- Day 8: Someone's Resolve -
Clouds passed the pillaged, rundown town overhead, dark and murky. It had been a week since the lockdown, and chaos had broken loose on the second day. A colossal brigade marched its way on a white stone path, through the beige-bricked and crumbling town. Near the front, its brigand members glared down observers who would dare make eye contact, silent. It was near the back where its members started jeering at the bystanders. Their alpha, a haughty short green-haired female with glossy blue eyes took the lead at the front of the pack. In her hands, a small paper fan that was classified as a dagger, her dress, a regal black and red asian gown, an appearance of a ruler of sorts.
A multitude of commoners cowered alongst the side of the road. Some pleaded silently under their breath to be passed by without a second glance, others looked shyly on with a look of disgust. They clung to the walls of the assorted sizes of buildings, heads down, turning their heads up to the streets only to see if the mob had passed them by. Most of the players here were still in a basic set of armor, if not a thin article of clothing. Save the leader of the troop; cotton fabric of red, blue or black, with metal plates sewn on them were the lackeys’ uniforms.
As the crowd left the streets, they spilled over into a large open plaza in the middle of town, where a smaller team, a pack of less than 30, lead by a blonde in a large brown straw hat, was waiting for them.
No words were said, but both crowds knew what was to be done.
The blonde spat out a straw of wheat from her mouth, and grinned as she leaned on her knee that rested on a wooden crate. A hand on the handle of the sheathed glaive that was strapped to her back, her gang drew their weapons, stepping up front to meet her purple pinafore-covered back. The green-haired girl merely opened up her fan with a harsh flip, and hid her mouth from her opponents, her eyes gleaming with malice, judging. Her own army spread wide out, standing by her side and behind her - front lines, with their shields up and weapons drawn, ready for battle.
When the blade of the glaive crashed onto the concrete ground, the arena came and sprung to life.
There came a deafening chorus of battle cries from both sides, followed by the ripping noise of the clashing of steel, metal against metal. Both sparks and bodies flew across the field, a merciless slaughter, and petty observers, with irritated looks from their own helplessness and the fighters’ own recklessness, watched from the sidelines, hidden in the shadows.
Amidst the chaos was a short, lanky young boy, with a bright orange shaggy hairstyle, weaving through the scene with great dexterity. With an arm full of assorted citruses, he was dashing from an end to another. He had to be quick; one wrong move and he would be slain, for he was only a novice in the game, and he had lost most of his starting equipment in the past few days.
Dodging a blade that swung above him, in front, a shield was being thrusted, enveloped in blinding blue light; <<Shield Bash>> was what it was called. He had barely made past it with his spoils intact when another stray strike from a tulwar tried to throw him off. He ducked, his grip on the fruit still tight, continuing to sprint onwards.
Sliding under the clashing of a greatsword and a mace, he made it into the shadows from under the sunlight, the boundaries of the match, and he was grateful for his escape, panting hard and scampering over to a corner. He clung onto his spoils gingerly, thin limbs trembling, black eyes filled with both fear and relief. He let out a heavy sigh as he slid down to the ground, his tiny back against a wall, the fruit he carried tumbling downwards with him onto his lap, some rolling onto the floor. Picking one up, an orange, he started to peel it open, tiredly watching the war as he did.
From behind him, a gruff voice spoke up as he popped the first slice into his mouth. “Hey, kid.” The boy turned his head, a peeved look imprinted on his face, before meeting the stranger’s eyes, which glared a burning red back at his own muted black. His expression quickly changed to a frightened one, as the stranger grew closer to him, stopping right by his out-stretched, muddied feet. He swallowed.
The boy stuttered, tightening his hold on the peeled orange. He trembled, as the soldier squatted down beside him, picking up another orange that had tumbled down from earlier. Holding it up in front of him, she asked, “Does this belong to you?”
“Y-Yes,” he responded, shying away from her. Lying was never an easy task for him - he had stolen them. The sharp gaze pinned him ever closer to the wall, and watching her, the long, messy hair and dark bags under her eyes made it apparent to him that she too had been facing the troubles of the town. Yet, there was a strong sense of determination he could sense, something that the other locals did not have, and it was making him feel uneasy.
“Go-Go right ahead.” He tugged at the collar of his black cotton shirt, feeling uncomfortable with his equipment, as compared to the girl, who seemed to be wearing a light, brown leather jacket and small silver shoulder pads on top of a full set of beginner gear. Her gear was a lot more muddied than his own top and pants though, but to her belt was a weapon. At least she had one.
The female took a seat right next to him, muttering a soft ‘thanks’ as she did. The cluttering of chains attached to her pocket filled up the silence afterwards. He pulled out another slice from the bunch he held onto and bit off a piece from it, as he watched the girl peel the skin off her own fruit.
“So, kid,” she started. “What’s your name?”
“Mamotsu. Mamotsu Akita,” the boy mentioned dispiritedly. He spat out a seed, and it landed on the ground beside him. The girl seemed not to mind.
“Ever felt like breaking out of this city?”
“Huh?” The kid stopped, his hand ready to pull out another orange slice from his own hand. He examined the face of the soldier beside him, whose lips had been pulled back into a smile. She toyed with the bunch of orange slices in her hand, spinning it, treating it as if it were a basket ball. She huffed in amusement, watching him. “Well?”
“I..” He paused, at a loss for words.
A crazed grin formed on the female’s face. She began to savagely munch on the fruit as a whole, which bothered the boy a little. Both of them continued to eat as the war waged on, neither of them quite sure which faction was winning. The tension between them felt heavy, at least to the kid it did, but he picked up a near-by lemon after he had finished his orange. As he did, the peels he had left on the ground disintegrated into a pile of bright, shiny ashes, before it dispersed into its surroundings by a cool breeze. As it faded away, a symphony of bells could be heard, their ringing soft.
It reminded Mamotsu of fairytales the adults used to relay to him.
The clutter of metal nearby gave him reason to be alarmed, and he jumped, startled back into reality from his daze; the warrior was standing up, and she tossed the remains of the orange behind her. He watched them fall as the bells chimed, the garbage turning into white sparkles that quickly faded away and were swept off with a gust of wind. She drew her weapon, and the boy flinched, dropping the dusty lemon onto the ground, bruising it. Lifting her arm, with a gentle swish, she pointed the blue steel rapier towards the fight, the front tip of it passing the edge of the shadows and basking in sunlight.
“My name is Sen. Senryuu Aisis.” The soldier slowly twisted her wrist, left to right, as if turning a spit roast, all the while observing the light shine and reflect on the edge of her blade, completely mesmerized. “I’ve been fighting on the outskirts of town since two days ago. Got sick and tired of those damn trouble makers. Now I’m here to return the favour.” Her statement sounded vengeful and unforgiving. She continued, “I'm going to survive, kid. What do I call you?”
He stared, mouth gaping, his throat parched. Gulping, he offered, “Mamotsu, ma’am.”
“Mamotsu. Just Mamotsu, then?” She scoffed, before continuing. “This isn’t the only obstacle I have to get rid of. Remember that server-wide message on day two?”
Ah, yes, that announcement. Akita nodded, recalling the details; ‘Reach the base of the castle of Aincrad within 30 days. Failure to do so will result in execution.’ He brushed his hair, attempting to matt it down, nervous of what his companion was about to say.
“I’m gonna get there,” the girl declared, her eyes squinting, forming a fiercer, harsher gaze. Her lips, too, curled up into a smirk. “You’ll see. Tagging along for the ride, kid?”
As if on cue, the kid hastily replied, “Huh? No way, are you crazy?” It earned him a glare full of silent objection from Aisis, which the kid slunk down further in response to. Her brows furrowed after a short, silent staredown, and she blinked, turning her focus back to the on-going battle. “Your loss then,” she grumbled, before dashing forward into the heat of battle. Mamotsu hurriedly rose from his spot, letting any remaining fruit on him drop to the ground with a thud. Through multiple of arm gestures, he expressed his confusion and frustration as he watched the figure disappear into the fray, afraid to speak up.
Amongst the deathtrap came a repeated, quick circular slashing, targeting the fighters in a free-for-all manner, homing in on their blindside; their backs. One by one the fighters fell, and any survivor who were quick enough to catch a glimpse of the murdering shadow could see the brief flash of a deathly scarlet red. Their leaders were continuing to duke it out - overtime, both their numbers had dwindled, but that was a given for any match.
For each stab of the dagger, a strong sweep followed, like an intricate dance for them. The green-haired had evaded most of the heavy attacks, but the quick, small amounts of damage so far left her in the yellow. The same could be said for the blonde, however she had the advantage; one wrong move from her opponent and it was an immediate wipe-out, an instant win. She evaded a stab, bearing the swipe that soon followed, that took off a minor fraction of her health, and attempted to go for a heavy strike once more. Letting out a battlecry, the blonde brought the glaive over her head--
That dropped to the ground, filling the air with dust clouds from its impact. There was a dull pain the glaive-user could feel, as well as a strong paralysis; she couldn't move. Her widened eyes, filled with horror, pain and agony vanished in a scatter of sparkles, along with the rest of her.
From there came a rush of wind and a shadow, that seemingly fled the scene. The leader of the larger army, still alive, observed in terrified silence, preparing herself from an ambush. In the next few seconds, nothing came at her, but she was still too afraid to let her guard down.
Sen hid amongst the chaos of war. Now was not the time to strike; not yet. Picking off more soldiers in the red, battlers who were unaware of her assassinations, she felt herself growing increasingly confident, though the same could not be said for her experience bar. Potential equipment menus opened up; the looting system wanted to play to her favour, but she moved on, ignoring the spoils of her kills. She had to be fast, and stopping for rewards would only slow her down.
Her skill was up in seconds.
The leader, still in her defense stance, propped her dagger in front of her, calling over her men to make a wall behind her. With three shields up, they waited, their health slowly but surely regenerating. The leader watched the battles from the center of the arena, health still in the yellow, striking back anyone that would dare lunge at her, her eyes searching fervently for the assassin.
With a blow coloured in red, Sen tackled her from above and behind, blazing with intense fury. The deafening warcry made her victim turn around in fear, and with one swift downwards slash, she cut through the dagger-user's face, shattering her body into a collection of dust. Enraged, her men cried out and began to ready a counter attack as she landed, but with complex evasive maneuvers, the slayer dodged their barrage of charge attacks, leaping out of range and back into the messy battlefield.
Within minutes, the rest of the fighters fell, to one side or another. The loner quickly finished off the soldiers who had concluded their fight, taking out opponents for her. Some of the attacks were targeted towards her, and she evaded most of them with skill, taking and deflecting a few hits every so often. They were quick, she admitted, but she knew she was faster. Racing about the circumference of the battle field, the crowd was trimmed, and soon the men either fled or fell.
As the dust clouds parted, one lone figure stood upon the deserted plaza, now stained with the excessive amount of equipment left behind. The girl lumbered over slowly to where her acquaintance was, shocked and in despair. The boy had not been able to eat in peace as she was fighting.
Sheathing her rapier, she approached him, a cold look on her face. Her attire showed signs of conflict - cuts, blood, the girl would have to tend to them later. Her gaze had hardened since he last saw her moments ago, and Mamotsu stared back in terror, silent.
Picking up a lemon from the ground, the almost destroyed sleeve pulled back to reveal an arm of wounds, wounds that would have been bleeding if they were in the real world, but they weren't. Sen tossed it up and down in front of him for a while, waiting for a reaction. Nothing, and the girl carried on down the alleyway, taking a bite from the citrus fruit herself.
The battle was over. The game had begun.
