Fantasy Astral Synthetica: Evernight Conflict

[Novelight]

Astral Synthetica - Volume I

Chapter 01: Invidious Snow - Dawn Fortress, Himalayas - Tristan

The ineluctable onslaught of the cruel beasts allowed not even a second of peace to exist within the terrain of man, exercising their might throughout the lands without limitations, bathing themselves in the blood of their victims with nothing but terror occupying their minds. From the distance, mere observation of their vicious nature was enough to instill a level of despair that could only be described as a primal fear. The bravest of men spoke of them as a product of a nightmare, their exteriors an amalgamation of several different species of reptiles alike, with every monstrosity physically unique. The only consistent thing was their scent. Covered in the blood of their meals, the iron stench was often a sign of their activity nearby, and such was how this particular battle began - with a single soldier sensing his doom as the trace of blood clogged his senses.

Following the death of the crew situated on the scout tower, the emergency siren ensued and echoed the end for the thousands that had temporarily made home in the deep mountains of the Himalayas. As the last bastion of humanity existed within its armed borders, the booming sound of the emergency bell ringing allowed its listeners to understand that their previous survival was all for naught and that the invaders had won in their game of cat and mouse. Fueled with malice and the desire to sate their never-ending hunger, the Euclidian beasts marched without proper formation into the base, breaking into the gates utilizing their indestructible horns and claws powered by unspeakable strength, ripping through their prey’s defense as they murdered without discrimination.

The snow that had covered the mountains mocked the helplessness of the anxious by highlighting the blood of those that had fallen. The soft but cold breeze of the wind froze the lifeless bodies in an instant as those who witnessed the fall of others escaped deeper into the Himalayas. Expecting a miracle to occur, the further they ran, the harsh reality became more obvious, and their exhaustion would only help them accept their fate. Such was the case for a soldier who remained armed until the extreme end, impaling his mechanical spear into every beast that challenged his might, even if destiny was determined to put an end to his valor. But even he, who stood against the test of time countless times, remained unstoppable. Perhaps it was because of his undying will to survive, or the nature of his heritage. But one thing was for certain: death could not chauffeur the man into the afterlife, and their scythe could not slice through his tenacious heart.

Tristan ran until his stamina could no longer support him, with both hands firmly grabbing onto the spear that had lost its edge long ago. Soaked with the violet blood of the beasts he had slain, accompanying him were countless women and children that he had sworn to protect, as the last standing soldier of this fortress. After witnessing the death of his comrades he had subjugated himself into further anguish by trusting himself with the lives of those who could not defend themselves. And slowly, the deaths began to pile and his group became smaller in number. The beasts’ hunt had bested their agility and now the game was nearing its end. It was a matter of time until Tristan would realize that he had forsaken another promise. The death of his comrade’s family had left a wound within his heart as he watched the Euclidian beasts chew through the flesh of his family. Tired of it all, he dared himself to lunge forward and finish the beast with the spear that was on its last durability, and penetrated the edge deep into the monster’s stomach, piercing it clean as the steel blade struck into the air, leaving the beast to bleed to its death.

Silence ensued for the next minute, the gruesome scenery churning his stomach as he could no longer handle the reality around him. The sight of the disfigured bodies left him vomiting his previous meal into the pure snow that he hated so much. The bland color and its seemingly mocking nature had made him cringe at the sight of it. However, no matter how difficult it was to look away from the ground and hold his head high, the brutal surroundings were far worse, and to stomach the gore was simply asking too much.

His despair could no longer be masked. And so he slowly walked mindlessly, one hand putting pressure over his waist to minimize the loss of blood, hoping for a miracle to occur as he moved onward, into the deep terrain of humanity’s final resting place.

The dreadful sounds of wailing and gunfire ended soon after, leaving the beasts to hunt in silence, as they marked their prey from a distance.

Dicentra​

 

[Novelight]

Tristan — Dawn Fortress, Himalayas

Death—the primal fear that motivates the soul, and the greatest weakness of all who must eventually face it. It was the primary reason that humanity had fought against the beasts without surrender, having cherished their lives prior before the genocidal events, fighting only to bring back the days when conflict existed only in diplomacy. Such memories were enough to galvanize the population into taking arms against the common enemy. For a chance to resurrect the peace that was stolen from them over a hundred years ago. Tristan, however, could never relate with such ideologies. He pondered for a reason that explained his lack of common sense that most people seemed to have, including his comrades that shared similar upbringings in their earlier lives. But to no avail, regardless of the countless times he tried to understand his mentality, no answers would ever arrive at his doorsteps.

Tristan feared not the act of death—but instead the eternal silence that it offered. The idea of falling into an endless abyss of absolute nothingness was enough for him to patch his wounds in the past where any soldier would have given up to the pain. This time, for reasons foreign to his knowledge, he allowed the agonizing pain to win over his will to survive. With nothing left for him to protect, and no superiors alive to criticize his lack of ambition, Tristan fell onto his knees without struggle, internally overjoyed at the thought that it was going to be over.

"Behold a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death. Hell followed with him, seeking to satiate its hunger."

What seemed like Death's emissary descending from the skies, was actually the greatest misfortune Tristan ever faced, as another human being approached him with care in their eyes. He silently lamented within the deepest corner of his heart, yearning for her to leave him be to die painlessly above these snowy plains. The desire to succumb to his wounds had made him even verbally speak his request, but what left his mouth was nothing but air, as he could not find the right words that could define his thoughts.

Instead he grinded his teeth away from her vision, his eyes squinting as he grabbed onto his wounds tighter to fake the pain that had faded away long ago. His expression was all he could use to correctly convey his mind, but he did not expect it to work. Regardless, he was determined to let fate take him to the land of the silence, and had no problems testing the determination of this woman that had intervened when a choice was finally blessed upon him.

"Scram...!" Tristan muttered, deliberating adding a rude tone into his voice to show his disinterest in accepting her cordiality. "Leave me be, this... this is what I want." he finally spoke, having realized that the blood in his system was running dangerously low. "It's meaningless. Don't try it. Tomorrow will not come for either of us."

Tristan struck her hand away from his vision and determined himself to traverse the snow through the obstacle presented. He cared not for her next words, and continued to travel until he succumbed to the wounds on his waist, to finally be rid of this curse that had plagued his soul since the beginning of his life. He feared not death. What he truly feared, for the first time in his life, was the savior complex of someone else who could now control his fate.

Dicentra

 

[Novelight]

Tristan — Dawn Fortress, Himalayas

Words are a powerful tool that is often used when one wishes to manipulate the other into doing their bidding. A pessimistic and rather arbitrary ideology instilled into him from the horrors of those affected by hunger and fear, words were nothing but a raucous noise to his ears, often even preferring the grunting of demons over having to talk to another human being. He was sick of it all—he desired death no more than anything that the world could possibly offer him at this moment, and this woman was further pushing her efforts into trying to convince him otherwise. Not a speck of appreciation could be found in his impassive eyes that began to fade in color. Whether or not she found pity on his foolishness was beyond his care.

His spirit was barren, and so was his curiosity. What left along those things was his desire to listen. The piercing melodies of the unforgiving wind were no longer occupying his headspace, and he was thankful that the woman’s preaching could no longer be heard. His ambitions for the first time were finally beginning to pay off, as he continued to walk without aim through the bland snow. His fading senses did him no favors even when danger approached him from afar, unlike in the past when he would be alerted even during the most agonizing times. He was a different person, and that much was obvious to anyone who had the displeasure to observe his life.

The infernal beast bellowed at him in starvation, looking to fill its stomach with the flesh of prey that accepted its fate. He did not react, and that was the feedback that sealed the deal. Perhaps if he had noticed, he would have fought back—for he was not interested in further subjecting himself to more physical agony, and he knew how painful it was to be mauled at from experience and witnessing the act done to others. But that was not the case, and he was likely not going to find out what was the cause of his death. As the woman that had annoyed him greatly previously had decided to save his life—for reasons that he could not understand, but it was obvious from the events that followed, he had no time to contemplate her actions.

Miraculously his senses returned and his field of vision was clear once again. The freezing temperature of the snow could be felt once more as he tumbled into the deep trenches, pounds of snow grazing his face and arms as he felt his wounds ache with each slam against the exposed rocks until they stopped, and he could find himself laying pitifully in the ditch that was left exposed for the devil to confiscate. Suddenly, his will to survive reinstituted itself into the corners of his psyche, made obvious by his efforts to get back on his feet, holding onto his stomach wound to slow down the bleeding while he used the other hand to drag the snow-haired girl into the bunker, where the devil would not be able to enter due to its tight passageway.

He groaned in excessive pain, wondering why he was doing the things he was doing, but his body refused to listen. A moment was given to take a deep breath, as he focused on the bleeding that was going to take his life if he did not find proper bandages to seal off the laceration. He would need alcohol as well to treat the potential infection but he did not care to get down to the specifics and instead focused on lessening the pain.

“You win,” Tristan grunted in umbrage, the tone of his voice remaining hostile towards the woman that had just risked her life to save a suicidal man. The irony was comedic almost, but no laughter escaped his lips. Instead, he held resentment that the devil would admire. Yet he knew that arguments would do him no service but further increase their animosity. Tristan did not want her to become a victim of his selfish inclinations—he was simply not the type of man who would bring down others for his yields.

At this point, the crisp texture of the pale snow was no longer bothering him excessively. He sat against the bunker walls once he realized that the beast had wandered off after accepting that he had lost the hunt. The only light that was accompanying them was outside from the tight entrance, leaving them to not know where the bunker’s underground tunnel would lead them to. Fatigued and disinterested in exploring the tunnel, Tristan found comfort on the floor, with his back against the wall.

“... Thanks,” he muttered dishonestly, despite some iota of truth in the word. There was a sick sense of happiness whirling inside his heart once he realized that he had cheated death. Nevertheless, it wasn’t to say that he wished she would leave him be. “You’re too enthusiastic. Why save a man who has accepted death is beyond me to understand, but...”

He caught himself before spouting another lie.

“... Nevermind.”

Dicentra