Julian's words rang out in his head repeatedly, echoing a peculiar choir, all of them with the same voice and tone, yet evoking different emotions. Admiration, thankfulness, sadness, but mostly, it was confusion that plagued his mind.
Not long after Julian told him about his goal, he had been ignoring Lysander, going back to his corner to train, as if oblivious to him.
Become my teammate, Julian had said, You won't regret it.
Nowadays, other than the offer that Julian had given him, only slight pangs of hunger and pain bothered to cloud his mind. Since he had half of his food share left, he could still survive if he ate sparingly.
His rib injury was what concerned him the most. The other bruises had already healed to an acceptable level, and even the broken arm he had was already showing signs of being capable of moving.
And hunger.
Hunger had ceased to be a sharp sensation days ago.
At some point, it had softened — something that sat behind Lysander's eyes and hollowed out his chest. It wasn't painful anymore, not in the way that it would gnaw at his mind and make him unable to focus. Hunger was a constant subtraction that made breathing feel thinner than before, and each movement cost more than it returned.
When he stood, the world tilted — not violently, but disorientingly, as if gravity itself was undecided about which was up and down.
Twenty-four days.
Twenty-four days since he'd landed a blow.
Twenty-four days since he had seen the crate of food had come down the r,ope and Julian had stood there, sword drawn, daring anyone to test him, and thinking it was heaven.
About the food, Lysander had chewed slowly, carefully, digesting most of every morsel, forcing himself not to devour everything at once. He'd learned quickly that eating too fast only made the emptiness worse afterward.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Moss and rodents filled the gaps, but they were gaps nonetheless. Lysander could feel his body cannibalizing itself. His muscles burned with even the smallest exertion, and the list of wounds that had opened and bled and clotted and then reopened again had been far too long and far too often for him to care.
Healed his broken rib and arm — the most serious amongst his existing injuries — may be, Lysander still felt that the number of near-death experiences that he experienced during the last days — an amount far more than enough for a lifetime — had changed something permanently in his body that turned it against itself.
He could not even afford to think about the problem more, however, because at the next moment—
Gong!
Sighing, Lysander faced the familiar, deep, and divine sound of the resonating metal gong. The last two times he had brushed with death, hearing this gong, he was frightened and fearful. But now that he had faced it a third time, it was as if all near had gone numb, and all that was to remain was a deadly lethargy he felt towards an inevitable and unstoppable cycle.
It had been nearly a month since he had transmigrated into this hellish place, plagued with so much death and murder that Lys felt that he had become dangerously apathetic toward the suffering of people.
Every time another kill took place, every person who had succumbed to madness, every death by starvation or by killing each other for food, Lysander had counted and remembered the best he could of that person. And counted and remembered.
And kept doing so until all that was left was an empty number, no longer of any significance to Lys himself. Eventually, Lys even forgot the meaning of his action in the first place.
Pushing away the dangerous hubris and thoughts, he brandished his longsword and prepared for the combat with Crazy, or the Cardinal, as Julian called him.
"Stand."
The word rolled through the cavern like a verdict. Lysander pushed himself upright with the others, which had reduced from the initial estimate of above a hundred fifty to borderline two hundred, down to a measly forty.
Artisans had all died out during the second week, and with them gone, the leather boots that Lysander was wearing had become a rare commodity. Wayfinders had also drastically reduced in numbers, and most of them were now Hunters themselves.
There were fewer silhouettes, but also fewer fearful breaths. No more cowering figures or bodies shifting in the dark, but all seasoned in their own way, battle-hardened gait holding weapons aimed to kill at the Cardinal figure in the middle.
Crazy — the Cardinal — stood at the centre as always, hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed to the point of insult of the scar etched hunters around him, yet everyone knew better than to get angry. Light clung faintly to his skin, barely visible, as if the darkness itself resented his presence.
"A different assignment," said the Cardinal, no longer the need to amplify his voice with whatever spirits he used. "Just survive against me for five minutes."
Everyone gulped; the change in assignments had surprised them and caught many off guard. The simpler the assignment sounded, the more unnerved were the acolytes.
Everyone knew, to different extents, that even the deadly prowess that was used to train them to this point had been far from the Cardinal's full power. An assortment of sounds was heard when the majority of the fighters changed their stance.
No longer was their goal simply landing a blow upon the Cardinal, conserving as much strength as possible, and gaining the victory in as few strikes as possible. Now, there was no conservation of strength.
Every acolyte understood, all out from the start—
The Cardinal at the center still has his signature manic and unnerving smile plastered on, erasing any semblance of fondness that his handsome looks might have evoked.
—Or die!
"Begin." Crazy announced.
Immediately, an oppressive and unmistakable pressure pressed on his mind and on his lungs. It was as if paralyzed, and it was as if his mind was consumed by an insurmountable and constricting body of ice. An emotion so immense that his speed of thought seemed to slow down and occupy Lys's mind like an infectious poison.
The poison of fear!
Weapons clattered to the ground. Some acolytes dropped to their knees, and at the edge of Lys's vision, processed by the small part of space in his mind that he had left, were people left and right, either kneeling or dropping down entirely, all foaming in their mouths, iris rolled to the back of their head.
Julian seemed to be in a monumental struggle, fighting back the massive and hopelessly powerful pressure. He seemed to have dropped to his knees, vomiting out his half-digested contents, stomach acids, and all sorts of unnamed fluids.
All of the sudden, Lysander looked around, and he was the only one left standing.
Stand your ground! said one of the Voices, STAND AND DIE!
Find the glory in dying a victorious battle!
Move, fool, MOVE!
The Voices flared, louder than any time he had heard their shouts. They were no longer incoherent, but now seemingly united by a single will. The will to not let their host die.
Taking over forcefully a part of his mind that was paralyzed by fear, the Voices in Lysander's head had seized partial control!
The Cardinal watched with interest. One moment, he was in the middle of the cave, in the spotlight of attention; the next, he was right in front of Lysander. Eye to eye, caught him where he was painfully vulnerable — one small snap, and his head would probably fall off with little resistance.
A world of pain followed.
A high knee kick connected with his face after that, with near instant speed.
A crack rang through his skull.
Lysander did not register the pain at first — only the sound, sharp and dry, like bone knocking against stone. His head snapped back, vision bursting into white fractures, and then his feet were no longer under him.
He flew.
Literally flew, flung like a ragdoll by the deceptively powerful blow Crazy casually delivered.
His body struck the cavern wall hard enough that something inside him gave with a wet, internal pop. The impact drove the air from his lungs in a broken wheeze, ribs screaming as if set alight. Some of them seemed to puncture into his lungs. He slid down the stone, leaving a dark smear behind him, and collapsed onto his side.
The world stuttered.
Before he could even draw breath, Crazy was already there.
A foot slammed into his abdomen.
The blow folded him in half, compressing everything inside him into a single, blinding point. Something ruptured. Lysander gagged, bile and blood spilling from his mouth as his body convulsed uselessly. He felt his spine scrape stone as he was dragged a short distance, then—
Another kick.
This one took him in the ribs, precisely where they had never truly healed. The sound this time was unmistakable.
Crack.
Lysander screamed, the sound tearing itself from his throat without permission. It came out hoarse and animal, stripped of any dignity. His vision dimmed at the edges, black creeping inward like a cancerous corruption.
He tried to roll away.
A hand caught him by the collar and yanked him upright with brutal ease.
The Cardinal's face was close. That manic smile stretched wider, teeth bared in something almost pleased.
"Oh?" Crazy murmured, voice light, curious. "You're still alive."
He drove his forehead forward.
The impact shattered whatever fragile equilibrium Lysander had left. His skull rang like a struck bell, thoughts scattering violently. He thought he tasted copper, a thick, overwhelming taste on his tongue, but he wouldn't be surprised if he was hallucinating it.
Any sense of control he had gained throughout his month-long stay in this new world had completely shattered with the impact. His knees buckled, but the Cardinal did not let him fall.
Instead, Crazy threw him.
Lysander's body tumbled across the cavern floor, bouncing once, twice, before coming to rest near a fallen weapon. His limbs did not respond when he willed them to move. They lay heavy, distant, as if belonging to someone else.
Get up.
The Voices were no longer just shouting. They were threatening to spill out and take over Lysander completely, a unified force shoving against his consciousness from the inside. But it was also due to this support from the Voices that the pain he felt automatically dampens, and he was still conscious. Lys couldn't imagine what it must feel like without the pain-surpression.
GET UP AND FIGHT!
Crazy's footsteps approached, unhurried.
Clank. Clank. Clank. It echoed on the floor like a rhythmic and unfeeling countdown of doom.
Lysander clawed weakly at the stone, fingers slipping in blood and moisture. His left arm screamed when he tried to put weight on it — something in the shoulder shifted wrong, grinding horribly. He gasped, vision tunneling.
A shadow fell over him.
A heel came down on his hand.
The pain detonated.
Lysander howled, body arching as white-hot agony tore up his arm. Bones crushed beneath the pressure, nerves flaring wildly. The Cardinal twisted his foot slightly, grinding down, and Lysander felt something in his hand collapse entirely.
"Too slow," Crazy said mildly.
He released him.Lysander curled inward instinctively, clutching his ruined hand to his chest, sobbing breathlessly. Each inhale was a knife. Each exhale tasted of blood.
The Cardinal did not stop.
A kick to the spine sent lightning through his nerves, cutting off his scream mid-breath. His body went rigid, then slack. For a moment, he could not feel his legs at all.
This is it. The thought was strangely calm. So this is—
A fist slammed into his face from the side.
The impact snapped his head sideways, teeth clacking together violently. Something sharp cut the inside of his mouth. He hit the ground again, harder this time, and did not immediately get back up.
The cavern was silent except for his ragged breathing.
Crazy crouched beside him.
"You know," the Cardinal said conversationally, as if commenting on the weather, "most of them break before this point. Even higher Order Spiritualist specialist would have died. Who would have thought someone who has yet to command a single spirit could not only stay alive, but also conscious."
He reached out and grabbed Lysander by the hair, forcing his head up. Lysander's vision swam, barely able to focus on the blurred outline of the man in front of him.
"And yet," Crazy continued, eyes gleaming with interest, "you don't."
Lysander tried to speak. Only a wet gurgle came out.
The Cardinal tilted his head.
Then he punched him in the throat.
The world exploded.
Air vanished from his lungs entirely, stolen in an instant. Lysander clawed uselessly at the Cardinal's arm, eyes bulging as his body spasmed, desperate for breath that would not come. His vision went dark at the edges, stars bursting violently across it.
He was dropped.
Lysander hit the ground and lay there, twitching, choking silently, body convulsing as it tried and failed to draw in air. Blood pooled beneath his mouth, warm against cold stone.
Above him, Crazy straightened.
"Five minutes—" the Cardinal said, glancing idly around the cavern. "—is over."
Lysander's consciousness, as if on cue, snapped down..
◈ — — — ◈
Lysander dreamt.
He dreamt of a massive figure, infinitely powerful and deadly.
A pale figure moving across the surface of the water with calamitous killing intent, shrouded in countless layers of furious and blazing flames of darkness. That rippling darkness was boundless and unfathomable, containing within itself an infinite amount of suffering. The features of the harrowing figure were vague and obscured, and all he could see…
Countless layers of furious, blackened flame clung to its form — not burning, but consuming, swallowing light, sound, and thought alike.
Within that darkness was suffering beyond scale. Not many pains — one endless, unified agony.
The figure's shape refused clarity. Its features slipped away whenever Lysander tried to focus.
But the cape—
A vast, blood-red mantle flowed behind it, deep as coagulated gore, spreading like a river without banks.
It drowned the sky.
It drowned the land.
It drowned the world itself beneath a choir of howling death screams.
"Hello there, Alistaire," said a voice so grand it seemingly echoed throughout the universe, then, he added with a more quiet tone, "Or should I say, Lysander."
…Staggering back, Lysander fell to his knees and vomited blood.