Chapter 291 War

Landing on his back into a new room in the frightening maze of grime and steel, he instinctively caressed his shoulder.

"--Ngh!"

A flood of hot liquid pressed against his hand as he lifted it, finding his palm stained in fresh crimson; there was a monstrous hole bored through his left shoulder. There was no doubt it was impossible to even utilize that arm now with any efficiency.

THUD-THUD. THUD-THUD. THUD-THUD.

Picking himself up weakly and with a pained groan, he briefly gazed down the hall with the loud grating of whatever was chasing him, still unable to get a clear look at whatever it was, though from brief occurrences of sparks flying, he could tell it was large.

I can't run like this…! I have to hide! He decided.

Fortunately, the chamber he had stumbled into was similar to the initial one he had found, in that there were multiple "partial buildings" occupying the area, allowing him to pick himself up and rush past one of the establishment doors.

"...Hff…"

Shutting the door that let out a small chime from the attached bell, he looked into the dusty building to find skeletons sitting silently; inanimate, yet as creepy as ever.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Even though he did his best to quiet his heavy breathing, he was still spilling blood from the two holes shot through him, prompting him to drag himself away from the door to hide deeper in the random building.

Shit…This is the entity that the note warmed me about? I couldn't see it, but…if it's using bullets, it can't be from Arcadius, he thought.

There wasn't a moment where his ears weren't being pelted by the orchestra of heavy machinery approaching, causing him to move as swiftly as he could with his wounded body. Like a broken faucet, blood squirted from the clean holes drilled in his shoulder and leg, causing him to fall directly behind a torn, cobweb-covered couch in the building.

"Ngh…"

Even with the adrenaline that was pumping in his veins with a desperate vigor, the pain was hardly dulled as he sat there with labored breathing and winces each time a squirt of crimson fluid came from his wounds.

Shit…This is bad. I'm going to bleed out quickly at this rate…! He thought.

The fast-paced rumbling settled down at last, causing the debris sitting on the floor beside him to stop vibrating. For a few moments, sitting in near silence, he contemplated sitting up to scope beyond the couch he hid behind for a chance to see what was happening.

…Just a small look, he decided.

Each small breath that left his lips filled his ears in the now jarring atmosphere devoid of noise, making sure to move at a slow crawl so as not to spur any tiny sound. He stood just enough to gaze over the torn furniture, squinting so he could see across the establishment and beyond the window that showed the chamber outside.

For a split-second, he saw the outline of the figure before his eyes adjusted to the darkness; as soon as he finally saw it, his stomach dropped.

It had a towering height, likely standing three meters tall with an imposing appearance of steel, yet it breathed and bore semblances of flesh beneath the bolted plates stuck to its body.

That's…He thought.

On its arms were grotesque disfigurements that somewhat resembled guns from an era older than the one he lived in on Earth; its face was a black-steel helm, painted in blood and tar, though had a mouth filled with tall, titanium teeth of bestial sharpness. Each tooth was jagged and varied; like random bolts and drills hammered into its fleshy jaw.

A machine of slaughter, forged of flesh and steel, like a tank given a humanoid shape, dyed black in the blood of millions, yet still bound by an insatiable thirst for mayhem.

The breath that exuded from its mouth released as steam; its heartbeat thumped like heavy machinery, forging the steam that seemed to constantly flow from the small pipes protruding from its body.

…War, he realized.

BA-DUMP. BA-DUMP. BA-DUMP.

Just seeing it and existing under the suffocating veil of its monstrous presence spurred his own heartbeat to increase. The rise in his own blood pressure seemed to be sensed by the titan of flesh, steel, and murder as it breathed out steam once more before spinning around to face his direction.

"--!"

He quickly ducked, though he knew it was likely too late.

As he hid behind the couch with sweat leaving his pores, he nearly felt his heart leap from his throat as the entire wall beyond the furniture was busted from the other side as if a bomb had exploded against it.

The brain-aching orchestra of churning gears met his ears as heavy footsteps slammed down into the partial building. Rubble was crushed to dust beneath the dense feet of War; it stepped into the room with the hiss of flowing steam pushing out of its pipes.

Instantly, a new smell greeted the young Dragonheart's nose as he remained hidden behind the couch; the closer the killing machine of flesh-and-steel in the same room as him, the stronger it became: it smelled as though the flesh beneath its rugged, steel skin was constantly being burned and cooked, rotten and aged.

…At this point, can I actually avoid being found? He thought, it knows I'm here, doesn't it?...Or am I still hidden? If it knew I was here, I'd already be dead, wouldn't I?

With his back pressed against the weathered couch, sitting in the darkness as the room filled with the steam exuding from the frightening entity's body, Emilio pulled his sword from its sheath and clutched it tightly with both hands.

He watched as blood trickled down his shoulder, flowing down his arm and condensing at his fingertips as he painted the handle of the sword in deep crimson.

Can I do anything…? I'm helpless as I am right now, he thought.

Hiding there, he felt like prey tucked away from the sights of a predator; perhaps worse, he felt a similar feeling to those times he spent in his past life, unable to do anything for himself and powerless to change anything.

It was then, perhaps at his weakest and most lost, filled with desperation, a memory returned to the forefront of his mind for a reason inexplicable to him.

–

What he recalled was a day that was like any other back at home; training in the lush fields outside of his house alongside his father, who was smacking a tree alongside him with wooden training swords for strength training.

Birds chipped and the sun shined with a graceful warmth, providing sustenance to the fields of vibrant, emerald grass.

It was merely a week out from when he would have to leave for his own journey to the Guild Foundation, and doubts were brewing in the young man's mind.

"You know, Emilio, there's something my pops told me before. It was when I was still a runt like you and wet behind the ears. I was scared of having to go on my first adventure without him," Julius said, seeming to notice his son's worry.

Stopping the continuous strikes against the scarred tree, Emilio took a break for a moment to get a breather, crouching down as he let his callused hands cool off as well.

"I can't imagine you being scared. Mom says you've always been a reckless ox," Emilio responded.

Julius laughed, "Well, of course I never let her see that side of me! Anyway, what my old man told me was this: 'the blood of the Dragonheart doesn't pump in the heart of a coward'--for some reason, when he told me that, all of my doubts washed away. From that day on, I became the badass pops you have now."

While it didn't have much of an impact on him at that moment, those words passed from his grandfather, to his father, then down to him, etched themselves into his memory.

–

Remembering those words, they were more potent than any grand speech; they resonated with his very soul, finding resolve in the very fact of who he was: a Dragonheart; the Dragonheart.

["The blood of the Dragonheart doesn't pump in the heart of a coward."]

Perhaps when pushed into the corner he was, his father is who he looked to for guidance. Whatever it was, it was enough of a catalyst to spark the life in him again; even if it was beyond reckless, being able to take action was infinitely better than being kept frozen by indecision.

…I have to fight. If I don't, I'll die. If I do, I'll probably die…but those are better odds! He decided.

With that in mind, he didn't think twice or hesitate, jumping to his feet while gritting his teeth, spinning around to face the monstrous entity that occupied the same room as him.

Even with reckless abandon fueling his veins, he found his heart skipping a beat as he met face-to-face with "War": the humanoid, monstrous tank was facing his direction, standing tall enough that it had to hunch over to fit beneath the ceiling.

It was hard to even fully grasp the appearance of the malevolent being; there were spikes and blades sticking out from its hide of steel and steaming flesh, yet it began morphing at the sight of the young man.

This is "War"--an entity like Dread and the Unending Nightmare?...I can't deny it, he thought, the feeling is undeniably something akin to them; my fingers can't stop trembling and my heart is slamming against my chest.