The morning was greeted with the now familiar rush of soldiers, their armor bustling in the brightly illuminated room that stood in rank with the wooden palisade that served as their gate. At the center of the mass of movement stood a small cart, packed with parchments, papers, and a few small goods for trade. They spent the good portion of the morning working together in tandem, and Zander had noticed a few pairs of what he assumed were scouts leaving the complex together, sprinting across the glass bridges at an inhuman pace, before disappearing into the vast complexes that bordered the reach of their campus. A small stream of civilians streamed towards the kitchens, clamoring over decomposing bodies and pools of blood as they went to eat their fill. No one had an appetite after what happened last night.
Zander had woken up with a pounding headache, which lasted 'till the fluorescent lights flickered on, signaling the start to the day. The dim, red canopy of illumination lasted until the raid had ended, once the last buzzard was dead or dying, leaving those who remained forced to use any handheld light sources they had to help their comrades, or grieve for them.
Once Zander had regained his bearings, he immediately heaved what remained of his dinner off the edge of the complex, his mind filling with scenes of gore and untold violence, all of which he never fully processed until that very minute. He had been so enraptured with doing what he could to survive that he'd never taken the time to understand the severity of such an attack.
There was no joyous greeting of one's neighbor, no smiles or jokes from the chef, no cheerful greeting from Johann, the SkyCorp merchant, who distributed free aid to those whose wounds weren't deemed important enough warrant magical healing in favor of those mortally wounded.
The man who had saved him from the "pack leader," whatever that had meant, the grizzled veteran who sported a stark white beard, clad in his distinctly sheen armor, joined him as he sat perfectly still, lost in a monsoon of rampaging emotions that broiled and churned within his mind.
"'Morning, son. I see you made it through the night" He said, clapping him over the shoulder, sporting a pained smile. "That was a hell of a fight, one of the biggest raids I think I've ever seen, in my five long years here." He chuckled slightly, his hand reaching down and fidgeting with the hilt of the longsword that sat at his hip.
"What… was that, exactly?" Zander asked, pushing aside any nerves that enraptured him, swallowing a mouthful of saliva with a silent gulp. His eyes searched for any source of comfort, any sign that what happened was a simple dream, or a trick, something temporary, but in the veteran's he found no solace.
"A raid, I'm afraid." He grunted, leaning himself against the back of the chair he sat in, the two sitting in together in what looked like a breakroom table. "They happen at random, sometimes they can happen twice in a row, but that's so rare, it's only been documented once." The man's eyes caught a small pool of blood below his foot, which, while the sticky liquid was gone, the stains left in the carpet were not. It was unlikely those stains would disappear in just a few hours, much less weeks.
"Those beasts, you probably haven't heard of them since last night, yea?" He asks Zander, who nodded in return, taking a small bite of an apple he purchased from SkyCorp. "Buzzards… they're nasty beasties, they come at night, usually in small packs, but during raids… over a hundred is an easy one." He shuddered slightly, his eyes wrought with emotion. "Last night- I've never seen such a nasty raid. Thousands at once, it's unheard of throughout the second layer. It's never happened. Ever." He said, his face steeling itself.
"With that-" he turned back towards Zander, smiling slightly. He slapped the man on his shoulder once more, earning a small laugh in response. "I believe you've seen every type of monster we've got here on the second layer, in just a single day! I couldn't imagine something so unlucky." His smile, while joyous and bright, felt forced, and Zander could tell there was something deeper behind his gaze, a deep concern that outweighed any joy he could emit.
"I- I've seen people hurl themselves into the void after seeing less" His voice wavered, and the tip of his bottom lip quivered softly. His eyes grew far away, as if looking at something from afar that wasn't really there. "It's a damn shame a newly awakened such as yourself had to go through such a thing. Most would be dead by now. You should be proud." His words were solemn, desolate, almost like he was reading an obituary.
"The name's Bernard" He said, his chest puffed out, not with pride, but with confidence, and extended his hand, catching Zander's with an open palm, shaking him so hard that Zander felt he would be flung away. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I never got to fully introduce myself before" he explained, turning his body fully towards Zander.
"Zander. I never got to thank you for saving me last night. That buzzard… why was it so fast? I mean- the others were barely enough to handle, but I couldn't even see it! Not to mention, later in the night, when I got jumped by a few of 'em, something similar happened." He said, his voice trailing off as he recalled the events of the fight.
"Something similar?" Bernard asked, his brows furrowing in thought. "Explain what happened. Please"
"Ah- I got pounced on by a group of five of the monsters, and I barely managed to throw them off, killing four of them, but I was left without my sword. The last one yelled loudly, like it was grieving, before it started glowing that same exact, familiar red. Then it got super-fast, and I couldn't see it anymore. It was a miracle I survived, but was it that fast the entire time? Or does it get enraged from killing its friends?" He tilted his head curiously, lost in thought.
"Ah, you're quite unfortunate!" Bernard clapped his hands in realization, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what transpired. "You ever heard of a brute? Or a variant? A chieftain?" Zander shook his head. He had heard of the term brute before, but no one had ever explained what it truly meant.
"All manner of creatures in the second layer have a ranking to them, given by the system. We've done our best to classify them for layfolk, but a brute is a beast, be it thrall, trapper, or buzzard, that's acquired some sort of enhancement. The ones we saw- the pack leaders- all had some sort of speed enhancement. That thrall, the one that carved up your group of awakened, it was a brute, yes?" Zander nodded again. "Don't quite know what sort of ability something like that would have, I wasn't there, but it's likely the thrall was significantly stronger than its usual counterparts. It's no wonder the mercs were overwhelmed. They're a small group, dedicated to small end jobs like escorts and trading. They aren't equipped enough to deal with a brute…" he trailed off, his voice fading.
"Enough with the sad stuff! Open your status, boy! With all that fighting, a newly awakened like you is sure to have gained some juicy rewards!" His beaming smile returned, and Zander felt a similar one appear on his face. His mannerisms were contagious, and despite the direness of the situation he found himself truly feeling a bit of excitement.
He willed open his status, calling up the screen, which was filled with notifications.
[Buzzard (Basic) Killed]
[Buzzard (Basic) Killed]
[Buzzard (Basic) Killed]
[…]
[2 Essence Gained]
Two essence for that desperate fight for my life… it felt unfair, almost.
[Status]
[Core: Copper]
[Soul: Copper]
[Traits: Masterful Crafter (Species Only)]
[Species: Human]
[Status:]
[Strength: 13]
[Constitution: 14]
[Dexterity: 12]
[Intelligence: 10]
[Spirit: 11]
[Charisma: 10]
[Abilities: Willpower, Adrenaline]
His strength went up only two, but his constitution went up by three! He looked up towards Bernard, who raised his cup to the sky at the news, filling the silent air with joyous celebration. His actions got the attention of the civilians who sat in silence, staring into the empty air with a desolate expression, now grinning softly at the celebratory gesture.
"If your constitution went up by so much… you must've really taken a beating! Congratulations on your stat increase, Zander." He proceeded to chug his drink, gulping down swathes of whatever dark liquid remained inside the tankard-sized cup, before raising his fist to the sky. "I remember the days my stats jumped so much in a single battle. Crave these moments, Zander. Before you know it, it'll be months before you see another increase."
Zander followed suit, despite only having water, but he found it appropriate. The two shared a laugh, until Zander looked up towards the muscled man, raising his head to meet the taller man's gaze. "What does spirit do? I can understand strength, constitution, and dexterity, but I've never heard of spirit before." He was becoming increasingly more aware of the several pairs of eyes that watched the pair, but Bernard seemed to pay no mind.
"Ah, laddie!" His manner of speech became much more informal. He was definitely drinking some sort of alcohol. At this early in the morning? It's barely past nine! He kept those thoughts to himself though, awaiting Bernard's response.
"'Tis probably one of the greatest stats you've got! You used your abilities last night, right?" He asked, earning another small nod from Zander. "You pushed yourself just enough to upgrade your soul capacity. On your status it's called spirit, but it's essentially the capacity to use your abilities" He burped, covering his mouth with his hand. Yea, it's definitely alcohol.
"It's by far the hardest stat to upgrade, so consider yourself lucky. My spirit's still at twenty one after all these years, but I spend most of my time organizing the forces 'round here, so I don't get much action outside of raids." The two of them chatted for the next hour or so, watching the groups of people go by, before Bernard encouraged Zander to help with the cleanup.
Zander helped Bernard lift bodies onto a large cart, pulled along a set of large wheels. One after another, the bodies piled high, numbering over twenty on a single cart, until the two of them hauled the massive cart towards a row of six similar carts, piled nearly as high. Over a hundred bodies took up the small space, and as the two finished their work, Matsuo himself joined them, watching the men clean up the last of the bodies, before ordering the carts to be brought towards the ledge.
A small crowd gathered, civilians and soldiers alike. They clamored and cried, as wives and husbands recognized their missing loved ones. Zander fell silent as their wails rang out, echoing across the complex in a cacophony of pained cries. People fell to their knees as Matsuo stood above them, raising his hand towards a group of soldiers, who now found themselves standing next to the carts.
As soon as the man's hand fell, the carts were tipped over the edge, dumping the over one hundred bodies into the depths of the void, never to be seen again. Zander jolted with shock, his jaw dropping slightly as he started at Matsuo's grieving form. Bernard's arm grabbed his chest, stopping him from moving as the last few corpses fell over the edge, and Matsuo began to speak.
"Citizens of the Garden" His voice felt heavy, as if searching the depths of his soul for the words to move on, his voice catching slightly in his throat.
"One hundred and thirty one. That's how many people we lost last night, both soldiers and citizens alike. The untimely wave of buzzards were ruthless, but your combined efforts, through your sheer determination and will, got us through this brutal massacre. Let those lost in the chaos take their place among the Lord, let their honor guide us through these trying times." He made a small cross with his fingers, before turning around and letting himself out, leaving Zander staring at his fleeting form in both confusion and concern.
"Why not bury them? Or cremate them?" Zander asked, pushing the now emptied carts towards the empty lot, a smaller but large enough room the size of a garage that served as transportational storage. "Throwing them off like that… it feels disrespectful almost." His words betrayed no semblance of deceit or satire.
Bernard smiled, his white-speckled mustache shifting in the light of the bright, overpowering lighting that reigned over their cluster. "We can't bury them, not 'ere. The ground cannot be dub without large amounts of strength, and even then, they'll just be spat out once the complex repairs itself. Nothin' to be done." He said, shaking his head slightly. "Might seem disrespectful, but to a man of the Order, it means everythin' to be buried closer to the Lord. They could fall for all eternity, but it's likely the nicest afterlife we could enjoy." He said, kicking the carpet slightly as the two stood together, comfortable enough in each other's presence.
"That's enough about them. Let them rest in peace" He said. Throughout the morning, his face had been one of joviality, of joyous laugher and celebration in the face of death, but his tone grew deathly still now. Zander did not dare try to press him further, instead choosing to simply walk away. He knew the face of a grieving man when he saw one, and the burden the bodies carried upon him clearly weighed more than he originally thought.
The two's conversation, previously excited and lively, now fell silent.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
[Calm Mind] kept his senses at ease as he sprinted through the obstacle course, Zander's feet finding footholds and clasps of space he would've thought previously impossible, twisting his body in ways that felt surreal to an outsider. Despite the speed, his thoughts were in tandem with his movements, not slowing or stuttering even for a second, trusting his inner flow to continuously supply his body with orders, each step a practiced movement.
It'd been three days since the raid at the Garden, the scarred group recovering quickly, their actions guided with new purpose as they sought to reconstruct and rebuild, a sentiment Zander didn't feel much drive for. In order to counter his lack of purpose, lack of direction, Zander threw himself into training. Under the watchful eye of Bernard, the two pushed Zander to his limits, sending his strength statistic up by another two.
With fifteen strength, he could easily stand toe to toe with an Olympian, his strength now over one and a half that of an average human. His knuckled cracked with intensity as his newfound strength accompanied comfort, the distractions and worries of the horrors that pricked at his past falling away in his desperate pursuit of new strength.
He gained most of the strength in the first two days, and had yet to increase it in a full day, the effort needed to exceed his boundaries more than he expected, yet Bernard insisted that he practice control and preciseness over brute increases. In his words: "I've seen better men than you die at the wrong flux of energy. Be better than them, and you may never feel this weak again." Something about those words just pissed him off.
He hadn't just felt terror throughout his tribulations. Underlying the traumatic, terrifying bloodshed that sent him gasping awake in the wee hours of the morning, was a pitied anger, anger at himself. It was now that he realized that Zander hated being weak. Three times he couldn't do anything because of the overwhelming strength of his enemy. Three times where several people fell in a time of need, because they had no one left to help them.
He was no hero, and had no desire to be one, but he recognized his faults when he saw them. He needed to step it up, but the sudden struggle to increase his strength halted him temporarily, casting seeds of doubt into his mind. He caught his breath, his mind reeling with intense emotion as he ended his training for the day. He didn't have a watch yet to tell the time, but his natural senses hypothesized it was early afternoon.
Caravans of people Zander couldn't recognize streamed in from the glass bridge throughout the day. He watched them as they stepped through the gate, which stood permanently open, were interrogated by the local guards, and went on their way. A small concern had erupted from the people of the Garden, their worries quelled when Matsuo announced their expansion, stating his goals for a larger, more permanent population.
Guardsmen and council members advertised their recruitment of new soldiers, which Zander held a small interest in. He knew he wanted to gain more strength, but whenever he steeled himself to apply, a flash of red burst into his vision. He felt the thrall crush his neck, watched as it threw himself into the unending void. He watched as he was overrun with buzzards, slowly being eaten alive as he desperately tried to ward them off, his pained screams failing as his inevitable doom reared its ugly head. Visions of a shadowy trapper, pulling him screaming into the air by his ankles and ripping off his appendages one by one flashed through his mind, sending a tingle down his spine, as effective in inflicting horror as the unnatural cries of the creatures he'd encountered.
Grunting, he spun in place once he'd reached the end of the course, which had been so crudely put together by him the day after the funeral. It pushed him enough at first, but it was apparent that it was ineffective in the long-term. He took a sip from a nearby bottle of water, which he'd purchased from Johann's shop, which had only grown in popularity after the raid.
Taking a deep swig of water, he began the trek back towards his room. He was fortunate he came when he did, as after the raid a guaranteed room was no longer afforded to newcomers. Instead, the immigrants created a common housing area on the edge of the central "plaza," if it could even be called that. I need a shower, he thought to himself, making his way along the long, winding halls that marked people's rooms.
Just as he was about to open the door to his room, a tap on his shoulder made him spin around. It was Sarah. Clad in the same armor he saw her wearing just a few nights before, she motioned for him to step to the side. "Zander, I've been meaning to talk with you. Got a minute?" She asked, her voice strict and professional.
He scrunched his eyebrows, their tips pinching downwards. "What's up?" He asked, tilting his head slightly. He hadn't expected a conversation from her. He rubbed his neck, feeling a phantom trail where her very blade had been, not long ago. He hoped this time it wouldn't take that route.
She motioned for him to follow, and he did so without much hesitation, the two meandering through different hallways, before climbing the stairs that led to the wooden gate that blocked him previously, when he'd met with Matsuo for the first time. This time, as the pair walked towards it, it folded and groaned, the wood seemingly twisting itself to avoid the two, letting them pass through unperturbed.
Behind the wall was a set of offices and bedrooms, and at the very end, a glass bridge leading outwards. Zander knew there was a second exit somewhere, but not that it was kept under the close eyes of Matsuo and his men. The exit was completely inaccessible to anyone but high ranking officers, which caused a bit of suspicion in Zander's eyes. If there was something you needed to be kept away from the common masses, what caused the action to block it off in the first place?
They moved further through the halls and offices, which numbered over thirty total, until they came upon one marked with a large S, which Zander assumed stood for Sarah. Once he opened the door, he was greeted with a rather bland, but personalized office space, with small plants and sprouts emerging from the walls, which, and accompanied with wooden furniture that looked more like a form of living wood, instead of the typical furniture fashioned through wooden planks. The design was rather personal, giving it a lovely charm that warmed the atmosphere as a whole. In the center of the room stood a large, rectangular table. There was two chairs that sat on both sides, both of which were fashioned like naturally formed trunks of trees that so happened to take the shape of a chair. Behind the desk, towards the outer edge of the room was a large window, which overlooked the massive, cubic structures of the complexes in the distance.
Sarah walked towards the back of the room, taking the chair furthest from him, before sitting down. She reached towards a shelf under her desk, and pulled out two porcelain teacups, setting one nearest to herself, and another towards the other chair, where Zander now sat.
"Tokens, from some of the complexes we scouted." She explained, seeing his curious expression. "Most have been looted, but on occasion you'll find a complex with some untouched goods inside." She smiled slightly, cracking her knuckles with a light pop!
"You'll learn more about the complexes later, if you ever get a chance to venture out beyond our lovely home." She moved her gaze towards the window, staring outside for a brief moment, before continuing. "What do you think about this place? About our people?" She asked, her eyes meeting his. He looked away when their gazes met, shifting slightly in his seat, the rough, bark-like texture of the chair scratching his back.
"It seems good enough. It's got food, plenty of people, a seemingly decent sized militia, though the existence of a constant guard is… a bit worrying and unusual." He started, carefully choosing his words. "Though, admittedly after the raid I've felt like there's not much I can do. I've no wish to just sit here, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for another raid." He shivered at the thought, purging it from his mind quickly.
"I'm thinking of joining the guards, maybe learn to fight. I can't just freeload, I'd feel guilty if I just sat around waiting to die." He thought of the people who fell to the buzzards, those who the guard's couldn't get to in time, left to brutally slaughter any who couldn't barricade themselves inside of their rooms. He didn't want to become one of them.
His response invoked a raised eyebrow from Sarah, and she steepled her fingers, thinking. "Why the guard? I'm sure there are plenty of people who'd take you in, without the risk of death." She was partially lying, he knew. There was always a risk of death in this place.
"Bernard told me about your abilities. You're not exactly a fighter, though that could change, should you choose it. Still, without a combat ability, you're going to be weak for a while, especially when you're stuck in that heavy armor." She rolled her head towards a small stand in the corner of the room, which held a full set of steel armor, accompanied by layers of chainmail and plate. "You'll die, you know. You saw us during the raid, we rely on Matsuo to survive. Our next strongest is probably me, then Bernard and Reiner- ah, you probably don't know him." She interrupted herself, realizing he'd never met the man. "Reiner's our chief blacksmith. Don't underestimate him though, he could slaughter you in an instant if he wanted. He's the main reason our upper wall didn't collapse." She said, pointing towards the walled off exit to the complex.
"I'm rambling" she said, sighing to herself. "Point is, you'll die if you go to the guards. Unless you can fistfight a massive gorilla, you're useless in battle here." She stood up, leaning herself over the table, her eyes closely watching his face as he leaned back, clearly a bit uncomfortable. "Unless you want to die, but I don't think that's the case"
He frowned slightly, thinking. What was he to do, if he wasn't a guard? He didn't want to be a baker, or a blacksmith. Hell, he didn't even want to think about how people got grain in the second layer. There wasn't any farmable soil around here… still, he felt some internal, undeniable desire to fight, something that drew him close. It wasn't the need for revenge, or the want to stand against the monsters that clearly oppressed them, but something much simpler.
"I- I think I want to fight. Ever since I got here, I've been watching helpless people die. The kind of people who never should've had the chance to fight, yet they're ripped apart at the claws of a tiny buzzard. To be honest, it terrifies me" He started, his mind wandering to the massacres he witnessed only just a few hours into his time here.
"So why risk seeing more death?" Sarah pressed, her feet straining to hold herself closer to him. "You'll be them one day, everyone will, whether you like it or not. There's seemingly no way out of the layers, and I've heard whispers that they get worse the higher you go."
He furrowed his brow at that. There were more layers? If there are more layers… maybe there's a way out. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling something within himself stirring. "I…" He started to speak, but his words caught in his throat. He struggled for a moment, before falling silent.
"I know what you are" She said, tapping her head. "I'm the same myself, seen it in many others. You want to fight, but you don't want to die. You've got no purpose, but want to find one. You've got hope, but there ain't nothing to be hopeful about." She smiled, seeing him flinch as the words rang true. "You're weak. Pathetically so." She said, sternly. "But that's alright. We all started in the same place, except for Matsuo, the damn cheat." She exclaimed, chuckling.
"Join me in the scouts, and I'll make you the fighter you want to be." She said, her laughing dying away as she extended her hand towards him, hovering above the table. "I can't promise safety, and the constant death will surely continue, but you can be strong enough to survive. That's what's most important here, is it not? Survival." Her body was rigid, determined, and her voice filled with passion. Zander looked to her eyes, and in them he saw a spark, something that drove her forwards.
"Why me? Why not some of the new people? They've all been here for much longer than me." The newly awakened were reluctant to move outside of their camps, seeking their ultimate safety before anything else. Others, who'd grown more inclined towards combat, were sought after by some of the local groups, disappearing before they were even properly catalogued into the Migrant Group's book of identification.
"I've watched you these past few days, watched you help around with the guards. You're motivated, you just need the right place to push that feeling. You don't feel like one of us yet, right?" She asked, earning a small nod from Zander. "Then you're perfect for the scouts. All of us here are outcasts, deviants, people unsuited to be a part of the guard. We're not some formal fighters or protectors, we're all selfish bastards who just want to live, but that's what makes us great, when we can refine those feelings and use them to fight. You fit the bill, Zander. Whether you like it or not, you're perfect for us."
Zander thought for a moment, possibilities reeling through his mind. He sincerely felt a want to belong to this place, but no place seemed to fit for him. His only friend was Bernard, and that man was only interested in combat, so that barely counted. He felt care for the people around him… yet he didn't feel at home. He raised his gaze, meeting hers, and he felt himself drawn to her offer. If he was given the chance to fight, to not roll over and die, then he wanted to take it.
He rose to his feet, his mind steeled, and grabbed her hand, shaking it firmly, a small smirk breaking out onto his face. "I'm in" he said, his voice now filled with determination. He felt inspired, a small, burning spark of passion beginning to form in his mind.
Sarah's smile only grew, and she shook his hand in turn. She watched his energy change, seeing the same little spark she had grow to another. "Good man!" She exclaimed, her voice growing slightly hoarse.
She put her arm down, standing up straight. Her head raised high, she walked around the edge of the table, her hand clapping Zander's back. The force was so hard, he nearly fell to the side, but rightened himself quickly. He watched as Sarah opened a nearby drawer, hearing a small clink! Of metal on metal, before pulling out a large one handed sword, which shone with polish in the bright lighting of the room. She turned back to Zander, holding the sword carefully in her palms, the edge flat against her skin.
"Hold out your hands" She said, and he complied, raising both of his hands as if in prayer.
She placed the sword in his waiting grasp, and held it there, waiting for one second,
Two seconds,
Three.
"Well then, Zander, with the power dedicated in me, I- Chief of the Scout Regiment, Sarah. Bring you into the fold, to mold you and shape you, to preserve the good of humanity and to bring death upon our enemies." She let go of the sword, finally letting it fall into his hands.
"Welcome to the scouts"