"Arrggghhhh!" Quinlan yelled out of fear, snapping back into reality.
A jolt of electricity sped through his spine, sending bursts of energy through him. His body moved on its own as he twisted and grabbed the man dragging him by the head. Then, struck a knee right below his jaw.
A loud crack tore into the silence.
Quinlan's eyes widened as everything seemed to slow before him. He saw tiny white squares flying out of the man's mouth and spraying into the air.
'Are those... his teeth?'
Thud!
The man fell unconscious beside him.
For a moment, everyone was caught in the silence of the shocking situation. Glances were exchanged while the dry wind of the early morning wailed around gently, causing Quinlan's garments to flutter like a defiant flag.
He found his feet not long after and gazed at the numbers of Forsakens also staring at him, and then the man behind them, glaring with rage.
Even though he was standing, Quinlan barely had control over his own body. His head throbbed heavily, his limbs felt detached from his body, his vision kept being infected by this crimson paint.
What was that Dragon Node doing to him?
The townfolk man screamed. "Arkkkk! What are you waiting for?! Beat him to a pulp I said! The rewards are doubled! Do it now!"
Quinlan thought of making a run for it, but the determined men closed the distance between them in seconds. Even if he did have the time to run, his vision was still blurry and dazed.
His body had stopped burning, but he still failed to get control of limbs— his hands. He needed to get control of it! He needed to move, to defend himself.
In his fogged vision, Quinlan saw that the attackers had closed the distance and a clenched fist was coming right at his face.
His arm shot up instantly, grabbling the attacker by the forearm and twisting it eerily causing the bones to crack. When the man yelled out in pain, Quinlan silenced him with a punch that planted his face to the ground.
He gasped, shocked by his own strength. Yet he didn't have the time to admire or question what was happening, another attack was incoming.
A Forsaken lanced forward at him like a javelin, driving his shoulder into Quinlan's midsection. However, Quinlan held him, wrapping his arms below his armpits.
With no effort at all, he flung him sideways and the man's body rolled on the earth.
His attention was once again stolen by the astonishing newfound strength he had, and before he knew it, the Forsakens fell upon him like a pack of wolves on a lonely stag.
This stag however, had grown fangs.
Quinlan pulled himself away from their grasp, but he saw a flash of silver in the same second. One of the Forsakens had pulled out a rusted dagger, its edge dull but eager to taste flesh.
He came at Quinlan with it, but Quinlan's hand moved before thought could follow, seizing the man's wrist and crushing it in his grip.
Bones snapped like dry twigs.
The Forsaken howled, but the sound died in his throat as Quinlan's other fist drove into his ribs, shattering them like kindling beneath a blacksmith's hammer.
The man crumpled, gasping, blood frothing at his lips.
'What the hell am I doing?' Quinlan's thoughts cried. 'What the hell am I doing!'
Another lunged, swinging a length of old cloth like a makeshift flail.
Quinlan ducked beneath the whistling iron, stepped inside the man's guard, and drove his elbow into his throat. Cartilage collapsed with a sickening crunch.
The Forsaken staggered back, choking, eyes bulging as he clawed at his ruined windpipe.
"No!" a woman, holding on to her baby cried. It seemed that the man was her husband.
Quinlan's face melted with guilt, but the guilt quickly washed away when he remembered that he would have been the one lying there on that ground, and his ill sister would have mourned him to death.
「Bloodlust: ↗」
The image flashed in Quinlan's vision for a moment, stunning him, and the last Forsaken— if he was smarter —could have taken advantage of that.
But he hung back, staring at his broken comrades before him. He circled, wary now, sweat glistening on his brow.
Quinlan was still confused, questioning what that display had been. The man took the opportunity to slowly claim the rusted dagger from the ground, but hesitation was death.
Quinlan caught him, and with only three steps, he closed the distance.
His fist crashed into the man's jaw, snapping his head back with such force that his feet left the earth before he crashed down, limp as a sack of grain.
Quinlan gasped at the sight. 'What is this truly? How can I be that strong? I barely even hit him with all my strength. What is this?!'
Then he heard a whimper.
Quinlan rolled his shoulders and turned. There he saw the townfolk man, reduced to his knees, eyes quivering like a trapped mouse.
His eyes darted between Quinlan and the fallen, not believing what he was seeing. All his pride, his earlier bravado had crumbled.
He raised his hands, backing away on his knees. "Please! Enough! Mercy, I beg you—!"
Quinlan was within his rights to waste this man to mere pieces. But even if he wanted to, there was a problem.
Quinlan barely heard him. He barely even saw him.
At this point, the pain and commotion had become intense. His skull pounded as if split by an axe, his vision swam in and out of focus.
The world tilted, colors bleeding together— red, there was so much red.
Quinlan clutched his head, teeth gritted against the pain. 'What the hell is this Node doing to me?!'
He fell to his knees.
The townfolk man, seeing his chance, slowly got up to his feet and fled, his boots kicking up dust as he vanished into the maze of dry hills.
Quinlan ignored him. All he could think about— though his thoughts were fraying —was the pain.
He struggled to his feet once again, hair falling over his shoulders. He turned, swaying, toward the horizon. Somewhere beyond the squalor of the Forsaken land, beyond the stink of sweat and fear, was home.
Quinlan groaned. 'I have to get home.'
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Back in the Eryndal Empire Tower, the Chamber of Council was filled with the 26 Rulers, the Primary Government and the Primarch himself.
A massive war table stretched between them, and in the center of this table was a wooden representation of the map of Eryndal, while many scrolls were scattered across the table's polished surface.
Magnus Voss, the Primarch, sat at the head of the table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet as the council debated.
"Luminescent Direfangs in the east have become more aggressive," one commander was saying. "Towns O to T have suffered the most, with Town R reporting the most casualties. If we don't reinforce the outposts, these beasts will advance to major cities here in the west."
"We need to cut the losses," another general argued. "Redirect our forces to protect the major cities. Town R is the base town of the Covenant of the Eclipse. If they love these beasts so much then they wouldn't mind feeding them."
"Nonsense! Those rebels do not speak for my people!" the Ruler of Town R declared.
"Always difficult to tell the weed apart from the plants."
"You despicable—"
"Enough of that."
Everyone silenced at the deep, imposing voice of the Primarch.
Magnus exhaled slowly, setting his goblet down. "What you are suggesting... is vile. We don't abandon imperial territory over a few beasts. Deploy a secondary battalion. Have them cycle shifts with the front-line units until—"
His voice faltered.
There was something. Magnus felt something. A sudden pulse of heat that flared deep in his chest.
And it disappeared just as fast as it came.
However, he remembered that feeling. That fleeting moment of power like an ember had just lit up in his soul. Deep in his Node Core, another energy had sparked out of nowhere.
Magnus's breath slowed.
'The Node,' he recalled.
His heart began to pound with excitement and anxiety. The words of his murmuring council faded into nothing as he tried to focus on that spark within his Core.
'It's alive.'
Magnus's jaw tightened.
'Someone has awoken the Node.'