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[SP-F6] The Abyss that stares back <<Calming the Soul>>


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Calming the Soul

It was hardly a secret anymore. In the Jungles of the Sixth floor hid a waterfall rumored to have once been of religious significance to the people of Aincrad. The mossy overgrowth abolished whatever thoughts Alkor had about that detail becoming problematic immediately. A ruined Torii nestled at the edge of the falls, a spiritual gateway said in Japanese mythology to lead to another world. Its destruction went unnoticed, or perhaps uncared about for countless ages and now, if any god or demon sought safe passage they would not find it here. Instead, the Players who came to this place were rumored to leave it completely changed. Few of them spoke about their experience, but the ones who did uttered words of caution.

Whatever you find there, it will make you question everything you know. And if you aren't ready, it may swallow you.

Those words resonated with Alkor. Since that strange event on the Twenty Fourth floor, the Knight sought greater meaning. He wanted to know more about his so-called "purpose," and to find some semblance of significance within himself. If this quest could even scratch the surface of that desire, Alkor cared almost nothing about the dangers it posed. He wanted to grow, as a Player and as a person. In order to do that, he had to show willingness to confront even the things he was not comfortable with. Alkor was no stranger to questioning himself. He hoped this would prove only a slightly more rigorous.

Meditate beneath the falls. Do that, and the way will open for you.

It seemed simple. The cascading water hardly crashed at the bottom. It would not crush him with its intensity. Alkor stepped onto the rocky, narrow path that curved behind the water and the light grew dimmer, refracted through the gentle flow. With a cautious movement, he reached out with his fingertips to caress the water. It felt cool.

Satisfied that there was nothing incredibly dangerous about it, Alkor stepped under the waterfall and shivered. The sudden sensation filled his lungs as he gasped in surpise. Icy cold shot through his veins as he began to shiver. "This is nothing," he reminded himself sternly. "The Atlantic is much colder in the springtime." His thoughts were on his youth suddenly, about his grandfather teaching him how to swim in the open ocean. As he took a seat and his eyes closed almost reflexively, the scene that unfolded in the darkness was inviting and warm. His mind broke free of his body for a moment, unraveling the tether between reality and fiction.

Is that what you see? a strange voice shot through the darkness suddenly; but somehow, it was familiar. The heat in his face rose as he looked in the direction it had come from, but he saw nothing. Rather, what he saw was not a person, but a place. The frozen image of something he'd repressed, a sea filled with waves that would never again ebb or flow. Thom felt his heart stop as a thousand faces he had known but forgotten stared back, but through him rather than at him. It was home, but it was not home. It would never quite be home again; yet during that time of his life, it had been.

His heart ached.

"Who's there?" he asked, but his voice came quiet. Choked. "Who are you?"

There was no wind, despite the breeze that he suddenly, albeit recalled from that day. He looked out toward the water, to where he should have been and to where his grandfather would undoubtedly be. He wasn't. Neither of them existed in that frame. Only a thousand hostile, unfamiliar masks in place of emotions. It was nothing like his memory, yet everything else was the same. Everything he had forced himself to forget suddenly waged war against everything he was being forced to see.

"Don't fuck with me," he hissed, a hand on the pommel of Witchfang. "Show yourself!"

He turned slowly, staring all around for a sign of the voice's origin. Do you remember? it questioned him suddenly. What comes next?

Spoiler

Alkor level 31 [paragon 21]

740/740 HP 108/108 EN

Base Damage: 17 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Skills: One Handed Straight Sword Rank 5, Light Armor Rank 5, Energist

Extra Skills: Combat Mastery Rank 3

Mods: Stamina, Ferocity, Meticulous, Resolve

Equipment: 

Witchfang: T4 Demonic Straight Sword [Bleed | Paralyze| Blight | Cursed]

Cloak of the Wandering Warrior: T3 Perfect Cloak [3 EVA]

Eye of Osiris: T1 Perfect Trinket [3 ACC]

Fruit Infused Tea | HP Recovery III ID#: [158815] | [158819] | [158822]

 

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Alkor froze. 

His gaze swept over the beach and toward the water, unmoving and yet daunting. The disembodied voice asked him if he remembered. Despite all of his yearning not to, Thom did remember. The water never needed to move for him to feel the anxiety crawl down his spine. His body nearly spasmed as he failed to tear his gaze away. "I remember," he managed to whisper. The cruelty was purely of his own design. The voice seemed dispassionate, not at all interested in the terror that clearly gripped the Player as he stood there, rooted in place. 

If you want to leave this place, it stated, calmly, you can't turn back now. You know what happened here. It cannot be undone, because it has already been done.

He faced the water now. In his mind, screams. The sensation of salty water filling his mouth, stifling his attempt to call out. Suddenly, his lungs burned. His flesh, bones, muscles, all of his being seized with pain. Without ever touching the ocean, he could feel it. Alkor shut his eyes. "Is that your answer?" He gasped when the warm breath hit his ear and nearly jumped free of his skin. Thom stared now at the face of a girl, her smile causing even more pain in his heart. "I always wondered, you know," she folded her hands behind her back and walked in front of him, eyes on the clear blue sky. For a moment, he remembered the feelings that he'd had. The stirring in his heart at simply having a friend, someone who cared about him. Thom remembered how he had complicated everything, and how he never conquered his fear or anxiety to undo the damage. Still, now, he wanted to know. He wanted her to finish the thought, even though he knew she was a figment of his imagination. 

Her voice called back emotions he had locked away, deep. "I wondered why, when you had the opportunity, you walked away from it. Didn't you like me?" she asked.

Thom felt the words choked, stifled behind his terror. His face was sheet white, covered in cold sweat. All over again. "Are you just going to do this again?" she sighed. "Were you always a coward, Thom? You must have known how embarrassing it was, how hard it was for me to go through all of that. You know what it feels like as a girl, to be told someone likes you the way you like them? And then, when everything feels like it's going to work out- he doesn't even talk to you? He won't?"

He couldn't even begin to tell her. Where would he? How many nights had he lost to the dread, the very chance that he may have hurt her? A tear streaked his face as he trembled, but still could not manage to speak. His grip on Witchfang tightened. It would have been so much easier if this were a fight, if it were to be conquered by swinging a sword and sending a foe bursting into pixels. But this enemy was words, it was thoughts- these were the very insecurities he fought against, the enemies he never told anyone that he had.

"You dyed your hair, huh?" she changed the subject suddenly. "What's up with that? I always thought you were cool, you know. I thought that you were a nice person, like you were someone who would be there for your friends, but you got older and you changed. What stole that light from you?" she asked him quietly. Blue eyes, eyes that he looked into and lost himself, ones that pierced his heart and robbed him of words met his now as she leaned in close. She'd done that before. Scarily close, to the point where he took leave of his sensibilities. He could smell her hair, and her lips got close, so close that he had to take a step back. "...hah," her smile became sad. "You still run away from everything, huh?"

He felt the fire beneath his skin building when she spoke those words. She had never been cruel, even if she had enjoyed teasing him. It was how she'd flirted, even if he hadn't understood at the time. And if he had hurt her, he could even forgive her scathing review. But for her to say those things, to pry deep into his most intimate thoughts and call to question his bravery... he chewed on his lip as his foot touched the ground.

"Did you know?" she asked. "You had to have known. There's no way you didn't see my excitement, or how happy I was when we talked."

"...it took me too long," he said.

"What?"

"Back then," Thom said, "all I could ever think about was 'am I doing this right?' 'What if it doesn't work?' 'Am I good enough?' 'She deserves better than I can give her.' 'Don't inflict yourself on her.' 'She needs a chance to be happy.' Don't you get it?" he asked, his voice strained.

"How could I?" she asked, her voice rising, shaky. "How could I know anything if you didn't tell me?" Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. Alkor stared at her, barely able to hold himself upright. His legs had long since turned weightless, his guts suspended in air. Thom felt like he might freefall through the sand beneath his feet. "You were trapped in your mind, but you never reached out for help. You never even tried."

"How could I?" he barked, eyes screwed shut. "Everyone always expects so much! Everyone wanted me to be a scientist or a doctor, they wanted me to take my studies seriously, they said I wasn't doing enough! Nothing I did was ever good enough! And if I complained, I was weak! Useless!" Thom was screaming now, unbidden tears flowing free. "They always told me that you never show weakness," his voice broke, and he fell to his knees. "But I knew that I was," he finally admitted. "So how was I supposed to come to terms with that? How was I supposed to tell the one person I cared about that I wasn't... worthy...?"

She sank to her knees in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled his face to her chest. "But you were," she whispered. "To me, you were," her voice quieted as she held him in comfortable silence.

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If that conversation had happened, Thom might never have shut himself away from the world.

He found no shortage of irony in the fact that he found it inside of a Virtual World. In the warmth of her arms, for those short moments in the flow of time, he found himself wondering what would have been if only he'd been stronger. If events had transpired differently, where would he be now? There came a moment of lightheadedness, a sensation like warmth and emptiness in tandem that made Thom waiver. She released him when he went limp in her arms, and he managed to sit upright. "You still deal with that, don't you?" she asked quietly. "You still think that you have no value on your own, except for what you can give to others."

Alkor shook his head. "I did," he admitted. "For most of my life, I've operated with that mentality. It never seemed problematic to me if I'm being honest. When I look at other people, I notice that most of them are preoccupied with what services people offer, or what they can gain from someone else. I guess I've always just assumed that the natural state of the universe is use or be used." It was a warped thing to admit, but it shed light on things he had buried deep inside. "Even now, I feel like the most important thing in this world is who I can help. Who I can save. I've never once wondered... about saving myself," he told her.

She closed her eyes. "If you don't, how can you save anyone else?" she asked. He stopped short of speaking and looked at her. "Remember what happened?" she asked, repeating the same question she'd first posed. Only now, it referred to something new. Alkor immediately understood. He nodded slowly. "You remember all those times when we should have talked? When we could have worked through things, together?" 

How many times had it been? He remembered so many different instances, times when he'd fled rather than fought for the friendship that he'd placed so much value in. He'd idealized her kindness, her warmth, and wanted nothing more than the validation she symbolized. But his doubts, those demons that screamed inside his mind had wrested control away from the rational part of his mind and cast it to the incredible. Things he knew, or that he hoped twisted into things he did not want to believe, things that terrified him. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled at him.

"Thom," she said quietly. "I can tell that you've come a long way. I can see that you've grown, and that you've become a stronger person. But you have been scared for too long."

He sighed. 

"Even now, you're worried. You feel like you haven't handled things the best way you could. You feel like you've shown weakness, and even though you know none of this is real, you think someone or something might take all of this and turn it against you."

"Cardinal already has," Alkor resigned himself, fully understanding her words.

She only nodded. "You always were sharp," she chuckled. "Think you're up for it?" she asked.

"Do you think you can beat your inadequacies?"

Alkor 740/740 HP 108/108 EN | Dmg: 17 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Anxiety: HP: 185/185 DMG: 65 MIT: 5

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Alkor sagged backward, away from her. With the most serene smile he'd worn in as long as he could remember, the Knight sat back on his haunches and came up on the balls of his feet. He stood himself up and readied his weapon. The girl took a few steps away from him and looked up at the sky once more, her expression hidden from him. "You know, I'm just a figment of your imagination." The statement seemed different from the jeering before. She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, but waited for him to respond.

"Yeah," he muttered gruffly. "I know."

"So this conversation, it doesn't really count." She said it for his benefit more than anything. In this world, it was easy to delude oneself. If Alkor wanted to, he would have clung desperately to the resolution he'd found inside of Aincrad- perhaps longer even than it held him hostage. In that way, he would have remained a prisoner even long after this world had ended. "You get that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I get that. She doesn't know. She can't know, unless I tell her. You're the one who said that, right?"

"But," she finally turned around to smile brightly at him. "I did get to see your memories, so I have a feeling she'd be proud of you if she knew."

He gave a shrug. "Maybe so," he fell into a fighting stance reflexively, readying Witchfang to ruin his opposition regardless of what face it wore. This world was a battlefield, and even if the faces were dear to him, he knew better than to pretend like they had any connection to his innermost thoughts or secrets. By its own admission, this reflection was only a fake. "But that's in the past," Alkor smiled. "And what's in the past can't change. Only the future. I can only go forward."

"Then get ready, Thom," she said, holding her hand out toward him. For a moment, he thought she wanted him to take it. A split second before he thought to reach out, a blade substantiated in her grip. It was a sword not unlike one he'd wielded in the past. Deep crimson like blood. The weapon Lessa forged for him, that he'd used in that tournament and soundly beaten her with. Nightbringer. Betrayer, he'd called it. How fitting that it now stood across from him, in the hands of an enemy who sought to stand in his way.

Even back then, Alkor had resolved that nothing would stop him. It rang more true now than ever. "You too," he said. "Because I'm not holding back."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she told him, closing her eyes for a moment before dropping low into a ready stance. Her fighting style mimicked his back when he was on the Frontlines the first time. "Here I come!"

Alkor exploded forward in a flash of motion, more powerful than he'd ever unleashed in Aincrad. The blade danced wildly, tearing through the image once, twice, three times- more than he could keep track of before he stomped forward from behind the wall of strikes and shoulder checked her. The impact knocked the wind out of the enemy, its eyes wide and filled with confusion in the seconds it took for its health meter to tick away.

"You... have gotten... strong," she whispered just before her image blossomed into data.

Remember...

ID# 187781 Battle: 10

Alkor 740/740 HP 98/108 (-10) EN (-12)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Anxiety: HP: 0/185 (-294) DMG: 65 MIT: 5

Nova Ascension is now on Cooldown (1 turn)

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When he looked back to the sea, Alkor noticed that the waves started to roll again. He was no longer frozen in time, in terror of that moment. Likewise, the moment no longer sat still in wait for him to engage it. Instead, the faces had shifted once more, returned to blissful, happy tourists enjoying a beach. He saw his grandfather there, playing with his sister in the water. Instead of a younger version of himself, though, Thom was present as he was now, a soul trapped within Aincrad. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips.

He knew what he had to do. 

Footprints in the sand trailed behind him as he strode toward the sea. Waves washed across his boots and swept away any trace that he had ever been there at all, all the while drawing him deeper in. He could hear the banter between his family members and saw his destiny creeping closer. It had been a stormy weekend in the summer, winds were raging and yet the Hurricane warning seemed not to discourage his grandfather at all. So long as they kept close to the shoreline and away from deeper water, they would never have cause to worry over the undertow. That was what he'd said.

Alkor took one step further, and horror seized his thoughts. The water tugged him under with almost no effort. As he went to swim away, the sudden current ripped his feet out from beneath him and the swordsman was caught in a mad spiral of fluid motion. He gasped for air, but saltwater filled his lungs. All that Thom wanted in that moment was to breathe, but even that was denied to him. He wanted freedom from the tyranny of nature, from a fate he had never wanted. The voices of his grandfather and sister were washed away, replaced by the feral instinct that told him he was not going to survive. He reached out, but the tide thrust his arm aside. Every attempt he made was denied.

In a final effort, he let go. 

Every thought he had telling him to fight against the current tried to override him, but Thom closed his eyes and surrendered to oblivion. Hopeful that the tide would end his panic and suffering quickly, he allowed for his thoughts to move forward. He had survived back then, and he had faith that he would again. If this simulation only replayed his memories, there was no other reasonable outcome. He silently prayed that he had not become a victim of Aincrad like so many others before.

When he reopened his eyes, Alkor stood in a nondescript space. He saw ahead of him and to either side a door, and in the middle, there was a figure with nothing more than a pale smile. It said nothing, but seemed to watch him expectantly. With a subtle gesture of its hands, the being indicated the three doors. Behind him, another door slammed shut, and he heard the faint sound of a lock. So that's the direction I came from, he surmised quickly, all the while maintaining a clear view of the strange, unnatural creature that shared the space with him. It seemed disinterested in attacking him, but he had just fought a childhood friend. Looks could be deceiving.

"So?" he questioned the disfigured smile. "Where to next?"

For a second time, it indicated the three doors on any given side of them. It did not speak, however.

"That's helpful," he muttered to himself as he glanced toward the door to his left. "Okay then. I'll go this way for now."

The figure watched him move to the door, open it, and disappear through it. When it closed, Alkor was alone.

Alkor 740/740 HP 99/108 EN (+1)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Nova Ascension is off Cooldown

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The room he entered was initially blinding. White burned his eyes and erased reality around him, only to rewrite it as the scene slowly came back into view. The outline of a house, green walls and the pungent odor of smoke heavy in the air assaulted him when his senses returned. Thom recognized it without any strain. It wasn't fear that awakened in him when he remembered this place. He felt the sting of embers against his flesh as the memory of agonizing pain returned. The cigarette went out on his digitized flesh, but there was no real sensation. Aincrad never allowed for that. Instead, his scream was reflexive. A learned response.

"You always were obnoxious." The source of that pain regarded him coldly, but never looked at him. There were others present, men with glazed over eyes and vacant faces who took no interest in what happened right in front of them. He could see a pipe with residue tossed carelessly aside. The sticky, sweet smell lingered on his father's breath as a hand met Thom's face. "I spent years in the US, thrilled to have a son. I thought I'd have something to be proud of, if only I put in the time and effort to make something out of you." He hit the floor, hard. He made no effort to get back up, either. "Get back on your feet," the man commanded.

He refused to move. A foot took him in the ribcage. "I said on your feet," his father barked. Still, Thom refused to move. "That's the problem with you. You've never listened to me. You never listen to anyone. How was I supposed to groom you to be a businessman? Do you know how reckless and irresponsible your decisions have been? What it's cost me? How much time I've wasted on you?"

Alkor closed his eyes. It always ended the same way. Eventually he got tired, or too doped up to continue his tirade. Eventually, his father gave up, even in his dreams. He ran away. 

"I don't have time for that anymore, though," he told Alkor. "I finally got a job offer, back in Japan. I finally get to go home. It finally feels like all my efforts paid off, even if I couldn't get a worthwhile heir out of the deal." The man lit another cigarette and promptly kicked Alkor again. He shuddered. The pain was only a memory, an illusion, yet the words still stung. "That bitch of an American woman that birthed you, she always said 'let's give him a chance, don't hit him, he'll resent you. You hear that, boy? Do you resent me?"

He listened to his father's laughter, still sprawled on the floor of a grungy old duplex. The floor was stained from tar in the cigarette smoke and burned his nostrils with each breath. His eyes watered, and Thom remembered why he hated this place so much. Why he hated his father so much. The Player no longer knew whether he was crying or his eyes were just burning because of the poor conditions of the room. He no longer cared.

"Pathetic. Can't even answer a simple question."

With a harsh motion, his father stepped on his back- in the middle of his spine. He ground his heel in, and Alkor gave a weak cry. He wanted to scream. Anything to make it stop, anything to never hear that voice or see his father's face again. Only this time, it didn't stop. The weight on his back persisted. The body didn't move, and it continued to hold him down. "If you can't even speak up, you're better off dead," the voice told him.

Alkor felt the flames in his heart burning even hotter. His father had said such a thing, once. He remembered it vividly. The one person who should have supported him thought everything told him to just... die.

"...you..."

"Eh?" he spoke up again, grinding his heel even deeper.

"Fuck you."

Alkor 740/740 HP 100/108 EN (+1)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

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"You wanna run that by me again?" His father's voice grew colder, more attentive. Alkor fought his way onto his hands and knees, able by sheer force of will to fight back against the pressure on his spine. Where his father's words were vitriolic and came from a place of bitterness, what drove him was beyond spite. The feelings he had clung to for years welled up like magma beneath the surface and now the rage broke through the cracks. He lost control of the rational part of himself for a moment, just long enough that the image of his father took a step back. "Are you doing it? Are you actually talking back to me?" A laugh rumbled forth from the man as he watched Alkor rise to his feet. "God, this is hilarious. I actually can't believe it."

"That's the problem," Alkor grit his teeth as his eyes found the same amber color he'd inherited from the man. Every part of his body that reflected this man was a constant reminder that a part of him was born from darkness, from an evil that culminated in a broken home and troubled youth.  "You've never believed in me. Not when it didn't matter, and even less when it did. You didn't believe in me, so you never saw me as a person. Even now, you still can't"

"Because you're not." His father clicked his tongue and spat on the floor nearby. He didn't make eye contact with his son. Eye contact meant respect. He gave none. "You've never had what it takes to be a person. You can't go places without falling to pieces. You can't even talk to people without shutting down. You can't call yourself human, because there's nothing about you that is."

"Do you know how long I waited to hear that?" Alkor whispered. "If you'd said that you didn't care, if you'd just told me, I wouldn't have spent so much time trying to make you proud. I wouldn't have wasted all that time in my own thoughts, worried that I wouldn't measure up. I wouldn't even have tried, because I would have realized that your expectations are a joke." Alkor's hands were trembling now as his voice slowly rose, a storm surge coming to swallow up everything. "Instead of leaving without a word, you could have told me. You could have said that you didn't care what happened to me, that you'd never seen me as a son, and that you never would. Instead, you left us. Mom, Sam, all of us thought that there was something wrong with us. Mom thought that if she changed, you might come back. She cried herself to sleep for years. Sam idolized you. She made plans to visit you overseas, she abandoned her plans to go on to school for the chance at an internship at your company. But when that second round of interviews came up, you overlooked her completely."

He was crying. They were not tears of joy, but of the despair that festered for so long in his heart that it now manifested as wrath. Alkor wanted to destroy the image standing before him, sneering down in judgment. "I hate you," he whispered. Then, he raised his voice. "I hate you! I've always hated you! I hate that you controlled my mind, and the people I loved. I hate that I never once questioned you, and that I let you dictate my goals for the future. I hate that you robbed me of aspirations and made me hollow. I hate that I ever even loved you as a father."

"Is that all?" the man looked to his wrist, for a watch that wasn't there. "You hate me? After all this time, you waste my time for that? I could say the same. I could say that I hate you, because you're a failure. Because you're worthless, and because you never had what it takes to succeed in life. I could say that I hate that I created a waste of space like you. But that would be a lie." 

Alkor looked up, his vision blurred.

"I don't feel anything at all," the image of his father revealed.  "I never had time to waste on you. I've never stopped to think if things could have been different. Mine are a diligent people, who take pride in all that we do. You're not my son. You're no more than the child of a [censored] who happened to steal my seed." The man reached back and made a fist, and in his hand a blade appeared. It was wicked looking, twisted black iron wrought into an infernal shape. Alkor unsheathed Witchfang and took up a stance. "Are you finally ready to do something useful?" the image asked, bored.

"I've been ready," Alkor hissed.


Alkor 740/740 HP 101/108 EN (+1)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 DMG: 85 MIT: 6

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"Is this all you can do?" the shade that wore the face of his father and spoke with the same critical condemnation sneered down in contempt. Alkor swung his blade in a valiant effort, but the brute swatted his weapon deftly away. "All this time, all of the emotions you held in, everything you've fought for and this is the most defiance you can manage? You truly are pathetic." The was a look of disgust in the man's eyes as he watched Alkor struggle against him, wary that the Player might make another attempt. His observation was rewarded when Alkor took another powerful swing, and met with summary denial.

The riposte that followed took the Knight off balance. Alkor cursed himself for giving himself over to the anger, but it could no longer be denied. His body reeled as he hit the ground face first and continued to roll. There was no pain, but each impact gave him more awareness of where he was, what was being struck, and how he would ultimately land. When he came to a halt, he was crouched on a single knee and staring up at the figment of an augmented false reality with fire in his eyes. 

"You really thought that you could just face me with this kind of resolve?" his father asked. "I admit that it's more than you've ever been capable of before. I'm impressed that it took you this long to become only a modicum less useless. But it will avail you nothing. I'll undo my mistake here and unmake you. No one will ever have to suffer your ineptitude again when I'm finished. I won't have to live with the shame of knowing you exist."

Alkor panted harshly and struggled to see anything but red. Every poisonous word that came from the thing's mouth stain his soul with even more darkness, with more hate and anger that threatened to engulf all of his thoughts and dreams and leave him vacant. Deep inside, he knew that he couldn't let this thing win. He knew that, yet to put it behind him so easily meant claiming a stillness of mind that he did not have. With his eyes shut, he recognized the sensation of a blade biting deep into his form and he harshly gasped in air.

When his eyes opened, the figure of his father had impaled him with its blade.

"Just stand there," the image jeered. "I will end this quickly."

"Like hell," Alkor hissed. He was fighting with himself, both literally and figuratively. He wanted to lash out; but if he did, he would certainly lose this fight. He needed to quiet his mind and find the path forward.

"You've always been in my way." Alkor spat. "I used to think it was looking up to you, I used to try to live up to your impossible expectations. That's how I got here in the first place. I isolated myself trying to walk on that impossibly narrow path that you'd laid out for me. But it wasn't ever good enough. Now I know that it would never have been, and it won't ever be."

"You talk a lot for a kid with no future."

"Screw your idea of the future." He thrust a finger toward the man, toward the avatar of his rage. "You won't run my life anymore. I refuse to bend to your will ever again."

ID# 188048 Battle: 1 MOB: 8

Alkor 685/740 (-55) HP 102/108 EN (+1)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 DMG: 85 MIT: 6

Shadow Explosion is now on cooldown (3 turns)

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"Let's see you back that up," the voice of his father jeered as he fought his way back to his feet. The image gave no quarter, weighing heavily down on the First Sword in an instant. He beat back the attack with his body weight, throwing his blade into the path of the attack and using momentum to stave off the initial impact. The lessons he'd taken in martial arts and the childish obsession with swords gave him knowledge that he turned into an advantage, even against an enemy manifested from his memories. "Perhaps you do have a shred of confidence," the voice conceded, "which will make it all the more satisfying to cut you down. Keep amusing me! I haven't had this much fun since before you were born!"

He understood the insinuation without needing any explanation. The fury that threatened to explode forth became suppressed, just like every other emotion had for so many years. Alkor numbed himself to the pain, because the pain could not move him forward anymore. It had its uses. It had driven him for many years to survive, even if only just. In that time, it was a useful emotion to tap into. Now, it was not.

Alkor needed a level head. He needed to concentrate, or Aincrad would undo him just as it had so many others.

Their blades smashed together again, steel grinding madly and sparks flying. His father's face had become a wild, grinning, visceral expression of his pleasure. The amount of enjoyment that the system seemed to derive seemed unnerving, almost as if it had taken the memories of his father's sadistic bouts of domestic violence and characteristic apathy and woven them directly into the creature that now went toe to toe with Alkor. The only difference was, during those memories he had never fought back.

The enemy had no idea what would happen now that Alkor was capable. It couldn't know, because there were no memories to use. All it had was the base template of combat data, untested, unproven. Alkor would be the one to prevail in this fight. He just needed a single opening, a single moment...

...there.

The elder man raised his weapon high and brought it down, seeking to rend Alkor into two uneven halves from head to stem. Before his blade could connect however, Alkor's slammed deep into his chest. The stroke caught him off balance. His eyes flew wide, and the phantasm flew backward. Alkor matched his pace with a flurry of strikes, powerful, measured, and beat him back until he stumbled and hit the floor.

Alkor flung his blade high, rising toward the firmament. In the next instant he was airborne, turning a flip as he took hold of the sword, utilizing their combined momentum to rip downward and tear through the avatar of his rage with a mighty, final blow.

It had no chance to speak as its health faded away, staring with surprise and hatred back into the unfeeling eyes of his own son.

The Player's knees went weak, and he hit the floor, gasping for air. "This game..." his voice cracked as he fought back the tears. There was no reason for him to cry. Not over that man.

ID# 188099 Battle: 10

Alkor 685/740  HP 193/108 EN (+1, -10)Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 (-293) DMG: 85 MIT: 6

Cooldown Tracker
Nova Ascension is now on Cooldown (1 turn)
Shadow Explosion (2 turns)

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