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Book 6: Chapter 3 - The Rise of Man (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 12:55:18 +0000 UTCIn ships of stone, we sailed across the salt-sea waves of the Glassfire, seeking the ancient Skylords. Through mountains and jungles, across vales and swamps, over streams and beneath the timeless shadows of ancient woods, we journeyed. Our company beheld the regal splendor of the First Children—the elves—yet of the Dragons, no trace could be found.
- Valerie of the Vale from the Tales of Seven Lands circa 573 AC.
A large and forbidding man stood before me, flanked by a cluster of smaller, wiry men orbiting him like dark moons. His bulk strained beneath clothing that looked stitched from layers of leather and reinforced plating, patched with grime and grease stains of countless fights past. A clear tube, stained faintly yellow, ran grotesquely into one broad nostril, snaking over a face that was etched with violence—jagged scars and blistered burn marks crisscrossed his swollen features. One eye was milky and unfocused, while the other glinted with cold intelligence, assessing me with undisguised skepticism.
In his massive, ham-sized hands, he clutched a thick, electronic device, a data pad I had been told. It was heavily reinforced, cracked, and dented as if from frequent encounters with violence. A barbaric brute like him would probably have no qualms about using such a thing as a weapon.
"What did you bring me today, Sol?" Barren's voice emerged distorted, filtered into a mechanical rasp, making him sound half machine, half monstrous overlord. "Been a while since you crawled into this pit. You know Casia doesn’t approve of you showing up here"
“I know, know, Barren," Sol replied with a defiant lift of her chin. "But trust me, today I've got something special. He's a fighter."
Barren let out a heavy, electronic laugh that resonated eerily through the air, shaking his mountainous frame. "Hearing you call that washed-up thief 'Gran' never gets old," he mocked, amusement gleaming in his eye. "But you're running stale, girl."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, old man."
Barren shook his head, thick neck bulging. "Registration's closing. You better—"
"Just register him yourself," Sol snapped, confidence flaring in her voice. "I promise you won't regret it."
I remained silent, letting Solarin weave the start of the next part of my saga. Silence, I had learned, could add a certain, potent mystique.
Barren's good eye narrowed, a blend of curiosity and suspicion. "How'd you find this one?"
"Saw him dismantle a 2nd Circle Meta single-handedly."
Barren's brow furrowed, a deep canyon forming amidst the scar tissue. "Who was it?"
"Vel," she blurted.
"Velocity Rush?" He rubbed the back of his head, fingers scraping against uneven scars. "He's a fast one. Ought to be classed 3rd Circle, working for Gracious Jobe himself. You messing with a Sec’ Boss, Sol? Your boy augmented? ESP-active?"
Solarin smiled and crossed her arms. "Not even a little."
"Impossible," Barren grumbled, irritation creeping into his mechanical growl. "Scan him! I swear, Sol, if you’re having me on…"
Two drones, menacing and sleek like armored mechanical eyeballs, hummed forward on barely audible rotor-blades. They circled me, bathing me in green scanner light from head to toe, invasive in their scrutiny. My hands itched to swat them from the air, but my self-discipline prevailed.
The drones beeped, retreating with mechanical clicks. Barren stared at the readouts on his cracked screen, disbelief turning to astonishment. "Pureblood? No ID Chip, no Augs, no ESP-active sig? What kind of madness have you brought, Sol?"
"I am from outside this city, from faraway climes," I finally interjected, voice flat yet edged with menace. "Is there a rule against a pure human competing?"
His lips curled grimly. "No rules, only reality. Covenant gets first dibs on your organs when you flatline. Even for you, Pureblood."
"Exactly as I thought." A cruel smile twisted my lips, a predatory gleam illuminating my eyes. "Imagine the spectacle. A normal man against whatever beast you throw at me. I'll tear your best apart."
Barren laughed again, deep and mocking. "Bloodlust’s cheap, and you’ll sate it only briefly. No Surance will cover your corpse."
"Surance?"
"When you die—and believe me, you will—no payout. Your corpse will pay your fee. If there is anything left of it, that is," Barren sneered, punching information onto his pad with thick, calloused fingers.
Rage briefly flashed through me, visions of crushing his thick neck dancing temptingly before me. Instead, I held my peace. I would fix this one’s attitude later.
"You're on in a few minutes," he said, tone dismissive. "Slot opened up. Shear’s opponent got cold feet."
"Fine," I snapped back. "What next?"
"Head to that gate. Wait for your name, then give the crowd a real show," he pointed dismissively at an iron blast door.
Beyond the gate, the arena loomed ominously, a grim pit sunk beneath glaring floodlights. Its floor was a blackened volcanic sand churned and stained dark with oil and blood, littered with rusted, broken remnants of machinery and jagged metal skeletons like ancient bones. Surrounding it was a towering barrier of reinforced, scratched glass, smeared with stains and splatters from previous battles, behind which shadowy figures pressed close, hungry for violence.
“Oh, you there, Pureblood. What name do you want them to put on your Recycling label?” he shouted after me.
I turned around slowly. “Gilga…” I began, but Sol touched my arm, a subtle shake of her head stopping me cold. Not here. Not now. This needed something sharper. Cleaner. I paused, then let the word drop like a weight.
“Cataclysm.”
It was the username I used when I played online games. It felt fitting here, in this game within a game.
Barren merely shrugged the hills that passed for his shoulders as he punched in this update.
Stepping towards the gate, adrenaline burned through my veins. The crowd, savage and desperate, awaited the next bloodletting. The Crucible would soon know my name.
Sol trundled up next to me…
“Just thought… you know you’d like a heads up about your next opponent. Gran’s pulled up his records. It’s…”
I chuckled. “It is alright, Sol. I will find out soon enough. I want to give whoever it is a sporting chance at least.”
“Alright… suit yourself. But take this,” she said, pressing a small earbud into my armored hand and miming the motion of fitting it in.
I removed my helm and slipped the device into my ear, just as the gate groaned open, rusted hydraulics shrieking in protest. Above, in the false heavens, a hundred lights blazed to life, drenching the grimy staging area in harsh, artificial glare.
Drawing a slow breath, the air thick with the stench of humanity and failed products of technology, I placed my helm back on. Then, fully armored once more, I stepped into the pit, and the roar of the crowd crashed against me—a wave of raw, primal hunger.
The sand beneath my boots crunched with every deliberate step. The voices within seemed to quiver, drinking deep of the air, singing with unfettered violence.
A female voice crackled from speakers mounted high along the arena's stained glass barrier, distorted with static and theatrical cruelty.
"Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages—welcome to tonight's games!"
The crowd erupted in deafening cheers, stomping their feet and pounding fists against the reinforced glass barriers, their faces twisted by savage anticipation.
"First," the announcer bellowed, relish dripping from every word, "a nightmare straight from the darkest alleys of District Nine. Once human, now something far, far more terrifying—Shear, the Razored Prince!"
Across the pit, another gate rattled upwards, and from within emerged a grotesque creature, its presence instantly nauseating. The augmented monstrosity moved on spidery legs, skeletal limbs rippling with twisted musculature beneath translucent skin. Four arms—each a horrific fusion of sinew, steel, and rotating blades—extended from its torso, chainsaw-teeth glinting viciously under the floodlights. Where its mouth should have been was a welded steel grille, stained and rusted, a mechanical mockery of a grin. Black, featureless eyes regarded me coldly from beneath a shaved skull that shone wetly in the arena’s unforgiving light.
My lip curled involuntarily in disgust. Shear moved with an arachnid’s grace, crouched low, its twitching limbs shifting rhythmically, like a predator assessing prey.
“And now,” the announcer continued, drawing out each word dramatically, "a curiosity dragged from the depths of the Wastelands themselves. No augmentations, no ESP, not even a damned Ident Chip! Here stands a man untouched by progress, a relic from a world that time forgot—Cataclysm, the false Pureblood! Or, maybe he’s just an Inner slumming it down with the rest of us!"
The words rippled through the crowd, igniting gasps and whispers that quickly rose into excited murmurs. Faces pressed tighter against the barrier, eyes wide with incredulity and morbid delight. I could feel their scrutiny, their hunger for blood and spectacle.
"Pureblood! Pureblood!" someone began chanting mockingly, the cruel refrain swiftly gaining momentum. Soon, the entire arena vibrated with the chant, a thunderous storm mocking my very humanity.
I looked up, trying to take in everything. There I saw it, a box overlooking the arena. A black woman with long curly waist-length hair was looking down upon this offering like a regal African goddess from the bush. I would inquire about her identity with Casia or Solarin later.
Shear revved his chainsaw limbs, a high-pitched whine filling the air, mingling with the crowd's chant. He moved closer, stance low and aggressive, what passed saliva dripping through his metal grille.
The announcer laughed darkly, voice crackling with delight. "Blood will spill tonight! Let’s hope the Pureblood got a miracle in him! Cos’ he's going to need it. Combatants, begin!"
“That’s an augmented Meta-human—leagues above Velocity Rush. Watch out for his HEA Zerosteel blades; they can slice through even level-seven Nex armor—” Solarin’s urgent voice crackled through the earpiece.
“Your assistance is appreciated, but unnecessary. All I require is that you witness this part of my saga…”
“But—”
“No arguments,” I cut back firmly, my tone echoing with grim resolve inside my helm. “Silence, and have faith. It is time this cretin learned the futility of his existence.”
Shear launched himself at me, mechanical limbs spinning wildly, chainsaw blades screaming their lethal fury. The bloodthirsty crowd erupted, their cheers blending into a savage symphony.
I remained motionless, a fortress of calm in the heart of chaos. Yet beneath my armored composure, adrenaline surged like liquid fire, my eyes narrowing on the grotesque fusion of flesh and metal barreling toward me.
This world demanded spectacle, blood, and death—and I would deliver. The crowd needed a show that they could savor.
Improved Entropic Aura surged forth at my silent command, exploding outward like a wave of grey, invisible death. A sinister smile curled my lips as Shear stumbled to a sudden halt, his mechanical form trembling as he touched upon the edges of the abyss. The monstrous amalgamation paused, wary and confused, eyes narrowing to hateful slits.
I laughed openly, mockingly. “Afraid already?” My voice boomed, echoing across the arena.
Shear raised his weaponized limbs defiantly, the chainblades whining anxiously. One step forward from me, and he retreated a step. Another advance, another retreat. The crowd’s cheers twisted to disapproval, hisses and boos rippling through the spectators.
“We don’t know what we’re seeing! Shear appears terrified! Let’s get a scan to unravel the mystery of the new Cataclysm!” The commentator's voice shrilled through the speakers as a green diagnostic light bathed the combatants.
I stood unmoving, a figure in black amidst the waves of pure Entropy, while Shear circled desperately at its boundary.
“This—this can’t be right. Absolutely no ESP abilities detected,” the announcer stammered, disbelief evident in every syllable. “Shear… he’s just genuinely frightened!”
I raised one armored hand high, acknowledging the stunned spectators, and began deliberately advancing, driving Shear backward until he met the glass at the arena’s edge.
“You pathetic creature, a miserable blend of flesh and steel. No half-measure if you were to sin. You should have embraced the machine fully—your flesh still trembles with fear!” I roared, my voice a condemning judgment echoing through the pit.
Grey waves of raw Entropy lapped against Shear, sapping his strength, making him wilt visibly. In panic, he lashed out at the glass barrier.
Yet desperation makes can cloak even the lowliest cowards in bravery.
A cornered rat, Shear forced himself to lunge at me, a wild leap of futile desperation, chainblades roaring. I allowed him this; I wished to test the weapons of this place. His blades screamed against my black pauldrons, sparking spectacularly. The impact was the only thing that damaged me, a trivial ten points of damage to my Health.
My gauntleted fists closed around two of his blades, halting their vicious spin instantly. Black smoke billowed from their power cores as my grip tightened mercilessly. Shear’s eyes widened in terrified realization, sensing the inevitability of his doom. Encased within Adamantine armor, my hidden smile widened cruelly.
Solarin’s earlier words drifted back to me. HEA Zerosteel. Steel. Steel. Steel. Steel.
I laughed, reveling in the futility of Shear’s desperate struggle. His other blades flailed pitifully, mere annoyances scraping ineffectively against me.
With disdain, I kicked Shear back, sending him sprawling. The voices within me whispered eagerly, calling to my companion spell, Rust. Its voice, harsh and brittle like shattered glass, answered quickly, unleashing hungry arcs of black lightning.
Shear’s weapon ignited, engulfed in an exothermic blaze as my magic devoured the metal. He screamed—a delicious, wretched sound—as the fire consumed him. Flames consumed his limbs, roasting his cybernetic enhancements and flesh alike with their radiant heat until all that remained was a scorched ruin.
You have slain an Augmented Human. 200 experience gained.
The absurdity and delight of this near effortless victory overwhelmed me, laughter bubbling forth uncontrollably. Sol had truly found me an exquisite playground.
My gaze rose to the dark woman high above, watching imperiously from her pedestal. I promised myself I would drag her down from her lofty perch.
Comments
Mesa
delete button
Joao Lua Candido e Sarmento
RUST MY BELOVED!!!!!!
KingOrgasmusTwo
Re reading it I just realised that I AGAIN forgot about the overpowered status of Rust in a cyberpunk world LOL
