After running for nearly an hour with Drax’s skeleton on my back, we finally approach the bridge.
“Hey, not to demotivate you, but what if the lich catches us?” I ask, glancing back nervously.
“We just need to keep running and not second-guess ourselves. Don’t get any ideas,” Warzheil replies, his voice steady.
“I have a plan,” I say, determination creeping into my tone.
“What plan? If it’s to fight him, then drop it. The lich commands a massive army of undead; you’ll be overwhelmed,” he warns.
“No, not that. I was thinking that—”
“Absorb Drax’s powers? I’ll only let you do that when we have no other choice,” Warzheil interrupts, as if reading my mind.
“Okay, old man. If he summoned me and thought I would do as he says for free, then he must be a fool. That’s what you should be telling me,” I retort, frustration bubbling up.
“Do you want your ass handed to you or what? Huh, kid?” he snaps back, annoyance evident in his voice.
“Come on! You’re just trying to avoid responsibility and waiting for the right moment to tell me to absorb. If I’m supposed to be the avatar of his god, wouldn’t he gladly offer his powers to me?”
“Ronin, I thought maybe you were different from other humans, but it seems like it was my fault,” he replies, disappointment lacing his words.
“Hey! I knew I was asking to hear such words, old man, but I said that anyway because it’s better to make decisions based on our current situation! Emotions are good. I’ve had mine crushed multiple times. I know what you said isn’t your actual thoughts. Don’t be so emotional. Think about what Drax would do in this situation and answer me when you’ve calmed down.”
Warzheil remains silent, clearly angry. We continue running, but he’s slowing us down. If I were to carry him, I’d need a constant supply of energy to keep from exhausting myself, and my strength would improve as well. But he’s not wrong either.
After a few more minutes, we finally reach the bridge.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I apologize, hoping to mend things.
“Don’t worry. You’ve been in a field that clouds one’s emotions for too long. I won’t blame you,” he replies, though his tone suggests he’s still hurt.
As we walk a few more kilometers, I spot a statue nearly double my height. It must be a Dratnir soldier bot.
Why do I feel like it’s watching us?
As we approach the Dratnir bot, its eyes and body suddenly glow. It lifts its sword from a downward position to an upward one, covering its face, startling both me and Warzheil.
“The cosmos has blessed us again. We hope you cross the bridge in peace,” it intones, then lowers its sword back to its original position, the glow fading.
“You didn’t tell me they could speak!” I exclaim, astonished.
“I didn’t know they could speak until just now,” Warzheil admits, equally surprised.
“Is it something to do with me?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
“Ancient relics tell of Om, the God who built this world. Since your left eye bears his symbol, the robot must have mistaken you for him. Don’t talk to anyone about this, but the god Drax worshipped was none other than Om. To avoid enemies among other gods, he came up with the name Legend God, as they forbade the worship of any entity other than themselves. They thought Legend God was a being Drax invented, so they let him be.”
“And I’m supposed to be that god’s avatar, huh?” I muse, the weight of the revelation settling in.
“Yes,” he confirms.
We continue our journey across the bridge, and I notice screen-like devices displaying numbers on the closest divider of the lanes near the left wall.
“What’s this? You didn’t tell me about this,” I say, pointing at the display.
“Oh, that tells us how many beings are currently on the bridge. It changes language every five seconds. I used to think it counted by detecting mana, but since it’s counting you as well, it must use some other method we don’t know of.”
“Hmm, I might have answers to that,” I reply, intrigued.
“What? I’d gladly hear your Earthly knowledge,” he says, eager to learn.
We chat for an hour, but soon we reach a toll plaza that serves as the only supply stop on this bridge.
“This is the only supply stop on this bridge. Some have two, but this one has one. Wait a moment; I’ll buy something to eat since we can get vegetarian food too.”
I wait for Warzheil to return, and I notice the counter on the lane again. This time, I see the numbers increasing rapidly, and the lanes turn red.
“Warzheil! The number is now 8376!” I shout, alarm rising.
“What? Shit, we need to leave now! Run!” he yells back.
We start running again, and I glance back, using my left eye to focus on the scene unfolding behind us. At night, my left eye sees mostly in shades of gray, with energies appearing as a gentle breeze. But I can still easily make out the beings. The robot is fighting fiercely, holding off the undead horde. However, one figure is flying toward us on a dragon’s back.
We need to increase our speed.
“Old man, something is heading our way on a dragon’s back, and I don’t think we need to guess who it is,” I warn.
“I know, okay? I’m slowing us down. Fine, then. If it’s come down to choosing between you or that lich, I’d rather let you have it,” he says, resignation in his voice.
I place my left palm on the bone of the skeleton on my back and sense an immense power. But I also feel pain, which intensifies, unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I fall to my knees, struggling to breathe, and my vision blurs. I can hear Warzheil’s worried voice, but it’s distant.
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Kneeling beside me, Warzheil’s brow furrowed with worry as he glanced between my unconscious form and Drax, who lay sprawled a few feet away, equally incapacitated. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on his shoulders. How could he carry both of us?
In that moment of desperation, Warzheil remembered the smaller dimensional pocket sewn into his waist. It was a treasure trove of assorted items he’d collected over his journeys—tools, scraps, and oddities that might just save the day. He reached into the pocket, feeling around for anything useful.
His fingers brushed against sturdy branches, and he pulled out several thick, gnarled sticks. Next, he found a length of frayed but resilient rope, perfect for binding. Finally, he unearthed a pair of small, rusty wheels that had once been part of a forgotten contraption.
With a sense of urgency, Warzheil set to work. He gathered the branches and began to fashion a frame, laying the sticks parallel to each other and tying them together with the rope. His fingers moved quickly, driven by the need to get us both to safety.
He tied the branches in a rectangular shape, ensuring it was sturdy enough to hold our weight. He secured the wheels to the base of the frame, testing their stability. They wobbled slightly but would suffice for a makeshift trolley. With the trolley complete, he carefully lifted Drax first, grunting with effort as he placed him on the frame. The wood creaked under the weight, but it held. Next, he turned to me, his heart racing as he hoisted me up, positioning me alongside Drax.
With both of us precariously balanced on the trolley, Warzheil took a deep breath and began to push. The wheels squeaked and resisted at first, but as he gained momentum, the trolley rolled forward.
The once smooth path of bridge was now uneven, littered with rocks and debris. Warzheil strained against the weight, sweat beading on his forehead as he maneuvered through the darkness. Each jolt sent pain shooting through his arms, and for a moment, he feared the trolley would collapse. But he pressed on, driven by the thought of our survival.
With every ounce of strength, he maneuvered the trolley over the uneven ground, gritting his teeth as the wheels jostled and squeaked. The echoes of his struggle reverberated through the cavern, a stark reminder of their precarious situation. He could feel the fatigue creeping into his muscles, each push becoming more arduous than the last.
Suddenly, a sharp rock jutted out from the ground, and the trolley hit it with a jarring thud. Warzheil stumbled, nearly losing his balance. Panic surged through him as he steadied the trolley, glancing back at Drax and Ronin. They remained still, their faces pale against the dim light, but suddenly Ronin’s expressions twitched.
“Come on, come on,” he mutters to himself, urging his body to keep moving. He took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of willpower. Just a little further, he thought.
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When I come to, the world is a blur. My body feels heavy, and the ground beneath me is cold and unforgiving. I blink rapidly, trying to shake off the fog that clouds my mind. As my vision clears, I see Warzheil, his face a mask of determination and worry, kneeling beside me.
“Ronin! You’re awake!” he exclaims, relief flooding his voice. But there’s no time for pleasantries. I notice Drax’s skeleton lying nearby, its eerie form illuminated by the faint light of the bridge.
Warzheil’s eyes dart around, scanning for threats. “We need to move. The lich and his undead horde are still on our tail. I can’t carry both you and Drax for long.”
Panic grips me as I realize the urgency of our situation. “What do we do?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Without my invitation, Warzheil hops onto my back, and urges me to start running like a wild dog, I Start running.
As I run, I realize I don’t feel any weight, it’s as if I can run forever now.
After a short while, I see a robot archer running on the third lane to intercept the lich.
I glance at the counter on the nearby divider and see that there are still 6800 undead left.
“There goes the third robot,” Warzheil says, his voice laced with concern.
“What? But weren’t they meant to be stronger? How did they get destroyed so fast?” I ask, shocked.
“They must be overwhelmed by their sheer numbers,” he replies.
As we continue running, I hear the sound of flapping wings. I look back and see the King of Undead, the lich, flying toward us on his dragon.
The dragon shoots a purple flame at us. I look at my momentum, trying to dodge, but a huge spear flies into the dragon’s mouth. A robot stands at a distance, moving toward us as the dragon falls.
A figure jumps down from the dragon’s back, landing gently on the ground. The ends of his cloak flutter, revealing his skeletal frame.
The robot stands in front of us.
“Threat level is too high for the current form. Need admin authority to activate phase 2 defense. Positive decision highly recommended,” the robot intones, its mechanical voice echoing ominously as it turns its head toward me.
Am I an admin? Whatever. “Yes, do it,” I reply, urgency lacing my tone.
“Permission confirmed,” the robot responds, its sensors locking onto the lich, who watches us with a calculating gaze.
In an instant, the robot transforms into a larger, more intimidating version, its armor gleaming with an intense light that radiates power. “Transformation complete. Temporary access to the web granted,” it announces, its voice now deeper and more resonant.
The robot points decisively to the east. “Time is limited. The bridge has energy worth 15 minutes left to maintain phase 2. Within this time, make your way to the teleporter 16 km from here. It will teleport you to any active bridge or to either end of the bridge. I will stall for time. I wish you well in your future endeavors,” it says, bowing with a flourish, its right fist pressed against its left chest in a gesture of respect.
16 km in 15 minutes? I pick up Warzheil, hand him Drax’s skeleton, and start running to measure my current speed using the suit’s built-in speedometer. I’m currently at 54 km/h, which is already insane for a human. But I need to exceed 64 km/h to reach the teleporter in time. If I want to reach it a minute earlier, I need to push beyond that. I can’t experience that pain again; if I don’t reach it, the teleporter will be disabled.
“Warzheil, we need to go much faster than this. I need more power,” I say, determination driving me.
“What are you waiting for, then?” he replies, extending the left leg of the skeleton.
I absorb more power, and it’s kind of addictive. Soon, I feel a surge of pain that forces me to stop, but this time I won’t faint. I bellow, keeping myself awake as I try to control the overwhelming energy. I can see my bones shifting inside the suit, each pulse of power almost intoxicating. I stumble, unable to do anything, but I manage to stay conscious this time. The pain subsides, and I feel like I could leap across the skies now. My suit feels a bit tighter, woven from stretchable fiber that molds to my form.
I invite Warzheil onto my back, and this time my speed rockets to over 105 km/h. I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. Only cheetahs could run at this speed, and that’s at the cost of their lives. But I feel invincible!
“Hahahahhaaaaaa, wooooh!!!” I exclaim, exhilaration coursing through me.
“Hey, kid! I will fall, run slow!” Warzheil warns, clinging desperately to my back.
“Sorry, but we only have 10 minutes left, and we still have around 16 km to go. Can’t stop, won’t stop!” I reply, pushing my speed to the limits, reaching an astonishing 110 km/h.
I glance at Warzheil, who’s struggling to hold on. “Who knows what else you can do in the future? Even heroes can’t run this fast,” he says, awe evident in his voice.
After 8.7 minutes of relentless sprinting, we approach a massive structure that looms ahead, its design reminiscent of a futuristic tunnel, with a circular beam glowing blue on a platform. Warzheil takes the stairs while I leap, barely reaching the teleporter platform in one bound.
I rush to the teleporter, where a display flickers with three points on the bridge: one in the East, one in the North, and one in the center. There are only 40 seconds left. The bridge’s lights fluctuate ominously.
“Come fast, old man! We will miss our chance!” I urge, my heart racing.
But Warzheil takes 25 seconds, and I hit the East point. The teleporter activates, metallic sheets beginning to cover it, flooding the area with blinding light. We open our eyes to see the metal sheets descending, but then they jam halfway, the power flickering as if caught in a struggle but then fixes itself. We get covered in bright blinding light, and when we open our eyes, we see the metal sheets unveil.
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