The Knight of Eight, Doctor Frank N. Stein. He was one of the most enigmatic of all the Knights under the Saint Kaiser’s command, a man of many secrets and mysteries. He possessed a strength and ability that could have catapulted him to higher ranks and greater prestige, yet he opted to remain the Eighth. Only the Saint Kaiser trusted Stein, while the others only tolerated him. Noland too; he could not place much faith in the Knight of Eight. There was just something… suspicious about Stein that could not be explained, but rather repeatedly justified by his actions.
Oh, and he had an assistant named Fran. But no one ever remembered her anyways.
“Hey~! Don’t forget about me~!” the girl pouted, pulling the boy in her arms closer.
“Fran, you’re supposed to be detaining him, not hugging him,” the doctor frowned at his assistant’s antics. A real mood killer, she was.
Fran hugged Erio closer in response, blissfully ignoring the boy’s struggles. “But he’s so cute~!”
Definitely a person that could not read the atmosphere.
“My goodness, what a troublesome girl…” Stein sighed and refocused his attention upon the man in front of him. “Well then, Knight Reiniger. The times haven’t been kind to you, I see.”
“A gross understatement, Knight Stein,” Noland replied, reminding himself to remain cool. “How is it that you found me? Were you following this entire time?”
“Heavens, no. Rather, finding you was serendipitous,” the Knight of Eight shook his head and waved an arm at the room around them. “You see, I was summoned here by an associate of mine in need of services that only I can provide. The knowledge that you had not only been captured, but brought to here of all places, was a shock! Imagine how the others would react to know that the great Knight of Two was captured by slavers!”
“I am the Knight of Two no longer.”
“Well, yes. For some, your chair is considered cursed, and no one seems willing to take up your stripped mantle. Still, the other Knights of the Round still view you as an equal, if only a bit… wayward.”
“Huh. If only wayward could best describe it…”
How oddly social. For a person that Noland never fully trusted, as well as supposedly on the hunt for him, their discussion was strangely… respectful.
“You bastard! Where the hell is she?” Erio’s cry managed to escape from Fran’s hold. “Where is Signum?!”
“Signum?” the doctor blinked at the name, pausing to look somewhat thoughtful before brightening up into a smile. “Oh yes! That woman with the magenta hair. Yes, she was certainly an interesting sort, calm in the face of peril but with a burning fury waiting for battle. Much like you, Knight Reiniger. How kind of her to not struggle so much…”
“What did you do to her?!” young Erio roared at the knight, fighting even more fiercely against his captor.
“Hush, boy. There is no need to shout. I merely performed what was asked of me.”
“And what the hell was that!?”
“Hey~! Be polite~!”
“Patient confidentiality, dear child,” Stein ‘tsked’ and wagged a finger at the boy. “I cannot give out such personal information so freely. If you wish to know, then you should ask the master of this estate… or perhaps ask the woman herself. She’s been shipped out already, however, so I bid you good luck in finding her.”
Erio’s shouts quickly degraded into unintelligible shouts and screams, his frantic and furious struggles throwing his body all around Fran’s grip. Yet she stayed strong, sleepily chiding the boy as she moved to keep him in her arms.
“Now then, where were we?” Stein turned back to face his former comrade, his eyes lighting up as he remembered. “Oh yes! That’s right… Alas, Knight Reiniger, my duties as a Knight of the Round must now establish itself. I expect you will not go gentle into that good night, will you?”
“Hardly.”
“And here, I was hoping I could dissect you without a fight…”
They moved at a silent, invisible signal, colliding with thunderous force in the center of the room. Noland’s recently acquired chainsword clattered to the ground, its engine still murmuring in idle. This was not a battle between mages, of magic or sorcery, but of knights. Fist and feet struck flesh and air, a dizzying rush of hand-to-hand combat. The difference in skill between the two was not immediately apparent. For their onlookers, both knights seemed evenly matched. Noland struck with the ferocity of an angry beast, moving quickly and attacking from a multitude of directions. He was like a raging fire, burning fiercely and scorching all he touched. In contrast, Stein flowed like water, moving calmly in response to his opponent.
Suddenly, Stein’s fist lashed out in a vicious punch, blowing through Noland’s guard and impacting squarely upon his chest. The strike was like a cannon shot at point blank, sending the knight literally across the room and into a pillar, cracking it with his impact. He landed on his feet, leaping immediately into a counterattack. Stein’s leg shot out, striking Noland in the legs as the latter’s elbow smashed into the doctor’s temple. Both knights stumbled backwards but remained on their feet, wasting no time in rejoining the battle. Another strong punch from the doctor managed to break his opponent’s guard, but this time he was prepared. Bringing his body low, Noland ducked the punch and captured the offending arm, rotating and pushing his hip into the momentum of the punch. Stein was felled to a textbook shoulder throw, his newly supine position capsulated upon by Noland leaping on top of him and raining punches from above. With his knees and arms, Stein defended as best he could from the onslaught. He kicked out, hooking his foot around Noland’s neck and pulling him close. His other leg managed to wrap around the neck as well, folding into a tight chokehold.
“I’ve got you,” Stein grinned as he tightened the hold.
“You…bastard…!” Noland wheezed out, struggling fruitlessly against the chokehold. He fought to his feet, suddenly gaining a strong foothold and lifting the good doctor bodily off the ground. With a loud cry, the knight brought his opponent’s back crashing into the ground, though the hold did not lessen. He repeated the slam again to no avail, then pivoting to break Stein upon the already cracked pillar. Another wound was hammered into the stone, a stain of blood where Stein’s head collided with unforgiving rock. Noland felt the hold break, pivoting once more to gain momentum before throwing his opponent away. Blood rushed back into strangled flesh, the knights staggering drunkenly as they tried to regain their balance and their wits.
Neither seemed wholly stable as they lurched towards each other again, resorting to merely pummeling each other with their fists. Bone and flesh met each other as the two men seem to counter each other’s strikes with punches of their own. Faster and faster, this bizarre roulette of clashing fists would come down to the smallest mistakes.
CRACK! Their fists smashed into each other’s jaws.
WHAM! A crosscounter uppercut.
KRAKOW! High kicks impacting heavily onto their heads.
At last they cocked their arms back for a powerful straight, their punches shooting out at virtually the same time. Yet, be it faster or better reach, Noland’s fist was first to intercept the doctor’s face, sending him reeling back onto his behind.
“Well done. You were always the avid student, Reiniger,” Stein smiled as he wiped the blood off his chin. “Always training and learning new arts of war…”
A small surgical scalpel slid into the doctor’s hand, suddenly aglow with a silver light. In a flash, the tool became a long and lethally sharp polearm to which the doctor welded with extreme proficiency.
“Shall we take it to the next level?” the doctor spun the giant scalpel with a dramatic flourish. “Where is your device, knight? Draw it!”
Noland’s silence and hesitation was all the Knight of Eight needed to confirm his suspicions.
“Oho. Not only captured, but disarmed! How sloppy, sir knight!” Stein’s calm smile suddenly became a feral grin. “Sloppy indeed. I suppose, then, you will be hard-pressed to combat me effectively. But that’s okay! That just means it will be so much easier to cut you open!”
The blade slashed the air like a cruel sword, its target being Noland’s belly. He leapt away in time to avoid, but nary had a moment to recover as Knight Stein shot forward with a torrent of spear thrusts, forcing Noland to continuously backpedal in order to dodge.
“Why run, knight?! You will not find the truth you seek that way!” Frank Stein cackled, relentless in his assault.
Faster and faster, the doctor attacked with ever growing ferocity. Noland had to remain nimble, had to keep moving. Remain aware of surroundings; deny the enemy any advantage; use anything and everything you can to equalize. Noland’s thoughts followed these engrained instincts as he sought safer ground… or a new weapon. He swooped low and dove into a roll, picking up his discarded gear. The chainsword roared to life, its rough and jagged teeth screeching as it bit into the scalpel’s handle.
“What the hell do you know about this?!” Noland bellowed as he struggled against his enemy’s incredible strength.
The mad doctor would only grin insanely as he answered, “You will have to beat that answer out of me~!”
Noland shoved a boot into the doctor’s chest, breaking the deadlock. With his advantage in range, however, Stein merely brought his weapon down, forcing Noland to dive to the side. The scalpel split a hapless table in half effortlessly, a feat that Noland’s chainsword would not be able to replicate so quickly. He was underarmed and at a severe disadvantage, and the longer he took the more likely headhunters will catch wind of him once more. This was not a fight he would be able to win…
Channeling a burst of magic into his legs, Noland leapt into a flying kick aimed not at the doctor or his assistant, but at the poor pillar that had suffered grievous damage earlier. And with this blow, the pillar could stand no more, the expensive stone crumbling apart. The ceiling immediately creaked ominously, the weight of the roof suddenly too great for the rest of the supports to handle. As Fran moved to escape a falling piece of debris, she found her precious prize torn from her hands and the gnashing teeth of the chainsword tore through her neck completely. Erio was fortunately unable to see the gore as Noland pulled him away, immediately tucked under the man’s arm as they ran.
“We’re withdrawing.”
“But what about—”
“You heard Stein. She is no longer here, and we will find no information if we are captured again.”
Without another look back, they ran. Amidst the shattered room, Stein merely sighed and dismissed his weapon, brushing a bit of dust off his shoulders as he went to check on his decapitated partner. Already she was moving to pick up her head.
“That really hurt!” Fran would have said, had her voice box not been ripped to shreds by a crude chainsword.
“That’s what you get for playing around too much,” the doctor clucked his tongue disapprovingly. The fight was not as engaging or fun as he had hoped, but he got a good workout out of it. “Now stitch yourself together and get moving. Selvaria’s dogs are coming…”
“Yes~!”
-------
Colored glass and gilded iron exploded outwards as a large body burst through the once beautiful set, a rain of gem-like shards shattering as they met the ground along with a mangled corpse. Following, Noland with Erio under one arm came tumbling out of the now-opened window. They landed into a roll, the red-haired boy just barely missing breaking his head open on the unforgiving ground. He was at the complete mercy of the knight, unable to do much else beyond flailing. Despite his protests, the boy suffered little more than a few close calls.
Smoke choked the darkened skies, a false heaven of acidic clouds and artificial lights. Thousands upon thousands of souls packed themselves tightly within the cramped homes that made up the lower hives, a chaotic mix of complicated architecture and mass-produced construction. This made for a rather uneven skyline, flat roofs and towering spires right next to each other, leading to steeply angled ceilings and empty gaps. There was no pattern, no design used in developing and building these slums, making escape through the roofs unpredictable. Donkervoort’s estate was far better maintained, but it was still built next to a ghetto. Even with all that money, it only showed how low ranked the noble truly was. Amidst the chaos of the attack, their escape seemed completely unnoticed.
Noland splashed through a shallow puddle of stagnant water, his worn boots crunching the gravel-covered home underneath. Focus. Stay focused on moving. The building layouts were so varied that he had to keep much of his attention on the path in front of him, lest he slip and fall into the rabble below. Erio made him a bit off balance, but for the most part the boy was a minor weight on his side.
A higher foundation? Momentum allowed him to run up the wall enough to grab on to the ledge to pull himself up.
A fence? He vaulted over the barrier and landed without slowing.
Warped piping? Noland dropped low and slid under the structures.
In another world, in another time, this would be called parkour, but here, it was escaping. Fast and efficient negotiation of obstacles to minimize time spent and maximize distance traveled, it was almost an art form with how the knight traversed the rooftops. Poor Erio found it dizzying, seeing the ground rush by so quickly, the minor physical stunts almost terrifying to witness this close. And yet, this was not enough. Despite the distance the knight had covered, he could already feel the approach of something behind him.
Two dark blurs rushed over their heads, landing directly in front of the two and forcing Noland to skid to a stop. Black dogs, almost like wolves and as large as a man, rippling with magical power. Growling menacingly, the beasts moved to trap the escapees between the two of them. Suddenly, a bright light engulfed the large hounds, revealing a transformation into a pair of dangerous beauties. Twins they were, with brilliant red eyes and long, wild black hair; bound in chains and leather; voluptuous and dangerously sexy, their pointed ears twitched as they brandished feral grins.
“Our master paid much for your heads. You won’t escape from us!” they hissed in eerie concord, eager to pounce upon their prey. They eyed the two as if they were pieces of meat, licking their chops in excitement. “We can smell you; the brand will never let your truly escape!”
The brand upon the back of his neck (and on Erio’s) seemed to twitch in response, with audible stinging hiss, almost as if it were burning. Correction: judging from the revolted gurgle from the boy, their very flesh was indeed cooking on the spot. The scent of burnt human flesh; how unpleasant, and here the knight thought he could refrain from having to be assaulted by such vileness until a latter date.
“Your barks are as boastful as your masters,” Noland spoke calmly in reply, moving to keep both familiars in sight. “Your task will be a futile one.”
“It is your escape that is futile! We will hunt you to the ends of Belka, slave!” the hounds snarled in turn.
Their anger served only to bring a smirk to the fallen knight’s expression. “Is that so? You have grown weak in living an indulgent life. Your master overfeeds you, and rarely do you train or hunt; your senses have dulled, your bodies have weakened. You are no better than little pups, still suckling on the teats of that worthless master.”
“Wretched slave! You will not speak of us and our master with such disrespect!” one of them screeched, breaking their synchronization. The other, still calm, merely spared her sibling a worried glance.
“I bet even your own bloodlines are weak, muddled and diluted from wasteful and careless breeding. Mutts, without pedigree or pride. That is why your master purchased you; because you were weak throwaways sold for cheap!”
“BASTAAAARD!!!”
“Sister, no!”
One of the twins leapt at Noland, her face twisted with rage as she sought to tear his throat out. The knight merely released his hold on Erio, opening his arms as if welcoming his opponent. The moment they met, Noland rolled backwards with the momentum of the hound, his hands gripping a handful of her chain collar. His boot was shoved painfully into her belly as he pushed her over him, catapulting her into flight over the edge of the building and into the evacuating populace below. The hound’s twin found a similar fate. While she remained paralyzed in utter astonishment at the sudden defeat of her sister, she was assailed and pulled to the ground just as swiftly. Her legs, captured by the knight’s arms, became the center as she was swung in a circle, faster and faster until at last she was released, mirroring the flight her sibling took only moments before over the edge of the building. The red-haired boy had barely any time to realize what just happened before he was swept up again, once more tucked roughly under Noland’s arm.
Rather than continue their escape over the roofs, however, Erio had to swallow the scream that threatened to spill from his lips as he saw Noland leap off the edge opposite of the hounds… and into the crowded streets below. Luckily, a pocket opened amidst the fleeing mob for just a moment, punctuated by an inhuman cry that reminded him that the Locust raid was not over yet. The two of them manage to land and roll safely, back on terra firma, and after the panicked mob they slipped in where they would be lost, hopefully, in the sea of nameless wretched faces…
Or at least, that was the plan. With the boy now treading cautiously alongside of him, Noland watched worriedly as the once harried mob not only hush their ruckus, but move out of the way of some greater force. And indeed, it was a disturbing sight. Although being only four in total, this foot patrol was better armed than entire military squads in many a realm across Belka. Automatic repeating machineguns were cradled in their arms, clearly advanced and light enough to be their personal weapons, and they were covered from head to toe in dark grey armor. Most striking were not their weapons, but the soulless appearance they possessed with gleaming red goggles and grim-looking facemasks, hidden under a blank armored helm. Yet, the fourth one in this group stood in stark contrast, one who stood in white and had a completely blank, faceless mask.
And they saw him.
At the sight of these armored soldiers, Noland’s blood ran cold. He was trapped. Behind him were the Baskerville Hounds, following the brand on the back of his neck. In front were Chancellor Bles’s personal guards, her elite headhunter squad. Even worse, this unknown element among them: a tall and muscular man in a suit of advanced white, charcoal, and silver armor. He was unarmed, but even looking at it made Noland nervous.
In tandem, three machineguns were brought to bear, a swift ker-CHAK following. The one in white merely crossed his arms in waiting.
“Traitor Knight Noland Reiniger. You are wanted under numerous charges, including treason against the Saint Kaiser and the kingdom. Surrender immediately and you will not be harmed. Refuse, and your execution will be brought about immediately,” one of them spoke, his voice transformed by the mask into a mechanical, artificial drone. The accusations sent a wave of anxious murmurs through a small gathering of unwitting eyewitnesses, many of them having paused in their evacuation to watch this almost theatrical spectacle unfold.
What choice is there? Death now---or Death later. Neither seemed at all to be one he liked.
Take the third option. Escape is not limited to a single plane of movement.
Raising his leg high, a Belkan spell triangle coming to life by his other foot, Noland gave his response.
“Tremor「Shatterfall」!”
The fallen’s knight boot smashed into the dusty earth, sending rippling shockwaves that shook the very foundation. Cracks and fissures formed around him and the gathered witnesses, throwing them off balance and scrambling for safety. In that heavy armor, bearing heavy weapons, the headhunters felt a greater degree of discordance, their aims skewed and their balance compromised.
Then, the earth crumbled. Noland, Erio, the soldiers and several hapless civilians suddenly found the very land they stood on fall to pieces and drop them several meters down. A great cloud of dust was thrown up at the same time, throwing the already restless wave of humanity into a panicked riot. The combination of the attack on Donkervoort’s estate, the subsequent spill-off into the public streets, and now this sort of situation was the final straw. As people screamed and scattered, within the thickest dust the others crawled out.
Young Erio coughed loudly as he dizzily pushed himself to his feet, his footing loose and unsure. Take several steps, he fumbled over some sort of bar that caught his foot. It was upon closer inspection that he discovered not only the mangled barrel of a machinegun, but also the crushed remains of one of the armored soldiers. The boy could do little more but stare slack-jawed that the death, still unused to seeing it happen right in front of him. It wasn’t until a strong hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around that Erio realized that they were not yet safe.
“Enough gawking,” Noland pulled the boy along, navigating over the ruined earth. “We need to keep moving. These sewer tunnels are hardly a perfect escape route.”
Dust and debris gradually became sludge and sewage, the intense odor of the tunnels filling just about every cavity. From the highest roofs to the wet and putrid underground, Noland and Erio navigated through their twisting paths to escape. However, even the city itself seemed to be against them.
The dimly lit path had ended, terminating into a large hub in which dozens of other tunnels opened into, collectively pouring their sewage into the abyss below. Wastewater rushed past his ankles and over the edge, disappearing into the darkness. What a pleasant fall, and their “guests” were none the slower; even after all that befall, some lucky and dogged individuals still managed to track down their trail. Cheeky bastards.
Noland turned around in time to see the two remaining headhunters and the one in white stop a short distance away, covered in filth and grime. Their armor was battered and scratched, small dents and pockets where once perfectly polished plate gleamed. Bits and pieces were missing; a shoulder pauldron torn off, an armored skirt completely detached; even a broken goggle lens, resulting in a strange cycloptic appearance. One seemed to be missing its machinegun, opting to wield a pistol instead. At least those Baskerville Hounds had not followed, but Noland would wonder what sort of wolf these slaves had that tracked him here.
“Traitor Knight Reiniger. You will not be given another opportunity. Surrender,” the one on the left addressed him, its voice a chilling metallic hiss. It raised its weapon, an action mirrored by its comrade, red-eyes aglow like the cruel gaze of an ether fiend. The one in the center, the white and blue soldier, made no move. “You have until the count of three or we will open fire. One.”
Noland turned to face the pit once more, his gaze following the water’s fall.
“Two.”
How oddly poetic, that he must choose between a fall into the darkness or surrender his life to the dogs that hounded him. Once choice brought uncertainty, whilst the other offered certain death. The choice was very clear.
“Thre—”
He took the leap of faith, taking a flabbergasted Erio along for the ride, too. With a small, quiet smile, Noland allowed himself to plummet over the water’s edge, an exhilarating and terrifying freefall into the shadows. He watched as the lights above shrank quickly into small motes, until it was only he, the boy, and the roaring echoes within the darkness. Faintly, he could recognize Erio screaming in strange harmony with the rushing waters. And that was all he could remember.
…
… “Hey.”
…
… “Hello~?”
…
“Are you awake?”
He didn’t even realize he was asleep, lying on cool grass with a gentle breeze toying with his hair. The sky, he would see, was the warm spectrum of the evening. Nearby was a solitary rock, upon it she sat. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, he rose and approached the stone throne.
“Ever the sleepy head, I see,” she commented, smiling ever so subtly.
He gave no response as he sat down next to the stone, leaning his back against the cool surface. Hearing a sound, he looked upwards to see her peering over the edge.
“The silent treatment? I thought you were more mature than that,” she pouted.
He blinked at the statement, shaking his head as he defended himself, “No, I just have a lot on my mind. These past months have been… hectic.”
He blinked again at the small hand that suddenly patted him on the head. “You have been a fantastic fugitive, evading capture all this time.”
“Though now, I know not of what I am getting into. The boy is slowing me down somewhat, but he is young still.”
"So you've found an ally? How sweet."
"I would not call him that yet,” he shrugged. “Our objectives just match for now."
"Is that so…” she paused, giving him a neutral look. “Are you still angry with me?
"Of course I am," an immediate response.
She jumped down from the large stone, landing a few feet away from him. Clad in little more than formal wear and a crown sitting haphazardly on her head, she stood in front of the knight. Even with her standing and he sitting, the difference was height was stark. If he were to stand, he would’ve stood a good foot over her.
"Then why not strike me down now?"
In contrast, he was in his Knight Armor, his dagger and shortsword resting in their scabbards and Monde inactive in his hands. Still, he shrugged in indifference.
"This is a dream, is it not? What happens here is inconsequential."
"Ahh, this is why you are such a wonderful knight..." strangely, she had a proud smile.
"And I suppose you cannot explain to me what is going on?"
"No, sorry,” now it was her turn to shake hear head. “The me here won't be able to do so in one dream, and I doubt the you outside will remember much once you wake up."
“Yes… I suppose you are right,” he sighed. Suddenly, the world around him began to shimmer and warble.
“Ah. It seems you are waking up.”
His form was gradually fading away. Already he could see the grass through his legs.
“So it appears.”
“Good luck, Wretched Knight."
She gave no smile as he looked back up, while he had a flat expression on his face.
"Farewell, Wicked King."
The first thing Noland noticed was that he needed air. However, being submerged several feet in murky wastewater with garbage floating around made replenishing oxygen difficult. Panic was setting in, his heart racing as adrenaline once again rushed into his blood. Though his limbs ached from exhaustion and the cold, adrenaline served well in pushing his body out of the filthy brine. It wasn’t dark anymore; rather there was a dim lighting all around, just enough for him to see. The current was surprisingly strong, though there seemed no end to the river just yet. Still, there was absolutely nothing that hinted to his current location…
And where the hell was that kid?
He felt heavy, his clothes saturated with sewage, and the exhaustion from when he was a captive seemed to return at full force. However, he could not let this river of muck carry him to wherever. Noland pushed through the trash as he swam for the water’s edge, seeing a part of the “shore” to which he could pull himself out of. The water sanitation systems within hive cities are vast and extensive, its size necessary for handling millions of lives and maintenance of the city itself. They were, however, rarely maintained and often times left to rot under the ever growing shell of the hive. As such, there were times when drainage paths were more like rivers than small streams, and often enough there were “beaches” along these larger paths. Much to the knight’s surprise, he would find the sprawled out body of one Erio Mondial unconscious on top of what used to be an automatic clothes dryer. A quick check showed that although waterlogged, the boy was just fine.
“You are a lucky one, boy. Let us hope that luck stays,” Noland muttered as he pulled the child off the dryer, opting to drag him by the back of his shirt instead of carrying. His muscles were sore and aching again, a bit too much effort too soon.
There was little else along Noland’s path, apart from discovering more and more junk, which despoiled the grim ambience of this damp underground cavern. Illumination was scarce, but there seemed to be a faint blue emission from the natural crags and nooks, and somehow, this natural light was getting brighter, but that was a detail he did not care much for. He was tired and uncomfortable, his clothes dried thanks to a minor spell but the fabric was rough and stiff. The boy seemed like light weight earlier, but now he was like a rucksack during the tenth mile of basic training. Some rest would be really nice…
Wait… was that a person ahead?
Short. Very short, and swathed in a large hooded cloak. Noland could not make out many details about this stranger, not with this little light. The figure bobbed gently with quiet movements before stopping some distance away from the two males, offering no greeting or acknowledgement. Rather, he, or she, remained silent, as if watching them. Minutes passed as the knight and the newcomer stared at each other, neither of them making any noise or movements. Finally, quietly, the figure spoke.
“Intruders.”
A faint, high-pitched voice, so did it occur to the tired knight’s thoughts. The girl’s voice was strangely loud amidst the rushing waters and unidentifiable clicking. She looked up, allowing more of her face to be seen. It was too dark to make out many details, but even in the dim lighting he could see the reflection of her eyes and what seemed like two more shiny objects on her forehead. Who was this child?
Suddenly, behind her, there were eyes. Dozens of them; hundreds of them filling up the entire cavern before him! Beady, glowing red eyes hiding within the shadows behind her, creatures that loomed high and low. Slowly, they crept out into the faint light, their chittering mandibles and hairy carapace glistening dimly. As large as a carriage, with claws the size of swords and dripping jaws that made the river of trash seem clean, these… giant insects were not what Noland wanted to see after such an eventful day. And from the looks of it, neither the bugs nor the girl wanted to chat.
“Today… has been a really bad day,” Noland concluded under his breath.
Erio was still out, unable to see the horrors that threatened tear his body apart.
Lucky brat.
“Consume them.”
2009-11-17, 11:11
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