Calm steps echoed through the silent wasteland as Fevorey approached the wails.
His breath was chilly—soundless. The cries of pain caused his heart to slow. He recited chants to repress his fear. He soon laid and crouched.
Eyes peered into the distance, past the towering wreckage and lifeless creatures.
In sight, reflected a dome constructed of crooked trees, ridden with slimes squirming across its body.
Their green shade was of dark, vile hues. They blended seamlessly with the trees that slithered around like vipers.
This abomination of abominations made the man's stomach to revolt and churn. Harsh smell caused the throat to itch.
"What the hell is that thing?" Fevorey whispered in between breaths, unaware of the toxicity.
It took only a few seconds, before his footsteps halted. A rumbling noise rang. Fevorey's complexion distorted.
"It hurts so much..." He struggled whilst clenched teeth, a grinding sound emitted from the strength used.
Fevorey twisted his staff in reflex—a blade to emerge from its top.
"What… cough… is…. Is… Caugh….! Happe!"
Fevorey said and gasped, his fit intensifying upon each word. He lost strength and collapsed onto the floor; hands laid out.
Yet, he arose with a stubborn grunt, weapon steadied balance.
However, it was lost as burns tainted flesh.
Fright struck him. His skin was red and mangled, releasing a putrid yellow liquid.
'I have to move faster. Or that poison released into the air will get me first!'
His expression warped into one of determination. He constructed plans and steeled his will for the next act.
So, with legs pressed against the earth and ether rising to the sky, Fevorey dashed forward, and a gold-light pursued his back.
As he raced to the coalition of leafy plants, innumerable images appeared in the vicinity of the wasteland.
The soil beneath him divided, transforming into millions and millions of pebbles, floating to the sky like a myriad of bubbles.
His hesitant but valiant descent made the sounds of lightning reverberate through the place.
He pushed his muscles to the limit and condensed his energy into the tiny tip of the staff-turned-spear.
Fear and worry vanished from his face, replaced with a simple craze-filled smile.
When the man got within reach, he brought the spear back with full force.
Soon after, he thrusted his spear, and the trees shattered.
…
In a small, unseen portion of the forest was a massive hill riddled with craters and lava, and flames and smoke danced to tunes of destruction upon it. In this hell, swords and halberds clanked; people fell.
The cause was the bronze-skinned man who wore only baggy trousers.
It was the lead singer of this madness.
With tall white hair that swayed with the fiery breeze, he divided the guards into twos, threes, and fours.
He laughed upon smelling the smoke and feeling the ashes; his eyes illuminated with unrestrained joy, lighting with incandescent light. Its shade was akin to a exploding star.
But the man's arm grew weary, his face stained by boredom: this band of guards now bore him.
Blurry waves materialized everywhere, and the warrior spread his hands,; a 'humming' noise erupted from his body.
The patrols stopped their meaningless struggle and scrambled into the distance. They cried out to their comrades to pick up the pace.
However, they had retreated a minute too late.
An inferno appeared on the hill. Wherever it passed, people screeched, reaching in agony as their skin peeled off and burnt.
The cycle persisted for seconds, seconds that felt like hours, before silence arrived.
The man's adversaries became broken, bare skeletons. Their bodies cast smoke that sizzled to the skies.
For any normal human, this sight would scar their mind. It would endow them with dreams of dancing carcasses, flickering wine-red lights, and a cheering crowd.
"So… good. This is perfection! Perfection at its finest."
His eyes lost focus and rolled to the back. White mist ascended from his mouth, and he swayed his head left and right like a man possessed.
The quietness after the blazing tune was the best part of his performance.
The warrior touched himself (on the chest) with his left hand. However, he stopped; he heard something. Footsteps. The steps were countless, like a marching band.
He glanced at the person. But it wasn't just one person. It was a group of the same person.
Uncountable glass-like humanoids sporting purple uniforms with gold buttons and a red-black tripped tie. The figures possessed the same face, posture, and stature.
Their azure eyes pivoted robotically to the warrior, and they said: "Are you done with your job, Sir Neth?"
They said simultaneously with a wavy, child-sounding voice.
"What's it with you?" Neth said with a grumble, sheathing his two swords and walking away.
"Just asking. Our man has got in, so it's time to skedaddle."
They pointed at a building encircled by mountains.
Neth scoffed and side-eyed . Then he thought: 'Is this the legendary Hakakama? How unimpressive.
"Is that a yes?"
Hakakama's voice became more threatening, hostile. Neth still looked non-committal, casual strolling into the distance. His hands strayed to his back casually.
"-__-"
Hakakama gaped at his nonchalant partner in disbelief. 'The nerve of this man,' he thought.
This was the difficulty in dealing with rogue units and wild cards. If you aren't stronger than them, can't threaten them — and you have nothing to use as blackmail. You will be stuck with vital luggage wielding the weight of one thousand mountains.
'It just so happens that Neth was all of the above.' Hakakama with frustration.
"Sorry for my tone. Please stop walking away!" He begged, but Neth's back went further and further. The man was in his own world.
The hive of hakas steeled their expression. "Well, you give me no chance—"
Hakakama stopped warning as the sound of lightning and collapsing trees arrived at the spot. Hakakama and Neth looked at the source.
A few kilometers away, an extremely long streak of light flew into the far cosmos. A mighty dome crumbled at its back.
"What the hell!?" the two said.
"Wait, ain't that Jargon's?" Neth said. A smirk appeared on his face. "I always knew that his special move was weak… To think he argued with me over it for days."
"Sir, Neth, you shouldn't insult—"
"Eat a dick. Shut your trap, please." Neth scowled. He then studied the destroyed dome. "It seems there's an interesting ant to add to the performance. Maybe this won't be so boring."
And without warning, he soared upward.