Alkor

Her voice cut into his thoughts before he had a chance to put them to words. She arrived more quickly than he anticipated, and that meant they could get away from there before he was buried alive. She might have noticed the nervous tick, the way he clicked his teeth- or that his eyes darted around, distrustful, while his hand rested near his sword belt. He was the same as them in some ways: uncertain, cautious, though perhaps his mania was an exaggeration born of innate anxiety. Up to this point, he stuck to the higher floors and honed his skills as a swordsman. Once he was able to confidently go alone into the unknown, he did just that without any misgivings. Returning to what was known often brought back memories. It often forced him to face the "comforts" of society, those things that were supposed to be familiar. 

For a mercy, Lessa was more interested in the things that were not so familiar. She wanted to explore changes born of their actions in Aincrad, and ripples that came as a result. Rumors. That would lead far from civilization, to places where the only eyes that fell on him were ones with well-understood intent. At least the things that wanted to kill him were forthcoming and honest about it.

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"Thanks for agreeing to come out." 

"Yeah, sure," he replied offhand. Was she always that congenial? Maybe she felt like things were weirder between them than he did. Before he started to panic and overthink, though, she added:

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"I've been looking for an excuse to get out of the house."

"Huh," her words struck him by surprise. It was unexpected for Lessa to need a reason to be social. Unless there were things he didn't know, things that weren't implicitly understood. "I figured it was just routine for you to go out," he blinked. Something wasn't right- though this marked the first time he saw it without her telling him. Was he getting better at it, or was she making it obvious? A bit of both, perhaps? "Trouble in paradise?"

He chose those words specifically because they wouldn't poke the bear, wouldn't end with knuckles in his face from an unhinged and overbearing alpha male. While there was a shred of concern, Alkor knew Lessa to be the better of the two of them at navigating social situations. Or at least... from his perspective. She'd once said that she envied him the ability to cut people out. Greener grass, he mused in silence. He pressed no further than that; if she wanted to say more, she was going to do it without his prompting. The fact that he'd asked as much as he had, that was a marked improvement over his usual grunted affirmations.

They stepped off of the bridge and into one of the the expansive jungle. He would follow her lead to the ruins from here, since she'd been the one to get the info from the broker.

His return to the tournament area was met with announcements. Baldur began to read through the winners, and Alkor winced as he heard the commentary attached to his name. It seemed there were still people who remembered, or at least, people who cared enough to remember. He much preferred the idea that his name would return to insignificance, and that his survival would be a painful memory to as few players as possible. Nonetheless, he continued to walk on the outskirts of the group, sizing up the group. His preliminary assessment was as useful as the updated one. He still did not know anymore. He froze when someone said his name in the group of players nearest Koga, not far from where he was standing.

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"Like, look out Alkor!"

Was... was that a valley girl? His gaze snapped toward the speaker, a woman he did not know, boisterous and brimming with energy to rival the rest of the crowd by herself. He thought he'd heard his name before, but this time there was no mistaking it. Was this woman going to be his next match? It seemed like the logical conclusion to draw, given that he did not know the name of his next opponent yet, and that she had singled him out of the many entrants. He took a few quiet steps toward the group as they continued to converse, careful not to interrupt their conversation prematurely.

Once they reached a point where he felt it might not be rude, he leaned in and glanced between @Koga, @NIGHT, and finally toward @Astreya, the woman who spoken his name.

"...and what should I be looking out for?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Alkor was almost asleep, almost to the point where his dreams eclipsed reality.

When his eyes snapped open again, he wondered if this was a dream. 

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"Watch out!"  

He stumbled forward onto his haunches as the tree- treant? - yes, it was clearly alive, and in a very foul mood as it raised out of the ground and lurched toward... someone. Alkor had no recognized the voice, nor had he seen anyone else or he wouldn't have tried to nap. His body moved forward on instinct, driven by the system and dragged along by the sudden manhandling that the other man gave his cloak. He rolled head over heels and up to his feet, and the impact barely missed him. Where he'd sat prone a moment before, cracks split the earth and the ground spasmed. The ripple effect shook him and split his attention between recovery and discerning the current situation.

He was on the back foot.

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"Why. Do. You. Trouble. The. Dead. And. Dying?"

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"Whoa!  Hey!  Easy there, Dippy!  No need to get all mean and thwompy!  I'm sure he meant no harm.  What say you lower your arms and we promise not to raise ours, eh?  Sounds a fair bit better than all of us going straight to hacking each other to pieces?"

Alkor groggily listened to the back and forth, jarring though it was. His brain was still cloudy from failed respite. He smacked his temple with a palm in vain attempt to rearrange his thoughts. The man who grabbed him by the cuff now prodded his shoulder, and his gaze followed the pointing finger to its conclusion. The creature looked for them, listening, but it did not seem to see anything. Upon reaching a nonverbal consensus that their assailant was, in fact, blind, Alkor glanced back to the man, down at his shoulder, then back up as if to say stop touching me.

Maybe he had something in common with their new friend. (Other than his sleep being interrupted.)

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"Liars!  All.  You.  Do.  Is.  Bring.  Death."

He wasn't inclined to disagree with the ancient, though. In Aincrad, Players came and went, and their only recourse to move forward was to leave behind mountains of data harvested from the NPCs and mindless monsters that littered the path. With what should have been a murderous headache, Alkor was thankful that the system filtered out pain. He took a slow, measured step backward without drawing his blade. The other player seemed to have engaged in conversation with it, and an attempt to take up arms might compromise that. He took that opportunity to take a better look at their surroundings.

When left unmolested, nothing had seemed out of place. Now that the centerpiece of the graveyard took off its mask, the truth was much uglier. Rotted leaves and fungal growth, the smell of death without rebirth. Nature turned on itself and the cycle came to a halt. He'd seen this before, in an environment that went untended. Loamy soil stank as it festered, and leaves that piled high discouraged growth when no light was allowed to shine through. "This place," he said, clearly interjecting his thoughts rather than joining the conversation on one side or the other, "it doesn't get many visitors, does it?"

His voice was sullen, if still a bit groggy. He gestured toward the grave, though it would be lost on the treant. "Only the people who bring their memories of death," he guessed.

The ship rocked, creaked, and jilted as they made impact.

He hardly imagined it would go as smoothly as it had. Razwell's loyalists proved to be complacent and untested, which spoke of the Empire's decline. They enjoyed a period of peace for an indeterminate amount of time, without the need to take to the skies for war. Their pilots failed even to take evasive maneuvers. He would have pitied them if it had not been such a victory for the cause.

The initial damage assessment was unnecessary, and he did not bother to take stock on his own. They traded their ship for the chance to seize something larger, more capable. Perfectly executed, the easier portion of the plan was behind them.

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"Is there any chance we could talk this out with them? They're just following orders aren't they?"

He wore a dour mask from beginning to end of the question. It was just like everything in war, rife with shades of gray. "It may be there are those of them who act out of fear, or because they know nothing else," he admitted, albeit his voice was stone as he spoke the words. The enemy was already on them, flooding the room like water through a breach. "But we've passed the point of reason. They'll only respond to action, now."

Alkor raised his sword, and with it, his voice. "We need every able body now," he called out to rally the survivors, those not too wounded to go on. "This ship was built by your hands, with the fruits of your labor, and the coin taken from your coffers. By right, it is yours, and now-"

He turned his gaze sidelong, back toward the ragtag group who manned the ship with him.

"-It's time to take it back."

Dawn came in silence.

He might have missed the sunrise if he hadn't glanced up for a moment. The willow trees dwarfed the small lichyard, and unlike the trees that swelled in the expanses of the floor all around them, these let nothing through. It was like eternal night, almost prodigiously so. He thought to ask one of the elves or a treant, or anyone else who might have been involved with the construction of the site, but there was no one. It was the untimely loss of the strange flora that bloomed around the monuments that drew him hear, on the winged words of an information broker, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Flowers that bloomed near graves were an ill omen in the world he knew, but the culture he was different. They were grim, but they were reminders of a life lived, a connection between two worlds. So long as they existed, those souls might never truly die.

That was the tale, at least. In practice, there were hardly enough blossoms to make such an argument defensible. Alkor counted on less than two hands the number of flowering plants that thrived here, and rightly so. A lack of sunlight proper made for poor conditions and fickle soil. His grandmother had loved gardening, and she shared that with him despite his protests as a boy. In the end, the knowledge he gained helped him find peace among leaves and blooms, a welcome respite from the harshness of the real world. In the end, his grandmother's love of plants was not enough to save him from the overwhelming urge to flee. The same could be said for these plants. Despite their best efforts to thrive, their circumstances made their very existence an anomaly, if not a miracle.

"It's too bad this game doesn't let just anyone find information about plants," he muttered as he hovered his hand over the burgeoning flower only to be met with a series of question marks. "I might have to suggest someone who knows a thing or two about horticulture come out and have a look." His assessment seemed open and shut, but there were still questions to be asked. There were still things he could learn, finite though his abilities were. 

With daylight came the breeze, and the yawn of morning sent a chill down Alkor's spine. There would be no elves to hound him, not unless it was a day of mourning. He watched the horizon quietly like someone or something might appear, but nothing did. The longer he waited, the more he started to think that the flowers were simply unfit for their current conditions. He stood upright and stretched out, arms crossed behind his head as he cracked his back. "Shame," he muttered. "I was hoping for something more..."

He found himself following the example set by the wind and let out a yawn. Like so many times before, he had forgotten to sleep. Perhaps time had just bled together, and he just lost track of the times when he should. Though time moved normally in Aincrad, his mind had long since disassociated from the real world. Night and day ceased to play a role in his circadian rhythm, if there were a rhythm at all. These days, it was wild drumbeats played by the hands of infant children: inane, without direction, erratic. He slept when his body crashed, or he could no longer fight the urge.

"...interesting," he finished the thought a moment later, disinterested now in his surroundings. The urge to rest had come on suddenly and powerfully, and this seemed like as good a place as any. Alkor curled up next to one of the willows, and with his sheathed blade pressed close to his body beneath one arm, he bowed his head and nodded off. 

"Oh well. Maybe if I wait an hour or two..." he started to say, but his eyelids were drooping.

Lambent light nestled within the elegant structures of Ellesmera, glistening off the raindrops that seeped through the canopy of leaves. The architecture served as beacons in the absence of moonlight or the stars to guide him as he trekked through the sepulchral city. Whether it was the absence of daylight or the annoyance of rain that hurried them off the streets, there were no elves to be seen. The only sounds came from precipitation as it struck and reverberated, splotchy and dank in contrast to the surreal beauty. The shuttering of windows and soft shutting of doors broke caught his attention as Alkor made his way north.

The forest was a place of growth. Elves celebrated their longevity and the gift of life itself. They accepted the end, but sequestered their deference to it beyond the boundaries of their city. It did not surprise him when they shut themselves away, or that they treated his trajectory as an ill omen. They did not simply invite the outsider into their homes. They prayed him away with haste and barred their doors as he passed, with hope that his gaze would not settle on them. He kept his eyes dutifully forward, almost merciful, almost like the god of death they perceived him to be.  

He had not come for them.

His hood was drenched, dripping as he pressed on. "Is it true, I wonder?" he questioned as the city fell into the backdrop in his wake. The path crept along for a time, serpentine and carefully planned so that the Elves would not look upon it save for in the correct time, under the correct circumstances. He crested a hill and the road forked, almost like an invitation to turn away or go anywhere else. He could feel the fear, primal and unmitigated, meticulously ingrained down to the very civil engineering. He could understand the aversion. Respect and Fear often overlapped, regardless of cultural differences. 

Alkor continued along the path. At the end, he found the small field of monuments. Unlike other parts of the forest, the willows here were deliberate. Whether they were planted to block out sunlight or the markers were placed strategically, it sent a clear message. Light did not belong in this place. "Hmm..." Alkor knelt, and he reached out to touch one of the many stones. The elven glyphs glittered faintly at the provocation, almost like they wanted to communicate. He pulled his fingers slowly away and looked at them, dimly aware of the presence of soot and ash. A colorful bloom caught his eye- he'd almost missed it with no light to differentiate it from shadows.

"A flower that tethers the souls of the dead to the world of the living," he mused. "They do enjoy their superstitions, at least."

Alkor | HP: 780/780 | EN: 114/114 | DMG: 23 | MIT: 30 | ACC: 5 | EVA: 3 | BH: 42 | LD: 1 | BLT: 32 | BLD: 48 | PARA

Some time had elapsed since Jomei parted ways with him before Alkor returned to the group. They were abuzz with talk of the final fights of the first round. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation as he happened close enough, but voices and words bled together. Alkor was bad at large group activities, in no small part because they overloaded his senses.

The inability to get his footing in the room put him on edge, and he looked for a spot along the wall to set his roots in. He heard his name, several times in fact. It wasn't a familiar voice, and in crowded areas he didn't trust his mind not to play tricks on him. Instead, he looked around and picked faces out of the crowd.

@Koga, surrounded by women, surprisingly. @NIGHTwas one of them, and at a glance, the only one he could place. His first impression of the situation had to have been off, and Koga wasn't flirting with a group of ladies. NIGHT would have kicked his ass for that.

@Lessa was there, too. He hadn't seen her come in, or watched her fight. It made sense though. There had been another tournament once, hadn't there? And she fought in that one, too...? He strained to recall how that had gone, to no avail. It was still nice to see her.

And that meant...

He really didn't know many people.

The world was red.

Heat unimaginable emanated from the belly of the beast Ifrit in earnest homage to its namesake. The resultant concussion force stretched our through the air like tendrils, wildly whipping and thrashing. He watched expressionless as it mindlessly devoured brick and mortar, tearing asunder the very realm that the man at its controls sought to lord over. Alkor was not impressed.

The perspiration that beaded on his neck and brow now were born of the magnitude of this heat and the intensity of his thoughts, bewildered at how to oppose the might of this unexpected, woefully unmatchable weapon now laid bare before them. His grip on Witchfang intensified.

These men and women had made their choice, and inadvertently, so had he.

Grim though this fate might be, he stared implacably on as certain death crawled toward him. All of that time spent improving, honing his skills, ascending through levels- it amounted to death in the face of something unexpected?

The cool, blue light that permeated through the city's Refugee Zone washed over Alkor like a sudden, gentle breeze. Protective power, soothing radiance- something equally unexpected. He did not see the point of origin, not from where he stood. All he could hear were the words of the young Prince.

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"I will assist Gabrandr! All of you need to take the airships and go while they are off-guard! Now might be the best chance we have!" 

And leave the most dangerous work to the people, at that. Alkor turned his attention away from the conniving creature called Lamont. There was nothing left but to finish what they had started. "Where you come from," the Galtean asked suddenly, "do these things have happy endings?"

Alkor paused and reflected on the words for an instant. The ballast fell away, knots undone from the tow line. The ship began to ascend, climbing toward the horizon, toward fate. There was no alternative ending now, no story but the one he had chosen to write. For the first time since the Ninth Floor, Alkor stared death in the face. He could see the molten fire in its throat again, but instead of fear...

"You fight for the ending you get." Alkor spun round with a wicked smirk on his face, the wild glint in his eyes reflective of the heat he saw in the abyss. This time, that fire belonged to him. "I'm here, after all."

In the end, regardless of how tragic the Sword Art Online incident was, no matter how hard the reality he lived in, the fact remained. Thom was still standing. Alkor was still standing. Even with its best attempts to bring him low, he still lived.

The engine screamed at full output now, and the airship rose into the firmament. Alkor watched the clouds part ahead of him and saw Razwell's small cadre of ships impending. "Don't suppose you have a plan for getting us aboard their ships alive?" the man asked, more sure of their cause than before, but still not entirely convinced.

"We knew from the beginning we weren't going to sortie with them in civilian transports," Alkor stated flatly.

"You don't mean-"

He remembered words he'd said to @Koganot so long ago, about the right of the people to be free, and about protecting those people from the powers that sought to exploit them. About the sacrifices people made to find that elusive freedom. In this, Alkor had no doubts.

"Plot a course for the van," he snapped at last, "bring us up to ramming speed."

"If you want them, the only path leads through me," he said, as their weapons careened away from each other and the force of her strikes made him slide backward through snow. "They've watched you kill their friends, they are wounded, they are terrified. Now that they have seen their weaknesses, they are malleable."

Alkor took up his blade in a defensive stance, pensive as he fixed the woman with his stern, stoic's gaze. "Death is not a lesson to the dead," he called hoarsely, his voice at odds with the storm. "The dead learn nothing, and will never grow again. They can never feel the pain or bear the weight of those lives they took. They can never make amends. Vengeance tastes like satisfaction for only a moment. It is not a filling meal. Those families want their loved ones back, they want their memories to mean something- they're not looking for corpses to fill the vacant seat at their table."

Winter threatened to swallow them both whole as the biting gale intensified around them, as though some angry god of frost had been enraged at the clash of their blades. Steam billowed off of Setsuna and he thought she might evaporate into thin air if he took his eyes off her. 

"If you want justice for those who have died, you need to seek it through teaching these killers the error of their ways. You should only kill as the very last resort, only when your victim is wholly irredeemable." He vaguely gestured toward the darkness behind him, his breath turning to smoke in front of his eyes. 

"They have seen what mercy looks like, now," he spoke solemnly, "or do you intend to cut me down to give chase?"

"...date?" Alkor blinked as the comment processed. Jomei had already turned to leave, but he'd struck the proverbial final blow as the idea slowly spread and realization sank in. "Wait, what the heck did he mean by date?" It was clear there was fine print that Alkor hadn't bothered to read, and something sinister was afoot in all of this. If he won the tournament, would he be forced to sit through an agonizing night with some randomly chosen bachelorette?

"Jesus Christ I hope not," he muttered as anxiety blossomed anew. Devoid of another human to pretend around he let his guard fall and his face adopted a look of horror. "He's probably joking, right? People do that, don't they...?"

He moved toward the wall and grabbed one of the posters that hung there, peeled it free, and stared blankly. As he read over it again, he mouthed the words. "Dinner for two...?"

Panic.

"Maybe they'll let me give the prize to someone else?" he pondered aloud. "Or... should I leave? I'm sure there will be other tournaments..."

His voice trailed off as he disappeared down the hall, back toward the staging area. If he was still cold, Alkor had forgotten all about it.

"Easier...?" he repeated the sentiment, his thoughts out of focus for a moment. "I wonder about that."

Alkor considered the man's final comment, though his eyes fled from Jomei again. He hated looking people in the eyes whenever it could be helped. Eye contact felt so unnerving, like someone could see past any number of layers of defense to his exposed heart. He could feel the other man's gaze on him, even if it weren't as intense as many that had come before. He just wanted to escape attention altogether.

To see who you are, Jomei had said. His fingers traced the wooden rail of the bridge, the smoothed cherrywood a reflection of those used in the construction of temple gardens he had often visited. Alkor remembered looking at those, at a thousand years of history or more, and wondering about them in awe. Craftsmen poured their souls into the craft of marvels, iconic architecture that baffled most modern minds. Those artisans knew who they were, and what they wanted from life. They were builders who made the dreams of an Emperor manifest.

What had Alkor built? What could he build? His fingers curled into a fist as those thoughts burned in him.

"Yeah," Alkor replied off hand. "You bet. Any time," he said, as if he was open for business. The reality was, these conversations often ended with posturing, common phrases that people said out of congeniality. He was following the script, and perhaps Jomei had surmised as much.

Still, this was one person he'd met he couldnt hate simply on principle.

He saw the smile on Jomei's face and froze for a split second. What was he to make of something like that? "...It's been good talking to you," he said, and that time, he genuinely meant it. It was good to know that people had Lessa's back, and even if he was looking for more, Alkor had the sense that Jomei would weigh Lessa's well-being above his own self-interest. 

It was good to know that the people in the game who he wanted to see safe and protected, would be.

"You can ask Lessa how well talking about emotions goes with me," he said, not laughing nearly as much as the woman probably might have if she heard those words. "I won't be much help of you when it comes to sifting through your feelings, unless you just need a brick wall to bounce them off of. In which case, I'm about that useful, and you'll get about as good of a response." Whether or not he meant it as an invitation for Jomei to continue, the man did. Worth note, Alkor seemed at least somewhat appreciative when he shifted topics, because he gave no outward sign of frustration.

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"But you're right.. we come from different worlds, and I shouldn't try to pretend you're part of mine just to feel better about forcing you into a conversation with someone you've never met." A hand sheepishly found its way from his belt to the nape of his neck, massaging the muscle gently, "But I have enjoyed the conversation.. whether or not you were just humoring me." Lips hooked into a smirk to show he was merely poking fun at the man. 

With a grunt, the darker dressed man began to walk. He had said he would, after all. Rather than motioning to dismiss the other man, he continued the conversation. Jomei could follow if he wanted, or leave it at that. Somehow, the man's persistence gave Alkor the impression that he would press on.

"We're trapped in a world where whatever satisfaction we can manage to scrounge is a precious commodity," he shrugged as they crossed one of the many bridges on Baldur's island and came upon a new scene, no less beautiful from the last. False though it was, the imitation was reminiscent of a reality that was just out of reach. "Don't worry about me. I'm certainly not worrying about anyone else," he said as koi swam beneath them, their scales reflecting the light in a way that caught Alkor's eye. He glanced toward the fish, traces of a smile playing at the edge of his lips. "And more people trapped in here with us are like me than they are you. You should be conscious of that. You'll get taken advantage of, just like Lessa."

His expression changed a bit as those words left him. 

"You just have to find what you're looking for on your own, I guess, is what I mean."

"Hmpf." Alkor let out a tiny chuckle when the man asked him directly about forgiveness, and whether or not he believed he deserved it. That was never a question for him. More to the point, his gaze toward the other man was uninhibited now. "It's not pertinent to me, it just sounded applicable to your situation," he replied. "You can take it or leave it, no harm no foul."

He slowly blinked and glanced back toward the dull roar of voices, cheering, booing, excited. "We're all in this place together, but we come from different worlds," Alkor said. "And some of us live in this world, set apart from others. We don't operate on the same systems. I don't tell them they're wrong for enjoying each other's company."

There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, but he was not angry. "You came here to have fun, right?" Alkor gestured down the hallway. "For you, this is a chance to meet new people, forge bonds, become stronger together," he had heard it all, and he could comprehend the rhetoric. For Alkor, though, the world was just not that simple. "For me, it's all I can do to compare and contrast myself against the best efforts of the collective. I don't fit into the framework. I don't want to fit. I want to get strong, in my own way."

Alkor's gaze softened a bit as Jomei spoke, focused on the water garden as light dance across the surface. "Some of us will go our entire lives and never deserve people like Lessa," he muttered. "Not as a friend or anything else. The weird thing about people like her is that they don't care. I figure it's called grace, or at least, that's how someone important to me described it- the whole idea of being forgiven, even when you have no right to be. Some folks are just built different. No matter how many times people spit on them, they keep taking it."

It was different for him. He couldnt comprehend being forgiven, for anything, by anyone. The very idea made him sick, like the kindness was wasted on him. But he knew the rhetoric. He could recite it from memory. "Maybe you'll get more out of her words than I did," he reached up and pressed his hand to the wall, pushing off it to stand. "You're right. Lessa deserves good people around her. She deserves love, friendly love, not just the romantic kind. So do right by her, be supportive just like you're already doing, and don't worry about whether or not you deserve it."

He knew how absurd that sounded coming from him. He knew how urterly banal, how hypocritical it was. Alkor could not look the other man in the eyes at that point. He was exhausted, socially, mentally, and physically. 

"I do enough of that for the both of us," he added as he turned to fully look out at the leaves, his arms crossed. "The only thing I know how to do is push myself. To strive toward perfection, hoping one day I'll be adequate." The words sounded so simple, yet their depth threatened to drown him. 

He felt more comfortable at arm's length than he did taking a hand that reached out for him. He always had. Jomei wanted to help people, to help Lessa- and Alkor could genuinely see that. Maybe, just maybe, someone would get it right. 

"...one day," he repeated, the images of his family slowly playing back through his thoughts. He clutched at his sleeves absently and let the cool breeze take responsibility for the chill that ripped through his body. He glanced back at the man with a more neutral expression, now.

"I'm going to take a walk," he said. "I think I caught a chill."

"Ah," Alkor replied evenly when the man indicated he would rather not discuss his loss. They had that in common. Asking about it was a matter of congeniality more than interest. Still, the man continued, and he revealed that he had lost. Equally something Alkor would prefer not to talk about, but for different reasons. If he had time to lose a fight, he had time to get back to improving so he would not lose again. Lessa had once pointed out that his mind operated on a single track, in fact.

She promptly became the topic of conversation again, and Alkor closed his eyes. Had they not moved on from her? The turmoil that came with conversations like that prompted him toward anxiety and he disliked the inadequacy that it bred. He was trying, desperately trying to make the friendship with Lessa work in the only way he knew how- but rather than giving her space and trying not to be a burden, she wanted him to "stay in touch." 

Heck, he never even did that in the real world.

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 "I hope its not another traumatizing experience I'm about to ask about.. but what do you mean you were turned into a punching bag? What did it have to do with Lessa?" 

Alkor recalled that moment with a spark of actual hatred in his eye. "Not at all, I don't feel a bit traumatized by the grandstanding of apes," he spat, his words filled with venom. "That Bahr guy, though I didn't know him all that well. The psychopath decided to punch me in the face and said I'd made Lessa cry, or something. Establishing some kind of perceived dominance, I guess." His gaze softened a bit. "I'd cry too if I watched someone I knew die, even if I wasn't incredibly close with them." That was the closest he had come to comprehending how Lessa felt, despite the fact that they had talked about it at length. 

He was, by his own admission, not good with feelings.

"I know firsthand Lessa wants something... no, maybe she needs something- or someone- to care about. And like I said, I cant begin to understand that. We're different people. But what I do know is that theres an ugly side to mankind that will exploit people like her, who have boundless kindness and love to give freely," "he said with a shrug, "I don't like people like that, who take advantage of people's kindness. I think the kind people are the ones who deserve to be protected more than anyone. But, I also don't think you're like that fuckstick, so I'm not particularly worried about it."

Clueless as Alkor normally was, he was not a blind man. Jomei's mannerisms, his borderline fixation- those were something he knew at least a little about. This guy didn't want to own Lessa, or savagely ward off other men. He wanted to know her friends, and talk about her with them. Finally, someone was talking to him in a way he could remotely understand.

Alkor let out a long, audible sigh.

This man was like Lessa in some ways. Whether it was affection toward the woman or genuine concern that prompted him to gush about their conversations or if Jomei generally had the gift of the gab, Alkor could not tell. What he did absently wonder was how these talkative people somehow always seemed to sus him out and decide he would make for an excellent conversation partner. The blonde managed to stifle his groan and continue smiling as he proclaimed that their mutual friend's concerns were valid. Whatever those were, Alkor could only respond with a throaty, "mhm."

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"I'm just trying to help her out of that rut, you know? She always came across as such a happy-go-lucky girl.. so when she came to me to let me vent about my shite, and I ended up opening the floor to her problems instead, I was pretty shocked to hear what she told me." Olive eyes shifted to look over at Alkor once more. ".. I'm talking about her a bit much aren't I? Don't know why.. awkward. Sorry."

A veritable flood of words caused Alkor's jaw to go slack as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. It was clear that there were important segments of relevant information missing on his end, and he couldn't fault the man for being excited about having to share something he had in common with... but when he said that last bit, Alkor couldn't help himself but to wholly agree. 

"Yeah, Lessa's great," he summed up his entire response in those three words and left it at that. "Look, I'll level with you, I think it's great she has plenty of friends and people who care about her, but as long as you don't decide to try and turn my face into a punching bag like a Neanderthal I really haven't got much to add."

He shrugged as he dismissed the pipe into his inventory. "I was one of the first people she met in this world so I guess she worries about me more than I'm used to people worrying about me, but honestly as long as she's got good people in her corner I'm content. I'm not a great support network, and I'm a shit friend, regardless of any kind words she might have about me. She's a godsend to the people trapped in this place. You have nothing to apologize to me for, but I have to admit, I don't keep up with her as much as she'd probably like and so I don't have a ton to contribute."

Alkor wondered if that admission would offend or dishearten the man, but the topic quickly shifted to the tournament, and was washed away before any of the aforementioned awkwardness could ensue.

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"Saw a bit of your fight against Koga. He's a good kid.. worthy opponent. Any idea who you'll be fighting in the next round?" 

He took another look toward the autumnal leaves as a gentle breeze washed across the pond. A ripple careened across the surface, ruining his reflection for the span of several breaths. "I wish it had lasted longer. There were things left unsaid between us, and I barely saw the depths of his potential," Alkor sighed wistfully. "As for who is next, no, I don't know them. I'm not concerned. I will bring my all to bear, and they will answer in kind or be forced to stand aside." 

Those words were sterner than he probably intended, but he made no effort to soften them. Instead, he shrugged. "Should I lose, it will be proof that I need to throw myself into my training again." In a moment of clarity and consideration, he added, "how did your first round play out?"

"Mmmm..." Alkor reached into his shirt and produced a pipe, which he promptly struck and lifted to his lips. "It's fine, I've had to tell the story enough times that I'm almost numb to it now." There were few people Alkor had seen since his near death experience who knew about it, but those who did demanded answers more intensely than Jomei had. Each retelling desensitized him a little more, but the image of magma burned into his mind still remained.

He watched the smoke swirl out from his lips.  

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 "I guess I wasn't really thinking straight. Then again, my mind has been a jumbled mess for awhile now." 

"...yeah, that makes two of us." Alkor saw the man dissemble into an anxious mess and decided not to give him such a hard time. He took another drag and closed his eyes again. "This place doesn't really do anyone any favors." He held the smoke in for longer than usual to let his thoughts blend together and bleed away from the forefront.

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"Probably should have just asked Lessa about it-" 

The words had barely left Jomei's lips as Alkor began to cough and hack violently, eyes bugged as he waved a hand. "What are you, crazy? That woman has enough on her mind, if she's venting about it you absolutely should not rehash the details with her." Alkor had lost his buzz, and with that defeat he stowed his pipe and sat upright. "My experience with Lessa is that she worries a lot and gets hung up on things. Things that don't make sense to me." He shrugged again. "Anyway, no, you did the right thing. I don't understand the first thing about women, but one of the few things I've learned is that if you don't understand what they're talking about, you just pretend you do and figure it out later."

Alkor closed his eyes when the man mentioned him sleeping. "I hadn't intended to fall asleep, but I suppose I used more energy than I thought during my last fight." Koga might have called those last words the understatement of the year, but Alkor maintained that in order to improve he had to push himself. To that end, a small rest afterward was acceptable. The dream that came with it was less welcome. He was finally able to force a tight smile when the topic shifted to Lessa.

Was the man one of her many friends, or perhaps something else? Alkor absently wondered if he was about to be punched in the face with no pretense, but the man called Jomei seemed more interested in actual conversation than barbarism. He grunted non-committally about whether he and Lessa were good friends- certainly, they were friends, but he was still terrible at communicating and their interactions were still rocky at best. Time would mend the rift between them, but it did seem that the woman cared more than he thought.

It tracked, though. Her last flame felt the need to lash out at him, and this man mentioned that Alkor was a topic of her venting. "Ah. That." Alkor glanced back toward the water when the mention of his famed demise in the ninth floor arose. "I was ready to die, more or less, at the time. Nothing to lose, at least, not the way I was thinking. It was easy for anyone to think I was being reckless, and when the boss closed its mouth around me I thought that was it, too."

Everything that happened thereafter did so on two divergent paths. The frontliners continued to clear floors, and some few Players mourned Alkor. He faded into obscurity, a memory for people who had encountered him. For Alkor, time stopped.

"The reality of death is a bit more forceful than the abstract notion. You can prepare for it your whole life and still not be truly ready when it comes for you. I'd convinced myself that when the moment came, there was nothing left. I'd fought the good fight, and I could go... wherever came next. But that's not what I felt when I was looking down it's throat."

He shrugged. 

"So, in a mad scramble, I made a bid to live. Teleportation crystal. Disappeared in a brilliant flash of light while I was still in the thing's mouth. Not my finest moment, but I'd forgotten about a number of things I wasn't ready to let go of just yet."

Alkor opened one eye and glanced at Jomei thoughtfully. "You make a habit out of asking people about traumatic experiences the first time you meet them?" he asked.

Their blows reached an impasse as the man hurried away, clutching the amputee in his arms. He didn't see if the potion were administered, nor did he avert his gaze from Setsuna at all. A moment with his guard down would be an invitation for disaster, especially at odds with an opponent like this one. "I don't," he admitted without giving ground. "But it shouldn't matter. One should always strive to find a solution better than the escalation of violence."

He knew that Setsuna did not agree, and he knew why she did not. "Every life is irreplacable, and we should not want to add corpses to the pile that this world has already created." They had spoken similar words before, and she had reaffirmed her devotion to the cause. Alkor had hoped he would never live to see her in the act, but fate seemed determined to spit in his face this time.

Alkor made no attempt to smile or change his expression. He was never a good liar, nor did he have any reason to try to appeal to the girl out of emotion. In this, they were two broken creatures shambling on opposite ends of virtue. Her rage met his determination and they gave no ground. "You look different, Setsuna," he said suddenly. 

But that was true of them both, wasn't it?

"I wish I could say I was glad to see you again, but given the circumstances, you'll have to forgive me the indiscretion."

The taste of sherry cake was a welcome reprieve from the Cardinal system's falsification of true flavor. The scent reminded him of home, and the sight of his family gave him a moment of excitement. They were there at the table, sharing Christmas dinner, talking... and his chair was empty. He could see his grandmother smiling at his sister, and his father and mother found their one day of civility a year. They found peace, unity, and happiness in his absence. The one eyesore in the family, their greatest failure, the man who had retreated from their world into the virtual. In that moment, Alkor recognized that the family had finally bridged their differences once the weight that held them down had been jettisoned. 

"That game brought our family back together," his sister said. He heard her clearly. His eyes moved to his mother, then his father. Neither of them denied it. "We'll never have to cater to that shut in again-"

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After a brief moment, Jomei would let out a small sigh. "You definitely found a nice place to slip away, huh?" he would ask rhetorically to the sleeping man. 

Alkor's eyes did not open when the man spoke, but his expression did shift from one of anguish to something more neutral. It occurred to him that he may have been followed, but he never considered what someone might say if they did. The voice was foreign, and so the intentions were as well. "It's not so bad," he replied, still fighting the remnants of his terrible dream. The shiver that had spread to the tips of his fingers now lingered there, hidden on the opposite side of his body from the newcomer. He dug his nails into the floorboards to ground himself as his slow breaths labored to bring down his heartbeat. "Though if you followed someone you knew wanted to slip away, I'd have to assume you had a reason," he slowly opened his eyes to regard the man with a cool, sideways amber gaze.

"I don't believe we've met." He would have remembered the face if they had, though he knew that he had seen this Player in passing at some point. "What can I do for you, sir...?" he asked of the man, as neither had given their name. It might give him a better idea about what the other man wanted, if not who he was altogether. Alkor brought his arm up to rest in his lap once the trembling had stopped, one hand draped over the opposite hip.

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 "You." 

Alkor felt the impact rattle through his entire body. If he had been a lower level Player, that kind of raw power would have torn through his defenses and felled him where he stood. Though his focus was on their environment as the true enemy, the man's experiences had taught him not to trivialize the strength of others. Murderers within Sword Art Online exploited the weaknesses of Players who dropped their guard. In instances where the world had offered them a reprieve, the nefarious Player Killers sank their fangs deep and drove poison into the hearts of others. More names for the monument. Less faces to return to the world they had come from. In a way, he understood the rage that drove the woman to do what she did; because at one time, the same all-consuming anger had driven his own blade.

The mist swallowed her form whole again, and Alkor knew that she would not leave it at that. His eyes found the youth who had lost an arm, and he summoned a potion from his inventory which he promptly dropped onto the chest of the wounded youth's terrified compatriot. "He's dying," the Dark man scowled. He didn't need to do more than note the rapidly dropping health of his witless ward to understand the nature of the wound. "Use that potion to stabilize him, but you need to get him back to a safe zone as soon as you can."

He heard the other man weakly attempt to refute his words, but Alkor knew better than to argue with him. If Setsuna wanted him dead, he was a Player Killer, or somehow associated with them. His cursor was enough proof of that. "I don't care that you can't get into a safe zone," he whispered hoarsely, watching for any sign, any sound that might give the girl away. The crunch of snow, or a print- where her stealth might be much higher than his ability to sense, the winter was an unexpected but welcome equalizer. "Find someone who can. The longer you argue with me, the less time he has."

It was grotesque, but the only opportunity he had to buy them time was to draw Setsuna out into a battle of attrition. They had to be bait, and he had only precious seconds to prevent her from capitalizing on that opening. It was a gambit he had to make, if they were going to live. "Now," he murmured, and then his voice raised, "go!" 

With any hope, the play would take the woman by surprise- but not nearly enough to keep her from taking the opening he'd given her. He started to toggle auto-targeting, utilizing the Cardinal system's assistance; and the moment that she appeared... he would hit the Charge command.

It was the promise of an introduction to the Commander in Braso that swayed him to venture westward first. What little the brokers had pieced together immediately after the floor became available indicated that this was where warriors went to hone their skills. It had yielded no fruit. Despite his best efforts, Alkor was barred entry and murmurs of "no outsiders" became the litany chanted from the top brass to the lowliest barkeep. "How it always happens, that is," an older woman nodded to indicate the soldiers occupying the city as the swordsman ambled past, shrugging off several layers of thick robe to wipe away the sweat that accumulated beneath. "They're as cold and unforgiving as the land itself to outsiders. You'll need to come highly recommended if you want the old man to even look your way."

Alkor shrugged off her words. If they meant anything, it wouldn't be something he picked up on. "Shame, that. A few green looking travelers passed through her not three bells past, just looking for a place to say. The innkeeps rushed them out and sent them on their way. Looked like they were headed into the mountains..." her voice trailed off a bit as her eyes glassed over, wistful. "...poor children," she tutted several times and turned back to Alkor, who sipped gingerly at his canteen. "These elements are harsh on the young bloods, especially if they're not used to the weather. I hope they can find shelter."

It didn't seem that the people of Braso were quick to kick people out of the city, but they were less inclined to offer them a place to stay. Curious, because that meant the area was largely inhospitable for the moment- until they met some kind of condition, perhaps? Alkor regarded the woman with a sidelong glance. "Nights must be harsh out there," he continued the conversation kindly as possible, though she would most likely not have cared if he deigned to be rude. The NPCs rarely did.

"Yes, of course," she laughed. "If they managed to live that long. See, it's the local wildlife and the brigands that haunt the wilderness what concern me." 

His gaze found the woman a bit more intently. "Some nasty creatures out in that tundra," she added. "Local legends and the like talk about vicious beasts that move with the wind, unseen. And the cutpurses have learned to use those folktales to line their pockets. It's the perfect crime, and what's more, the city guard haven't got the extra hands to spare-"

"That'll be enough of that, Lorraine," a man cut her short and curtly glanced at Alkor, wedging himself between the Player and his sole source of information. "I advise you to forget what you've heard here today, stranger," the man told him. "Braso don't need no outsiders in its business, leastways not outsiders that ain't proven their worth," he ushered the woman away, then turned his back to the Knight.

"Say a body wanted to find itself near where the last couple of outsiders ended up," Alkor called after him. "Which way would he head?"

The guardsman grunted and gestured roughly northeast. "You want to die, that's your business, lad, just make yourself scarce and don't rear your head round these parts again."

"I'll keep it in mind," Alkor shrugged.

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If his hunch was right, the "poor children" that the woman referred to were Players like him, quick to rush toward a place they thought that they could get stronger. They trudged into the deeper snows of the Western part of the floor without a basis of knowledge about what lurked there. The Brokers found out all they could, but Alkor had only received intelligence about Braso being the military power of the floor. This new tidbit about the environmental hazards, and the bandits- that didn't sit well with him. Where there were bandits, there were worse things. It could be that he was paranoid, but Alkor had to assume they were in above their paygrade.

It was strange. The wails of wind seemed to carry far, almost like the mountains were screaming. He stopped and took a cursory glance around, cautious to watch his flank often enough to avoid attacks from the sides or behind, but saw nothing. White out conditions robbed him of vision beyond a few feet ahead. No one should have been traveling like this, especially not with temperatures rapidly diminishing.  

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-RSELF TOGETHER!"

Alkor stopped. The sound of screaming had substantiated, and he could understand the words. Someone was being attacked. He unsheathed his weapon and trudged headlong into the blizzard, his own safety an afterthought.

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 "Show yourself, damn it, Fucking coward!"

With the situation worse than anticipated, Alkor felt his expression sour. He could see the crystal that manifested over the Player's head, a telltale amber signature that he had broken some law set forth by the game or another. It was a common result of Player Killers luring unsuspecting victims into the wilderness. Alkor had a thousand questions, but no time to ask them. Those had to come later. He could see nothing, and so, with nothing to target, he sprinted headlong into the fray and threw his body over those of the two Players screaming out for their lives. "You both stay down." His command was icier than the world around them as he stared into them with wild eyes. Exhilaration burned in his veins more than the fear of death. If there was an enemy here that might push him to his limits, he would meet that danger head on. "If you expose yourself to the threat again before I give the word, I won't stop it from killing you."

His eyes rose slowly, his body still crouched over the two Players with his cloak obscuring the better part of their bodies from view. His own form was a stain of black against the wicked white world, a target perhaps, but seemingly not a human one. The attacker would see nothing more than a sharp, lambent gold gaze peering out of that darkness, scouring the world for a target. He had seen enough- the footprints, though rapidly dissipating- collaborated a murder scene of significant scale. Regardless of who had started the killing, or who had been killed, Alkor was keen to end it.

"No one else is dying here today," he spoke softly, but the winter winds carried his voice far enough. He held his weapon to the throat of the Orange Player beneath him, discouraging any potential violent outbursts. The man seemed docile enough at that.

"Unless someone feels keen to test me about that," he added.

He found himself deeper within the labyrinthine compound, wandering far enough from the group that he could return quickly if called for the next round. Alkor was careful to go just far enough away to evade any unnecessary conversational entanglements. These large events only served to fuel his anxiety.

The reward he found was a beautiful panoramic view of autumnal leaves cresting over one of the myriad ponds that flecked the island's surface. Lazily, he leaned against one of the walls and slid down to a seated position before he finally lost himself in the colors.

With the light filtering in from outside, he took refuge in the shadows of the room. In a dark, cloistered off space where no one else could find him, just like the room he lived behind in the real world.

His eyes lost focus as he nodded off, and he swore he could smell cake freshly pulled from an oven. The familiar sound of birds chirping and a gentle breeze coaxed him free from consciousness, almost like he'd never been trapped in the death game at all.

In the comfort of that place, the young man was reminded of another time, in another world.

Alkor's hand lifted, outstretched, as he grabbed at something intangible. He groaned in his sleep, perturbed, distraught, but tried to grasp it once again. When his hand fell, the pain had twisted his sleeping face.

Alkor has achieved Paragon Level 28 (169,974 EXP) Alkor's Journal Link

Therefore, I would like to claim the following: 

Alkor blinked suddenly, as if he and Koga were talking about separate things. 

And perhaps they were. That seemed to be the case when he'd talked with Lessa on multiple occasions, where she had a very serious concern and he could only focus on very specific, not always relevant parts of what she was saying. Even when he was listening, it seemed, he was not always hearing. Or at least, he wasn't hearing what the other person wanted him to. He winced as Koga continued, reeling away from that initial conflict of ideas and attempting to refocus his attention. Clearly, while Koga had referenced Social Contract theory, it was not the point of his speech. Alkor wondered why he bothered mention it at all, but more than that, he picked up on the actual crux of Koga's words this time. He thought.

"You're saying that you're uncertain about motive, or impetus," Alkor reiterated, structuring his thoughts accordingly. "Alright, we can operate under the assumption that the means are irrelevant. The common nature of man is that of the follower, the man who refuses to break from societal structures and norms." In Psychology, they referred to the phenomenon as the Bystander effect. People were less inclined to take action unless they saw someone else do so beforehand. Heroism was not the norm in society. People taking a stand were an exception to the rule.

That was when Koga said it.

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 I'm willing to bet that, had someone not specifically started asking, pushing for them to act, they never would have. Isn't that what you were concerned about?

"Somewhat," he immediately snapped his fingers and zeroed in on that thought. Finally, they were close to understanding. "I'm less concerned about whether or not they take action, and more concerned that they are empowered to do so, should they feel the desire or need. This system, Cardinal- it doesn't advocate for anyone. The only society, only civilization that exists inside of this game is one that we create, and so I look with skepticism in the vein of Rosseau that people will seek to impose that same disparity on others in this place, where it otherwise would not exist. Already we see it in the form of 'Frontliners' and "everyone else." Do we let those terms create a broad subtext and class system? Or is it more subtle than that?"

He withdrew his hands and placed them palm flat on the table. "My concern is less with action than preparation. I don't want to see a revolution, because revolutions are bloody and people die. I just don't want to see the formation of a system that necessitates a revolution, either. And while I can't stop others from forming groups for the sake of survival..." his voice trailed off, defeated. It was this point that he always circled back to, the point that other people saw value in communal living and functioning as a group. Where he could no longer see anything but grim inevitability, they saw hope. That was the difference between Alkor and everyone else.

"...I suppose I can't help but put the cart before the horse myself," he muttered glumly.