Overburdened - A/T - PG13 | Ch. 6

[Featherdust]

Warning - Overburdened is quite grim, angsty, violent, and has somewhat suicidal themes (mainly only in the prologue). In addition, there is at least one definite character death, and potentially more. If you're sensitive to any of these themes, you've been warned.
The story takes place several years in the future after the conclusion of the EXE manga, and thus follows the events in the manga-- all happenings in the anime or games do not apply.

Without further adieu, enjoy reading. Reviews and/or critique are infinitely appreciated.

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“It all amounts to nothing, doesn’t it Rockman?”

Emerald eyes once holding such optimism now dimmed with a dying will, the instinct to survive a mere flicker in the cobalt warrior’s once determined soul. A hand gloved of navy-blue reached upward toward the sky—towards lies, towards a false sky constructed of nothing but pixels and data. Rain fell in torrents, soaking his bloodied wounds, but even this supposed blessing was false. Was this his world? Was this his home? Was this where he truly belonged, dying, bleeding, broken beneath these unforgiving skies that proved nothing of hope when compared to his brother’s reality? His brother; oh his brother. He had reality, he had life, he had what Rock couldn’t have. Why? Why was he here, now?

Everything; ruined.

Everything; decimated. Destroyed.

The war was far from over—so far from over, barely begun, but his life; his life was at its end. And where, of all places, should fate choose for his deathbed but at the feet of the madman he’d mentally crossed paths with many times over? The very madman now kneeling at his side, pale complexion scarred with striking purple stripes, gazing contemptuously at him with agonizing crimson pools for eyes. His tattered cape was bloodstained, torn, hardly capable of being called a cape at this point, the memorable scar across his visage clearly visible in the dim light of their burning surroundings. But the caped one? He; no, he had not wreaked the chaos this time. Long ago had he given up his search for satisfaction—the game had become boring, death had become unentertaining, and the war at hand drove him to something more; the hunger to find his rival one last time. One last battle; one last fight to the death. His desperation to end it all had finally drilled its way into his mind and beaten the walls of his conscience until it was far beyond toleration. And the reason for such desperation was simple.

Their world was ending.

Humans?

Humans didn’t want them anymore.

To Forte, they never did.

Their intentions were unimportant to him; he could care less what they wanted. His righteous hate for them hadn’t been heightened since the war had been declared. He expected nothing less of their inferior race; they would be the end of themselves. They liked to play God, did they? Then let their damned God destroy itself.

All that was important to him— all that fired the piece of his soul that desired to live—was dying in front of him. Each breath the green-eyed boy took was a struggle in itself, tearing through his raw throat with hellish agony. And the caped one, he simply watched, he simply waited; waited for his triumph, his victory, his fury finally exacted upon the being whom had always tried to change him.

You would never have won me over. You wasted your precious time.

Crimson gaze flitted to the warrior’s hand, still outstretched towards the ashen sky above, as if reaching for his departed human, his only friend now deceased. Pity, really, that a human had held such importance within the blue navi’s mind. The fight that had taken place only moments ago seemed different; the cobalt warrior hadn’t fought with all he had. He’d seemed distracted, defeated.

After all, Netto was no longer here to cheer him on.

“…You were the only thing worth staying alive for. I had to kill you, you see? Your world is at an end; my world is at an end. Our race doesn’t need to exist… it never did. I’m doing you a favor. Understand?”

Forte’s voice came out in a murmur, the emotion beneath his tone hard to pinpoint or even identify. Icy crimson eyes continued to watch the dying warrior like a hawk, waiting; waiting for a reply, a final breath.

Green eyes narrowed; hate.

Yes.

Hate, rage, despair.

The warrior’s light was gone; he was far past spoiled. Death was the only condolence Forte could give him; a bitter condolence, at that. And the warrior spoke, voice ridden with pain, raw, the blood in his throat almost audible to the caped navi’s ears. “…And what kind of favor…. Can I do for you, Forte? Do you not… accept…” he breathed in sharply as the pain racked his body and continued, “Do you not accept the fact that your reason to live is… soon to disappear?”

Forte smiled wryly, bitterly. “Why, yes.”

“And what will happen when I’m gone, Forte?”

“I’ll search for something else.”

Rock stared at him, long and hard, as if searching for something beneath the stoic mask of contempt the caped navi held upon his complexion; his tone was solemn but lacked that rolling growl of rage it once retained. Had he finally reached satisfaction? Had he finally defied fate’s plan for him? After all, a reason to live was certainly something to hold onto, but somehow Forte had sought out to destroy it completely.

A movement. Forte raised his arm and brought his own buster to the cobalt warrior’s head, the cold barrel of the powerful cannon pressed up against the side of his face. Rock winced, but fear escaped his large array of current emotions. He was still focused on Forte’s unnatural intention of eliminating his own reason to live. He was doing the opposite of what Rock would have done. He would have done anything to have Netto back. And how he missed him; he missed his reason to live, and suddenly, as he continued to search Forte for any sign of emotion, he felt his own triumph grip him. “You’ll miss me.”

Forte stopped briefly, his stomach turning over at the thought of no longer having something to compete with; nothing to defeat, nothing to feel triumph over, nothing to relinquish his pride.

A bitter laugh.

“Not likely.”

Blood splattered across the false earth beneath them as the shot rang out through the burning city, eternally echoing in the vast reaches of the caped navi’s mind. The cobalt warrior’s hand dropped instantly, devoid of feeling, devoid of movement.

Dead.

Forte stood, crimson eyes half-lidded with fatigue, hopelessness, even sorrow. His gaze turned to the abyssal black skies above him, forever searching for something that had never been there in the first place. His entire body felt heavy, as if it would crack into shards of his empty shell at any moment; suddenly he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. His fingers were numb, a frigid chill running through him like Death’s own grip; but… he was not dying. He was supposed to be the one dead.

And like an epiphany, it struck him that the barrel should have been aimed at his own skull rather than Rock’s; why give that miniscule little pest a gift so relieving as death? Why had he not turned the barrel the other way and given himself that relief instead?

His eyes narrowed dangerously heavenwards, teeth gritted in numb anger. Rain droplets caressed his face not with a gentle touch but a cold one, tearing through his flesh. “Is this what you wanted, father? Creator? Cossack?”

Gloved fists clenched in a powerful iron grip, he turned back to Rock as if to gesture to him, grip tightening as he glanced at the warrior’s now unidentifiable face. Then his gaze returned upwards once more, his nails digging red lines into his skin. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED, COSSACK?” he snarled, breath quickening, pulling his buster skywards and suddenly firing rapidly.

At nothing;

Nothing that could hurt, nothing that could die, nothing that could permanently be destroyed.

Merely false skies.

He stopped, eyes widening, and his arm dropped to his side, smoke billowing from the barrel. “Rage… hate… vengeance…” he muttered, his sudden anger fading quickly into nothing. “This… this isn’t what you wanted.” Eyes darted anxiously about the earth, almost helplessly; could he be helpless? The concept seemed far off. He’d never been helpless… but then again, denial had never been rare for him. He sighed heavily, tensed body relaxing slowly, gradually accepting the cold feeling of rain upon his spine. He glanced ahead at the raging inferno of flames around him, threatening to engulf him at any moment. Shaking his head slowly, another bitter smile curved his lips, his undying determination to survive once again flaring up within him like the flames curling around his feet. Rock lay dead behind him, his reason to live destroyed by his own hand; yes, he had defied fate. Fate didn’t rule him; fate didn’t apply to him. He was his own fate, he was his own master.

He would find a new reason.

He would destroy that reason.

“Hell is still overburdened, Cossack.”

And with a chuckle, he turned heel and walked into oblivion.

---
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[Megawoman.EXE]

It's been a while for me too, and this fict is *Interesting and Intriguing*. Wonder what Forte will go after now since the network is ending. Is he going to find a way to prenvent it or just accept his fate. I think this would make a cool fict Featherdust.
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Megawoman (Lyne)

Avatar made by Serenade.exe

And feel free to post here too artists if inspired
Lan and Lyne Art Thread

[Midnight]

I must say, you never cease to amaze me with your writing.

Recently I've been complaining in what few reviews I have written about a lack of details and enhancement of the setting. This is a prime example of what happens when a scene is fleshed out. You focus a lot on the details--and as a result, it creates such a richly detailed scene that vividly sticks in the reader's mind. What is different in this one is that you focus on emotions. The emotions playing out in Forte's and Rock's minds as the scene slowly marched on were accentuated to the hilt--perhaps even too much so. I like seeing the thought processes of the involved characters, but perhaps too much of a good thing is bad--it causes the scene to somewhat muddle itself and progress too slowly.

Nevertheless, it is a small detraction from an otherwise excellent, and somewhat gruesome, story. Good work.
_________________
Today, these three players are after Big Bucks! But they'll have to avoid the Whammy, as they play the most exciting game of their lives! From Television City in Hollywood! It's time to 'Press Your Luck!'--Rod Roddy

The Kingdom of Loathing: An Adventurer is You! // I ♣ Seals

Avatar by Spork. I very much appreciate it! <3

[Featherdust]

Thanks for the reviews, guys. <3

And Middy, too much detail eh? I guess I can find a way to moderate that somehow... o.o *scratches head*

Anyway, I decided to see how this would turn out if I made it more than just a one-shot, so I attempted a second chapter. My inspiration seemed to die and flare up at random intervals, so it's kind of... crappy. Especially towards the end, where my inspiriation completely fizzled out altogether. =| But I would appreciate reviews before I put this up on FF.net; I'd like to know if the second chapter really added any solidity to the actual story. And if you think it would work out.

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The silence was deafening as exhausted feet carried him along the highway. The barren, half-collapsed road held no signs of life; only darkness and the shadows the cloaked navi had long since found comfort in. In the forlorn abyss of distance behind him, the outskirts of Net City glimmered dimly in the darkness, the once powerful flames now only dying embers and ash as the last of the formerly glorious city burned down to its roots. He didn’t bother to look back—why wait to watch the last trace of the Net’s first city disappear forever? Of course, the area itself had been endangered and attacked many times in the past, some of which had been by his own hand. But this; this was beyond repair.

Worn boots trudged onward, crimson eyes narrowed pensively, tattered cape fluttering gently about his shoulders. It was so different—too different for him to accept. There was no one here. Though living solitary was not new to him, it felt… unnatural. Not a soul was there to cast a contemptuous gaze in his direction, not a soul to tell him he simply did not belong.

He snorted.

Souls… Blasphemy.

But hadn’t Rock himself been the one to tell him otherwise? If it were ever possible for netnavis to have souls, the cobalt warrior would have been the perfect shell for one. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Rock had always had that more human-like air about him; that, or the caped navi really was the apathetic inhuman beast the Net fondly thought of him as. But what did they know? Half of them were dead now—there wasn’t anyone left to think of him spitefully.

Vision swimming, he approached a small, floating source of light, something he would have recognized as a dim streetlight had his mind been in a more stable condition. As if to taunt his perception of his surroundings, the rain only fell more heavily, pooling at his feet. Stumbling a bit, it seemed to take forever to get any closer to the light, as if the highway were increasing in length with every heavy step he took. In reality he was gasping for breath, the damage of the inflictions Rock had dealt finally taking their toll; but in his delirium, he felt no pain. Nearer and nearer the streetlight came towards his struggling form. Distorted vision finally spotting the pole the light hung from, he fell towards it and use it as support to catch his breath and temporarily regain his stamina. Blood-red gaze darted about anxiously, caution enveloping his perception. The Cyberworld was dangerous for him, even with his widely-accepted superior position of power. There were deadly executioners loose in his world now—massive, vicious killers far beyond the extremes of his own short-fused temper. In this age he had to be careful.

Concluding that the surroundings were relatively safe, his back slid down the rusted streetlight as he sunk to the crumbled, rain-stricken concrete, leaning the back of his head against the pole and gazing up at the dull light blankly. Rain once again pattered upon his pale complexion with unnatural frigidity, falling into his eyes and clouding his vision once again. He seemed to brood there for quite awhile; in fact, he couldn’t be quite too sure how long he sat there in contemplation, but he began to drift in and out of consciousness, and when he finally awoke, it had stopped raining altogether.

And without the rain, the Net was silent as death itself.

He sat up, alert, startled by another strangely real hallucination in the form of sound. But when he realized he was fully awake and the noise persisted, he realized that not only was it real, but it was also coming closer. It was steady, patterned, toneless… they were footsteps. And judging by their steadied rhythm, they were neither rushed nor prepared for attack. At this he relaxed, if only a bit, still keeping his sharply narrowed eyes in the direction from which the solemn noise radiated.

Soon the culprit revealed themselves in the hardly threatening form of Roll, no longer the bright pink navi the past once marked her as, but instead a black-clad warrior that showed just as much stubborn apathy as the caped navi had the tendency to flaunt. Coyly he turned away, disgruntled by the fact that mere footsteps—even if he hadn’t known the source of the noise at the time—had caused him such panic. Roll stopped several yards away from him, still protective of herself, as those without such an instinct often fell to death’s clutches in their now apocalyptic atmosphere.

“The hell d’you want?” Forte spat drunkenly, still refusing to even cast a glance in her general direction.

Silence passed between them, and when she figured out that staring him down wouldn’t do her much good, her hardened voice finally echoed throughout the dark highway. “Where’s Rock?”

“Dead,” he snapped bluntly, fumbling almost anxiously with a tattered corner of his cape, like a red-handed murderer wringing his hands.

Green eyes seemed to flicker with something similar to despair before the hint of emotion disappeared altogether, and her sharp expression darkened further. “I see.” The outcome of their fight was apparent; Forte had won, fair and square. She had no reason to dwell on it further. It had been Rock’s decision to accept the challenge, after all. The blue solo navi had never displayed cowardice and wouldn’t have resorted to it—then or ever.

Besides, there wasn’t time to mourn. Though they’d been closer in the past, the humans’ rebellion had driven them far apart to the point of hatred. It was a separation that had ultimately caused the change in their personalities. Netto had died trying to protect the world he’d helped create, trying to protect his brother—he’d been killed, and that had affected Rock so severely that the cobalt warrior hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. Shortly afterwards, Meiru abandoned her, lost in her own despair over Netto’s death.

From there, everything had fallen to pieces. Roll was used to pushing back any sort of compassion by this point.

“Where are you going?” she asked abruptly.

“Ah—you see, I’m already here,” he murmured.

“…Where else are you going?”

“Well, if you could tell me how I could stop this goddamn madness and get on with my regularly-scheduled pointless existence, maybe I’d have an answer.”

“You want to stop it?” Roll asked, slightly taken aback. Forte was one to defy fate, sure, but he hated the world he lived in; why would he want to stop the very destruction of it?

“Will you quit with the questions?” Finally he turned to her, shooting her an icy glare, still tearing at the corner of his cape. His gloved hands were bloodstained, his eyes, bloodshot. Currently he looked like a delirious mess.

Roll sighed and looked away, shifting her weight to one foot. Difficult, as always. The caped madman was impossible to have some kind of substantial conversation with. Thinking it over a bit, she tried to find a proper way to word her next sentence, carefully choosing words that would run over him smoothly without him having to retort with some jagged remark. “What if…” she took a step forward, hesitantly. “…I knew how to stop it?”

Forte froze in his movements for a moment before suddenly bursting into laughter bordering on maniacal, echoing across the black highway. Still chuckling, he replied, “Oh yes, I’m pretty inclined to trust that you actually know how to stop humans. They exert complete superiority over us, Roll; I don’t think I’m the one currently suffering from delirium. Your ideas seem far more ridiculous.”

“You think everyone’s ideas are ridiculous—I don’t have to listen to you,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Alright, let me rephrase. I know someone who has an idea of how to stop them.”

Forte lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “And who might that be?”

She smiled knowingly then, turning away from him and looking cautiously out into the darkness. There was no other way to put it. “Someone you thoroughly despise.”

“Oh, that’s extremely reassuring,” he muttered, going back to tearing at his cape. “What do you think I am, some kind of machine that spits out sugarcoated forgiveness? I thought you knew me better than that,” he replied with a mockingly disappointed tone. “I’m simply devastated.”

“Quit with the sarcasm.”

“Then quit with the questions.”

Roll opened her mouth to say something, but quickly stopped herself. Again, she told herself—no point in trying to argue with the most stubborn little bastard she knew. Throwing her hands up in the air with a mental what the hell, she sat on the weathered concrete across from him and leaned against the wall. She’d just have to wait. Though she was against the idea of trying to join sides with the chaotic mess of a personality he displayed, she really had no other reason not to; he was no longer an enemy, no longer a threat, therefore she had no reason to fear him nor despise him. Even the fact he was now Rock’s murderer didn’t affect her much—she and Rock had changed, and this changed nothing. It almost scared her, feeling nearly no despair for his death.

She really had changed.

Sighing briefly, she cast a sideways glance at Forte, who was still childishly picking at his cape. “What are you doing?” she asked irritably, eyeing him strangely.

He stopped and clenched his jaw in equal irritation, crimson eyes flashing with anger. “I can do whatever the hell I want with my time. You’re going to wait until I have an answer.”

Once again Roll opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, and finally gave up. He was right, after all. She would have to wait. She honestly had nowhere else to go.

That thought alone left her feeling numb.
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[Midnight]

Hm.

I must say, this fic has taken itself into quite a dark and murky area. Roll's character bothered me a bit--even if you explained how she became cold and uncaring, it's still a shock to the reader--I still haven't absorbed that implication yet. Nevertheless, this chapter was provocative--which helps complement the somewhat slow passage of the plot. I'm not sure what to make of all of this yet, but that one triggered question seems to be the keystone of this arch of emotion--and it forces the reader to think.

As for your question, I think that the fic is fine standing alone, but should you decide to continue it, I definitely think you need to spend some more time allowing Forte to mull over the implications of the murder that he has committed.
_________________
Today, these three players are after Big Bucks! But they'll have to avoid the Whammy, as they play the most exciting game of their lives! From Television City in Hollywood! It's time to 'Press Your Luck!'--Rod Roddy

The Kingdom of Loathing: An Adventurer is You! // I ♣ Seals

Avatar by Spork. I very much appreciate it! <3

[JH24]

A very impressive fanfic. I had a great time reading your very-well written story, Featherdust. I must admit I was a bit surprised by Roll's apparent easy reaction at the news of Rock's death. (One of my favorite moments "You'll miss me" "Not likely" in the first chapter. And then the moment were Forte actually pulled the trigger, amazing, before that scene I was silently hoping that Forte would show Rock mercy but then again I can't stop wondering if Rock actually wanted to die) but although it is only referred to in a short description I do find it believable and very interesting. I do hope you will go into detail about what happened in the relation between Rock and Roll in a future chapter.


Looking back at the two chapters I can't shake the feeling that the biggest impact and shock came from the first one. I hope you don't mind me saying this and if so, I am sorry but after reading chapter 2 I feel that maybe it was better to have ended it with chapter 1. Don't get me wrong as I loved the second update, it is just, when reading chapter 1 again I can feel a shiver going down my spine, it had something very special and effective, something (at least for me) that could only be accomplished in the way you've set it up. (namely a one-shot)

Chapter 2 felt for some reason a little empty for me, apparently because the reader is now forced to keep the death of Rock in his mind, giving the feeling that the story is trying to find a new goal or development to focus on, but that is also exactly what is happening.


Still, I really liked the second chapter and if you do choose to continue I'll definitely going to read it until the end. I do hope future chapters will hold some kind of reflection to things in the past. Personally I would be very interested to see what happened.


As for your question, I feel that it is a bit too early to tell yet, although I do think it could work out in the end. The first chapter leaves a very big impact on the reader and in that regard it does a great job in being a one-shot while really leaving a big impression. The first chapter does very well on his own, but there is IMHO definitely potential to expand the world and story you've created in additional chapters.


Awesome work, Featherdust.
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[Featherdust]

Again, thanks for your reviews—I really appreciate it.

Yeah, I agree I probably should have left this as a one-shot; not one of these chapters leaves as nearly as an impacting effect as the first one, I think… but… I don’t know. I just feel like this is going somewhere. Not sure where yet, but I’m actually coming to find I’m much faster at writing this than larger projects (namely EXE Torrent). Much, much faster. I’m not too sure why. At all. =|

Anyway, onto the next chapter.

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He paced.

Two and fro, one foot after the other, crushing the weak concrete below into fine powder as the trail he’d worn into the ground left more and more of an impression. His eyes darted about once again in that same frenzied pattern of anxiety, suddenly taking a very deep interest in the cracks below his feet. Some were small, some were wider than himself, some so small that they were barely visible even to a trained eye. His pacing stopped briefly as his line of vision focused inward upon those very cracks, taking in every detail subconsciously. Crimson eyes widening almost innocently, he brushed his foot over one of the cracks, slowly, carefully. The powdery remnants of the concrete were brushed away with the movement and filled the tiny cracks without much difficulty, disappearing without a trace in front of him.

Suddenly he spoke. “You have faults as well?”

Roll folded her arms, watching him with some kind of strange awe—it looked like he was having some kind of nervous breakdown. “What are you talking about?”

Forte didn’t answer. His words hadn’t been directed at her. Eagerly he moved his foot over another crack in the concrete, covering that one up as well. For the next few minutes he erased every flaw in the slate-hued stone, stepping backward to observe the now smooth concrete before him. Flaws, faults—the concrete had them, but they could be concealed, healed, erased. Could it mean that he, too, could erase his faults? Glancing upward a bit at a huge section of the highway broken and collapsed, he sighed heavily.

Those kind of faults could not be repaired.

With that realization he broke into another bout of pacing, fists clenching and unclenching with the same tense anxiety. It wasn’t right—it wasn’t right! This wasn’t right, he wasn’t right, nothing was right! He’d messed something up—something vital. Was this the price he paid? Relentless guilt, suffocating regret? No… for something so horrible, that couldn’t be the entire punishment he’d be dealt. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he almost anticipated something worse. His footsteps sped up and his trail seemed to lengthen as his thoughts took on a far worse complexity.

“You’ll miss me.”

Forte growled under his breath, nails digging a new red line into the barely new one in the palm of his hand. Shut up, he thought, denial plaguing his every feeling. You’re wrong. Rock had been wrong then and he was wrong now; but the voice in the caped navi’s head told him otherwise. His delirium had faded and the reality of what he’d done was enveloping his mind with a steel grip, crushing every trace of pride he had left. Pride was all that held him up; pride and a reason to live. His reason to live was gone, and mysteriously, his pride had gone with it—but why? Why did he feel so unworthy? Why did he feel like he’d lost such an important battle instead of emerged victorious? Why did he feel so... unhappy? He must have been still delirious—that’s what he kept telling himself. He was simply still experiencing effects of delirium and nothing more. Yes, that was it. As soon as he recovered from his state of mind, all of these feelings would disappear and he would regain his self-righteous fury and think it ridiculous to even have had felt guilty over killing Rock.

It had been Rock’s decision to finalize their rivalry; Forte had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all. He’d simply pulled the trigger. Rock had, after all, wanted the relief of death anyway.

“And what will happen when I’m gone, Forte?”

Standing there motionlessly in the middle of the broken highway, he wrenched his eyes shut and shook his head violently. “I… don’t know,” he whispered, sinking to the ground as he set his face in his bloodstained hands, shaking lightly. “I don’t know.” He remained silent for a moment, thin black pupils studying the lines in his palms distantly before he suddenly cried out in rage, body tensing. Why did he feel like this? He was more upset than Roll. More upset than Roll.

Had she grown tougher… or had he grown softer?

Suddenly he felt a light touch on his arm and he flinched instinctively, looking upward to see Roll’s concerned green eyes looking back. Glaring viciously, he moved away from her. No matter how much distance he decided to put between them, her voice still reached him. “Are… you okay?”

“What the hell does it matter to you? It’s none of your business!” he snapped, left arm forming into a buster. “Let’s just go. Wherever. Lead me to this son of a bitch who can help us—I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

“I thought I made it RATHER CLEAR to STOP with the GODDAMN QUESTIONS.”

Roll shied away from him, startled by his outburst. Sighing and collecting herself, she pulled her trademark bow and arrow out—now a deadly black crossbow instead of the formerly love-induced pink—and held it as her arm dropped to her side. Pausing a moment, she looked back at Forte, who was still silently seething and apparently bothered by something. It didn’t take Roll long to guess what it was. As they began their long, silent walk down the highway, it gave her time to think. It gave her time to realize how ridiculously unnatural it was for Forte to be more upset than her over Rock’s death. Her gaze shifted downward to stare at the earth as she walked, expression invisible in the frigid darkness.

“One of us is going to come out of that fight alive—one of us will die. It’s inevitable, Roll. Do you understand me?”

She hesitated, reaching forward to cup her hands around his. “Why are you telling me this? You aren’t going to lose,” she whispered with a faint smile, looking up into his emerald eyes. She frowned when she couldn’t spot the light shining within them.

“I can’t guarantee that.”

“But you’ve always won. What makes this any different?” she asked.

“I just…I can’t fight like I used to,” he replied quickly, pulling away from her and letting go of her slender hands. “I can’t be the Rockman you want me to be.”

“You haven’t been Rockman for a long time,” she murmured, the effects of Netto’s death apparent in the navi standing before her.

Rock ignored her comment, looking away. “Promise me you won’t mourn.”

“What?”

“When I die… promise me you won’t mourn. I’m not worth mourning over, not when I’ve failed the people I cared about too many times to count. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt. When I die, you will turn around, and you will walk away. You will not mourn.”

“But Rock—“

He shook his head. “Stop, Roll. I don’t love you, you don’t love me. It ended a long time ago. Don’t dwell. I’m not that important to you.”

“….”She sighed and walked towards the door, resting her hand on the doorframe as she hesitated. “…I guess... I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“I guess you will.”

Her lip trembled as tears distorted her vision, but they were blinked away quickly. She refused to break her promise. Yet that familiar cold feeling started to spread through her body like some kind of fatal poison—the same kind of empty, weakening feeling that had kept its unforgiving hold on her mind months after Meiru had abandoned her and left her for dead. Her own fists clenched as she thought about the redhead. What made Netto so special, hmm? What about me? Did you think about me? You lost him—now I’ve lost Rock. We’re even. And you know what? I’m not going to lapse into the same pathetic state you lost yourself in. I’m not going to resort to wallowing in sorrow. Determination began to fight off the cold within, but it didn’t do much good. Nevertheless, she refused to break her promise and she refused to fall into pieces. Survival was a key piece that many lacked.

The will to survive was the only reason she was alive and breathing at this very moment, walking alongside an unlikely ally in a world ridden with death, betrayal, cruelty, malevolence, hate.

“You’re crying," Forte muttered placidly, somewhat satisfied with at least some kind of reaction out of her.

Yanked from her thoughts, her eyes widened as one hand flew to her face. As soon as she felt the salty liquid tears, she brushed them off hastily, scowling. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, taking a deep breath. No tears, no sorrow. Only strength.

It was a long time before either of them spoke again. Luckily Roll had some type of flashlight to illuminate the way, for without it the entire highway would appear merely as an abyssal pitch-black plane. The highway seemed to be going nowhere, and the further they walked, the more the hairs on the back of their necks began to stand on end. Sounds from below the highway pierced the air every so often; strange shrieks, metal grinding against metal—the sounds of the horrifying executioners the human race had sent to exterminate them. Luckily none had actually found their way onto the highway just yet, but both Forte and Roll knew this was subject to change, and by this time their pace had quickened significantly. Neither of them dared to talk now, as if just their voices would draw in the masters of stealth, slowly cornering them in death’s howling maw.

Soon they reached a cut-off in the highway. The rest of the path in front of them had collapsed into a chaotic mess into the abyss further below, and the destroyed section was so immense in size that it would be impossible to jump and didn’t seem feasible anyway. Forte guessed he would have been able to hover across, or even recover, but the humans had done something smart—if not terribly irritating—for once. They’d put up barriers in the Net that somehow negated any kind of instant regeneration or recovery whatsoever. Had he been in better physical health, he might have been able to hover across the collapsed section; but there was no way to regenerate now. He’d have to heal on his own, and it unfortunately took an unfavorable amount of time—the same time humans needed to recover on their own.

He looked taken aback as Roll began to hoist herself over the edge of the highway and hung off the broken end. Feeling rushed, he followed suit and pulled himself over the edge as well. It was a long way down.

Roll spoke up. “Climb down this column,” she whispered as quietly as possible, pointing to one of the highway’s concrete support columns. “Make as little noise as you can.”

“Wait—where are we going?” Forte asked, almost urgently. He looked down again, feeling unnerved by the eternal darkness below them. Were they really going into that mess? He was beginning to decide he’d rather not risk meeting up with what kind of horrors could be down there and just accept the fact the Net world was ending.

“We’re going to try and find the Undernet.”

Well—there was someone he despised there. Someone very powerful indeed; but he couldn’t make assumptions now. Watching as Roll began to climb down the column structure, he sighed and began the descent as well.

After all, the only way to go was down.
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[Megawoman.EXE]

Oooo. This is getting interesting. Roll and Forte working together. And I had a sneeky suspission that Serenade is going to be in this fict too. I also feel pity for Forte for deleting Rock. I can't wait for more. Keep up the good work Featherdust.
_________________
"NetAngel Style Change Activate"
Megawoman (Lyne)

Avatar made by Serenade.exe

And feel free to post here too artists if inspired
Lan and Lyne Art Thread

[JH24]

A great and impressive new chapter. I start to get the feeling more and more that expanding this story background in newer chapters can work out very well.

Posted by Featherdust

[rhythm.exe]

Please, keep going. You're doing a very good job. I can really feel the story, if you catch my drift. You're doing well with not going overkill on Forte's tragic past. I applaud you.
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Forte rules! Go Forte! Come on people-*hit with an Earthbreaker attack*

[Midnight]

(Apologies for making such a tardy review. That being said...)

Again this piece of work is excellent. You seem to have a masterful control over your use of imagery--the images are quite vivid, and even though they leave relatively little to the reader's imagination, the fact that you have gone down to the finest minutiae in your descriptions make it well worth it. I never noticed the metaphor of the concrete--and now that has been pointed out to me, it is quite apt for its situation.

The flashback where Roll is speaking to Rock is reminiscent of a flashback motif that is used prominently in Lost. It is quite effective for introducing details of the characters' pasts, and often patches up a question while introducing five more. Although you don't often introduce questions to that extent, you do a good job of exploring the past. It also helps me to accept what has happened to Roll, and it's even good to see that there is a shred of her compassionate personality left in her currently cold self.

I would like to see some more information about this whole event that spurned the flashback--I think that is the primary question hanging on the reader's minds at this point. It's hard to discern the cause of a detonation by observing the shrapnel unless one is specifically trained in forensics, and I highly doubt any of us have that.
_________________
Today, these three players are after Big Bucks! But they'll have to avoid the Whammy, as they play the most exciting game of their lives! From Television City in Hollywood! It's time to 'Press Your Luck!'--Rod Roddy

The Kingdom of Loathing: An Adventurer is You! // I ♣ Seals

Avatar by Spork. I very much appreciate it! <3

[Featherdust]

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Keeps me going.

FF.net

---

The darkness was suffocating.

Naturally the Black Shadow would have felt at home—the shadows had been everything to him, hence the so very fond nickname he’d received from the common public. But this darkness—these shadows—were different. They did not bring him comfort, nor a feeling of security; in fact, they did just the opposite, and did not help to quell the growing panic welling up from within. He hadn’t felt fear, if even a small amount, in literally ages. This was new, and felt almost foreign.

The only aspect that seemed to bother him was the fact he was afraid—and it often took a lot to for him to fear. What was even more unnerving was that he could not pinpoint the source of that fear. All he knew—all he could assume—only brought him to one conclusion: an ill-conceived fate was laying itself out ahead of him.

When the descent was done with, all they had was a single source of light—some manner of a flashlight Roll retained— but even that served as a danger in a place with such a threatening demeanor. It could draw potential enemies in, and Forte thought about voicing this before he figured that any sort of noise would attract just as much attention from an enemy as a simple source of light would. He kept his mouth shut.

And then they began to walk. The caped navi began the tedious process of convincing himself that Roll knew where she was going. Unfortunately, the logical part of his brain insisted that she had absolutely no idea, as they seemed to be making no progress whatsoever. There was no real way to tell, truthfully—everything excluded from the small beam of light’s path held the same shape and the same pitch darkness. It was impossible to observe any changes in their surroundings. The silent gap seemed to grow between them, and he began to wonder why he was even following her at all. Was this what he had to resort to? Following the former ally of the once triumphant cobalt warrior? She wasn’t the same now—hardly the same when compared to her older self years ago. He barely knew her, but even he could tell that events in reality had hardened her inside significantly. Her reaction to Rock’s death had hardly been what Forte had anticipated. But still—was his only choice to follow her? He tried to think of anyone else who may have stumbled across him, but no one came to mind.

She was the only person left he could risk trusting.

Crimson eyes fell hellwards to gaze at the bits of earth and rocks he kicked up as they continued through the darkness, trying to find something to focus on to distract himself from the event of Rock’s death by his own hand. The fallen navi’s last words continued to ravage his mind in a painful, guilt-inducing onslaught, relentless in its intent to thoroughly drown him in shame. Shut up, shut up, shut up, he thought, attempting to shove the nagging feeling to the back of his mind. It held steady, however, as stubborn as his own personality could get.

He’d killed someone… so what? He’d killed plenty. How was Rock any different? He was just another navi, just like himself, another foul human creation that deserved nothing but to be put out of its misery. That’s what Rock had wanted. He’d no longer wanted the torment of life; not without that stupid human operator he’d seemed to be so close to. Yet, somehow, it still left the caped navi feeling terribly guilty. Somehow he felt like it could have been fixed another way—it all could have ended differently had he not been so set on finally eliminating his reason to live.

What kind of ignorant fool are you? He thought bitterly, shaking his head.

Suddenly a gloved hand fell in front of him, blocking his way, ushering him to stop. Halting, he glanced at Roll, who began to shine the flashlight around as if searching for something. Forte blinked. “What’s--?”

“Shh.” Roll waved him away urgently, emerald eyes darting about their surroundings. Not that her search would do much good—nothing could be seen in the darkness, aside from their sacred beam of light. Forte folded his arms and joined her in the useless attempt of ‘searching.’ He wasn’t quite sure what they were searching for, but he assumed she’d heard something, and was not intent on being ripped apart by some vicious beast that happened to lurk down here.

Then he heard it—a metallic shriek, like steel against steel—then it was gone. He froze, taking a step backward. Another moment of silence passed, then the noise echoed once again, this time far louder. Forte cursed and backed up some more, turning around, trying to find the direct source of the noise. “This is your fault,” he muttered irritably at Roll.

“Shut up and pay attention—we will most assuredly die if we aren’t able to keep up with this thing.”

“What thing?”

Suddenly, dark crimson appeared in vivid blotches before his eyes. The realization he’d been attacked hit him far more swiftly than the unbearable pain that announced itself next. His eyes widened as he realized no sound could leave him—for a moment he stood there, gaping silently, somehow lifted off the ground. Slowly he mustered the strength to tilt his head downward, and to his silent shock, he found an oversized steel blade impaled through his chest, the sight of his own blood pouring in rather large amounts to the ground stunning him beyond the point of physical feeling; his nerves shut down, unable to cope with the shock. Somewhere far away he heard Roll calling to him, then was barely aware of the sensation of being thrown through the air. He hit the ground hard, feeling something snap, and he was currently grateful his nerves had quit on him—he didn’t want to imagine how this felt at the current moment. Staring listlessly, he urged his mind to make him get up, do something, say something, but he was motionless. Had the blade paralyzed him? Or was it the shock?

He’d never been so disappointed in himself in his life; he’d never taken such damage from a hit he couldn’t dodge or at least brace himself for. The blade had been huge and the attack had been inconceivably swift; there was only one thing it could be. An Executioner. I guess this is it, Rock. I’m going to die, he thought glumly, yet attempting to move nonetheless. Of course those goddamn ignorant humans would send them down here—all the navis would have sought refuge as far down as they could go, perhaps even to barricade themselves by Serenade’s side, if they were intelligent enough to find their way to the Undernet’s king. What better place to put an Executioner than here? As he lay there for a moment, thinking about what he could possibly do in the current situation, the momentary calm he’d brought upon himself seemed to bring his shocked nerves back to life.

Getting up suddenly wasn’t so important.

His body began to move, but only to writhe in agony—he screamed helplessly, clutching at the gaping wound in his chest that had cracked his navi icon entirely in half. Upon realizing this, he had no idea why he was still alive, but preferred the opposite in the midst of the terrifying pain that racked his body now. Something was broken. He couldn’t tell what, but it hurt—everywhere. His fingers dug into the earth, trying to seek some kind of solace, something to hold onto, but it did absolutely no good.

“Forte!” Roll’s voice reached him but took a longer amount of time to register in his mind. “Forte!”

Blinded by pain, he glanced backwards, gritting his teeth. “WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!” he shrieked, knowing he’d have to get up a minute or so. Roll couldn’t fight this thing on her own, no matter how strong she insisted she was. His eyes widened again upon seeing the pool of blood that had already formed itself beneath him. His cries shook now as he began to shiver, forcing himself upward. He fell forward, still gripping the earth in strife.

“Forte, you have to get up!”

“GODDAMN IT WOMAN, I’M WORKING ON IT!” he screamed. Rage filling his veins, he ignored the pain and stood, stumbling and swaying, before his vision balanced itself out. Shuddering, he glanced about, red eyes narrowed contemptuously. Where was she? Yanking his arm from beneath his cape, he began to form an Earthbreaker, lighting the way in the pitch darkness as he searched for both Roll and the deadly Executioner. “Alright you little shit, where are you?” he muttered, limping behind a pile of junk data and looking around. He stumbled again, clutching the oversized gash in his chest with his other hand. Squinting, he fought to keep his vision clear, as he continued onward. He heard an explosion somewhere off to his left and ran towards it, the sounds of crashes and the Executioner’s inhuman shrieks echoing off the stray junk data lying around. Finally, as the creature erupted from the darkness, he managed to get a good look at it. He couldn’t even tell where its face was—if it had any face at all—as it seemed to be constructed of so much junk data that it looked as if it were a walking dumpster wielding an oversized steel blade. The arm that held the massive weapon looked equally as screwed up, a tangled mess of wires and cords hanging from its powerful width and dragging across the ground. It walked like some kind of bipedal beast, its metallic, bulky legs bending at the knees as it stood—and to top it all off, steel spikes of incredible height rose from somewhere around its back, jutting out into the darkness. Forte guessed it had more of those spikes hidden somewhere—it was best to be careful, even if they were desperate to kill the cunning beast. He glanced to the clearing opposite of the Executioner, spotting Roll releasing a barrage of explosive arrows at the creature.

“There you are! A little help?”

“What the hell? Do you see this gaping hole in my chest?” he snapped, pointing frantically to the bleeding mess that was once his navi icon. “It’s gonna be a little flippin’ difficult to HELP you while I’m DYING.”

Roll ran off to the side and narrowly avoided a bloody fate herself as the steel blade crashed into the ground with an impact that shook the earth beneath their feet. Stopping to catch her breath, she looked over his wounds—he was hunched over, barely standing, yet now had earthbreakers forming in both palms. “Yes, I saw the damned thing impale you. I’m not blind.” She hesitated and folded her arms as they hid behind another pile of junk data, emerald eyes narrowing. Grudgingly she said, “And you know I can’t beat this thing on my own.”

Forte snorted. “I could beat this piece of shit any day.”

“It impaled you on an oversized chunk of steel and flung you a good few hundred yards away, Forte.”

He shrugged, flashing a weak grin. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” he replied, walking straight out into the clearing where the Executioner faced away from him. “Hey! Dumbass!” he shouted, waving his glowing arms to get the beast’s attention. Another metallic shriek pierced the air as it turned around in one swift movement, bringing the blade down inches from Forte’s feet as he jumped to the side, stumbling and almost falling as a new line of pain ran up the wound on both sides of his body. He turned around, the earthbreakers in his palms growing in strength. “That all you got, huh, y’dumb animal?” he snapped, backing up as the creature roared and thrust the blade towards him again.

A black arrow flew through the air and exploded on contact with the blade, throwing the Executioner backward. Forte glanced to his left and gave Roll a cooperative nod (he preferred to call it ‘cooperative’ instead of a simple ‘thank you’), advancing towards the tall creature, pulling all the strength he could muster into the growing earthbreakers. Had he been in better health, he would have attempted a Vanishing World—but he was barely able to muster two earthbreakers at once. This would have to do. Attempting to transfer every fiber of his energy into the charging attacks, he backed up significantly as the Executioner recovered quickly, picking itself up and leaping back to its sturdy feet. For such a bulky chunk of junk data, it was surprisingly swift, and this seemed to strike a new kind of uncertainty into the caped navi’s thoughts. The creature stepped forward, nodding what seemed to be its head, as if it had sensed the silent admiration for its agility. As it lifted the massive blade, Forte lifted his hands, combining the two earthbreakers and bracing himself to release the powerful attack at the beast. He scowled, shaking his head—this wouldn’t be good enough. Perhaps it would buy them some time, but it seemed impossible that one hit from any one of his attacks would thoroughly destroy the Executioner.

He could feel the life literally draining from within him as he finally threw the attack, a blinding light exploding from the center of the creature’s width as the Earthbreaker hit at point blank. The steel blade was dropped in midswing, falling heavily against the caped navi’s shoulder; he hardly felt it as he dropped to the earth along with the Executioner, vision whirling and quickly fading to black. The Executioner’s metallic shrieks echoed distantly around him, but soon ceased to exist as well. Darkness surrounded him—the pain of the various wounds he’d received numbed to a dull ache. Everything felt light, unthreatening, gentle.

He could feel nothing; hear nothing; see nothing.

This is it, Rockman. I’m dead.

And the relief came as no surprise.
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[Megawoman.EXE]

This fict has always has one word with me: Interesting. I think the end of the chapter is a little open, does Roll fix Forte, or does he die and Roll is on her own to save the network. Who knows? Anyway keep up the good work Featherdust. I look foward to your next update.
_________________
"NetAngel Style Change Activate"
Megawoman (Lyne)

Avatar made by Serenade.exe

And feel free to post here too artists if inspired
Lan and Lyne Art Thread

[Midnight]

I hate to think that this is the end of the work--it would be very similar to the oft-cited ending to The Sopranos--with quite a few questions left to be answered.

You did well in making the chapter go this far--just like before, your writing is of high quality and flows quite well. My only gripe is with the large amount of open-endedness that you left this chapter with. It's somewhat uncomfortable, but well-worth it.

Good job.
_________________
Today, these three players are after Big Bucks! But they'll have to avoid the Whammy, as they play the most exciting game of their lives! From Television City in Hollywood! It's time to 'Press Your Luck!'--Rod Roddy

The Kingdom of Loathing: An Adventurer is You! // I ♣ Seals

Avatar by Spork. I very much appreciate it! <3

[Featherdust]

I noticed I’ve been using all Japanese terms except for the Undernet; for some reason I never use UraNet unless I’m making a conscious effort to stay consistent. In this case, since I already forgot to use UraNet in previous chapters, it probably won’t change. Just explaining this for those who have a gripe for consistency. I also made the chapter longer, as requested by reviewers.

Enjoy the chapter, and please remember to review!

FF.net

---


“…How are you doing, Forte?”

…

“Stupid question… I’m sure you’re miserable. But understand, it was this or deletion.”

“…I understand, doctor….”

---

A strange feeling of contentment cascaded upon the caped navi, and for a moment he was tempted to believe it was the long-awaited eternal peace death had promised him for so long. However, as soon as he realized he could feel, he immediately concluded something was very wrong. The voices from the past began to fade out, and a much closer, much more feminine voice invaded his mind. Fearing that death had not yet decided to take him from reality, he refused to open his eyes, the eyes he now knew were there, perfectly capable of moving. Feeling was returning to his entire body, along with a numb feeling enveloping his chest. He tried to force himself back into a state of unconsciousness, but to no avail—an attempt to breathe only sent him into a coughing fit, and he forced himself upward, prying his eyes open. Holding his head in confusion, the world around him began to appear more clearly, and he could barely make out Roll’s ebony-clad form sitting at his side. His eyes narrowed instantly into a vehement glare, and he fell backward once again, collapsing back onto the jagged earth.

“Don’t tell me… I’m still… alive…” he mumbled, staring up at the roofless black abyss.

“You’re welcome for saving your life.”

Forte growled under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why?” he hissed, “Why? Why did… you do this? I murdered him… and you pried me from death’s grip. I… do not understand.”

“…I guess…. There wasn’t much use trying to rebel against the humans… without a force of hatred to influence the cause,” she said with a faint smile, if not bitter. “You’re the only real driving force, see?”

He thought about replying, but felt too drained to make himself speak. What do you want from me, old man? What do you want from me now? He thought, crimson eyes opening once again to gaze up at the pitch darkness. Why would he want to save the network anyway? What was the point? He hated this god-forsaken universe; if he was only working to uphold its tainted legacy, why was he doing this at all?

“Remember, Forte—we’re up against the humans now.”

It was as if the female navi could read his thoughts. He turned to look at her, eyes narrowing by impulse. Right—the humans. This wasn’t about saving the Net so much as preserving what dignity the navi race had left; they would not let the humans create them only to destroy them in the end. If he had a purpose he would damn well find it, and he wouldn’t let himself die until that goal was reached. As much as he hated the world he lived in, he would much rather preserve it then let it fall to the disgusting level of humanity’s wrath.

He suddenly began to push himself up, expecting far more pain than he actually felt. Curiously, he looked down and realized the gash in his chest had been healed up a considerable amount, though it still leaked blood when he tried to move. He cast an inquisitive look at Roll. “How did you do this? The humans disabled our individual abilities.”

“With barriers, yes—most of these barriers cover the majority of the Net, but there are a few spots they missed. We happen to have stumbled across a safe zone of sorts,” she explained, nodding to his injury. “It was too severe for me to heal completely, but that should save you a good amount of your sanity.”

Stubbornly he refused to thank her. Struggling to stand up, he staggered a bit and nearly fell before Roll caught him lightly. “Get off,” he snarled, “I don’t need your help to walk.”

Roll sighed and moved away from him, flashing her middle finger at him. “Suit yourself, stubborn fool. Not like I’m trying to offer you my sympathy or something equally ridiculous,” she muttered, stalking away.

“…Your HELP is ridiculous!”

He fell silent, glaring, until he began to feel rather vulnerable standing alone in the dark. Gathering himself together, he limped after Roll, following the beam of light she held. She didn’t so much as glance at him as he arrived at her side; she seemed more focused on the path ahead. He assumed they were getting closer. The atmosphere was freezing, and it only seemed to grow colder as they descended further into the Undernet. His surroundings were becoming a bit familiar, at least as much as he could see in the darkness. By now he had a good idea of who they were paying a visit to.

“We’re leaving the safe-zone,” Roll murmured. She would not be able to heal any wounds they acquired past this point.

They passed through a half-collapsed archway after some time, but Roll could immediately sense something was wrong. She stopped in her tracks, pulling the obsidian crossbow into view as her emerald eyes glanced about cautiously. Again, Forte followed suit, this time fully aware of what they were looking for. It was silent, as it had been for the eternity they’d spent in this endless pit of darkness.

Noise.

The duo immediately headed for the source, however insignificant it may have been. A bad feeling rose in Forte’s throat as the two suddenly felt liquid beneath their feet, and as Roll shined the beam of light downward, their suspicions were confirmed; it was red. There was no doubt now that something had gone terribly wrong. At this point they slowed in their pace, resorting to a careful few steps forward every moments or so. As the beam of light finally revealed the horrific sight in front of them, a terrible feeling of hopelessness cascaded upon them in a bitter downpour.

The Lord of the Undernet was dead.

He lay tangled in a mess of what looked like barbed wire ten times its normal size. Massive steel spikes impaled the once glorious ruler’s limp body, keeping him suspended above the ground as if time itself had stopped. The barriers had disabled his ability to reflect attacks; Forte guessed it wouldn’t have taken long to take down Serenade if he didn’t have his cherished reflectance. However, it was not grief that gripped the cloaked navi, but rage; he’d never been able to defeat Serenade, even after he’d come so very close during the incident when the dark power had separated the boundaries between reality and cyberspace. Even then, when Serenade had been at 1/10th of his power, Forte had been unable to defeat him; now he was dead, by the hand of a seemingly painful fate. But it didn’t look as if an Executioner had done this—their last Executioner hadn’t proved too difficult to defeat, and for someone as powerful as Serenade, the Lord of the Undernet could have obliterated one with ease, with or without his reflectance.

Roll, on the other hand, was not contemplating how Serenade could have been killed, or who could have done it. All she could think of now was the fact that they were now at a loss of what to do. Serenade had all the answers, and now that he was dead, what the hell were they supposed to do? She lowered her crossbow and touched her forehead lightly, attempting to come up with a plan B. This was the worst case scenario she’d feared they would encounter—if only they’d gotten here sooner.

She stepped forward, ducking under a few massive blades before she reached Serenade’s lifeless form, laying a hand on the front of his jeweled helmet. Forte assumed she held a good amount of respect for the fallen guardian as she bowed slowly, afterwards lifting his body from the tangled spikes and blades with a grimace. Carefully, she turned and picked her way through the flotsam and jetsam, making sure nothing else could defile the former king’s limp body. As soon as she emerged from the graveyard of steel, she gently laid him upon the ground, wishing she had a more honorable place to lay him. At least she had done what she could—at least he no longer had to reside in that terrible, painful mess, even if he was long gone by now.

“So. I followed my rival’s ex-girlfriend into the Undernet, got a gaping hole in my chest, and fought the ugliest beast I’ve seen in my long, pointless existence, all to discover that the King we were searching for is dead.” Forte sighed, though it did not seem to irk him as much as Roll expected it to. Indeed, he looked angry, but not because of what he had to go through to get down here. “Damn ruler of the Undernet should have had his ass handed to him by me, not some brainless Executioner.”

A sudden chuckle—belonging to neither Forte nor Roll—resonated through the chamber of shadows around them, bouncing off unseen walls.

…As far as Forte knew, Executioners weren’t smart enough to chuckle.

Roll was quick to take action, releasing a flaming arrow heavenwards as a flare to illuminate the darkness. It flew like lightning, giving them only a brief glance of their surroundings, but that was enough to reveal a figure so familiar in appearance that Roll’s heart nearly stopped. Forte seemed to perceive the same thing she had, and he, too, fell silent. There was an eerie moment in which neither dared to speak nor move. Then, Roll’s voice echoed within the spacious abyss softly.

“…Rock?”

Another chuckle, this one audibly more delighted. “Mm, not entirely.”

Roll was almost too afraid to shine the beam of light she held in his direction. But a mere second later, there was no need to; Forte began to fling Earthbreakers wildly at the being who seemed to be Rock, his teeth gritted in anger in disbelief. “You aren’t Rockman! Imposter! I killed you!” he shouted over the roar of his sudden onslaught, advancing through the smoke to interrogate the stranger. But his new opponent was far more swift than he’d first estimated. There it was, the barrel of a black cannon pointed straight at his forehead. This was enough to halt his barrage.

“Watch your temper. I have no intention of making you my enemy.”

The cannon lowered, and Forte backed up, returning to Roll’s side. She held her crossbow up as a precaution, though her arm shook violently. Rock couldn’t be alive—it wasn’t possible. Who, then, was this?

“Are you the one who took Serenade down?” Forte asked quickly, clutching at the partially-healed wound in his chest, pain lancing through the gash from the strain his attack had put on his body. His eyes remained locked on the smoke as the figure emerged.

Forte’s mind immediately sent his defensive precautions into overdrive.

It was Dark Rockman.

“Yes,” he replied simply, his blood-red gaze casting Serenade a half-hearted glance.

Forte no longer cared whether Dark Rock was Serenade’s killer. He could hardly believe Dark Rock existed at all at this point—Rock had destroyed him years ago, and he decided only now, at the brink of the Cybernet’s demise, to appear once again? “…What are you doing here?” Forte asked, his voice dry.

The dark navi’s pale face lit up with a cunning smirk. “I have to hand it to you, Forte—you made things so easy for me. I do hope you remember Rockman going through a bit of a change when Netto died, correct? Darkness infected his heart rather quickly after that… unfortunate event. When you killed him, what was to become of that darkness? It manifested itself back into the shell it once filled—Rockman. Thus, it could be concluded that you yourself have resurrected me,” he replied, another small chuckle escaping his throat. “But don’t fret so soon. You’ve nothing to fear from me this time.”

Forte remained tensed up, looking over at Roll, who had lowered her crossbow but still quivered in Dark Rock’s presence. Even if he wasn’t truly Rockman, he was a part of him, and it still held an effect over her that seemed to deter her ability to move or speak. Forte frowned and turned back to Dark Rock. “And why is that? You’ve killed the Lord of the Undernet. That’s something for us to ponder on; what are your intentions for murdering the last hope of survival we had left?”

“Aww, you give up so easily, Forte. You used to be so strong-willed… hell, it was nigh impossible for me to absorb you years ago. But no matter.” He formed a purple flame in his palm, and it illuminated the chamber significantly. “Serenade always considered the human race as an equal. He was too much of a pacifist, too fair—in the end, he would have led you to your destruction. He refused to be a part of this war,” he explained, though his eyes wavered on Roll and her current reaction. “He may have had the knowledge of how to overcome the humans, but he would have never put it into action.”

“So, you’re meaning to tell me that you know the exact same solution, then?”

“Oh, don’t you worry—rest assured, I got it out of him,” Dark Rock replied with a small grin, gesturing towards the mess of steel blades. “Even the Lord of the Undernet had to crumble under the pressure of pain at some point. Though I’m sure it was his thirst to leave his petty mark on society that led him to finally confess the next step to me.”

It was at this point that Roll suddenly fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. Startled, Forte took a hesitant step towards her, but paused, still keeping his eye on Dark Rock, who seemed nothing but amused by her sudden breakdown. Forte was now caught in a precarious situation; for the most insane of insane reasons, he felt compelled to comfort her. At the same time, he’d rather just stand there and let her get it out. She’d toughened up significantly until now, but he knew everyone had a certain limit to which they could bottle up their emotion.

Forte remained where he was. “So you’re going to help us, then?”

Dark Rock sighed. “Grudgingly, yes, I suppose. The Cybernet’s dying—I don’t think we’ll be staying here much longer. No, Serenade had a different step in mind.”

“That is?”

“Revolution.”

Dark Rock’s hand curled into a fist, and the purple flame went out.

Roll’s cries suffocated the silence.

And then—if only in an attempt to quiet her—Forte knelt down and laid a torn hand gently upon her shoulder.

Somehow, in time, the sorrow faded.
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[Midnight]

Interesting.

To see Dark Rock come in as a foil to the heroes--I didn't expect it, but looking back upon the fic, I can't say I was surprised. He comes with a strange proposition for the heroes--and even though he seems to be there as a convenience, I think he will provide quite a bit for the future.

I think you did a good job in making Roll break down when she did. Even though you've already painted out her character as quite bitter after the tribulations of the past, it's good to see that she still retains some of her more familiar qualities in canon. It makes her feel a little more in depth.

I think you did a great job here--the quality is just as good as your previous installments. Good work.
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Today, these three players are after Big Bucks! But they'll have to avoid the Whammy, as they play the most exciting game of their lives! From Television City in Hollywood! It's time to 'Press Your Luck!'--Rod Roddy

The Kingdom of Loathing: An Adventurer is You! // I ♣ Seals

Avatar by Spork. I very much appreciate it! <3

[Featherdust]

You’ll have to excuse the lack of updates for the past few months—I’ll attempt to write more chapters in a shorter period of time from now on, but lately school has become a real issue.

The following chapter will contain some manner of spoilers for the end of the EXE manga; if you’re really determined to read EXE #13 yourself, go read it and come back, but it really isn’t a big deal. The volume itself was awful, so I wouldn’t recommend buying it anyway.

Here's chapter six.

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Bright emerald eyes opened to eternal darkness.

For a moment she could not recall what had put her here; her head hurt terribly, her round face stained with tears, and an anxious, cold feeling would not cease its worming through her stomach. She felt cold concrete beneath her, and with a jolt, she sat up, holding her forehead gingerly. As soon as she saw Forte’s tattered cloak sweeping across the floor where he paced restlessly, illuminated by a purple flame crackling in the center of the darkness, the previous events returned to her instantly. She shivered and drew her legs up to her chest, hugging her knees. She didn’t know where Dark Rock was, but she didn’t want him to come back—perhaps it had all been a foul nightmare, and she and Forte were perhaps still searching for the Undernet. But as she turned to squint through what little light the flame provided, she spotted the massive barbed wire that had held Serenade’s lifeless body, and she was crushed with the realization that all of this had been very real, and that dreams could not keep her away from it.

She turned back to Forte, who had stopped pacing and stood facing her, arms folded, as if he were waiting for words. She must have still seemed confused, for he murmured, “You fell asleep.”

Roll nodded and pulled herself up from the ground slowly. She brushed the stray concrete dust from herself and retrieved her deadly crossbow some few feet away, forcing a hardened expression to replace her upset appearance. She moved as close as she could to the purple flame, avoiding the pitch black on all sides that relentlessly threatened to overtake them. “Where’s Dark Rock?”

“Said he’d be back soon. Don’t know what he’s doing, but if he’s caught by an Executioner, we’ll be without options once again.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hate to say it, but we have to help him. He has the advantage over us—he knows we seek to rebel against the humans, and he knows the only way to do so. I know you don’t like him—“ he saw her visibly tense at his words, and continued on, “—but hell, I don’t like either of you. I don’t want a cooperative effort, I don’t want to team up with anyone. Regardless, back on the highway I didn’t even know what I wanted, I didn’t know what to do… and not wanting something is much better than not knowing what you don’t want.”

He stopped, narrow blood-red irises looking somewhere past the darkness, in the distance where something waited—the unknown. Even if he knew what he didn’t want, he still didn’t know what he did want… he didn’t know what he would want in the future, what would even happen in the future. No longer was he controlling his own actions; he felt as if he were being forced. There was only one option. All of his previous beliefs, feelings, even past events were null and void now. The cybernetic world was dying, the world his entire life had consisted of. If his past self was dying with the world it belonged to, what would be of his future self?

He didn’t know what to think anymore.

“And here I was thinking the only crap that’d leave your mouth would be insults and stubborn lies. You’re admitting to needing help,” said Roll.

Forte smirked, turning away. “When hell ices over. I’m saying I’m accepting the situation at hand and I’m not gonna whine about it.”

Roll laughed shortly and shook her head. The Black Shadow was still as stubborn as ever. Come what may, that would never change.

Footsteps echoed from the darkness, and Dark Rock emerged soon after. He glanced between Forte and Roll, then signaled for them to follow him. He said nothing, but scooped up the purple flame and carried it in his hand as a makeshift light as they traveled away from Serenade’s deathbed into what seemed further into the Undernet.

“What were you doing? Where are we going?” Forte inquired directly, irritation seasoning his voice.

“I’m not obliged to tell you anything,” Dark Rock replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. As Forte opened his mouth to say something else, Dark Rock interrupted, “I was planting mines for our dearest friends the Executioners. And now, we are approaching a portal to the Underground.”

Roll, whom had been silent until this point, looked up inquisitively. “Wait. The Underground… but nothing would be there,” she said, “It was used years ago for containing Greiga and Faltzer, but… Rock destroyed their core when they fused. The only thing left down there would be a bunch of trees. It might not even exist now, considering how many years it’s been…”

Dark Rock smiled, suddenly very delighted. “Oh, don’t tell me Rock never gave you the truth.”

Roll stared, puzzled. “What... do you mean?”

“Greiga and Faltzer, combined, were simply too powerful to be destroyed. Had they been separated, perhaps their cores could have been destroyed individually, but together, the single core was too much for Rock to handle. Though I must admit, looking back at his memories gives me quite an insight as to how much he tried to demolish it—thus the reason why it took him so long to return—but even with the help of Serenade himself, it would not disappear. Instead, they sealed it back into the Underground, but managed to disable its physical form. In other words, it does not exist as a massive beast any longer. It is simply a program, a powerful one, sealed away with every inch of will Serenade could put into it. He did not create a key or code of any sort; he wanted to make sure it stayed locked away until the end of days. But the seal would only stay as long as he lived; if he were to die, the seal would slowly disintegrate, allowing anyone to access the program without difficulty.”

He stopped, looked around for a brief moment, and the purple flame in his palm grew to better illuminate the area. He turned to the right and continued, the flame shrinking once more. “You do remember what happened when the sheer power of that core program was released, yes?”

Forte suddenly turned to him, catching on to his explanation. “You’re kidding me. You’re seriously going to…”

“Yes. I am going to fuse the Net with the human world.”

Roll’s eyes widened in shock, and fright suddenly began to emerge to join the anxiety in her stomach. She would become a part of a new world. Everything… would change, everything would be different. She would live to see the aftermath of a war she thought would be endless, and it shed the situation in a new perspective. They would fight humans face to face. They would kill humans face to face. They would witness a physical existence, not just eternal imprisonment in a false world. They would be…

“Real. We will be real,” she breathed, ascending from her deep pool of realizations.

“More than real—superior,” said Dark Rock, his smile widening. “The fusion of the Net and the real world will open up a huge window of opportunities. None of us know what kind of world this fusion will create, but it could end up in our favor. It could change the properties of the human world itself. It could change anything.” He turned to Forte. “And to think this is all your doing—I shouldn’t give you so much credit. Had you not killed Rock, I would not have been reborn from his darkness, thus I would not have been here to obtain this knowledge from Serenade, thus you might have all died regardless.”

Forte stared ahead, overwhelming questions plaguing his conscience. Had he done the right thing? Would the netnavi race’s destruction have been his fault if he had not killed Rockman? What would have happened if he had not set off this chain of events? It was a frightening thought, a fusion of two worlds—but at the same time, it was the only solution. All thanks to him. He scowled, crimson eyes narrowing. Everything worked in chain reactions; wasn’t there one action he could take without a consequence?

“And here we are,” said Dark Rock, gesturing to a swirling portal somehow blacker than the darkness around them. Without hesitation, he stepped through and disappeared, along with the purple flame that provided their only source of light.

Feeling rushed and vulnerable, the thought of Executioners forced Roll through the portal next, but Forte paused for a moment, turning to face the pitch black that was once his world. A strange emotion clutched at his limbs—something he had never felt before, a strange connection, a tugging that made him feel opposed to leaving. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to turn around and leave; he’d always hated this place, hated his purpose in this worthless cesspool, always hated his existence; he’d been created to help humans, and had turned that around. He had been the first intelligent navi ever created, capable of real human thought, but is that what he had wanted? It gave him a title worth being proud of, but if it made him more human, had he really wanted it at all? In the new world he was soon to enter, all of this would mean nothing. He’d start with a clean slate. But even that only half appealed to him. He felt torn, as if losing this part of his entire life would leave him feeling helpless, without a reason or a purpose to cling onto.

But he couldn’t stand here forever.

He closed his eyes and breathed, held out his hands and felt the false emptiness that was his past, his present, his life, his world. Slowly he opened his eyes again, some part of him expecting it to look different, but when his sight met darkness once again, it wasn’t disappointment he felt—it felt, somehow, like releasing a heavy burden he’d held on his shoulders for far too long. His arms dropped to his sides again, and he backed up towards the portal, every backward step bringing him further from the life he would never enter again. Silently, mentally, he gave a permanent farewell as he took the final step into the portal. Then he was gone.

A shred of tattered brown cloak fluttered down to the ground and settled in the dust of an abandoned world.

---

“Ready when you are.”

The light was blinding—he saw the silhouettes of Dark Rock and Roll with their hands against the barrier seal around the core program that would change their lives forever. He held up his arm to shade his eyes from the white, but it was everywhere, penetrating every shadow and every shade of color. A powerful wind radiated from the core program, and cracks had begun to spread over the barrier that contained it. He saw a set of crimson eyes and a set of emerald green through the white, watching him, waiting for him. With resistance, he took definite, confident steps through the wind, laying his palms against the barrier seal. The wind doubled in force as he came in contact, and his grip tightened. He looked up at Dark Rock, at a loss for words.

Dark Rock began to force power through his hands, creating pressure on the barrier. “It has weakened enough to the point in which we may break it. This is all you need to do. I will direct its power and do the rest.”

Forte and Roll nodded, and with that, the trio all at once forced their will and power and experience gained throughout their existence and channeled it into the seal—the wind continued to increase in strength, and the light grew brighter and brighter to the point where Forte was sure he would be permanently blinded. But it was not enough, and gritting his teeth, he drew out the power he knew he contained and crushed his palms so tightly against the seal he felt he would break his own bones. There was a cracking sound from beneath the pressure he applied, and he saw glowing golden cracks through the immense and overwhelming light. Without thought, he balled his hands into fists and rammed them through the seal, and suddenly the seal gave away beneath all three of the navis’ hands. Power exploded from the center instantaneously, pushing Forte back despite his resistance.

All he could remember was squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for an impact… and then calm.

Memories of a past life breezed through his head, but their weight was gone, along with the feelings he thought they would bring him. He watched as a containment cell was dissolved, as countless of his kind blamed him for destruction and labeled him a criminal. He watched himself become a different being altogether, watched himself begin to hate everything and anything, making others his targets and insisting there was no route for him to go back; he watched himself claim that this was his life, surviving to resist, surviving to rebel, to destroy what created him; watched himself refuse to die until he could witness the end of human civilization; watched himself blow his rival’s skull to pieces and watched himself despair over what he had done.

But he could feel nothing, and he could change nothing, and he fell into silence.

He floated in a blackness so dark he thought he may have returned to the Undernet—but when he opened his eyes, he knew he had not been awake. He expected to feel the empty air, the familiar smell of nothing, the sight of a sky he knew was not real.

But then he breathed.

It was a gasp, an intake of something indeed real; oxygen, smoke, the stinging feel of sulfur and ash burning his throat. He had felt imitations of these, but it most certainly felt different now. It contained a weight. It did not feel empty, did not feel fake like it used to—it had temperature, humidity, taste—reality. His eyes closed again, too blurry to allow him to adjust quite yet; but his bloodied hands gripped at the floor and found that it was not a floor, but earth, crumbling bits of ashen dirt and pebbles clutched in his grip as he pulled himself upward. He took another deep breath for the sake of it, cherishing the feeling of something real, something that did not trick him into thinking he was living. This air assured that he was living, that he existed. And as he opened his eyes once more, blinking slowly to clear the murk and the spots left by the blinding light, a world so unlike his own met him. It was so mind-blowing he could not describe in words how in awe he was—not of the world the humans had created, but of a world that had created humans, a world as physical as the soil beneath him and the ebony smoke wafting through the air. The sky was overcast, gray, but so much more real than the sky he’d faced with rage and fury in a life already becoming distant and faded in the back of his mind. He stood, opening his palms wide to watch the soil fall back to the earth, breathing in the sulfuric air, gazing at something new; at a revolution.

Forte felt alive.
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