Chapter 8: Thousand Years Too Early Geezer
A whole thirty minutes had passed after the Great Elder's arrival before Tor finally showed up, walking casually from beyond the horizon with his attendant Uncle Mike in tow. His appearance was almost absurd: black slim shorts, a black hoodie, headphones thumping music around his neck, black running shoes, black sunshades. The silver bracelets at his wrists and ankles gleamed, inscriptions flashing each time the sun caught them. In all accounts, he looked like he was just going for an early morning run.
Although he saw the crowd, Tor ignored them completely and went straight to the Great Elder.
"Ah, Great Elder, you are here today."
The Great Elder looked at Tor and shook his head, wondering what he had done in a past life to be saddled with such an unscrupulous child.
"Cut the crap, Tor. Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?" He pulled Tor's ears playfully.
"Okay, Uncle Ter, I am very sorry. I overslept."
The surrounding crowd erupted in jeers and laughter, some even cursing in anger.
"Is this the one being evicted?" one mocked.
"Ah, he never does anything," a woman responded.
"He's probably become a burden," another muttered.
"Our clan does not lack resources. Maybe the Great Elder came to his senses and evicted him," the know-it-all bystander asserted.
Amidst all the jeers, Tor didn't spare them a glance.
"Uncle Ter, is this a national event? Why are there so many people here? I never knew the inhabitants of the Spatial Fortress were so idle," he said loudly, mocking the crowd.
"You're so full of questions and dry humour today, aren't you?" The Great Elder felt a cord struck, irritation rising. Why had he let the crowd come to watch the opening of a gate? When said so plainly, it did sound foolish.
"Okay, Uncle Ter, one more question." Tor paused, looking serious.
"Yes, go on," the Great Elder said, patience thinning.
"Why are we so far from the gate I am supposed to be walking through?" Tor asked, pointing at the shimmering arch a few metres down the mountain.
"Ah, finally you ask the right question. There are some who believe you should not be allowed to leave the village, claiming it does not benefit us. Being the great democratic leader that I am, I have given those who disagree an opportunity to stop you by any means they see fit." The Great Elder's voice rose, speech-like, clearing the crowd's confusion.
"Ugh, you sly old dog. You just want to use me as a pawn," Tor replied dejectedly, knowing he had fallen into a trap. The Great Elder hid his glee with effort.
"Cease your filthy tongue, you trash! How dare you talk to the Great Elder like that?" an elder from Mak's camp shouted with conviction.
"Ho, are you the Great Elder's feelings now?" Tor asked sarcastically, knowing the outburst was meant to provoke him. He turned back to Ter.
"Uncle Ter, I'm going back now. I can't handle the bad vibes," he said sounding like a true Gen Void.
"What? Don't you want to know your story?" The Great Elder asked, surprised at Tor's lack of interest.
"No, you can keep it, Uncle Ter. You said it was a secret," Tor answered mockingly.
"No, I didn't. You just don't want to go because I benefit," The Great Elder thought, his bargaining chip losing worth. He kept silent, knowing words would only encourage Tor's behaviour.
"As I suggested, we should have just made him a slave. But nooo, everyone wants to respect the Great Elder's views and give this dog a chance. So, still in respect to the Great Elder, I offer this piece of shit two choices: become a slave or die!" Roe shouted, malice dripping from his voice, killing intent flaring as his aura permeated the air.
"It is true we cannot allow such a coward to continue living in the village. It would taint our honour and reputation in the country. We can't have that, can we?" Crow shouted, unsheathing his sword as the space around him distorted. The crowd backed away, tension thick in the air.
"Yes, that is very true. How can we claim to be the strongest when we let such a stain live here for so long? Now is the time to right the Great Elder's wrongs. My fellow successors, it is time for the younger generation to perform its sacred duty and clean the stain the Great Elder made," Lark capped off with a heartfelt speech condemning both Ter and Tor.
Tor laughed uncontrollably, his mirth cutting through the tension. Lark and his henchmen grew livid.
"It looks like the little midget has lost his mind. Now that I look at him, he's very handsome. Can I take him, Lark?" Roe asked with a sinister smile, staring fixedly at Tor's turned back.
"tsk, you and your distasteful habits. Sure, but make sure you kill him today," Lark said with disgust for both Roe and Tor.
Roe began to laugh maniacally, his stare twisting into sadistic hunger. But before he could finish, Tor appeared right in front of him. His palm covered Roe's eyes, fingers gripping his head, suspending him at eye level. It happened in a split second, no spatial fluctuations to warn them.
"I'll be taking the filthy eyes you used to look at me."
Roe screamed as his sight vanished, sockets hollow, blood gushing. He tried to break free, but only his mouth worked. The pain drove him into madness.
From the left, a sword flashed, aiming to sever Tor's limb. But Tor spun in a 360, already sensing the fluctuations seconds earlier. His kick slammed into Crow's head, sending him crashing face‑first into the mountain, cracks spidering across the stone. Dust and shards of black rock rained down as Tor landed, stepping on Crow's head, unamused.
"Uncle Ter, the successors are truly trash."
The Great Elder stood unperturbed, watching two successors trampled. The crowd, however, recoiled in horror — whispers of "monster" rippling through the assembly.
"All I wanted was to cross the damn gate, and you all make it so hard. One thing I will not forgive is anyone who makes things hard for me." Tor's gaze swept condescendingly over Mak and his followers, then at Ter. The Great Elder looked away, guilt heavy in his eyes.
"And the second is anyone who plots against my family."
A spatial rift opened. Tor reached in and pulled out a slim katana, its scabbard gleaming, perfectly sized for his age. The blade hummed faintly, the air around it warping with restrained power.
"You scoundrel! What are you doing attacking when they are injured?" Roe's master screamed, dashing madly toward Tor, who still had his sneakers planted on Crow's head.
"Oh, so the semi‑minions are starting to come out to play." Tor laughed, mocking.
Infuriated, Roe's master initiated time pause, freezing Tor's surroundings. The world itself seemed to stop — flames halted mid‑flicker, dust suspended in the air, even the sound of the wind silenced. A void blade shimmered into existence, fracturing space like shattered glass. The elder teleported behind Tor, thrusting the blade forward.
But Tor pivoted smoothly on Crow's head, pressing him deeper into the mountain. His mana‑fortified kick smashed into Roe, sending him flying into a wall with bone‑splintering force. At the same time, Tor's hand stretched through the spatial tears of the void blade, gripping the elder's outstretched wrist.
It all happened in a heartbeat. The elder's eyes widened, disbelief etched across his face as the frozen world cracked and bled back into motion.
"I'm so sorry. When you came up at my back I thought I would die, and while dodging I couldn't control myself," Tor said with a smile, his words dripping with mockery.
"Trying to hit me with time pause? You're a thousand years too early, geezer. Receive divine punishment."
Tor unsheathed his blade. The katana flashed, silver light slicing through the void. The elder's body split apart, fragments scattering across the stone. The crowd screamed, some collapsing to their knees, others fleeing in terror. The smell of blood mingled with scorched rock, the mountain groaning under the weight of spatial fractures.
Tor stood calmly, katana dripping crimson. His voice rang out, sharp as steel.
"So, anyone else have a problem? I have a word of advice for you: don't piss me off."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the gate's hum seemed to falter, as though space itself feared him.