So much chaos, so much thrumming, ear-shattering noise... it seemed to still attack Eihm's ears even as he sat in the silence of the aftermath. The result of his escape.
The monk's mind was numb as he sat cross-legged on the edge of a cliff. He did not weep, nor did he feel remorse or loss. There was no pain, nor a sense of relief at being free and having taken his revenge. He could not feel anything aside from a slight tingling in the seeping wounds that covered his body under the torn robe.
He gazed over the hues of red that slowly lowered themselves onto the sight of a smouldering wreckage, steam still wafting away on the light breeze. From this distance, Eihm could not see the bodies of the hundreds of dead in the rubble. He could only vaguely make out a crater, in which lay the mangled corpse of the Gatekeeper.
The screams, the panic that thickened the air. The voices of people he knew, calling out to their loved ones, friends and family. Even the plea of Marco, his closest friend.
It didn't seem to matter anymore. There was no turning back, and all he did was what he had to do in order to ease the restless turmoil that master instilled in his once-pure soul.
He had gained some distance on Grout the Gatekeeper, and by sheer providence had found a vent that he was barely able to squeeze through. Following its twisted, claustrophobic course, he was led to the main bioler room at the heart of the Monastery.696Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡunmv9G6l6u
All he had to do was overheat the main geyser system, connected to all the main pipes in the Monastery, and give it one final blow.696Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpRqia4jYgk
The room exploded. Then reformed. Then the next exploded. Then reformed. But none of the people were healed. All of their parts, grinded in the rubble, over and over again. Pieces stuck in the wall, floor and roof. A face, eyes wide in horror, staring at him in agony while embedded in the seemingly untouched wood and cement.
Eihm fell to his back, feeling the long grass pillowing him. He was overwhelmingly exhausted. His muscles could no longer move from the ache. The gashes and cuts were cold and numbed, but still pulsing in pain. He wished nothing more than to sleep, to escape; but there was this inexplicable fear that he felt towards the darkness of slumber. That he might not wake up. That something was waiting for him.
"What the-"
Eihm was strapped to... something. He could not tell what. It felt like he was in a room, but that it had no walls or a ceiling. There was just black, an absolute black. The pure absence of colour, of feeling, of warmth. 696Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrALMAZNMdj
Out of the void, small sparks of colourful energy flickered to life above him. They twirled around each other sporadically, and every now and then a single spark would keep its place in the other, one by one. Before long, the monk realised what was materialising in front of him: an ornate spearhead, glowing a sickly green in the dark. Dread abruptly overcame him. The curiosity was gone, replaced by pure fear of the enchanted object, slowly fabricating.
The final spark fell into place, and the ghostly spear hovered for a moment, as still as death. In the blink of an eye, it plunged down, and a split second later the absolute agony of its piercing racked Eihm's body. He cried out, not recognising the desperation in his voice. This was a pain that he had never felt before. It left no part of his consciousness untouched. It was as though it stabbed through his very soul, writhing in anguish in its mortal shell.
More sparks began to flutter in the dark. Eihm did not know what was worse - the pain, which still burned through him like searing flames - or the waiting; the stretched moments of time leading up to it. Once the spear formed, it plunged into his being, scraping against the last.
The torment became no easier to accept.
More glittering light danced in the air, and another spear sliced through him.
And again.
And again.
And continued, for an ertenity, in that hellish, gaping hole of pain.
There was no salvation. All that the young man could do was count each dreaded weapon after it gashed through his flesh, hoping to forget the pain of the last. It did not help.
Sixty-four.
Wait.
"Uuuungh!"
Sixty-five.
Wait.
"Gaaaaah!"
Sixty-six.
Wait.
"Aaaaaaarg!"
Sixty-seven.
Eihm jolted to his feet, clawing at the air, tensing every muscle in his body. The morning sun invaded his vision, sending him flailing until he caught his balance against a tree.
Lowering his arm from his face and surveying the surroundings, the young monk realised where he was. The vast, grassy fields before him were reminiscent of the painted pictures in his class: the Autumn Plains. An entire biome, dedicated to humongous fields of brown long-grass, sporadically interrupted by green forests surrounding a river or lake. 696Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDzYddRSY4k
He had walked so far to get here, back turned to the destruction and death that smouldered behind him, fighting his bleeding wounds and exhausted mind. He still felt like he needed rest, though.
Electric flashbacks of the night before caught him bewildered once again. Intense pain. Hours and hours of agony. Hastily checking inside his robes, however, his fingers did not meet any new wounds, nor could he find any traces of the torture that he felt just a few minutes ago. Pain became nothing more than a word to describe the horror of that nightmare.
The monk breathed a sigh of relief. It was over, at least. It was probably just a solitary occurrence, the subconscious mind punishing the conscious for the pain that he had so ruthlessly inflicted others - but something in the back of his thoughts told him that wasn't true. The nightmares would come again.
Pushing the thoughts aside for now, Eihm turned his focus to the present. There were wounds he had to disinfect, food he had to find, and water he had to drink. The forests of the Autumn Plains had no lack of supplies, but if he was to travel through the grasslands he had to stock up and rest every chance that he got. Forests were kilometres apart, and among the tall grass there is no prey that's easy to catch, and water only exists in small, fist-sized puddles. Forcing his feet to lug his heavy body, one step at a time, Eihm searched the forest, eating every berry in sight, lapping up the sweet spring-water purified by the roots of countless trees, and burning each wound closed with a charred stick.
After foraging until the sun traversed the canopies of the forest and the crickets warmed up their harps for the orchestral night-time symphony, the young monk stood at the edge of the forest, overlooking the rippling plains bathed in oranges and reds, and took a deep breath of nature's air. For the first time in his life, he would explore the outside world. Before, it was nothing but a dream, held in the bunks of the monastery dorms. But there was no excitement or anticipation. Eihm very much doubted that he would ever dream like that again. In just two days, these imaginative visions turned into what seemed like the follies of a naive little boy.
And so he pressed onward, stepping into the wide, open, and revealing expanse of the Autumn Plains. For every step he fought sleep, and every silent hour only brought more chaos to his tortured mind. The peace that he thought he would find did not exist in this land after all. Still, he could not shake the feeling that somewhere out there, there was a goal to be reached. If he could only stay awake long enough to find it...
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