Chapter 839 (1/2)

The two figures finally slowed down to speeds that didn’t alarm Randidly, facing each other across the room. Both were bleeding, although Shal seemed to have fared better than the Spearman in the prior two exchanges. And yet…

A cloud of darkness was gathering behind the Spearman. Images from all across Tellus were flowing into this small room, and the same portion of the System that accomplished that slowly began restricting Randidly’s options.

Randidly abruptly realized that he had overlooked something. They had planned to face the Spearman and overcome his image directly. If that wouldn’t work, they would use the fallback plan they had prepared to overwhelm the image of the Spearman, and shift the battle to something that they could handle. Then, together, they would fight for the soul of Tellus.

But Randidly hadn’t thought deeply enough about how the System would actually be designed to have this process play out. In addition, he didn’t have enough time when he came in earlier to examine the runes that had appeared around Azriel. He had felt their rejection, but it was a similar rejection to the suppression jail he had spent a month in; he already had ways of counteracting those runes.

Randidly should have realized that the reason that the Spearman and his factions had such complex and specified runes was exactly that he had been close to ascending before. Those were the runes of Ascension or at least a fraction of them.

Now, as Randidly watched Shal and the Spearman battle, he realized that the web woven by the System was much more sinister than that. Not only was he, as an individual nearby who was not part of the duel suppressed, but the working was much broader than that.

The stronger it became, the larger its reach. Randidly suspected that all over the world, people were slowing and looking up at the sky. And during that stillness, there were other runes that facilitated the gathering of images. Slowly, in horror, Randidly watched as more and more darkness was brought by those sparkling runes to circle around the Spearman.

His shadow was tall and wide, a hulking monster that feasted on flesh. And Shal...

A smaller amount of bright fireflies were surrounding Shal, but it wasn’t nearly enough. And Randidly recognized that a larger portion of the image support that Shal was receiving was from Randidly and those who were baptized by Randidly’s images. Without that…

What was interesting was that the two fighters were governed by the suppression as well. Just not so tight a grip. They were slowly being ground down by the weight of the images they bore until all the weapons they could fight with were those images. These two individual capabilities mattered, but as time passed that difference wouldn’t amount for as much.

And in terms of images, the Spearman was clearly dominant.

“A broken spear,” the Spearman said with a sneer. “How appropriate. This is what lays at the end of your path, Shal. When the only reason you wield a spear is due to responsibility, you are weak. Your spear is weak. Step aside. Let me pass. This all can be averted now before it’s too late.”

“There is not solely the responsibility. There are other reasons… my spear will bear this weight. I will not retreat.” Shal said as he straightened before the Spearman. His left arm was injured, but still, it gripped stubbornly to the upper half of the spear he retained.

“To hold a spear is to embrace violence. Look at our world,” The Spearman hissed. At his words, the runes in the nearby area flared to life. A wave of mental pressure boomed outward. A sea of ghastly faces warped with rage and hatred seemed to glare down at the occupants of the room. They whispered their grievances, their sharp eyes demanding satisfaction.

Randidly could see Shal struggling underneath the mental attack and scrambled to think of a way to assist Shal. The Spearman continued to speak. “We have fought for generations against the Wights, but do you know what would have happened had I not created the Wights? We would have fought ourselves. To hold the spear is to acknowledge we will never evolve beyond our baser instincts. If there are no enemies, we turn on each other. That is Tellus. That is reality.”

“Yet I hold a spear to stop you; the world you would have us inhabit will bleed us dry. I will change that truth. We need not be sacrificed to your reality.” Shal announced.

Again, the Spearman laughed. “Your spear is broken. What more proof do you need?”

The moment had weight. The images were sizing each other up, and Shal’s was objectively inferior. Could Randidly donate an image to assist him? Or Aether? Shal would likely accept neither of these; this was his burden to bear. And despite the growing desperation in Shal’s gaze, Randidly knew Shal would never compromise. That was his image.

Or more than an image… it was a dream. A dream that he had with his brother, decades ago. A dream of growing up to change the world.

That was his spear. The Spear he wanted for Tellus.

And then, as suddenly as if someone has whispered into his ear, Randidly had an idea.

*****

Even as Shal continued to focus as much as possible on hitting the Spearman with Isolating Fear, he had a deepening suspicion that this angle had been a waste of time.

This feeling was compounded by his throbbing headache and the strange flood of examples that suddenly popped into Shal’s mind, proving the Spearman right. Consider the inter-School tournaments. And color hunters. And the sadistic infighting that occurred between the powerful Styles all across the world.

All those things could be found in the mantle of violence that colored the air with maroon and rust, the color of old metal and festering wounds.

The people of Tellus fought. Not for responsibility, but for power and privilege. And when those were present, for pride. And when that wasn’t present, because that was what they wanted. Tellus was populated by individuals who thrived on violent contests. He couldn’t deny that.

But before he lost himself, Pronto had a dream. A dream of a bright-eyed ten-year-old. A dream of a spear that was a snake, and a hero who would save the world. A hero who would be so strong that he would bring peace to Tellus. Behind Shal were tiny motes of light. They were small and weak because they were just the whims of children.

They were the wistful hopes of mothers whose daughters and sons went off to war. They were the dreams of the veterans, who had seen far too many bright-eyed youths eternally silenced. They wanted someone to save them. To bring justice to the world. To be so powerful that they would be saved from their own flaws.

Shal could not claim to be this hero. He had risen through violence and strife, just like the rest of them. But at his core, he knew that the people of Tellus were better than this violence.