Ch 161
Matt narrowly evaded Hanklin’s strike, the air whooshing past him as the attack missed by mere inches. This grueling fight had dragged on for over three hours; despite the noticeable improvement in his strength and agility, they remained far behind where they should have been. To complicate matters further, Hanklin donned a specialized piece of gear that prevented him from breaking the skin of his opponent. It rendered Matt's efforts futile; even if he transformed his fist into a blood balloon and countered with a punch of his own, the system would register it as a self-inflicted injury. As a result, he had been forced to heal his own hand twice during the bout, a frustrating setback.
Talking was not an option either. Each time Matt attempted to speak, Hanklin seemed to interpret it as a signal to ramp up his assault, increasing his pace with a relentless fervor. It felt as if Hanklin were declaring that if Matt had time to chat, then the fight didn’t possess enough intensity. The solitary silver lining was that the prolonged skirmish was incrementally enhancing his dexterity, albeit just a fraction. Yet, Matt sensed he was approaching a wall, struggling to devise a strategy to bring the fight to a close. In this precarious moment, he found himself unable to retaliate effectively; while he could barely dodge Hanklin’s strikes, all of his own attacks were too sluggish to land a hit.
Feeling as though he was trapped in a quagmire, Matt’s mind raced to find a way forward, desperately sifting through ideas to combine his essences. He zeroed in on three crucial elements: luck, hope, and determination. The stark reality gnawed at him; he was lagging behind in stats, skill, and experience compared to Hanklin, despite having surpassed him in levels. This realization made those three qualities feel paramount as he sought a way to land a strike that would be undeniably effective. The outcome of his frantic brainstorming manifested in chaos, as Hanklin let out a pained cry, pulling back a bloodied fist that miraculously healed almost instantly.
In contrast, Matt found himself in a more precarious situation. His body had momentarily sprouted tiny half-inch spikes, a desperate defense, but several of those spikes shattered upon impact with Hanklin’s blow. Yet clarity began to dawn on him; just because Hanklin couldn’t break his skin didn’t mean anything if he was hitting bone instead. Unfortunately, Matt hadn’t acted swiftly enough to transfer the injury to Hanklin as he braced himself to revise his strategy yet again. It seemed that Hanklin had sensed the shift in momentum, recognizing that his advantage was slipping away.
“I’ve lost,” Hanklin admitted, a frown etched across his face. “I didn’t expect you to cover your body in bone spikes like that.”
“Neither did I, and it’s not what I was aiming for,” Matt gasped, struggling to catch his breath. “I was just trying to land a lucky blow that you couldn’t dodge.”
“Well, it worked,” Hanklin chuckled, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I’m not sure if this new skill you created will always yield such results, but at least you discovered a way to defeat me. So, you should be prepared for whatever comes next.”
“And what exactly is that?” Matt asked, confusion still swirling in his mind as he tried to decipher Hanklin's intentions.
“Who knows,” Hanklin replied, turning to walk away. “That’s kind of the point—you need to adapt to whatever comes your way, just as I found a counter for how you bested me last time. Now, unless you want to kill me, I suggest you embrace the lesson for what it’s worth.”
Matt remained silent as he watched Hanklin retreat, then turned to head in the opposite direction. He felt a pull to accomplish one last task before making his way back to Earth. As Matt’s main body delved deeper into the dungeon, his puppet on the swarm world, where Vassilis had been ensnared, cautiously emerged from its hiding spot. Keeping low and blending into the shadows, he began to sift through the wreckage, the tremors that had rocked the land finally subsiding a few hours earlier. The intensity of the recent conflict weighed heavily on him; more than once, he had narrowly escaped a stray attack that could have claimed his life, yet he had managed to endure it all.
The devastation around him told a grim tale—everywhere he glanced, chaos reigned. What once might have resembled familiar structures now lay in ruins, their forms twisted and broken, remnants of buildings that had once soared into the sky. More haunting were the bodies littering the ground, beginning to decay under the harsh light of the twin suns, one of which seemed to orbit the other in a strange celestial dance. Yet, the most chilling sound that pierced the heavy air was the music drifting from the summit of the tallest mound of corpses. There, atop the grim pile, sat Vassilis, strumming an eerie tune on what appeared to be a makeshift guitar, the notes echoing hauntingly through the desolate landscape.
Though the music lacked words and Matt was unfamiliar with most melodies, it carried a profound sense of melancholy. It struck Matt’s puppet that Vassilis might be lamenting the foes he had slain, grappling with the stark reality of his isolation in a world that likely held no familiarity for him. This sorrow stemmed from Matt's desire to save others while keeping a formidable power capable of obliterating entire realms out of the conflict. As Matt’s puppet became lost in these contemplations, he failed to notice when the music ceased, only snapping back to awareness as Vassilis loomed over him.
“So, it’s you that I have to thank for being trapped here,” Vassilis said, his voice laced with bitterness. In an instant, Matt’s puppet found himself ensnared in Vassilis’s grip, the pressure increasing as Vassilis continued to speak with growing fury. “It seems you’re too cowardly to confront me in your true form, and I can’t sense another fragment of you nearby. Has the nature of your prime bloodline finally revealed itself to you?”
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Matt’s puppet shook his head vigorously, managing to squeak out a desperate “no!” with every ounce of strength he could muster.
“Oh, so you really are just a fool stumbling around while the powers that be manipulate your actions as they see fit. Is that why you’ve caused such chaos—because someone else directed you?”
“No!” Matt’s puppet shouted defiantly. “I did it because I was tired of them telling me what to do!”
“Good, but too bad for you—I don’t care!”
Matt’s puppet sensed a shift in Vassilis’s energy, an unsettling wave that compelled its consciousness to retreat and merge back into the greater whole. In that moment, Vassilis stood bewildered, losing track of the fragment that had been within the puppet. This confusion quickly morphed into frustration as he felt cheated; he held the still-living puppet in his grasp, yet this piece of Matt was now useless for launching an attack. Vassilis recognized that even if he chose to keep it, it would soon dissipate, leaving him with nothing but a hollow shell. Still, there remained one option available to him that prevented him from destroying it altogether.
Meanwhile, as the penalty period drew closer to its conclusion, chaos surged across the entire universe. It would be a lie to claim that all major powers were enraged by the penalty period; in fact, it served as the perfect tool for executing plans that required brief intervals of relative peace. Nowhere was this more evident than within the worlds united by the Interstellar Administration. Several factions conspired to dismantle what they perceived as the tyranny of the alliance. For far too long, they had been compelled to disperse their forces or faced restrictions on acquiring too much of any single world or the alliance as a whole.
All of this had been enforced by a singular figure, the one who had vanquished all their organizations over 3,000 years ago. Yet, rather than annihilating their existence, he compelled them to labor towards his vision for the future. A future in which the most vulnerable were prioritized and supported above all else. In this new order, each organization was mandated to set aside its own ambitions in favor of the collective interests of the alliance. To any man with ambition, this arrangement was intolerable, yet they had remained powerless to act for so long. However, as the penalty period commenced, whispers of rebellion began to stir, and factions started to position themselves for a strike.
When rumors began to circulate that the very man who had kept them all in check for so long had gone missing, a few organizations discontented with the current state of affairs celebrated in hushed corners. Their plans were swiftly recalibrated, and any lingering hesitation evaporated; some even chose to act before the penalty period had officially concluded. With just 15 galactic hours remaining, urgent notifications poured in, detailing the destruction of over 50 organizations as their leadership was ruthlessly eliminated, sending shockwaves through the galaxy.
The ripples of these notifications spread far beyond the confines of the Interstellar Administration’s territory. For many, each alert signified the brutal elimination of individuals who wielded authority that spread across multiple planets. Within their own ranks, those in similar positions felt a surge of dread and paranoia. Whispers of betrayal filled the air, as fears of neighboring factions infiltrating their domains and plotting their demise intensified, igniting the embers of impending conflict. As Matt stepped into a safe room for the first time since his return to the Darkened Expanse dungeon, he remained blissfully ignorant of the chaos unfolding outside, unaware of the storm brewing across the galaxy.
“Finally come to confront me?” Tempormr inquired, his voice dripping with a mix of surprise and mockery as he sensed Matt's presence reaching out. “I thought you had decided to sever all ties with me.”
“I simply wish to ask why,” Matt replied, his tone heavy with the weight of unanswered questions. He felt an urgent need to understand the purpose behind it all. “Why did you try to force me when you—”
“What am I the ormr of?” Tempormr interjected, cutting him off with an air of authority.
“Time,” Matt answered, a frown creasing his brow. “Does that mean you can see the future?”
“No, I only perceive what is possible,” Tempormr retorted, a smugness in his tone. “Although, I must admit, even I did not foresee you surpassing my wildest expectations. So, fear not; I harbor no anger towards you. I will consider our balance even if you can do the same.”
“No,” Matt countered with a chuckle that held little humor. “When my power exceeds yours, then we can discuss our balance as being even. You orchestrated everything from the very beginning, forcing your will upon my world when you could have postponed it indefinitely if you had chosen to.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” Tempormr replied, his demeanor shifting to one of somber reflection. “Your world had at most a century left before your kind would have brought about its destruction, one way or another. Besides, why settle for a mere 100 years of life when you can embrace thousands of years instead?”
“Fine,” Matt said, his resolve hardening. “Tell me what happens now.”
“Now, we finish our conversation. You will lay down and sleep, only to awaken beside your cabin, pondering whether everything was merely a dream until you encounter Bob for the first time moments later. Beyond that, my knowledge fades, as the possibilities blend together too intricately, with all the survivors on your world experiencing similar moments of uncertainty.”
“I see,” Matt chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Fine, keep what happens next a secret. After all, if you revealed it, I’d likely just do something else to irritate you. So, is this going to be the last time you bother me?”
“Until your world is open to all, most likely,” Tempormr replied, his voice distant and echoing with an air of finality. “Unless, of course, you invite me to your world, as Radoznaormr will probably compel you to do for him. That’s one necessity I wish could be avoided, as it will likely exact a toll from me in the future.”
“Nothing comes without a price,” Matt shot back, settling down to prepare for sleep. “Is there any chance you can tell me what will happen to all the drops of blood I’m using to spy on the Interstellar Administration right now?”
“Everything that the system deems a part of you and alive will be transported to your world,” Tempormr stated firmly. “Every single cell will be accounted for, and your ability to perceive what occurs beyond your world will effectively vanish. Instead, you will need to place your trust in whatever Radoznaormr chooses to share with you.”
Matt shrugged his shoulders, allowing his mind to drift away, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as his body finally surrendered to the deep embrace of sleep.
