Ch 12: The...Dreaded Machine

The announcer was exploding in excitement as the crowd's roars only grew more deafening.

“WOW! As expected! The two stars of the show are taking first and second place by a massive margin!!! The glorious and infamous!!!

Saint, the fabled Dragon Slayer, the Sword Sage of the Nexus Legion!!

In the lead by only a single! A singular level 2 Tome!

And very close in second place, practically neck and neck, we have,

Shell, the golden child prodigy and Captain of the Phoenix Spearhead!!

Will Shell overtake Saint? Place your Zen now!!!!”

                                                                                   ***

The continuous gushing of water. The flowing stream as tranquil as even the most peaceful of souls, gently falling into the basin of the fountain. So clear that its surface was like a mirror, reflecting the timber bridges and high walls.

SSSSSSHK!
SSSSSSHK!
SSSSSSHK!

A shrill whistle trailed the flying knives, shredding through blood and flesh, butchering the unsuspecting victim. Hiro crouched down, inspecting the damage.

Level 3 Tome Acquired.

Tapping a button on his visor, he opened multiple windows. Participants weren’t supposed to be able to view the standings, but Hiro, being the tech-savvy inventor he was, found a way.

Ace was now on the leaderboard with a Level 2 Tome. Despite being new to combat and adapting to the rules of this world, Ace was doing well for himself. Hiro acknowledged that. He knew that with Ace’s shooting skills, he would only become more dangerous as he gained access to more powerful weapons.

Hiro stood up before striding into the narrow corridor. A stride not rushed nor slow, but with purpose. His eyes didn’t wander. Not once. The books, weathered and time-worn, were only taking up space, grey and meaningless assortments of words made pretty with fancy gems and posh writing.

Throughout Hiro’s journey through the underworld, from the Barrens all the way to Celestia, he’d always stuck by himself. Moving from group to group, casting aside those who were no longer needed. He didn’t care about anything else, not after that day. It didn’t matter what methods had to be used or who had to be sacrificed; Hiro would make it happen.

A hint of metal clung to the air in the cramped hallway. Someone must’ve been injured.
Bright red speckles on the walls, still trickling down the stems of the books—still fresh.

Taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, his stride quickened. The corners of his mouth curled upwards, his eyes flickering with malice.

I’ll finish them off.

BAM!

The entrance behind him slammed shut. Now, before him, a perfectly square room and a hefty stone door, with the warm glow from the chandeliers dancing on the walls, the shadows whispering to the wind. It wasn’t the light that was moving. It was the walls themselves. Swiftly closing in, they grinded against the floor with a continuous, gravelly scraping. Soon, he would become a pancake.

Hiro slowly exhaled a ring of smoke, which was slightly more oval than a ring. He tried again; this time it distorted to the left.

“Tsk.” Hiro shook his head.

On the third attempt, it was a perfectly symmetric ring. Now satisfied, he walked forward, pushing against the cold, stone door.

With the walls still closing in, the door didn’t open; instead, words popped into his head.

I have no body, but I have limbs. I have no mind, but I have thoughts.
The fate of humanity sworn, I am alive but never born.
Sentient but never breathing, fighting but never bleeding.

What am I?

There were many long-standing rumours about the Forgotten Library. The lenses used for spectating, though enchanted with runes, were not all-seeing. In the umbral depths of the library, where the aether was incredibly dense, the signal was obscured. If an individual hadn’t mastered fortifying their body with it, they would simply be crushed by its pressure. This meant that most rumours were wholly speculation. And of course, as they passed from person to person, they warped over time. After all, not many dared to enter—never mind survive.

During the great rune era, there was once a tenacious mage who ventured into the labyrinth in search of the Librarian. An enigmatic entity said to be immortal, eternally overseeing its halls. Though he lived to tell the tale, he never found such an entity. Instead, he saw a particular book. A book that written in its pages contained his past, present, and future.

The masses shunned the mage’s proclamations. It was preposterous. Unthinkable.
It raised the question of fate. Do we shape our own destiny, or was it already predestined to happen? Are the decisions we make our own, or is it all an illusion of choice? Does each life have an intended purpose and meaning? Knowing your fate, was it possible to change it?

If the mage’s proclamations were true, that would mean the library knew who you were. It was expecting you even. It’s riddles and puzzles tailored to you.

The walls were closing, but Hiro gave it no attention.

He knew what the answer was. All too well.

He bit into his cigarette, brutally grinding it with his teeth, the vile, sickening, earthy flavour penetrating his tongue.

His fists forcefully clenched, blood dripping to the floor from his nails burrowing into his skin.

“The…Dreaded Machine.” Hiro hissed, his voice dripping with spite.

It was as if the world was mocking him, spitting on him. Was it a mere coincidence? Or was it pre-ordained by the heavens themselves? To Hiro, it didn’t matter. The plan was just above the horizon. He could see it. Feel it. Smell it. He had to hold on for just a little longer.

The stone door cleaved open with a low rumble.

Hiro stepped forward, the ground vanishing beneath him.

Forming an emerald rune circle in his palm, he sent a gust of wind downward, softening his fall.

Here, in this expansive atrium with steep walls and corpses littering the floor, towered a colossal titan facing off against a small figure only a fraction of its size.

Hiro’s eyes raked over the surroundings. Clearly, this had been a savage battlefield, leaving a sea of corpses in its wake.

The corpses were either crushed, mangled, or diced.

It must’ve been those two—the last two standing.

Hiro recognised the monster. With its signature bull-like horns and overwhelmingly wide, muscular frame, standing at the height of a building. It was a Minotaur.

And the other? A tiny figure danced around with golden hair and short height.

A child? What’s a child doing here?

The boy looked no older than thirteen. Yet his movements were perfect, exerting the minimum amount of stamina, leaving no opportunities to strike.

Hiro’s mouth curled into a harrowing grin.

This…Now this is gonna be fun.