body sensed it.
So did Slave 135.
It wasn’t hostile for once, yet...
Their reactions were opposites.
One felt hope.
Salvation.
The other felt something darker.
Theft.
"We’ve come with reinforcements!" A voice rang out.
Men charged forward. They were a small army.
The warrior turned.
His voice was ragged, torn.
"THIS IS MINE.
MINE ALONE.
DO NOT APPROACH."
The command was spoken, freezing everyone in their tracks.
The men stopped, accepting the order.
Slave 135 wanted to hold his head and scream; he could not understand.
The warrior had no thoughts regarding them. There was only rejection.
Their help was denied.
Was it late?
Was it not enough?
Slave 135, who desperately desired for someone to entrust his back to again, could not comprehend the decision.
And yet it was help the body desperately needed, denied for the sake of a reason he couldn’t comprehend even when sharing the same body and thoughts.
The warrior did not spare them a glance, nor did he have the luxury.
The weapon in his hand was already broken, and the entire battlefield had but one remaining.
A lone blade, wider at the tip and narrower at the base. The handle was set at a slight angle, making the blade feel aggressive even before it was swung.
The body was not concerned. The possibility of the last weapon breaking never surfaced among its thoughts. Or perhaps being disarmed never meant anything at all.
But excitement was evident.
The battle was everything.
He was capable of finding joy in the battle.
Days kept passing. The slaughter continued.
Neither side rested. Both were driven by a maddened desire to end the battle by any means.
The last weapon did not break.
Not until the final day arrived.
Not until the final night fell.
Not until the last monster drew its final breath.
Mountains of corpses remained.
Silence followed.
It was mesmerizing.
Abnormally so.
All of them had died by his hands.
He stood alone.
The warrior stepped forward.
He climbed the hills of corpses.
Mountains of monsters.
Beneath a young morning light, he raised his head.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"
A scream to the world.
To the heavens.
To gods and celestial bodies alike.
A scream that carried a clear meaning to everyone and everything involved in this battle.
My existence overwrote yours.
Slowly, the madness of battle receded, leaving behind numbers.
Numbers Slave 135 could not perceive before.
’78,224 monsters killed.
367 weapons used.
366 destroyed.
64 days.
I defended alone.’ fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
"He was counting?" Slave 135 could not believe it.
Amidst everything, calculations had never stopped.
Was that even possible?
The question lingered without an answer.
What kind of existence was that person?
More importantly, ’What was he defending?’ Slave 135’s mind raced without stopping.
The warrior did not care to explain.
He raised his hand, brushing over the hardened salt of dried sweat and blood caked onto his face.
A soft smile formed. One Slave 135 could feel, warm and gentle.
The quiet satisfaction of protecting something precious.
It was the last thing Slave 135 saw or felt, making him wonder what he was defending.
Yet, before he could start to digest these thoughts, feelings, and senses...
He fell.
