Metrics Of Ragnarok

Borrowed Time

Atlas read through the letter again, slightly more amused each time at the stupidness of the composition, but worried.

He knew Achilles, and that... figure, was extremely proud. Yet, faced with the promise of damnation, he too felt fear.

Atlas sighed and blew out his reading candle. He felt safer in the dark, because he knew the corrupted Achilles could already see him.

What had corrupted him? Atlas didn't know.

Over the years, his vast yet rare experience with corruption had taught him one thing: that it usually came with morbid spectacle.

But this case was too quiet, and that was exactly what got him worried.

He winced and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's nighttime, Hope. Please turn the golden glow down a bit."

Hope stirred out of her dream, which she somehow did with her eyes open. She said it was her visions, because of her affinity to godhood, but Atlas just thought it was creepy.

She nodded, and her glow was drowned by the dark.

"You seem strangely sad. Are you afraid?"

Though he couldn't see it, he knew she smiled. "No, what would I be afraid of? Just like you, death isn't the end for me... unfortunately."

"So what's the reason for the downcast mood then?"

"Nothing. I just feel sorry for him, that's all."

Atlas frowned. "You had a vision because you were sympathetic? And for someone who believes you are a stain on society?" Noticing her silhouette move with a bit of disbelief, he added. "I'm not making it up; that's what he literally said."

"Okay, it's his beliefs anyway. I have my altars, he has his shrines."

Atlas didn't press further. Something was wrong, and not just in the Groundhog Kingdom a kilometre away– but that matter would wait.

And the distance was why he wasn't so worried. He was worried about the people's lives, but more so his own, because there were fates worse than death. Fates he, and a few others, had to be alive to deal with.

Besides, a new corrupted would be in stasis just after full transformation, and Achilles may not have been fully consumed. Still, it would make no difference if he was or wasn't.

That tempted Atlas to go and try his luck in the castle of flesh, but knowing how his luck was, he decided otherwise. Even a corrupted one in stasis could very well rip a regular human apart with a swing.

He was not regular, not anymore, but it would still hurt like hell.

Unlike with most enemies, he didn't really consider the pros and cons here, because there were none.

Just something complicated.

He would have loved to know, or explain to Hope, but he couldn't because all this while, he was still unable to find that talking river.

All he knew was that it had something to do with the Will of people, and something within that interaction, caused growth.

So Achilles' domain wouldn't end with his castle; it wouldn't end anywhere if he wasn't killed. It would keep growing and growing, until the world was all grotesque flesh.

So he needed to end this before then, hopefully.

He could already feel the castle, more than a thousand metres away, exerting a weak force on him. Like a shy headache trying to speak up.

It wouldn't be more painful for people in proximity, at least not now, because Atlas' Will was protecting them.

As usual, he didn't understand how, or what his Will actually was, but it seemed to be connected to his knowledge. To the fact that he remembered all the lives.

If that was the case, then Hope's Will would still be taking a bit out of the burden.

The burden of a demon with a Will of his own.

Atlas turned from his reading area towards his bed. The builders had been quick, and although his castle was not even half completed, it had begun to resemble the abode of the rich.

And yes, he had to admit, he was wrong to assume that this wasn't comfort.

Especially the bed.

So with that, he crawled in and prepared to sleep. Not that he wasn't concerned about the situation, but because he knew he couldn't do anything without the addition of the items Matthew's group would bring, as well as the individuals themselves.

So he offered a quiet prayer to the Lady of Desire – Hope– and the Lady of safe travels– another personification– and slept.

He had been ashamed that he was now praying instead of relying on his skill, but he wasn't. It wouldn't hurt to have all the help he could get.

***

Matthew sank the metal into the fire again, wincing.

They had assumed wrong that the lanky man was the only crossbreed there, and although they all weren't, the ones that were proved to be real problems.

Still, they had been able to usurp them and take control, with some well-timed assistance from the third Xhosa member, who had noticed the unrest in the plantation from the office block and decided to see what was happening.

Nevertheless, they had suffered infliction of their own, although not in death.

The Xhosa that had followed Matthew in had been gutted badly.

At the culmination of the battle, he had been forced to hold his organs in and fight.

He lost a lot of blood just from moving around, and now that they were out of immediate danger, he finally let the pain catch up to him.

The crossbreed that had gutted him seemed to have had a toxin on his claws or spikes protruding from his skin, and that made the fatal wound hurt even more.

Nobody among them had doctoring expertise, but it didn't mean they would let him die.

Matthew took the metal out of the fire and warned:

"Don't move, or I'll burn you again, by accident, of course."

The Xhosa nodded, then shut his eyes as he gripped the grass.

Matthew watched the way the Xhosa member's eyelids fluttered with a bit of pity, knowing the immense pain the man felt as he burned shut the wound slowly.

He wasn't sure if this was actually good for him, or whether it would aggravate the severity of the wound, but he continued, knowing that it would at least stop the bleeding.

Also, the heat would kill any bacteria that might have tried to get through and infect the man.

The process was slow, and along with it, he didn't want a fancy outlook; Matthew didn't want it to look horrible either, so he tried to make it look... appealing.

It didn't.

Anyways, on the other side of the plantation, the kingdom guards, having been called down by the other Xhosa, were sweeping through the area, retrieving the materials that had been stolen.

It wasn't only bullets. It also included steel and bronze crafted weapons, attachments for guns, like iron marks and leathery grips, armour, both regular and fishnet vest kind.

The mercenaries had hidden them all over the place, so it was a grueling challenge to find them all.

Worse still was the fact that many of the bullets had been loaded into the crude guns, so the kingdom guards would have to remove them all and be careful not to damage anything.

And they had to be quick, because they were working on borrowed time, and the morning was coming...