The sound of beating wings and monstrous cries were all that Arnold could hear as he fought. He did not know how many times he had already swung his sword.
His bones were broken;
His body ached and creaked with each of his movements;
Blood dripped from his chin instead of sweat;
His mind and spirit were resisting that mysterious pressure that pressed down on every fibre of his being;
But he did not let up his relentless barrage of sword strikes. His Tangible Will was a sharp blade of fiery red energy and flashed in tandem with his crimson eyes.
Hyeon stood behind him, providing support literally with her blood. Her patterns emerged as white lights suspended by bloody droplets.
Her shields were timed well and materialised whenever he struck. He was given speed whenever he could not dodge.
And his wounds were slowly mending.
If it had been only the two of them, Arnold knew he could not have done a thing. Even with a few Adventurers harassing the monster with their volleys of energy.
The only reason the monster was truly dying was because of the angel that flew in his shadow, grasping and devouring whatever he cut.
The monster's cries never came from the pain dealt by his blade but by the ravenous hands that kept on grasping whatever fell out of its control. After a while, the monster's cries were offset by laughs and giggles. It was a creepy contrast, yet it somehow brought Arnold a sense of safety.
He was being supported by his closest friend and a mysterious being.
It motivated him to never stop swinging his sword to cut the monster and feed the angel.
Arnold was smiling as he relished himself in the pure, muscle-headed violence. There was no strategy to his attacks save for the angel's meticulous actions of shadowing him and preventing the monster from healing. His defence was handled by Hyeon.
And so they fought, running in circles and keeping the monster away from the immobilised masses.
It was only after half an hour that Arnold saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
Hyeon had stopped her casts as she allowed the pressure to force her down. She lost a dangerous amount of blood already.
Her absence would have been significant if not for the angel's eventual participation in the battle. Arnold saw that the angel's wings had grown, and its movements in the air had transformed from awkward into instinctual—like a young baby bird learning how to fly after being kicked off its nest.
The angel shared the pressure with him, dodging the angry attacks of the monster. With the boss' aggro locked onto the angel, it gave Arnold room to manoeuvre and continue his strikes.
The monster's cries were softening with every portion of its life eaten by the angel, while the childish laughter grew ever more joyful.
And when there was but a small amount of the monster that was left, the angel swooped down to end its feast.
The pressure was then lifted as the awe-inspired crowd of Adventurers slowly stood back up.
Those who had a clear view of the battle knew just how hopeless it had initially been.
They never expected such a radical turn of events.
FWOOSH!
Arnold, as he laid down on the stone pavement, watched as the angel flew straight up. Its grey wings had grown from a mere 3-meter wingspan to a beautiful 5-meters. It flew, up and up, and up under the moonlight until it suddenly disappeared inside a distant cloud.
And then Arnold passed out.
He was too exhausted to even think.
.
.
.
{[ March 9, 102 A.A. ]}
{[ Holy Nation of Illyas, Colsi Village ]}
It was a new day and the atmosphere was vague.
Many of the regular citizens of the town were terrified of the obelisk that had once served as their favourite landmark. They had never expected a monster to have been born from it, and despite the thorough usage of Analysis Skills, they had yet to figure out exactly what it was.
The Adventurers on the other hand, with their attitude of 'anything goes' were almost as lively as ever. They swiftly enjoyed a feast that lasted throughout the night as the results of the Ink Cats' adventure was publicised.
The Information Network had an article that detailed the mystic artefact that the Ink Cats had uncovered and decided to sell to the Adventurer's Guild. It had become a network-wide shock as the mystic artefact was related to their Nebula Gem colour.
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Private Server Host (Slightly Damaged)
- [Active Effect] Establishes a private server in the Information Network that only select Users can access.
- [Passive Effect] Allows Users to register their Cosmic Interfaces and gain access to the private server.
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This revelation meant many things and depicted a few possible solutions to the worries of many countries when it came to the use of the Information Network. It was also a glimpse into the High-Tier Skills of the orange Nebula Gem.
Orange Users were speculating that perhaps the Skill that created the Private Server Host was at Tier 8. It was all based on information from salvaged ancient texts about how every skill usually branched into three other skills when a person moved up a Tier.
But with that said, the Skill that could have created this private server would be difficult to find—it was hiding within the forest of at least 6000 different Skills.
Nobody knew which pathway would bring them to that specific skill unless the creator of the Private Server Host had documented it.
On top of that, the people of Oxhor never really focused on bringing up their Tiers. They preferred to focus more on their Mystic Patterns, Tangible Wills, and Combat Prowess. To them, the Cosmic Interface was not a win-all ticket. It served as a supportive tool, and most were satisfied with just their Analysis Skills. They never had the reason or opportunity to use their skills and gain experience for them.
Instead, through their focus on those three power systems, they were visibly growing in strength. And they did so almost greedily as if they feared another monster surge that would finally wipe them all out.
This made Athelei scrunch his brows when he learned about it.
He recalled how Oxhor's Information Network was itself, a private server. One that seemed to function on a much bigger and more powerful scale. He ended up wondering if those Users in space were ones who focused on only their Cosmic Interfaces.
Was it the norm to reach higher Tiers? Or was Oxhor's Information Network the product of a rare individual?
'What path should I take?' Athelei thought to himself as he ate his breakfast and prepared to depart once more. He was scrolling the Information Network just as he always did and discovered a recent article about a winged being.
It was an article about him, which gave Athelei a weird feeling.
He read through the post and discovered that it was written the way bards would write it. His wings were described as majestic and wondrous, while his vague, fog-like form was mysterious and mystical. It described his descent and subsequent collaboration with the 'hero' in a way that resembled the tales of old—it was as if Athelei had been the blessing sent to them by Libra.
The story also painted the Nightwalker Exiled as the villains they were always portrayed as and vividly described the way they summoned a monster.
Athelei admired the tale and indulged in it as if it was not himself in the story... because it really did not feel like it.
He was eating up the lingering consciousness of the dead while growing his wings. Athelei had not been fighting as valiantly as told by the story. Totally not.
Nonetheless, the writer of the post, as well as the Adventurers of Colsi, really felt that the story was true.
Especially Arnold and Hyeon. As they were the two who had been aided when they thought all was lost. Athelei had even arrived just when Hyeon was praying.
To the pair of teenagers, what happened last night came out of fantasy, despite waking up in the medical ward and being tended to by the priests and priestesses. They talked about it and wondered who, or what that winged being had been.
No one would ever suspect the little Orien to be that winged entity. Even the survivors, who were excitedly talking about last night's events did not do so.
Athelei just secretly chuckled and admired the feeling of his wings having fully grown.
It felt like the abilities brought about by the Nightwalker potion had somehow changed the state of his existence due to his consumption of consciousness-based energy.
Athelei had previously used Inspect on himself because his own status screen didn't include the information he wanted. His Interface Authority Level was still too low.
"What am I?"
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Orien (Hidden: Athelei, Inactive: Guardian Angel)
- Age: 4
- Race: Human (94%), Starless (4%), Unnamed Mutation (2%)
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It had surprised Athelei that it seemed like the Nightwalker had a connection to the Starless. And it might've been because he tried creating wings for himself that caused the connection to be strengthened. The way a race made out of a consciousness worked differently from the way physical beings function, it seemed.
'I'm guessing their race is governed by shape... but didn't the Nefarious Icon say that the Starless was a consciousness cloud? Where do the wings go?' Athelei thought to himself, as he let his imagination go wild.
'...Could the Starless be a cloud of consciousness with wings just floating within them? Are they just giant pairs of foggy wings?' At some point, Athelei imagined biblically accurate angels, but without the eye.
Instead, there were just clouds of fog.
'How creepy...' Athelei thought to himself with his human-influenced aesthetic sense.