ME Cuartas
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Chapter 160 - Pangea (XXXIX)
🕑 Added 2024-12-30 01:00:02 +0000 UTC“So that’s what you did… the Dual-Overdrive Protocol?” I ask, my focus drifting to the note in front of me.
“Yes,” Darius replies. “It was the only way to save you and Ayu at that point.”
“So you took control of Overdrive and put me and Houston on the same stage… even though he had never been through it.”
Darius stays silent.
My fist clenches hard, and I grit my teeth. The fact that Houston even managed to endure it for as long as he did is a miracle in itself. His neural pathways shouldn’t have been able to tolerate even an 80% Overdrive, let alone the values above 100% we were in at that moment…
But there must be a solution. If my neural pathways can be reconstructed, why not his? The Pillar holds the blueprint for both of us, doesn’t it? Or is his state beyond repair?
“In what state is he? Even if his neural system was completely destroyed, the information should still be stored in the Pillar. Why can’t you bring him back the same way you’re doing with me?”
Darius sighs. “It’s not that simple. Houston’s pathways weren’t just burnt or destroyed—they forcefully contained the energy, and… they exploded. What’s left is shattered. Fragments of patterns, but nothing that resembles Houston. He’s gone, Alonso. What’s left… it’s empty. Even if we regenerate it, whatever comes out won’t be Houston. It could be anything… or it could be nothing at all.”
I notice Darius’ tone. It’s heavier than before. He’s hiding it behind his stoic demeanor, but I can feel it. There’s pain.
“What about in this library? Is there any clue, any backup he left that could help us piece it all back together? There must be a way…”
Darius stares out the window at the sea beyond. “You know, Houston admired you a lot, Alonso.”
What… what is this now?
I feel a sharp stab in my chest.
“He was… overprotective, in my opinion. But I suppose he got that from you. We used to talk for hours every day, when he wasn’t buried in his notes or experiments. Sometimes we played chess or sparred. And honestly? All he ever talked about was you. How well you handled fights, how you endured the white rooms, how you carried so much weight on your shoulders and still kept going, still found a way to smile. It was almost fanatical… but I understand him.”
"You see, Alonso, you have goals, dreams—call them what you will. But us? We don’t. We lack what makes you human. And as time passes, that difference becomes clearer. We have only one purpose: you. To make you stronger, to keep you alive, to help you climb this Tower. To see you reach the peak and become free. That’s all.”
I remain silent, my knuckles whitening as I grip my hands, my gaze fixed on the floor.
Darius turns to face me. “Houston knew this was goodbye. His last words to me—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “I don’t want to hear goodbyes, Darius. I want solutions. And whatever Houston said… I’ll hear it from him myself.”
“And I want the same,” Darius replies, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that matches my own.
I take a deep breath. Now is not the time to lose focus. Darius may be out of solutions, but his desire is as strong as mine.
I close my eyes, running through everything I’ve read. The Pillar seems to be the key, but Darius says Houston’s framework is gone. Restoring it might not bring back the Houston we knew. It’s unrealistic to think Houston or Darius could map something as complex as the human brain.
Everything suggests we can’t restore him ourselves. But… what if it doesn’t have to be us?
The Tower. It could certainly bring Houston back, exactly as he was. But… would it?
I think back to when I recovered my leg, the prosthetic disappearing as if it had never existed. The Tower’s capabilities suggest nearly omnipotent power. But The Tower never grants anything for free. Houston’s notes describe it as some sort of sentient entity—unbiased yet adaptable—which makes it feel… unsettling.
I shake my head. I’m trailing off. I need to focus. Something to cure Houston. Wait… the red orbs. Last time, after the fight with the King Lobster, I fell onto one, and my body was restored to prime condition—not just physically but mentally too.
Then… could another red orb restore Houston? It’s certainly a possibility. But the question remains: would it restore him to what he was? To what is left? Or… would it create a new Houston from scratch?
“What are your thoughts on the red orb?”
Darius raises an eyebrow, momentarily silent. “You’re suggesting a red orb could restore Houston exactly as he was?”
“It’s the only lead I have right now,” I reply. “The Tower should recognize Houston as an intrinsic part of me. If that’s the case, it should also be fully capable of restoring him to how he was before… everything.”
Darius leans back slightly, his gaze drifting as he considers. “It’s… plausible. But you’ll need to defeat the new boss and hope it drops red orbs like the last one…” He pauses, then nods slightly. “It could work.”
My thoughts begin to settle. It pains me that I can’t do anything directly, but… at least there’s hope. Now, I just have to wait for my brain and body to recover.
“You have any idea how long it’ll take for me to be back in form?” I ask, shifting the subject to something more immediate.
“In about an hour, your neural pathways should reconnect with your body. I suspect you’ll be kicked out of this place at that point. Afterward, it should take 10 to 12 hours for your body to recover enough for you to regain consciousness and wake up. From there, assuming you have enough food and water, it’ll likely take another 8 to 10 hours to become fully combat-ready,” Darius replies matter-of-factly.
“So, a day or so,” I nod. That left me with about an hour here. I wasn’t really in the mood to keep reading Houston’s notes. The plain science and lack of morality in them made it awkward, and I also felt like I was intruding on Houston’s personal space.
Hmm. What else could I do in the meantime?
“It’s been a while since your last proper battle,” Darius says suddenly, catching me off guard. I glance at him and notice a faint smile on his face. “Why not leave the books for now and come down for a proper spar?”
Huh?
A spar? Against Darius? What the…
“Well, they say one should only have himself as a true target. So who better opponents than us?” He smirks. “Houston’s usually reluctant, but we do spar fairly often. Just basic swordsmanship—nothing else involved.”
While I’m a bit taken aback by the sudden proposal, I can’t deny that a spar might be exactly what I need to clear my thoughts. And against a part of myself? That could be… interesting.
“Alright, sounds good to me,” I say with a small smile.
Darius nods, and in an instant, we’re standing on a clear, even field. The space is simple—a circular area surrounded by trees in the distance, devoid of distractions.
Suddenly, a sword appears in Darius’ hands.
“Do you need me to create one for you, or do you want to try it yourself?” he asks.
Create a sword? Wait… this world. I never really questioned what it is or how it came to be. So… created. Houston and Darius built all of this? Inside my mind?
But then… can I modify it too? Can I create a sword out of thin air?
I focus on my hand, trying to picture a sword appearing. Nothing happens. I try again, closing my eyes, and this time I feel something faint. This world… the Pillar… EM waves?
I shift my focus, imagining the sword I always wield. By now, it feels like an extension of myself. I outline it perfectly in the EM space, just like I did back then with Fake Reality. Then I feel it—the weight of the hilt in my grasp.
I open my eyes and stare at my hand. The sword is there.
“Good,” Darius says, settling into a stance. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Darius stands with his sword angled forward, knees bent, his weight balanced. His eyes are locked on me, calm but focused.
I smile and raise my sword, mirroring his stance, feeling the familiar weight. It’s certainly been a while.
He moves first, a quick thrust aimed at my chest.
I step back, the blade grazing past, and counter with a diagonal slash.
He pivots smoothly, his sword meeting mine with a sharp clang. The blades slide against each other, friction vibrating through my hand as we press forward.
Our strength, speed, and reflexes are evenly matched. Good.
Darius shifts, breaking the lock, and spins into a sweeping slash. I duck low, rolling to the side, and strike upward at his torso. He sidesteps, barely avoiding it, and counters with a downward chop. I block just in time, the impact rattling my arms.
I push him back with a thrust toward his midsection. He flicks my blade aside and steps into my space with a feint toward my shoulder.
I move to block, but he shifts again, aiming a true strike at my leg. I twist, dodging, and counter with a kick to his knee. He deflects with his shin and spins into a quick slash at my side.
Not too shabby.
I parry, turning his blade downward, and step in with an elbow aimed at his chest. He leans back just enough to avoid it and thrusts at my ribs. I pivot, letting the blade pass, and slam my shoulder into him, forcing him to step back.
He grins, confident, and lunges again.
His strikes come faster—a high slash, a thrust, a chop toward my thigh. I meet each one, deflecting or sidestepping, but his rhythm keeps changing, fast then slow, keeping me on edge.
So this is how it feels fighting against oneself.
I smile and counter with an upward slash aimed at his arm. He blocks, twisting his blade to trap mine for a moment, then shoves me back.
We reset, circling each other.
It’s like I can read his feints as if they were mine… He can probably do the same. Heck, he likely knows everything about me.
I need to mix things up.
I shift my grip, attempting an unconventional move, and dart in with a low slash.
He’s slightly taken aback but still catches it, steel clashing as our blades lock. The force strains my balance as we push, neither giving an inch.
He suddenly disengages, stepping back, and counters with a diagonal slash aimed at my shoulder.
I duck, the blade slicing past, and swing upward in a tight arc. He blocks, the clash sending a sharp vibration through my arms, and spins into a backhanded strike at my ribs. I step aside, parry, and shove his blade away.
It’s hard to surprise yourself. Fine… let’s just have fun then.
I thrust forward, forcing him to parry, then press with a series of quick, heavy strikes. He blocks each one, but I see him shift—his stance turning defensive.
I step in, feint high, then pivot low, sweeping at his legs. He jumps back just in time and counters with a thrust aimed at my chest. I sidestep and knock his blade aside, bringing my own in a quick slash toward his arm. He deflects, steps in, and shoves me back with his shoulder.
I stumble but recover fast, meeting his follow-up slash with a hard block. Our swords scrape together again, the screech of metal piercing the air. This time, I push forward, breaking his stance and forcing him to retreat a step.
“Not bad,” he says, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
He lunges suddenly, his sword a blur as it arcs toward my shoulder. I catch it mid-swing, sliding my blade along his to twist it aside, and step in with a thrust aimed at his torso.
He pivots, dodging it narrowly, and counters with a sweeping strike toward my neck.
I duck, stepping inside his range, and slam my hilt toward his gut. He twists just enough to avoid it and uses the motion to spin into another quick slash.
I block, stepping back, and we reset, both breathing harder but still steady.
“Damn, how much do you practice in here?” I say, genuinely surprised by his performance.
“As much time as Houston spends in his library,” he muses with a faint smirk. “But clearly not enough, it seems. I thought I might take you down if combat was reduced to its plain form without waves or Overdrive, but it seems I was wrong. Good. Very good.”
“So, we still have plenty of time left, and it seems we don’t even get fatigued in this virtual space. Let’s keep going, shall we?”
“My thoughts exactly.” He rushes forward, and our blades meet again, the sharp ring of steel echoing in the air.
