Knives & Levels - Chapter 96

Seth, once Denny's loyal Wind-Mancer, had traveled far from New Nashville. Too long, in fact, and through this dreaded weather and path he'd foolishly chosen. The wind in his hair, once a familiar friend in this nightmarish world, had become his enemy as he soared hundreds of feet up in the sky.

His limbs shook, and his lips were cold from the flying high above. Despite the wind magic he’d been gifted, it hadn’t come with any kind of temperature endurance. But he dared not sink down to the land beneath his hanging limbs.

As he closed in on Atlanta, the ground below had become filled with more and more monsters. This was a place of war, he realized. And the reports he'd heard from Denny and the scouts that had managed to come even this far hadn’t done justice to the devastation here.

Down below, what had been the plains and resources of beautiful stretches of Tennessee had become something different as he slipped into Georgia. Gone were the bushes and trees. Now, there was hell. Literal fires burned down there—living sulfuric pits that pockmarked the landscape. Even the smell of them burning reached him up here; that taint made him curl his nose.

He went higher, seeing flying creatures below that roamed. He didn't wish for a fight. No, if anything, straining himself at this lethargic pace to travel so far after suffering the wounds and backlash from breaking his magical bond with Denny left him feeling like a corpse. 

His missing hand, too, felt like it had taken on an infection. Dark red, and it was a painful thing to look at. Without any sort of healing Skills, and his Endurance not doing enough to pull the lack, he could only hope the best.

Below, though, was a literal hell. The further he got toward Atlanta, the more obvious that became; he couldn't go a single mile without seeing monsters fight, flames burst, and blood spill. An endless battle ravaged this place.

Seth regretted his decision to come this way. He regretted that he had chosen this path instead of simply drifting off, carried by the wind, free in the way that only a wind mage like him could be free in this world.

Instead, he'd desired retribution. And now he couldn’t even remember why, and it’d led him to hell itself.

In the far distance, he saw buildings. miles away still, which translated to maybe a day or hours further, it was hard to tell how time flowed here. He'd stopped sleeping, not willing to risk going down to the surface below and putting his life in the hands of the monsters and beasts.

But it was more than that. If he lay down and closed his eyes, even if he managed to find a nook to hide himself away, he might never open his eyes again. With how his body felt, his weakness, and how he'd been coughing blood for the last four hours…

If he tried to rest, it might be for the last time.

Seth was nothing if not a pragmatic survivalist. Even before all this began, that had been what drove him. He'd lived out on the street for years, unable to work with not a penny to his name, yet he survived. A kind stranger might give him money or food… But they couldn’t be relied on.

No matter what, Seth had always kept going. And this was no different… Even with the pain and lethargy.

But why had he come here?

…It hadn’t been him.

No, he would have rather drifted off, finding somewhere new. Denny had tied him down early with that bond. And it seemed even in his death, some of his emotions had lain dormant in Seth, prompting him on this misguided adventure.

He saw it now, in the delusion and fatigue, it became clear what had happened.

It was too late, though; he had to keep going. Or die.

As he stared with bleary eyes at the distant burning city, he simply didn’t care anymore. He didn't care about New Nashville. He didn't care about the people there. All he cared about was finding a way to keep going, to repair these wounds.

He would beg for help. And then, if fate let him get it, he would fly away again, never to be seen in this godforsaken land.

Maybe he’d go to the West Coast.

He wondered, maybe, with California deserted as this damned apocalypse had taken away the people, if he might find an deserted rich person house to live in. Kick it up and live the high life for once.

That’s what he should’ve done to begin with. Not that bullshit working for Denny.

The landscape continued, and the buildings came closer. The sulfuric taint in the air, the burning below, became mixed with something else, an almost charcoal-like burning scent. 

Then he saw it.

There was a convergence here. The world burned from the direction that he approached. But towards the western side of Atlanta, fire became ice—frozen sheets and buildings that radiated frost. Glacial amounts of snow dominated the outskirts of the city. Even from here, he could feel the tingle of some of that cold.

Yet it was not just a war of fire and ice; another element was at play on the other side of the city. A weird, glowing, purple—they looked to be floating lights—dominated the city. They flitted through the air. The trees there had turned an odd shade of burgundy.

Looking at the purple balls of light lulled him into a sense of surreal serenity, making him fall for a good dozen feet before he caught himself with his magic. 

Dangerous, Seth thought as he righted himself in the air, stopping him from plummeting to an early death.

Dangerous indeed. This place was a war zone, and not just the people who were in it. Three forces of nature had claimed this place and decided to make their stand. What could be causing it? He had little idea. But, as he floated closer, making himself speed up along the way, he wondered if any people were left to help him out, even among this natural devastation.

He knew better then to rely on kindness…

But he’d give them information. Sell out New Nashville if it meant he could live to see another day.

Time passed slowly, yet fast. As he numbly floated slower and slower, losing height, his power faded away as he strained for that last inch. He could see the destination in line.

But as he moved, he saw his salvation. In that fiery landscape in the actual city, burning brightly, surrounded by what looked to be a wall of fire, was a massive red fortress. It looked like something that might have come out of an eastern fantasy story—big, massive, tiled roofs—a castle that one might find in Japan with massive gates guarded by armored people.

There were actual people there, patrolling those walls.

I’m saved. Seth felt a tear run down his eye.

He zoomed in as far and as fast as he could push his strained body, losing height all the while as he came into view and approached his destination. People pointed to him at the wall, people letting out alarms, but he didn't care.

Seth raised his hands in the air and spoke loudly to them. "Please help!" he screamed, his voice carried by the wind, spreading as far as he could as he started to plummet.

That amped them up. He heard shouts of alarm and a horn ring out as they made out his falling form towards their fortress.

Would they help?

He saw them drawing bows before he could think about it. A red arrow spiraled out towards him. Trailing it was a ribbon of an even deeper regal red. He could see it coming; and in his horror and shock, tried to move, but the arrow tracked him through the air.

It pierced through his shoulder, running right through it.

Seth fumbled in the air, losing his power as his body began to freefall.

This is death.

All of those days of tortured travel? For nothing.

The arrow circled around with the ribbon, tying itself as it tangled around his falling body, then he was jerked away from the jaws of death, as the ribbon now grasping him, retracted back to the fortress and burning walls outside of it.

His hair singed as he was pulled straight to the wall, fully tied by a red ribbon that felt like steel. A boot pressed on his back.

"Invader caught," a gruff voice said from above, “Go tell the warlord. We got the spy.”

People scrambled around them, but they faded away to a blur for Seth. He felt his blood warming his chest, tasted the brimstone and copper taste in the air as that precious crimson liquid of his emptied out on the red wall below.

His breath slowed.

His limbs lost strength as the willpower drained away. So much suffering. Only for it to end like this?

It was unfair, but Seth didn’t know how to continue on. The rest of himself started to fade away into a dark silence. As he felt himself letting go, nearly free, for the final time, until someone yanked him up.

The guard who had caught him and dragged him in shoved a coarse pill in his mouth.

Seth tried to fight back based on natural instinct. But the man made him swallow it. It was like taking a spark of electricity to the gut. Energy flooded through him. His eyes opened wide as whatever drug or concoction they had just tossed into his mouth revved up. He wasn’t new to drugs, but this was unlike anything he’d ever tried. His fingers began to twitch, as his body began involuntarily spasming. If not for the ribbon binding him, his legs and arms would be flailing everywhere.

The man laughed as he looked at his expression. "You're not about to die on us yet. No, not until you talk with our warlord. You see, we don't know who you’re working with, and if you are a spy, you sure are a piss poor one."

The guard dropped him, and Seth hit the floor with a grunt. Though the pill brought a new life to him, it did not impart any sort of strength to break these ribbons that held him down.

It felt akin to being smothered. His limbs pressed against one another at an awkward angle. His body shuddering with energy, limbs twitching as whatever it was that fueled within him ran its course through his body, keeping him alive.

Eventually, he was lifted and dragged further into the fortress through multiple buildings. He saw people training in red armor, swinging swords, the type that had come out of what he looked to be some samurai fantasy. Seth would know, too, before he’d been forced on the street and focused on living, he'd been an avid fan of this sort of thing

It was confusing, though, as they swung black wooden swords at each other and practiced in formations inside this. Just how big was this place? Staffed by what looked to be many trained soldiers. It just didn't make sense to him. How did this exist in Atlanta?

The questions swirled in his overactive head, trying to make sense of that which made no sense; these buildings and armors didn’t belong here. So why? Was it another relic of the new world being stitched together, a product of the system?

They kept going until Seth found himself on a mat in the center of a building with a man who sat without a throne but on a pillow. This guy wore deep red armor, more formidable than any of the other, looking like it came straight out of a film from Japan. A sword lay on his lap as he observed them enter.

"You can leave us," he said to the guard who'd dragged him all the way. "You've done well, Lee, but I can handle this from here."

Lee gave a wave, then was gone.

"You are not a spy for my enemies," the man said from his cross-legged position, adjusting himself. "No spy for my enemies would be so bold as to fly by my fortress so weak, knowing that their intelligence would be given away with a hit. Unless they wanted you dead.”

He moved closer, standing up and walking over with sword in hand. The entire essence of this man flooded outward. A warm heat that seemed to fill the room as he strode closer and closer.

Seth had seen power before, in the form of Denny and that man with the golden knife he’d fought... But this felt odd. More like a refined power. The fact that it wasn't just on full display but so casually leaked in just the right ways spoke of a level of control.

The man leaned down and, with the swipe of his sword, cut the ribbon binding Seth. "I do not fear you," the man said, "but I offer you a proposal."

He motioned for Seth to sit up. "I will have tea brought, and we will have a discussion. If you lie to me, you will suffer in ways that you cannot fathom nor imagine. But if you are truthful, you will find that I can be a welcoming host.”

“Why…” Seth asked, not trusting this. There was very little kindness in the world, and in a world like this, even less.

“Like I said, I've judged you not to be one of my enemies, but I have not yet judged you to be one of my friends. Believe me, you will want to make the friend of Warlord Crimson. May we yet see that happen?”

Seth looked at him, his eyes wide, taking in those words, knowing he had no choice but to agree.

"Yes," Seth said, sitting up, and the man gestured. The doors opened again as if someone had been waiting on command. Two women filtered in wearing the type of kimono with fiery patterns. In their hands was a silver platter with a fine teapot decorated with porcelain and fire symbols on its fine marble surface and a matching set of cups.

"Come, let us drink, let us talk, and I shall judge your character. I do find it interesting to hear tales from the survivors of this apocalypse. Intelligence is so limited when all your resources must be devoted to what's in front of you."

Seth looked on numbly, confused. He didn't feel safe, but this surely was better than dying… And he would tell his story. Of Denny. Of New Nashville. No, this was not a man to lie to…

Especially as he felt the hole in his shoulder from the arrow starting to close up. This man, maybe, might be his ticket to survival. And Seth would do anything to survive.

“I came from a place called New Nashville…” Seth began his hand twitching as he watched a woman pour tea.