John was in a state of shock so profound it left him unable to speak, and the stranger, being the cause of his condition, indulged in the silence as well. Unwilling to offer any words of hope where there weren’t any to be found; however, Their peaceful silence would only last for so long before being interrupted.
The unsettling symphony of mismatched footsteps, more akin to the skittering of a spider than that of a human, echoed throughout the ruins, so heavy they were that one could easily mistake them for beats on a massive drum.
John looked up, confused and still rattled from learning of the truth of this world, only to find the stranger wearing a much different expression than his own.
The stranger’s stiff demeanor was betrayed by his trembling eyes, for it didn’t take a master of psychology or a mindreader to understand what they conveyed. He was afraid, and John knew that whatever could drive fear into the heart of a man who laughs in the face of such monstrosities as the abominations of bone and steel they ran into earlier, should frighten him much more.
“What’s going on?” John asked while stumbling to his feet, his voice wavering as his futile attempt at regaining and keeping his composure began to crumble.
“It's them… those monsters… the accursed.” Every muscle on the stranger’s body tensed up when he spoke their name aloud. “You need to choose a class right now, I’ll go scout the area, don’t leave this spot until I come get you.”
The stranger felt a hand grip his shoulder as he turned around to leave. “No, I won’t be left in the dark again, tell me what the hell these accursed are, when I end up fighting one I’d rather have all the information I need.”
John’s words suddenly became far too calm and collected for a man who just learned that he’d been left for dead in a long-abandoned world, so abnormal it was that even the stranger couldn’t help but turn around with a perplexed expression painted on his face; however, it did not take him long to understand where John’s sudden bravery came from.
“You took the ring off? I’d call you an idiot but the fact that you learned how the level-up addiction erases your fear and hesitation after being exposed to it only once is impressive… Fine, it's not like I’m rearing to go out there anyway.” The stranger brushed John’s firm grip aside with ease and looked him square in the eye.
“We are short on time so I’ll make this brief. First things first, remove the notion of fighting them from your head, it’s pointless even if you could get any real hits in. The accursed are ancient constructs of the elves. They were made as weapons of war to use against the heroes before the ascended, and they are damn terrifying.”
The stranger reached for a dagger he kept holstered on his chest, pulling out a broken, paper-thin blade that was shorter than its hilt. “They are abominations that can regenerate from nearly everything you throw at them, I’ve seen one come back to life after its head was turned into mulch. They move in small packs like wolves and while they aren’t very strong individually, they are just as smart as you or I. The only way to put one down for good is to get a good his in with this.”
John looked at the feeble blade, unconvinced of its rumored power, but his doubt wouldn’t go unnoticed, for it was quickly picked up on and rectified by the stranger.
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but this ether blade is an artifact that can temporarily negate healing effects, which includes regeneration; so unless you have something better hidden up yer ass I’d stay quiet.”
John couldn’t help but chuckle, able to find humor in the otherwise grime situation now that his fear and uncertainty were all but gone. “All right, so if I do end up facing one of these things, how can I fight it off?” The true intentions behind his words were no mystery to the stranger who knew from experience how detrimental the effects of the level-up addiction were.
“You don’t.” The stranger spoke with an imposing tone as if he was issuing an order rather than a suggestion. “do you think a brat like you can stand up the accursed? You might’ve leveled up but it isn’t nearly enough to hold your own against those monstrosities…well…not unless you—”
The cacophony of abnormal skittering began reverberating across the empty halls and dilapidated chambers of the ruins once more, sending shivers down both of their spines.
“They’re getting closer, I can’t delay anymore. You have the choice between the sword and the gauntlets. I don’t know much about the gauntlets, it’s a brawling class built around variations of fist weapons, but that’s all I know about it; so I recommend the sword, but whatever you choose, you better be quick about it. All you have to do is touch the statue to select the class, also your status will open automatically when you do, you should take the chance to use your levels.” The stranger quickly lept into action, casting multiple incantations in low whispers before blending in with the darkness, leaving John alone with only one sphere of light to keep him company.
Once alone, John could feel the hunger more clearly, pushing him to quickly choose a class and venture out to hunt for the accursed.
He reached for his pocket, pulling out the silver ring, and placing it upon his palm. He looked at it, conflict brewing in his heart. He did not want to feel the fear and anxiety that bound him for his entire life once more, but he also knew that if he came face to face with anything at the moment, he would get himself killed.
“Well… let's get this over with first.” John returned the ring to his pocket, drowning his ears in all manners of excuses as he began inspecting the statue of the sword. “I’ve never held a sword until today and I’m not very good at it, but at least I know exactly what I’m in for.”
Shifting his gaze to the statue of the gauntlets, John wondered what prospects it could offer. He was far more familiar with his own body than a sword if nothing else, thus it would be far more efficient in the short run, however, it was a far riskier investment.
“I wouldn’t want to fist fight a regular guy, let alone a damn monster…but what about the now? Those things. The accursed. There is a good chance I run into one.”
After a few minutes of silent but rigorous contemplation, John finally came to a decision. He approached the statue of the gauntlets and placed his hand upon its dusk-covered, cold surface.
Blinding rays of golden light erupted from the effigy, enveloping him in their warm embrace. He could hear a faint voice whispering to him, not from his ears but from within his very soul.
“I, a hero of the goddess, claim the mantle of the brawler.” John was oblivious as to why he spoke such words, but it was as if his body was hijacked by the goddess herself, for he couldn’t seize his utterance. “Following in the steps of the five saints, I swear upon my name to cleanse this world of the demon, the elf, and the heretic, for I am her sword, her shield, and her armor, and for her blessing, I pledge my life and my very soul.”
John crumbled to the ground with a loud thud, his brain in shambles after the bizarre experience. He held his head, feeling an ache deep within his skull as if something was struggling to free itself from its restraints.
Images of battles long fought flashed before his eyes, along with the faces of those who held the mantle of heroes before his time. In his delirious visions, he saw a man carving his way through armies of abomination so fearsome one would think them to be mere figments of imagination, born out of the workings of a truly sick and twisted mind. But the beasts stood no chance against the warrior, whose fists acted as they were hammers, raining down righteous and uncompromising wrath upon them.
He saw faces burning within flames, smiling as their skin turned to ash, mountains of rotting corpses so massive they blocked out the sun, and fields the size of cities burned into the ground. The images only grew more disturbing and brutal by the second, until not but one final vision remained. One so clear and coherent John thought it to be a memory.
A man stood facing an army numbering in the millions alone, a final barrier between the small town behind him, and their certain annihilation. His armor shone with golden light, giving him a visage more befitting a king than a warrior. His hands were adorned by a pair of gauntlets, too thick and crude for a weapon, but too bloodied, scratched, and dented for decoration.
The man of gold gazed back to the town, looking into the eyes of a woman sure to be his beloved. In her eyes he found peace, and in her tears, he found regret, for he knew that he would not be able to protect her. The warrior plunged into the heart of the million-strong army, acting more as a hurricane than a man. A single swing of his fists turned entire platoons into a cloud of blood and intestines, sundering their feeble forms along with the armor they cowered behind.
The vision ended with no warning, leaving John confused as to the nature of his bizarre dream, but he would not have time to dwell on such technicalities, for in front of his eyes was the doorway to his fate, the infamous status screen.
