The Fool's Freedom

Mayra watched with sparkling eyes as Alan took to the air. He stepped on it for a moment, as if it was solid, before allowing darkness to coalesce. Shadows swirled around, pouring out of each pore, and the world seemed a bit bleaker for his presence. Not to her thought. To her, he was a hope for a bright future, growth, and purpose.

The apocalypse had given her a second chance at life, and Alan was doing it again after sparing her, and showing her the twisted glimpses of her past. She didn’t plan on wasting this one.

The book he briefly summoned instantly caught her attention, and Mayra felt the presence of her patron wash over her in an instant. At least one facet of it. It had many eyes. Many faces. The presence was a cold chill. A whisper at the back of the throat. A shiver deep in her bones. And a promise of power, no matter how invasive and uncomfortable. Her patron was not one of many words, but knowledge it had in spades. To be so interested in Alan’s artifact, meant it was extraordinary.

Her eyes widened as Alan moved his dagger and cut the air, and her eyes teared up as she felt a wave of hate so passionate it made her wonder what had given birth to it disperse into the world. Then the sky, the earth, and the horizon were cut as a wave of mists washed over them. And not simple mists either.

A glimmering barrier came into being only to be halved in two, then shattered. Two more, golden and more powerful than those of their own Sanctuary stood in the way, and they too fell easily in but a moment. The attack continued for some time, and she saw the distant forest’s treetops fall by the tens.

How powerful was Alan? This was on another level than anything he had shown.

The presence of her patron remained for a long while, and as her body started shivering and her mind fogged, she tried to force it to leave. While she was somewhat dependent and subservient, she was not a slave and was allowed her own agency. The patron seemed to sometimes forget that, especially when it enacted punishments and took away gifts just due to its displeasure. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened now.

She could still feel it. It always watched. But a distant gaze was nothing like its full attention, and she was fine with that.

Before them sprawled a large Sanctuary. Buildings of wood and stone rose from the ground and made it look almost like a miniature version of an old Earth city. Three towers rose above all else, but they had been in the way of Alan’s blade, and nothing stood in the way of Alan’s blade.

How powerful, she thought.

***

Alan grimaced as he saw the buildings fall. Why had they built so high?! He had purposely missed the bulk of the Sanctuary, but even his ability to detect flow had only given him vague clues to the dimensions of it. It was an educated guess at best. He awaited the dreadful messages, but none came.

Had he somehow managed to not kill anyone? The tall buildings were three, similar but smaller versions of the tower he had bought for himself. Three for three-tier twos, perhaps? Now one.

His will spread as far as he could stretch it, and within its domain the shadows appeared too, swirling and demanding. They were nothing more than a mass of mana given a form that served no purpose other than a place he could instantly reach with [Dark Step], but they looked fearsome. Alan was disappointed he was not able to project his voice through them.

How was he supposed to announce his demands? His voice would hardly reach anyone no matter how much he strained. He saw people rush to the walls, preparing to fight. Tens. Hundreds. Like ants they crawled through the Sanctuary, preparing to defend.

Could he fight them all? Could he take the wrath of hundreds of tier-one combatants and live? Ten? Sure. Fifty? Quite so. There was a difference in the sheer quality of mana and attributes, but would the gap hold against so many? Not that he planned on a frontal confrontation. Plus, he needed just one of them.

A face he knew. A mana signature he had memorized. He didn’t want to allow Rust to sacrifice those in the Sanctuary. No matter what they had done, dying as expendable puppets for a sick skill was too much of a waste. Quickly dispatching the man was paramount.

However, Rust was missing. Alan couldn’t scan the whole Sanctuary obviously due to the many signatures, but he felt things wouldn’t be simple. He frowned and stepped off his platform, aiming toward one of the walls. He fell toward the ground and tried to propel himself forward with his mana. It worked somewhat as a guided fall, rather than a proper flight. He was a target up in the air, and fighting in the city gave him an insane advantage if it came to that.

He made his shadow tendrils take the brunt of the impact before stepping onto the wall with his arms raised. There were already some people on the walls, charging skills and brandishing weapons. Many others were running around aimlessly below.

Few let go as if prompted by sheer panic or fear. After all, they must’ve felt the [Hateful Mist Cut] fly above their heads. It was a promise of death, and Alan was starting to doubt his initial evaluations of the skill. It had grown stronger yet… alongside him.

Alan tried to keep track of all the people with his senses while ignoring the weak attacks coming in his direction. The shadows dealt with them easily, making him look even more fearsome. There were too many though, and he quickly gave up. His shadows covered quite the distance, and [Dark Step] was ready at a moment’s notice.

“Calm down, calm down!” he said. “I won’t hurt you unless you provoke me.”

There was mumbling among those at the very front, and a woman dressed in fine leather armor wearing a badge on her breast stepped forward. Few others dressed similarly too. Did these bastards have proper police? Or sort of a city guard? Damn, Rosalyn had been slacking.

“You’re the one King Rust warned us about,” she said. He couldn’t quite place the accent, and she was certainly not speaking in English. However, his [Shadow Speech] took care of it all the same.

King Rust? I’ll vomit in my mouth. But this is… peculiar. Did he warn them, then leave?

“I probably am, but I wouldn’t trust much of what he’s saying.”

“We know. He’s a cruel man, but he’s strong, so we follow him.”

“Makes sense.”

“You’re stronger though. Merciful too. Thank you for sparing us.”

The words sounded very sad and everyone around seemed to shuffle uncomfortably. Someone somewhere wept. For a moment Alan had thought they would pledge allegiance or something, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

What the hell…?

“I guess I am? Listen, all I want is Rust. I know he has… poisoned you, but he’s not here, so kindly point me in a direction and I’ll rid you of that pest.”

“He sees all. He watches all,” a man to the woman’s left said.

“Our blood carries his poison. His touch. There’s no escape,” another lamented.

Alan opened his mouth, then froze. More people were climbing up the wall and they were leading children along with them. This didn’t bode well. Not at all.

“What do you think you’re doing with those kids?” he asked, frowning. He didn’t really have an issue with some slaughter anymore, but using children as shields? That was too much.

The woman stepped forward.

“King Rust said that we have to kill you or hold you in place until he returns. He said you’re a monster that will devour us for his own gain and not to trust your lies. He said you’re one of them… those who want this world. He said… if we don’t listen to him, he’ll force us. We… we’re warriors now. Of all nations. Of all people. There are five hundred and seventy-two of us here. Fifty below the age of sixteen. Hundred and sixty-eight elders.”

I don’t like where this is going…

“We know this is too much to ask of anyone in this new reality, but if we fight you, we die. If we don’t, we’ll also die. We know what happens to those who go against the master. Forgive our selfishness, but… for the children… could you please die? It will save hundreds!”

***

Mayra watched from afar, biting at her lips. She had expected slaughter. Alan was a force of nature, but he had peculiarities and a lot more mercy than most who had embraced the gifts of the System. He was even calmly conversing with those who had just attacked him… why? Was the crazy rust bastard not there?

“I should go be with with. You stay here, alright?”

“I was promised revenge,” Remin said.

“And you’ll have it as long as you don’t turn into a pain in the ass!”

Mayra took out two scrolls. One gave her the skill of [Frog Leap] for quite a bit, the other allowed her to manipulate her weight to a great range. If she played her cards right, she could—

Laughter.

So unrestrained and terrifying she forgot what she was doing. Was it Alan laughing? Why?

Darkness like a cloud suddenly burst out of him and washed the Sanctuary. She saw the people stumble under the press of his will. This presence… this was new. This was not simple mana or a skill, but something more. An ever-growing will that fed off of the world and kept going.

And all Alan did was laugh.

Mayra reconsidered her approach and simply watched.

***

“Is this it? Is this the grand plan this piece of shit could come up with?” Alan asked between bouts of laughter.

He was growing angrier by the second, but he was also greatly entertained. Did they think him so stupid? So pathetic? Did they think taking themselves as hostages would work against him? Alan, the compassioned scion of an extinct race, wielding eternally hungry shadows that could eat lifeforce to strengthen themselves, killing himself for them? Him, a bastion of light. A hero of justice. A sacrifice.

It was an insult to his pride. An insult against everything he had gone through to stand before the fools and think of ways to spare them. An insult to all that rested on his shoulders, and all the mistakes, and pain, and loss. To all, he planned on achieving. The world was up for grabs, and they thought there was a chance for him to… give up.

A man screamed and charged. He was fast and strong, but he was in the high eighties at best, and the skill he was using was a straight-line charge, and some sort of a flaming lance. Nothing noteworthy. Alan didn’t even need to move as his will wrapped around him and the shadows followed. A dark spike stabbed, piercing his skin and retracting, and the man’s eyes rolled backward into his skull. He was alive, and unharmed, other than fainting due to the overwhelming difference.

Alan was terrifyingly angry and he felt those around him struggle against his growing pressure. Yet, he held a tight leash on his mana’s and his will’s new inherent quality of devouring anything they touched.

His will permeated the flesh, rushed through the veins, and searched for the familiar scent of Rust’s skill. Such a manifestation was quite draining, but he had lost control for a moment and the stupor it had caused gave him an opportunity.

The whispers had welcomed it all. They had been docile in recent times but now exploded with bloodthirst. If they had their way, he would’ve been in the middle of a slaughter right now, hands bloody and heart dead.

Falling for such impulses was not a thing Alan wanted to ever do again, and so, he chose not to follow them.

He scoured every centimeter of the man’s body and then dropped him on the ground. He pushed [Shadow Creation] like never before and felt his mind almost split from the burden of doing so. Tens of shadowy limbs rushed for the people gathered around and stabbed them like needles, before going for others. Each was an injection of will that scoured their bodies.

It was difficult to do it without contact, especially as fast as he wanted it done.

Only a few, huh? The woman in charge and each of the guards, but those without armor were fine. Alan figured that was the case. His mana quickly devoured all traces of Rust’s skill that it found as it had done before. If Rust could use his skill on hundreds of people so simply, and from a wide distance, then that meant it was of a higher grade than Alan had seen.

However, it was no curse. It wasn’t hidden or special in the way curses worked. It was perhaps a result of the man’s own experiments, rather than something System created. Crude. Unrefined. Weak. Those people who had exploded in the last Sanctuary had been hollowed out; already dead, with only a hint of will remaining in them. The case here was different, thankfully. Just the initial skill—the one the bastard had showcased during his attack on Alan’s home.

It took mere moments, and before those on the wall could gather themselves and try to counterattack, Alan retracted it all. The shadows melted, and his will let go of their minds.

“The farmer had sown fear, and reaped it,” Alan said coldly, stepping forward. “I apologize for the outburst, but I’m not that much of a fool to take my life for a bunch of nobodies. Few of you are infected. Most are not. I can take care of it, but it’ll cost you now that you’ve gone and pissed me off. Trusting me is your best bet… I’ll give you a minute to decide. After that, I’ll start asking questions and forcing the answers out. No matter what.”