Alkor

He'd zoned out.

But that happens, sometimes when you spend the majority of your time alone. People came to the NPCs to do quests and interacted right next to one another all the time, and sometimes never interacted at all. Closest in that they were all trapped in the world together, and yet farthest away because some people were always looking back over their shoulders. Trust was forged in battle, but many people had not gone out into the world immediately to become stronger and risk their lives. Some people had only just started their journeys, and unfortunately, they found difficulty in forging connections with people like Alkor, who didn't often make their way back to the first floor to help newbies. Not anymore, at least. There were plenty of people who did that, to the point where he no longer felt any need. 

So when he realized that this girl was talking to him and not to the NPC, he blinked. "Wait. were you talking to me?" he asked, looking toward the woman awkwardly. It made sense. She hadn't said anything for several beats longer than he would have expected when interacting with a quest giver. "Uhm, sorry, what was that?" His eyes shifted to one side and then the other, not making eye contact for a moment before he finally had to look at her nose like someone at some point had taught him was a good way of giving people the illusion that he was looking directly at them. 

It's completely normal for people to ignore other people when they don't know them, right...? 

It was not a very colorful conversation, granted. The last time that Alkor and Baldur spoke, it was with weapons more than words. They were fundamentally different people. Baldur was the type of man who could see the struggles of others and held out a hand to help guide them through. Warmth, of personality and of passion, he was a flame in his own right. Alkor was cold by contrast, the way he interacted was aloof and distant, filled with intrinsic value and seeking meaning within himself. Both men wanted to help others, and in their own ways, shined a beacon- it was that Baldur was a lantern, kept close and comfortable to a group, while Alkor was a lighthouse. You could see him, his light kept you safe; but one was never meant to come too close. His firelight was warm inside and unto himself, and not meant for anyone else. 

"I can't say that I blame her for the doubt." If she had little interaction with Baldur prior to this, it was impossible for her to know what kind of person he was. And since she was there at the scene when he seemingly died, to hear him say that 'Alkor is alive' was even more dubious.

And when Kiru added her own perspective, the pieces clicked and fit together perfectly. "I can't imagine," he said, completely honest. There wasn't any time Alkor could remember that someone might have a reason to want him dead. In the times where Player Killers ran rampant, he was a frontline player who tirelessly sought to clear boss fights and trained endlessly toward that end. There was little interaction with others, except things that were forced on him or completely chance. The people who did know him were allies, bound by their shared fate inside of Aincrad. So the fallout from the earlier raid group, the infection of Player Killers, and now this... that was how things had transpired during his absence. There was something somber about that harsh truth.

Then, she seemed to show something she wanted to keep hidden. "Everyone thought I was," he said. "And there was a long time where I thought so, too."

When she said that she felt like she'd failed him, he paused. What would Lessa have done in this situation? That was all he could think as she began on a dark spiral that would have had no end. Alkor took a step forward, placed an arm around her shoulders and gave her a very awkward side hug. It wasn't quite what the blonde woman would have done, and he didn't squeeze tightly or hold her against her will. "Nah," he said, releasing her almost as quickly as he'd embraced her. "You did what you could. Everyone in a boss fight knows what they signed up for. No one can blame you if things go poorly. We prepare all we can, and then its a coin toss. We just have to hope for the best and be ready for the worst."

Twilight came on like Winter's breath. White smoke billowed from his lips as Alkor watched the horizon for the pair he had agreed to meet, periodically glancing toward the eastern sky where pastel oranges and yellows were consumed by deeper reds, violets, and the expansive darkness beyond. Stars began to flicker into existence, several more each time that he did. He was able to count several before Kiru and Baldur came into view, silently welcoming the night as well as the newcomers. The High Fields of Crossing were uniquely lit in several areas, and this one was no exception. It was one of the meeting spots that was often utilized by Players. 

Kiru was a ghost of the past in many ways, a relic of the Azure Brigade, of the old Frontlines, of a time when people were more vigilant and perhaps even hardcore about clearing. She also represented the shade of a harsh reality, one he'd learned about too late because of how his own "death" had transpired. The infighting between frontliners, the enmity that led to Zelrius' fate, and even the rise of a PK reign of terror that ultimately culminated in a Pax Aincrad- the faux peace that had set in, the lull in which they had managed to clear floors without incident. If she was back, how many of the others would inevitably come out of self-imposed exile? Would they want a return to form, a call to power, an initiative to spark new life in the frontlines?

Or perhaps she was alone and terrified, much the same as he had been when his eyes opened once more. There were always answers, but Alkor had learned that impulse often did not earn the best of them. If she contacted him, it was because she had questions of her own- almost certainly not simply about Baldur, because the two of them had not seen each other in a long time. In fact, as he seemed to recall, she was part of the floor nine boss fight. The Hydra still haunted him, even years after its fiery gullet almost spelled the end of his story. He could feel the heat in his blood as she greeted him, the molten liquid crawling across his skin...

"It has been," he agreed, offering a respectful nod of his head to the woman in greeting, then his eyes moved to the Samurai. "Baldur," he greeted the man with a nod, slightly deeper.

Little more than a whisper, Alkor stepped from the shadows of the teleporter and onto the second floor. It marked the beginning of many adventures, a place beyond the first real challenge that Aincrad placed before its prisoners. Dauntless, in a word. To say that he was unshaken by the memories of his first few steps off of the first floor was an understatement. Alkor had become increasingly numb to his earliest memories of this accursed world and the system that controlled it. Every battle, every victory, every conquest hollowed him out a bit more, leaving only the husk. In order to become part of the salvation of others, he had to break himself of those old habits. Impulse, anger, direct aggression. With every breath, he forgave another of the horrors that were inflicted on him. The misunderstandings and grievances that were a part of the human condition meant nothing before the cursed crawl of time. There could be no conflict between them if he was expected to save them.

He had to grow; and many parts of him had to die.

Baldur. If what Kiru said was to be believed, the so-called "Gaijin Samurai" would likely be at the meeting place as well. The still somewhat smoldering memories of their last exchange played in his head. He'd given an earnest reply to the man's questions. How he had lived. Why things with Mari and Lessa had spiraled out of hand. How he had no desire to be part of any of it. And true to form, the elder man imparted Alkor with brutally honest wisdom, that sometimes, men aren't granted the freedom to choose. Rather, perhaps it was more apt to say that the things he could choose and the things that would be chosen for him were two separate things. Alkor was free to choose to keep distance from the women, but how they felt or chose to respond were outside the realm of his control. 

It was a lesson that haunted him, in the shadow of every step. Alkor put down the blade of a DPS and took on the armor of a Tank to give himself thicker skin literally, but it would do nothing for him in the figurative sense. Personal growth took more than simply Experience Points to achieve. Every fight, every interaction- every time he was called on to be a part of something greater, that part of him that resented the rest of society became quieter; and with it, he became a bit more somber. 

The same concept had been explained to him by his grandmother once, he remembered, though he hadn't fully comprehended what she meant back then. Sometimes in life, we have to do things we don't want to do. Things we don't like, or that we're not comfortable with. As you go through life, you'll learn to stretch the limits of your comfort zone, and at times, even live uncomfortably outside of it. Comfort is something that we're only afforded an unlimited amount of as children. Adulthood is understanding and embracing that you don't always get to live in the box that your parents made for you. And sometimes, I hate to say it, but I feel horrible for having tried my best to keep that box intact around you and safe from harm. A bird doesn't learn to fly if it never leaves the nest, Thom. I'm always afraid that I inadvertently clipped your wings, and I'm so so sorry. You may not hate more for it right now, but there may come a day when you do.

And I hope it doesn't, but I want you to know, just in case it does. Take the steps you need to take, or you're never going to get your feet off the ground and fly.

Then, one day, he'd told Baldur without thinking, I have to learn to walk before I can fly.

Damn, it came full circle.

The High Fields of Crossing were somewhat of a hike from Urbus. The second safe zone and major meeting hub of Floor 2 was expansive, unguarded, but also free from monsters. It had been a perfect place for meetings, and in a different time, a killing field for the myriad PKers. The world had become less tumultuous since then, but many people could still feel the lingering resentment and sadness from those who were no longer alive. There were those who remembered, and those who tried to forget, as well as those who were fortunate enough to never have known. Now, they had become one unit- those who sought freedom. Times had changed, perhaps for the better, but certainly trending in a positive direction. They had to change with the times, or become relics of a time lost.

The Alkor that stood now near the entrance to the fields was not the Alkor who stood there many times before.

He was a furnace. Empty, save for when it was lit. And the darkness in his eyes reflected that, contrasted by the sullen smile he wore whenever someone was watching.

The notification flashed before his eyes as he hefted the blade from the still free-flowing stream of red pixels. Fragments of data coded to look like flesh, blood, bone, and sinew had decomposed rapidly in the final moments after he carved the behemoth creature in twain; but Alkor did not seem to sweat from the effort. There was a slight frown on his lips.

Guess that's the limit of how far I can get with these enemies...

Frustration was coming to the apex only to find that the summit was, in reality, higher than he had originally thought. The difference was that instead of facing his own reflection, he'd started to gaze out into the world around him. Bonds forged with others, and the struggles and trials they'd faced together had shown Alkor much greater enemies to conquer on his tireless, endless quest to improve. Rather than cutting down these foes and feeling empty, he glut himself on them until they no longer satisfied him.

Then, as he had done now countless times, he had been forced to search for new prey. But that suited him fine. At least his enemies were clear now. At least there was victory to be found. 

When he'd been fighting against himself, every day had felt like a failure. Compared to that, even this small frustration felt like nothing. He let out a sigh of contentment as he tapped the notification and opened the message, equal parts confused and interested when he learned the name of the sender.

Now, that was a name he'd not heard in... many, many moons.

His brow furrowed as he read the short, albeit direct message and saw the name Baldur. Unexpected. Those were two people he wasn't expecting to see occupying the same space. But in this world, nothing was completely unrealistic.

If she's asking for a favor from me, I can't rightly refuse, he thought, sheathing Witchfang across his back. The Stygian armor that he wore swallowed even the moonlight rather than reflecting it, leaving only the specter of his blonde hair as he made his way back toward the floor hub. 

I owe it to Zel.

Unlike Alkor, the Blood Bucaneer hadn't been granted a second chance at life. Zelrius hadn't had many friends. In another reality, Alkor would have probably been convinced to join the Azure Brigade. They had been friends, if a bit rough with each other. Zel had pushed Alkor to get stronger, even if he never saw him as a rival. Zelrius didn't look at the people he saw as beneath him.

But he did encourage and foster their growth. That was how- and why- Alkor had finally decided to join the Frontlines. Because...

If you're strong, you have an obligation to use that strength. If you don't, you're wasting your potential. You might as well be dead.

That was just the kind of guy he was. Not always nice, but always honest. Even if it was brutal. Alkor had respected that.

And he'd internalized it, to some degree.

"Floor 2," he intoned quietly as he stepped onto the teleporter, and within moments, he was spirited away.

Quote

To: Kiru

"High Fields of Crossing. Twenty minutes. I'll be waiting.

The bear had thrown him aside, hard enough to slam into a nearby tree and splinter it. Aching in the muck, Alkor had spent the last minute from his spinning head. Koga had seized the moment, jumping in heroically to take Callisto's attention for himself- for better or for worse. That wasn't ideal, even if he had come prepared to do just that. Koga was equipped to hold on to the hate, but not to keep it for long. This was the contingency. Give Alkor enough time to collect himself so that he could do the job he was supposed to be doing. Now, it was his turn to return the favor. Keep Koga alive, just as he'd done for the rest of the group.

Alkor slowly fought his way back to his feet, reeking of death and rot, hand gripping his wicked blade tightly, driving it deeper into the mud. With his eyes narrowed, he grit his teeth, seething. the burning of his flesh, the smoky darkness that permeated his body deepened in accordance with his venom. The hatred, the vitriol that sloughed off him like decayed flesh. His gaze drove daggers into the beast, his trembling body forcing each slow step toward it as he burned himself alive. He placed a metal palm on Koga's shoulder as the man stood firmly in the face of the creature, not taking his eyes off his victim.

"This burden is mine," he intoned. "You should never have  had to bear it at all."

He took a deep breath, and his voice plummeted into the abyss with him. The grave sound scratched at the tattered psyche of the beast, filling its disjointed thoughts with nothing but the Dark Knight.

"Never again."

Placeholder

Undaunted as the creature pounced with a savage grace that seemed unreal given its form, Alkor stood fast. The creature assailed him with putrid breath, roaring in his face as it bared ichorous fangs, flesh sloughing off bone and sinew. He had just enough time to make notice of a chip in its half-gone face, a place where the ursine skull faltered. When it practically unhinged its jaw and brought its wicked fangs to bear, one hand plunged fingers into the hole, securing an iron grip. It was going to get hold of him, but that worked in everyone's favor.

Alkor, after all, had always intended to be its target.

His left hand- blade poised defensively, was caught inside the beast's massive maw. As it bounded to create distance, the man thrust his blade upward. It tore through the meat at the roof of the creature's mouth, but did not manage to prompt it to drop him. Instead, Callisto seemed not to care at all.

Alkor kicked his free leg to the ground and dug one heel into the dirt, stealing a glance back over his shoulder. The situation was not as under control as he wanted it to be- but if one of the others could get there, to him...

The wicked edge of Witchfang had made its way through the boss' cranium, standing tall like a Midnight Black Standard. It waved over the rest of the group, seeking to inspire confidence that Alkor was indeed fighting back, even if it looked very much to not be the case.

"You can't even suffer anymore..." Alkor whispered, less empathetic toward the bear than filled with pity. "...so you lash out at everything, looking to ease the pain by spreading it to others."

He pulled the creature tight, as much intent on not letting it take its eyes off him as it refused to let him go free.

"Wildfire is indiscriminate." Alkor clenched his fist, a death deathgrip on Callisto's skull. "It only knows how to destroy. This pain we share... it will never heal us."

His eyes shut, Alkor smirked.

"But that's fine with me."

They had only just broken into their groups, but it seemed that the enemy would not give them time to regroup. A guttural sound permeated the pit of death, the unholy marriage between a beastial roar and a charnel house. The others threw themselves full tilt toward the creature, fully eschewing greater caution in favor of destructive output. Rather, in doing so, they placed full faith in the supporting cast to carry out the more grim labors.

Keeping the troupe alive. Preventing them from taking lethal damage. Standing between them and certain death. There had been a time when Alkor failed to appreciate the danger, considered the sacrifice of damage to be a hindrance more than a boon. He had learned the hard way just how much it took to stand in the way of a deathblow undaunted.

Oscar, it seemed, was not off to a strong start. The man plowed forward with every intention of giving the creature hell, only to find himself emptying the contents of his stomach into the moor. Alkor's expression remained unchanged despite this, quickly refocusing onto the rest of the group. He had to monitor their output, to see who was in the greatest danger. He had to know where each of them were, and make quick decisions about where he needed to be in turn.

Morningstar first, then Katoka struck true. They were well on their way, placing nicks and gouging out flesh from the creature's hide. Uncanny how the system showed just how unphased the beast was at losing any amount of its mass. It taunted them all, leering, snarling, snapping at them the throes of mindless hatred. Alkor could feel the enmity. Perhaps even more intimately now than ever before, he could truly empathize with that particular emotion.

Where the others raced forward full tilt, his own stride was slow, purposeful. Alkor reached to the haft of his weapon and gripped the hilt tightly, releasing Witchfang from its resting place. Each step he took displaced turgid water, and the swamp gas bubbled and popped, which in turn sent a rancid odor wafting over him.

If it bothered him, he made no indication.

I need a minute.

"Take what time you need," Alkor spoke quietly to the man as he passed by.

Next!

Alkor brought his wicked blade into guard, taking a deep breath. The Calm was past them now. The Storm had arrived.

As he exhaled, the gentle, almost nonexistent presence that surrounded him burned away, melted by red-black flames summoned forth by his passive Hatred Generation. He poured willpower consciously into that font of ruin, tapping deep into his subconscious, striking a vein in his psyche and bleeding malice out into the world.

There were all kinds of Players in Aincrad. Many tanks, some of whom prided themselves on protecting, the gallant motif of a white knight, even a berserker who stood strong and relentless in the face of adversity.

Alkor's greatest enemy had always been himself, and in waging that war, he had found his own method. 

He lifted his hand, beckoning, taunting, daring the beast to gaze upon him. To see him, and him alone. The others would carve the life from Callisto, but Alkor would become the creeping death that finally released the creature from its suffering.

He opened his mouth, and uttered a singular, powerful phrase. All of his cruelty and his malice culminated there, impregnating the simple sounds with immense pressure.

"Burn with me."

A wraith shambled into the room, at home with its surroundings. 

The hood that fell over his eyes cast a shadow over most of his face, beyond the pale jawline and thin line that formed his lips. He blew through the stench of death like a black wind, carrying it with him like an old, haggard friend. Perhaps it was- twice now he had faced the strongest creatures of Aincrad, once to sleep for what seemed like an eternity. He did not fear it the way he once did; yet in not fearing it, the Phoenix had learned the importance of staving it off. Like a creature denied oblivion, he crawled the surface of the flying castle's floors, a wretched blemish on the system, a pock mark denoting failure.

For so long, Alkor sought to burn through the candle of his life for the sake of others, melting away enemies, burning, mowing them down- but the flames of rebirth slowly burned at him as well. Charred black, he had learned the emotions of others, heard their pleas, harkened to their cries. The bonds he forged were meaningful, if not to him, then to those around him. Where once he had been selfish as a child, seeking to cast aside relationships, taking zero accountability for who or what he hurt on the path, the Dark Knight had grown. His eyes no longer held the glimmer or light of youth. As he joined those who had gathered for battle, he pulled away the cowl that obscured his eyes, revealing the fatigued, black bags that lay beneath amber. 

The feelings that hung in this place were like low lying fog, stagnant and thick.

Reticence. Fear. Uncertainty.

Resolve. Bravery. Devotion.

He took in the myriad flow of feelings, carving their meaningfulness into his very soul. Those who lived, and those who died- he would remember them. He would take their pain, their suffering, their anxiety- and he would turn them into fuel for the furnace. Alkor would burn so that others need not. Such was the meaning of this unlife, the second chance afforded to a wanderer who came empty and had been filled to overflowing. 

"..."

There were many words spoken, some of them heavier, some light, but Alkor listened without speaking. This was their time, some of them for the very first time. It need not be sullied with something he would have to force. Luck, well-wishes- these were things that he no longer believed much in. To offer those tidings would have been false, frail, and unfair to those who deserved better. No- he would offer all that he had for their sake.

I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me.

He reached into his inventory, drank deep of one of the draughts he held there, and exhaled quietly. With a motion, he applied the effects of his Gold Star Stickers.

Alkor partook of the feasts brought forth by Oscar, emboldening himself for the ordeal ahead.

I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.

Oscar feasts:

Gungnir's Shard - A Literal Pile of Diamonds [T4 Mit Feast] used
1/6 Consumed
A Tub of Lard [Tierless Overhealth Feast] | 236032 used
2/6 Consumed

Alkor consumables:

Gold Star Stickers
Tier 1 Unique Consumable | Charges: 0/3 | Untradable. +1 DMG, +1 LD or +15MIT for one thread. Stacks on top of other food/alchemical consumable buffs, but does not stack with Scent of the Wild totems.
Cerberus Soul: Adds 12 Burn damage for two turns to a weapon on a Natural BD roll of 8-10 for the duration of the thread. Does not stack with the Burn Enhancement.
Memory of Battle: Double the bonus from Scents of the Wild totems for one thread

[167323] Liquor of Light [+3 DMG]

Bonuses from Housing:

Filling: Enhancing Mit Feast by a T1 slot.

Well Rested: -1 energy cost for the first three expenditures of each combat

Squeaky Clean: The first time you would suffer DoT damage in a thread, reduce damage taken from DoT each turn by 25% (rounded down)

When the message came, Alkor was sat in the lazy rays of late afternoon orange that bled down over the 24th floor. The endless crash of waves from far below flowed together like a symphony, singing mind-numbingly beautiful Oblivion to someone desperate for silence. This was one of the few places he could isolate himself, on the property that he owned and did not have to share with anyone else.

Sadly, the respite was to be short lived. After the boss meeting, there was a short window where they could do what they needed to prepare. For Alkor, that meant the rest and solitude he needed to calm his frayed nerves and refresh himself for the fight. That peace was ended when be saw the message from Morningstar.

...it's a fair request, at least.

He gave an inaudible sigh. Though he could have refused, the thought of going into the next massive battle without any sort of understanding of how his teammates functioned was... well, Koga had spoken for the both of them. It was a liability, and this was an opportunity to rid themselves of it.

He scrawled out a message that sent just as he donned his armor and set out toward the teleport gate that would take him to the destination. They'd be able to talk details once he arrived. 

Quote

A: Floor 21? I'll be right there. Meet you in Tomoika?

Sunlight spilled out over the falls like gilded ink, slowly spreading to engulf the Elven city. Dawn and Dusk were spectacles unmatched in Ellesmera, designed by the great smiths and other artisans to truly capture the beauty of nature as it was, not as they might wish for it to be. The beauty of life existed in fleeting moments, never able to be captured but for the precious memories that remained in the thereafter. This was a truth the Elves had learned that many other races, other civilizations had not.

Mankind attempted its greatest works with the presumption that their greatest minds could create something more perfect than already existed. Ellesmera was a solemn testament to their failure to truly comprehend beauty. That was what drew Alkor back from time to time. His grandmother had spent her life in love with art. The hopes and aspirations of human ingenuity evolved from one generation to the next, but only in a virtual world- it seemed- had they ever managed to get it right.

At least, that was his humble opinion.

The Japanese were the closest that it came to perfection on Earth, seeking it in every breath. Every movement executed without waste, and every act full of meaning and merit. That was how his father raised him, and how the developers of Sword Art Online had intended for this place to be.

It also separated fantasy and reality. This place grounded Alkor, because though he could appreciate its beauty, he understood that it could not be replicated by human works. He came here when he needed humility, to be reminded that this world was not real; and to rekindle the flames of duty in his chest.

But time had not been kind to Alkor. The last time he came here, it was chasing a rumor. He had not yet found understanding, or made peace with himself. And perhaps that was still true, though he no longer felt the need to admonish himself with every waking breath.

The war inside Alkor was far from over, though the heat had waned and the embers now soldered. A cold war, then. Instead of throwing himself headlong into the danger as a blade, he had cast himself back into the forge, reworking that metal into a new shape. Armor, black as pitch, that seemed to swallow the same beautiful sunlight that he paused to admire. A body that stood firm, resolute, unflinching and unmoving.

He reclined with a leg sprawled out across the railing, the other hanging limp over the edge. His back pressed against one of the columns, allowing him to rest as he idly traced the hilt of his malefic blade. Though his purpose had changed, the intensity of his swordplay never did. He was unconsciously drawn to the destructive tool, just as it was bound to him.

One of the Elves bowed his head to Alkor as he passed by, murmuring a quiet yet respectful greeting. His gaze moved to the weapon, dimly aware of how out of place the Dark Knight seemed. From his appearance to the unnerving presence that he seemed to exude, Alkor knew it would not be long before he drew unwanted attention.

"Welcome, traveler. I see you are indulging in the fairness of our city. You have exquisite tastes, it would seem."

Polite though it was, Alkor did not need to break free his gaze to see the Elf appraising him. He let his gaze linger on the sunlight as the star rose just high enough that the water that had been dyed golden returned to an unextrodinary blue hue. He let out a sigh.

It's beautiful because it's fleeting, he reminded himself. He hated the irritation, the vexation that being disturbed brought him. It proved that he had an excruciatingly long journey ahead of him to conquer not only his inadequacies, but his anxiety as well.

With a long, cleansing breath, he regarded the Elven man.

"A simple man who enjoys simple things," Alkor assured him. "Well met," he said, extending a greeting of his own. "And I thank you for the warm reception."

Both of them remained wary of the other, despite appearances.

"Have you come seeking work?" the Elf asked.

"If there's work to be done," Alkor gave a sight shrug as he pivoted and stepped down from the rail. "I'm willing to get my hands dirty."

He locked gazes with Koga for a moment, though neither of them had to say a word. It was understood implicitly between both parties. The planning portion of the raid was important, mind; but many of them had been there for a time already, and things on that front were already well in hand. The best that Koga or Alkor could do was place themselves, and Koga spoke so Alkor didn't have to. The two of them would be in the third party, acting as the bulwark between their teammates and certain death. It wasn't like his old role as DPS, and after his own brush with mortality, Alkor understood the need for someone to take on the position. In fact, his intimacy with the reaper, and how the sensation had traumatized him only served to better prepare him specifically for his new role. 

Koga made another important distinction. While it was important for the players to learn and familiarize themselves with how others played the game, the frontlines were not the right place for it. Granted, after much practice, implementing new strategies for the first time was a different story. What was being discussed wasn't that, though. Alkor for a moment felt inclined to chime in, if only to add that them placing their peers in unnecessary danger was basically assisting the boss, he deemed it unnecessary. An accusatory tone in this venue would only serve to sow dissension and tear a deep rift between people, especially the ones who did not know each other.

That would be even worse than the previous suggestion- and Koga had said enough already for the both of them.

There'd been some talk of reanimation... but with what they'd seen so far, that kind of thing had no precedent. It couldn't be ruled out, but the best they could do was adjust accordingly, not prepare outright for something with no consistency to back it up. Rather, the prospect of boss healing seemed much more realistic. They had seen that before on numerous occasions, from the many accounts he'd received from frontliners and info brokers. Worse yet, with the corruption that existed in certain parts of the floor, he didn't doubt that the affliction was slowly spreading. To that end- he mentally prepared for debuffs and myriad status effects. They needed trustworthy support- but that didn't seem to be readily available in this composition of players.

...in fact, he hadn't heard any at all speak up yet.

"So... are we going to address the disturbing lack of support players, or were we planning on charging in and relying on items?"

To be frank, he wasn't interested in the social aspect of the meeting. 

That was always the case with Alkor, though. Whenever it came to the real meat and bones of Aincrad, the bloody stuff where people could get killed and never come back, he didn't even pretend. The mask that he donned mostly for everyone else's sake came off long before he entered the room, a grim expression and bags beneath his eyes evidence that he had spent far too long contemplating the coming trial. The last boss fight had spent him, sending him into a deep and dark depression that he still had yet to come to grips with entirely. His golden gaze was riddled with red, bloodshot and hazy. He looked both out of sorts and out of place, especially given the scene that had unfolded prior to his arrival. It was decorated for a fabulous, happy event- one that Alkor had not been invited to, frankly, and had no interest in attending. A boss meeting wasn't a happy event. The two things coinciding was more bittersweet than anything.

Beautiful as it was, he didn't spare the time to regale with tidings of joy or congratulations. He didn't have the energy, the desire, or the wherewithal to care that it might seem confrontational. Instead, he took his place near the entrance against the wall, watching, listening as others bantered and then finally started to talk strategy. His head dipped slightly, eyes closed as he exhaled. The tension that came with discomfort abated as the scene finally shifted in paradigm toward his element. His Stygian armor swallowed light from above, rather than reflecting it, in stark contrast to his blonde mop of hair. With arms crossed, he tried to glean as much information as he could before he tried to offer up any input.

In the end, it sounded that things were pretty well in hand without him chiming in.

There was talk of working together with new people... old people... to Alkor, it hardly mattered. They were all of them, in his eyes, people displaced from their homes in a dangerous place. They all deserved protection and safety, equally. At that point, he spoke up, finally resolved in his decision.

"Alkor," he said his name, for what it was worth, "Tank, Off-tank, either way."

He swayed as the others raced into action around him, holding a hand over his mouth to stifle any further vomiting. To say that his equilibrium had suddenly been thrown off would have been an understatement- Alkor felt like he had been afflicted with a sudden and terrible case of vertigo, seemingly induced by the boss' malefic aura coupled with some kind of stunning attack.

Two could play at that game. Still channeling his rage and determination, the virulent, hazy red aura surged around him as Alkor drew on his violent and wild tendencies to further enhance his next strike. The darkness of the blade rose up again, as though his very soul called out and willed it forth. Oathkeeper was a weapon of both light and dark, a tool meant to bring balance. That Alkor could only find midnight in its presence was telling for him.

"Guess I should really be thanking you," he muttered, less to the Dragon than for his own amusement, "thanks to you, I was able to learn something about myself. As a token of my appreciation, you'll be the first to taste retribution."

Not the last, though.

Alkor raised his blade, drinking in the darkness, and sent the weapon slamming into the boss' hide. Dark flames surged outward, exploding on impact.

218254 BD: 6 (Hit! Fallen activates!) 12+16= 28×16= 448-15= 433 damage

(8) Alkor | HP: 989/989 | EN: 85/118 | DMG: 12 | MITI: 193 | ACC: 4 | BH: 54 | TAUNT | HLY: 16 | FLN: 16 | LD: 3 

Wushen, Elemental Warlord | HP: ????/???? | DMG: 200 | MITI: 15 | ACC: 4 | EVA: 0 (433 damage accumulated)

Wushen centered its gaze on him as his defiance mounted. Alkor could feel the blood pumping in his veins, the adrenaline flowing like fire. Indignation coalesced with fury, together with determination to keep him on his feet. He faced down the primordial entity like a man who had come toe to toe with his own maker. It was too late to run, even if he wanted to.

But the glare intensified, and the creature balked at his existence. The very fear-turned-strength that brought him to this point twisted inside his gut, wrenching it. Alkor reached down suddenly and grabbed at his stomach, a wave of nausea rising suddenly like the tides.

He fought the urge to fall to a knee, stayed on both feet, but could not spur himself forward. Gritting his teeth, the bulwark of team NIGHT locked eyes with the boss.

And summarily voided the contents of his stomach, flipping the beast the bird, sword still in hand.

The most important thing now was that the boss kept its attention focused where it would do the least harm. With Alkor steadily healing off and taking considerably less damage on hit than his compatriots would, there were no doubts. Giant evil dragon beast had gone untargetable, and many heads were swooping in and harassing each group, all of them with different aspects. What those entailed mattered considerably less than staying alive.

Hell, they'd figure out what they did as they attacked.

Alkor glanced at the Cooldown timer as it refreshed on his taunt, and his body began to glow a dark, hazy red as he drew the emnity into himself, willing the boss to once more focus its energies in his direction.

This time, it was accompanied not by a scream, but by a chilling miasma born from the willpower he manifested from his own contempt and vengeance for the fallen.

Focused Howl activated +6 Hate 

(12) Alkor | HP: 949/989 | EN: 73/118 | DMG: 12 | MITI: 193 | ACC: 4 | BH: 54 | TAUNT | HLY: 16 | FLN: 16 | LD: 3

When she mentioned that it would be a misbegotten situation that saw her put into the line of fire, Alkor showed no small amount of appreciation for her acceptance of the role she had chosen. It was difficult to relegate oneself to something less glorious than adventure, he thought. In a world where the sky was the limit, binding oneself to the dirt and creating magical treasures and tools for others to use but never to truly enjoy for oneself seemed like a special kind of hell. He could imagine that fear might drive some Players to never want to travel or endanger themselves, but how long could a person really go without indulging their innate wanderlust?

Or maybe that was just the wanderer in him, romanticizing the adventure he had always dreamed of. The part of him still grounded in reality reminded him of danger, but danger existed in all walks of life. That was what separated him from people with a healthy sense of self-preservation. The acceptance that not all danger could be avoided. It was also what made him a candidate for the frontlines.

It made the armor more manageable.

now, i don't mean to beat around the bush, alkor, but – what do you think of your equipment thus far?

He paused. To say the work wasn't quality would be a blatant lie. It was finely crafted and would serve the purpose he needed for it to- tanking a floor boss wouldn't be possible with the light armor he once wore, without the proper stats or buffs, without the sturdy defense of something heavier. That said, it wasn't quite Alkor. 

It was impossible to give him a heavy armor that would allow him full free range of motion. Such an awesome and stunning blatant disregard for the laws of physics surely did not exist in Aincrad or any place else. It was possible to shave off some of the weight, some of the bulkier portions, and use plating and gaps to allow for greater maneuverability and quicker swordplay. He wasn't going to be using a shield- that was one thing that set him apart from many of the others. His inherent skills as a swordsman had to bridge the gap.

... has it been able to serve you well?

Truth be told, Alkor didn't have a good answer for her. He did however, have his reservations. And since Iris was a purveyor of goods in the vein of arms, armor, and other such things, she might be just the person to voice those reservations to. "It would be unfair of me to give you an answer, since I have yet to truly experience combat in this garb," he told her honestly, "but I can honestly say that it feels awkward to me, and unwieldy. My steps are heavier, more difficult to recover from if I move with any speed. I'm able to put more strength behind attacks, but the follow through leaves an opening that I'm not completely used to yet. I'd very much prefer something that offers the defensiveness of a heavier armor while also allotting me some freedom of movement."

He had placed one hand to his chin and cupped the elbow of that arm with the opposite. As he spoke, he noted her demeanor, the way she carried herself, how she looked around and examined the world around her. Despite being disallowed the freedom to journey beyond the walls of a safe zone, she never seemed to waste a moment where she could be learning something. Maybe that was a skill she gained that he couldn't lay a claim to, something in the same line as appraisal.

"But I don't want to talk your ear off about armor specifications," he added, "you know more about it than I do, after all."

He had to keep the creature attacking him, even if it's attention were never directly given to any one member of the raid. It seemed to react to the highest accumulated hate, but that number also seemed to fluctuate wildly. As a result, NIGHT, Alkor, and now even Hidden had shared blows from the boss.

There were only so many hits that the glassier members of this party could take before they splintered into fragments of data. 

Alkor grunted with some effort as he hefted his weapon once more, imbuing it with the power of a sword art to whittle away some of this strange new element of the boss' defenses. This way, they could compile a healthier amount of damage more quickly.

He raced forward, unleashing a torrent of rage into his blow, and the blade erupted with unholy miasma. He'd heard of this kind of weapon Enhancement, but never saw it before himself.

Fallen.

Strangely approriate, given all of the circumstances. It fell to him, all of the responsibility. If he fell, they all fall. And how far he had come from his journey toward the apex to this, ground zero of the Frontlines.

The Fallen Hero.

Poetic Justice was done.

ID: 217125 BD: 6 (Hit! FALLEN activates) 12+16=28×16= 448-55=393 damage (SHATTER applied)

(9) Alkor | HP: 838/989 (+54, -80) | EN: 73/118 | DMG: 12 | MITI: 193 | ACC: 4 | BH: 54 | TAUNT | HLY: 16 | FLN: 16 | LD: 3 | STK 2 [80/0] | DSCH [0/2]

Caustic | HP: 1607/2000 | DMG: 250 | MITI: 75  55 | ACC: 4 | EVA: 0 | Envenom 2 [64/4] | TXC VNM 6 [64/3] | Neurotoxin 5 [5/3] (Shatter 1/3)

Alkor doesn't know Raidou or Eruda that well, so I won't sign up, but I will say congratulations and I hope you all have a blast!

She was a kind woman, at least from the words she used. Instead of berating him harshly for not staying and fighting, she suggested that he should be respected for his efforts. Alkor lacked the perspective of a Player who never went on to join the fight, but many he'd met had not shared Iris' enthusiasm for what the top echelon of Players took upon themselves. At best, "better you than me" had been the resounding sentiment. He smiled faintly out of regard for that kindness, reminded of the way his grandmother suggested that people ought to be.

Do good, and be kind; because there are very few good and kind people in this world, and we could all use some kindness. 

Alkor's eyes glassed over a bit as the bittersweet memory of those words returned to him.

There were literal years of his life now that had gone unaccounted for. He had been inside of Aincrad, but not aware. He knew some of what went on secondhand, but there was a thick haze shrouding the time period Iris referenced. How did someone explain that to someone else, though, when they could scarce explain it for themselves?

In the end, it was a mystery that need not be solved. Instead of asking, Iris insisted that it was good to take breaks, and that even if he could not go on, there would be someone else who could. If only more people saw the world through her eyes, perhaps then the derision and animosity that created a rift between Players with stronger, more polarizing opinions might not be so immense. 

And then, she mentioned how difficult it must have been, in so many words, to pick back up again and put on the armor.

Alkor shook his head. "If not me, then someone else," he said, agreeing with her previous words. "But I know what I'm to be faced with, and someone else might not. They might not respect the danger the way that I do. Might not be prepared. They might lose their composure, or worse."

A veteran of the Frontlines was a precious resource in Aincrad. More so than many wanted to attribute credit. "I always welcome new blood, more hands on deck, so to speak- but not without respect for the learning curve."

The Knight wanted no unnecessary death.

Who is it that's so important to you, she asked. Alkor blinked. There were so many people who answered this question easily and without hesitation. At one time, he might have droned on for hours about his grandmother, and how freedom from this game was his only chance at seeing her again. The reality had struck him long ago, now. The longer that this hell dragged, the less likely it was that there would be a grandmother to go home to.

And not just that. To reduce the experiences he'd had in this world to that? He'd learned the hard way that the other people in here were just like him. They were real human beings with real lives, all of them interrupted by the madness of Akihiko Kayaba and his death game. The people he'd met weren't just NPCs in his life. Lessa had a profound effect on him. Her unwillingness to give up on him, while at times difficult to deal with, taught him a great deal about what real friendship was. The two did not agree on everything, and they were a lot like fire and ice at the best of times- but she was someone who he did not want to see die.

And then, there was Setsuna. A little girl who'd grown into a woman, but who had not been allowed to live a normal life. She had blood on her hands, but no one to guide her out of a hell she had no idea how to deal with. She was like Alkor in many ways, stumbling blind through something stranger than fiction. This world had to end so that people like her, people who were done wrong by no fault of their own, could have a chance at a halfway normal life.

Alkor looked to Iris with a much kinder, softer smile, now. 

"You know, that question would have seemed simpler for me at the beginning of all this." He didn't hesitate, instead reaching up to mess up his blonde hair anxiously. Blonde hair that used to be black. "Back then, everything seemed so cut and dry. The game was laid out before me. I didn't know anyone. There was no one but my family, who I wanted to get back to because it was normal. It was what I knew, and I wanted that comfort. But that was selfish and infantile, and there's so many other people who would love to see their families, too. I met them- all of you, I mean. Slowly, and with no small amount of resistance on my part, I started to learn that each of your lives is different, and special in its own way. I don't know you all that well, miss Iris, but I wouldn't want you to die as much as I wouldn't want anyone else to. And I'd throw myself in harm's way to prevent it from happening, at any time."

The world that had been sullen was now anything but. Lunacy reigned in Wushen's domain, new and unfamiliar voices piercing through and staggering the Players as they stood in the face of a storm that they hadn't seen coming. Wushen was the eye, and they had been in the calm of it. Everything they'd known coming into this was a lie.

He bore the brunt of it. Steel lightning streaked down around them, over them, through them. Wounds that none of them had anticipated taking appeared across all of their bodies in an instant, but the explosive blast of electricity smashed into Alkor's body as though he were a lightning rod.

The voltage jumped from one to the next and back, and Alkor who had dropped to a knee was now panting in the wake of the system soaking up all of that pain. He drove the tip of his blade into the floor to hold him upright as he reeled, struggling to assess the situation. They had to recover. They had to regroup.

His health bar had lost a sizable chunk. Alkor glanced sidelong at it, like it was little more than an afterthought, but he knew better. His health was a precious resource, and if he ran out of it...

You die, then they all fall like dominoes.

Alkor pushed the intrusive thought back as far as he could, but the anxiety had already taken root. He could feel his breath catching in his throat. 

Did you really think you could take the responsibility for all these lives in your hands? 

"Shut up," Alkor rasped. He had thought that. He had made that decision. No one could take that from him now, for better or for worse. Slowly rising to his feet once again, the Knight tore his sword from the ground. He reached up and wiped the sweat away from his forehead. 

Wushen's gaze was on him, finally. He locked eyes with the monstrosity. He tightened his grip on the sword.

But what about your own life?

Alkor blinked the question shocked him, almost like he hadn't considered it. Lessa had implored him not to take unnecessary risks. Others had chastised him for his recklessness. He'd lost everything he'd built up to this point in order to fill a much needed role, but there was a memory that remained.

His brush with death. The fear that he wouldn't get to make a real impact. The fear that he'd never see his loved ones again. The fear... of dying.

Do you get it now?

He did. He had to hold on to that fear, to embrace it, and to feed off of it. He had to use that adrenaline rush to push through and keep the boss' attention on him. "Rrrrrrrrrrghhh..." 

The First Sword of Aincrad pressed through the sluggishness that had fallen on him, brute forcing through the numbness applied by static shock. He hefted Oathkeeper, and he kept his promise to NIGHT.

To all of them.

Hey blonde!

The woman, Hidden, was someone who he didn't know. She was a Player Killer, denoted by the color of her cursor, but when it came to clearing floors, she was putting forth the effort. She was here, and there were those with green cursors who were not. As much as anyone else, she deserved to live.

"Right."

His watch was not yet ended.

<<Switching>> with @Hidden 

Hate 4 >> 7

ID 216259 BD 3 (+4 = 7) Hit! 12x16= 192-20= 172 damage +3 hate [DELAY applied]

(10) Alkor | HP: 638/989 [-80][+54]| EN: 84/118 | DMG: 12 | MITI: 193 | ACC: 4 | BH: 54 | TAUNT | HLY: 16 | FLN: 16 | LD: 3 | STK 2 [80/1] | DSCH [1/2]

Her observation wasn't wrong.

In fact, since they'd cleared the ninth floor, the only real reason to come here was for quests. There were still Players who did need the progression that the area offered, certainly, but it was far from a tourist destination. Alkor smiled faintly as he offered a congenial wave. "Granted, there was a time when this was the Apex of the Frontline initiative, and all of the Highest level players spent the lion's share of their time here," he responded at last. "I was there for that boss battle, too. It was the last major fight I was involved in."

That led directly into the reason he'd picked this place, but Iris could probably infer that without him needing to confirm. When she offered that they walk together, the Knight nodded. "I'd like that. There's not much to look at around here, but being confined to one space is stifling."

She wasted no time in asking him why he chose this place, of all places. 

"You probably surmised immediately that it was retrospection, but probably not the way you'd expect. When I was in that fight, there was a moment where I almost died. I watched the HP dwindling out of my health bar, unable to wrest myself free of the Hydra's jaws, and if not for a teleportation crystal, I would have been a name on the Monument. I wanted to take time to respect that. To internalize the danger of facing a boss. To never make the mistake of regarding threats callously again, because there are people relying on me."

As they walked through the Obsidian city, he gestured vaguely toward the buildings, describing how the boss' defeat had changed the floor for her, explaining that the very nature of Aincrad was subjective to Player experience. It grew as they did. And about how his own journey had been one of growth.

"The worst thing any of us can fail to do is learn from our mistakes. I've made many of them, so I'm still learning how to learn."

Floor 9 Settlement //

Yogan Village >> 14:00

Alkor rarely bothered to come to the Ninth floor, usually. It was a place filled with particularly nasty memories, and in the minds of many, it was where he became a ghost. Some people still looked at him that way. Why are you alive, when so many other Players aren't?

The skies of the ninth floor were never day or night, just perpetual ash and flame. It was a ruined world rife with geothermal anomalies. The heat was sweltering in the most comfortable places, dry to the point where one's lips might crack from just standing around. He didn't seem to mind it. The buildings that littered the settlement offered respite for those who sought it out, but on this particular day Alkor simply leaned near the edge of town,  staring down into the magma far below.

That was where he received the message.

Quote

hello! it hasn't been too long since the raid meeting, and i figured to check in about the offer to catch up if you're available. do you have time today? and if so, is there any place in aincrad convenient for you?

(ps. i took the initiative in preparing something for you. i hope you don't mind; i'd appreciate it if you would be willing to try it on.)

Iris. He recalled her name, and remembered her as the woman who handled the work on Witchfang. They had also met again recently, as she mentioned in her message, at the boss meeting. The same reason he had come to this den of terrible memories, ironically. Floor 9 was the Battlefield who Alkor first stood on the Frontlines, and where he brushed with death on not one, but two occasions. The fires of this hellscape were constant reminders of his struggles, and his failures. If human nature could be reconstructed based on Elemental classifications in the way ancient Far Eastern philosophy often did, Fire was the element most easily attributed to the Knight. Hot headed, fiery temper, volatile- things that he kept in check whenever it was possible.

It wasn't always possible. Thom grew up in a family that largely rejected those parts of him and stressed that he temper and replace them with stoicism. To mask his emotions, and in some cases, appear to not feel anything at all.

That just wasn't who he was.

So, when a woman he hardly expected to reach out to him did so, the surprise almost took him over the rails that separated him from certain death. He took hold of one of the chains that fastened the settlement securely over the caldera and flicked open the reply field.

"She had said that she wanted to talk to me about my adventures," he recalled after a moment, composing himself. "Maybe that will help me get my mind off of being anxious."

He quickly drafted a response, read over it twice, and sent it.

Quote

Iris! I hadn't expected to hear from you so soon, but it's a welcome surprise. I have been busy doing prep for the boss fight, but I just happened to have a free moment and I've been using it to clear my head. If you want, feel free to meet me in Yogan Village, the Settlement on Floor 9.

It's quite hot on this floor, so if you do decide to come, you should dress to stay cool.

With that message sent, he wondered what she intended for him to try on. She hadn't owed him any gifts, so far as he knew.

The dismissive flick from the Dragon drilled him. It was like a God's wrath, but the god wasn't even using a fraction of its power. Still, he blow slammed into him, and the First Sword was tossed backward, into the wall. The armor did wonders for preventing damage, he noted. Much of the blow was ablated by the plates, however, the impact was still jarring.

His HP, however, told a different tale. The blip of damage that the Dragon had incurred was far less drastic than the resultant animation. His recovery, in fact, made it appear as though it had never occurred at all. 

I can do this, he realized.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," the Knight seethe through gritting teeth. Though he was still not the strongest Player in Aincrad, nor had he vanquished his inner demons and become a contributing member of society, he had put himself in a position to do something. The burden was on him to follow through.

With a surge of effort flooding his veins, Alkor threw himself back into the fray and lunged full force into Wushen, plunging his blade deep into the dark entity's scaly hide. As he did so, his body became surrounded by a faint glow, symbolic of the fact that he had successfully entered the retaliatory stance.

ID: 215749 BD 5 (+4 = 9) Hit! COUNTER activates (12×16= 192 - 20 = 172 damage)

Battle Healing restores 54 HP, 982+54 = 989 (full recovery)

(7) Alkor | HP: 989/989 | EN: 95/118 | DMG: 12 | MITI: 193 | ACC: 4 | BH: 54 | TAUNT | HLY: 16 | FLN: 16 | LD: 3 [Focused Howl 1/4] (COUNTER)

Wushen, Elemental Warlord | HP: ????/???? | DMG: 200 | MITI: 20 75 | ACC: 4 | EVA: 0 | [Shatter 3 {1/3}] | TXC. [32/1]