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The legend of Stylx

During the Second War, Stylx lead the Federation's Army to victory against the Empire. He was an Alumnus of Ecato's Blade Academy, the Federation's premier military school. Stylx was rumored to throw himself among throngs of enemy soldiers decapitating them while sporting a smile, earning him the nickname- the "smiling blade". He was in his forties. Shortly after the war, Stylx, suddenly disappeared - along with the Academy's reputation. Fifty years later, a 12 year old boy stood in line behind Ecato's recruitment table. A bespectacled middle age military man peered behind his glasses."Name please?" With a soft smile, the young boy answered "Stylx".

El_Hombre · Fantaisie
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1 Chs

Young again.

A man in his forties stood in front of a door. Except it was anything but simple and he was not just in any place but he was in the "place". He had been stuck here for as long as he can remember. "Hell", he finally did it. After stupidly falling into a trap, he is now inches away from salvation. His chest heaved slowly while he approached the door. This might be the last one he thought. He was once a proud member of the Federations Army. An Alumnus of Ecato Academy. A decorated war hero - a legend. Yet here he is, inside this God Forsaken place.

He lost count of the years since he first appeared in this place. While nearing the door, his silhouette portrayed a man with a skeletal frame, ragged clothes, and white unkempt hair. It was easy to mistake him for a beggar.

Yet looks can be deceiving. Behind this malnourished form lies a monstrous existence. The power to topple an entire realm. As if to scream how dangerous he is, a steady stream of corpses trailed behind him - monsters that even Gods fear.

The Gods of his world lured him with a simple promise. To revive "his beloved" if he succeeded to clear this place. That was ages ago. Yet he never met another human being while he was here. Instead, he was greeted by an endless cycle of mindless and rampaging monsters, eager to eat him. Horde after horde they came for him. Thirsting after his blood.

At first their numbers were small. Then they got bigger and stronger. Yet despite this adversity, he never gave up but instead slashed his way to the top. He used his techniques, innovating it to perfection. His body moved nonstop until he slew the last monster.

Many times he was a hairs breathe away from giving up. However, every time he felt broken- she always appears. Her gentle smile. A loose strand of hair, swaying as she slowly tuck it neatly. This was enough to keep his sanity. Luckily for him, this place whom the Gods referred to as the "Tower" does not require him to eat or sleep. Whenever he kills huge number of monsters a burst of light will radiate from his body, closing all his fresh wounds.

He touched the knob, then suddenly, he heard a laughter from the other side of the door. Quickly, he summoned two identical ebony daggers bounded to his soul. A gift from this "Tower". He remembered his instructor's lecture. "Only Lord knights are able to summon weapons from thin air". His instructor, however, emphasized that they are near god like existence. None appeared for a very long loong time. Yet here he is conjuring daggers out of thin air.

He tightened his grip on the handle. These daggers are special to him, a memento she left behind. He took a deep breath and unleashed his aura. A myriad of colors were released from his body.

He could not remember the day his aura became like this nor had he cared much. In the Academy they were taught that the most powerful aura is gold. Yet he already achieved his golden aura during the war. After that the color of his aura continued to experience several transitions until it settled to a rainbow. "What level am I now". He silently wondered.

His aura dimmed out until it thinly wrapped around his body. Then he pulled the door open and he was disappointed. The room was empty saved for some dilapidated furniture. That is, until a shimmering figure of a young man suddenly appeared in front of him. Before he knew it, his body reacted. He thrust his daggers after the young man. Surprisingly, before the tip of his blade could reach the spectre, the being suddenly spoke. "Congratulations mortal, you are the first one to conquer the trial." Their eyes locked, until the being diverted his gaze. Its face slowly turned into a frown as if it read his mind. Silence covered the room until the being shaked his head. "She can not be revive....it's impossible..... once a God dies her soul disappears forever.." The Gods of your dimension fooled you. They used you to scout the Tower and never expected you to last. They will take your spoils after you die. That is their reward. Those greedy bastards... Unfortunately, they underestimated you."

Stylx was too shaken. His world was turned upside down. "No" he whispered. "They promised me". Yet he knew deep inside that it was the truth. He was lead on. He adamantly cling to a false hope just so he could see her face for one last time.

Seeing the disappointment in Stylx. The young man snapped his fingers. "I made up my mind" he said. Then for the first time in the history of any "Tower", an administrator finally smiled.