Serial
7: True father
October
22nd, 32 S.D. 23:25 Mount Anhel, Upper Vestel
Like wisps in the dark, two ethereal lights raced down the mountainside. Turning and dashing, from afar one may well have suspected some sort of paranormal phenomenon were happening. The truth, however, was more rationally explained. Speeding down Mount Anhel, Losha and Siersus made their descent in all the haste they could muster. Their guiding orbs of serialized light hung before them as they moved, floating somewhat freely a meter ahead.
They flew lower and lower with quickened steps thanks to the series Siersus had suggested for their travel. It was a simple yet effective trick that quite nearly tripled the distance they covered. Whenever one foot pushed against the ground beneath them, the two would apply the series underfoot. All that the series did was press back against their legs with a surge of kinetic energy. This virtually multiplied the upward thrust of every step they took. Rather than propelling them higher, however, the series’ direction of force was angled acutely, thus pushing them forward.
For each pace they actually made, they crossed thrice or more the normal length. It were as if they were running normally from their own perspectives, but the world around them sailed by markedly faster than ever. Their serialized movements didn’t cost much in the way of seras, so they were able to do this and maintain their lit orbs with relative ease. The only visual trace of this useful series was a small, flickering spark that lived but a moment where their feet hit the ground. By Losha’s estimate, they had thereabouts ten more minutes left until they reached Palostrol. They couldn’t reasonably sprint full-tilt all the way, but with the aid of this series and the downhill nature of their course, jogging would suffice.
The whole time Losha and Siersus said nothing to each other or themselves. Without warning though, Losha suddenly stopped, sliding to a halt over grass and loose rocks. Her head whipped up, fixed upon some point in the sky above them. Siersus briefly passed her up before he stopped an instant later.
“What?” he asked, turning around to her.
“Look.” She pointed up at the air. The clouds split as if something had plowed away a circle. Behind the opening, the looming image of the moon hung as a backdrop. Losha did not like the meaning of these events at all.
“We must continue, quicker now,” she said, frowning. She surged ahead of him. If she couldn’t physically run at a constant sprint, the best alternative she figured was to pour more seras into the series. With that, the two students clipped down Mount Anhel even swifter than before.
“What... did you say?” Denze breathed, his voice barely audible. His eyes shook, flitting back and forth between King and Eltin. “Master Eltin, I... don’t understand what he’s talking about. You’re the one that discovered serialization. 32 years ago you established the principles of the art, right?”
Master Eltin made no response immediately, however, with a hard face cast down at the ground, he grumbled, as if pained.
“Things are... more complicated and elaborate than merely that,” was all he managed to say.
“What are you trying to say?” Denze asked. “Now I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
King took two steps forward confidently, his garments swaying with his strides. “Is this how you sought to raise a generation of serialists Sambur? As ignorants deprived of history?”
Eltin wretched his head up as he seemed poised to protest these accusations, but before he could, a sudden, red glow surrounded him, enveloping his entire body. He froze instantly, although he visibly twinged and blinked as if he were fighting this strange effect. It took Denze a moment to recognize this as a binding series of some sort, one that constricted the target greatly to the point of utter immobility. Only later still did he grasp the fact that he too was afflicted; the crimson light wrapped tightly around his feet, staying him to that very spot.
“You have had years to deceive these children, Sambur. You will allow me to properly educate one, even if just for tonight.” King turned and addressed Denze directly. The lad’s heart leaped as their lines of sight met. This was a man who could make the ground tremble in his very presence, a man who could subdue his master without so much as lifting a finger. His aims and intents were great unknowns, thus his figure could only be seen as frightful.
“Son of the dark, what you have known these years had been a grand, intricate lie. This man here did not discover the nature of serialization. He was, however, one of my brightest disciples. Through my guidance alone, he learned of the powers and wonders that dwelt within the human soul. All that he has passed onto you originates from me. It is false to say that serialization was first introduced to this world 30 years ago.” He pulled his arms out from under his cloak, folding them comfortably behind his back. “Rather, it is more accurate to say that I first began performing serialization, some 150 years prior.”
Denze, rooted where he stood, had no viable escape, just like his master. He would have to endure whatever truth King wanted to reveal, and no effort on Denze’s part could change this course. Denze still carried Mesel against his back, but he chose to gently lay his friend down beside him on the grass. He had a feeling there were many more lengthy details in store.
“The precise date is of no importance; it is an artifact lost to time’s irrelevance. Needless to say, for over the span of a century, I kept this art away from the hands of man, fearful that it might one day fall into abuse.” King raised his left hand forward, curling his fingers slowly into a tight fist.
“For the power of serialization, its greatest capabilities are still not yet known, even to me, its formal progenitor. Serialization represents the single, mightiest tool simple humans could ever wield. If I so desired, I could raise the very peak of Mount Anhel higher than any point on the Continent, or perhaps level it all to dust. This duality of choice was the most troubling aspect born of my life’s work.”
“The miraculous,” he said, opening up his left hand again, then also bringing his right hand from behind his back and similarly opening it beside the other. “And the horrendous. Serialization became an agent of both, with discretion and discrimination for neither. It could so easily enable scores of triumphs for peoples of all nations and creeds just as well as it could commit untold tragedies against them.” He clasped his hands together before proceeding with his speech.
“As such, I weighed the consequences of serialization, and my conclusion was to strictly prohibit its spread. I did, however, over time give my teachings to a select few who I trusted. These individuals were ones who understood the need to keep the secrecy of serialization yet preserve the art, to serve as arbiters of its strength through the ages, when and if the time was right for the Continent to inherit it. My disciples all were those who shared my inner and most fundamental belief: this world is not yet ready to handle all the responsibilities serialization entails. At least, I once thought so much.”
King’s eyes smoothly shifted over to Eltin. A repressed muffled sputter of air escaped Eltin’s sealed mouth as his head only slightly moved up at King.
“Your ‘master’, Sambur Eltin, however, felt differently about the matter. He thought the Continent was indeed ready for serialization. Rather than blindly throw this art to the masses, he advocated cultivating each potential serialist by our own hands so that they might know right and wrong. Regardless... ” King raised his index finger up. “It only takes one wayward mind, one uncouth person to sow the seeds of ruination. As soon as serialization falls into the hands of a single unworthy practitioner, little then stands in the way of others from seeking him or her out and undeservedly gaining serialization for themselves. We would lose control over who can or is fit to bear the responsibility of such terrible, wonderful power.”
“Unfortunately, Sambur and I could not just disagree on the matter. He took it upon himself to try and prove my ways wrong. But in this he betrayed me gravely, forsaking the vows he had pledged to me: to shroud our art in obscurity until its proper advent. Instead, he fled from me without notice, disappearing deep into the far reaches of the land, only to do what we had once decided was premature: give the world serialization. What’s more, he even tried to steal the rightful legacy I myself had crafted.” King started walking towards Eltin.
“You, the originator of serialization? Did you fancy yourself a harbinger of some sort, a man that would bring the light of a new era on earth? Or perhaps you felt yourself to be the rightful decider of serialization?”
King stopped in front of Eltin; the master looked to be shaking, as if he were shivering. Though he could neither move nor speak, his eyes showed fierce rebuke upon the man before him. King but grinned as he turned his back to Eltin, taking several steps away then.
“Through me, serialization was realized, and by me the world will be judged whether it is ready for this art or not. I will not stand to have anyone infringe upon what I alone bear. I shall control who can and cannot learn the secrets of the soul.”
Suddenly, a shot of what looked like green lightning crackled over Master Eltin’s back. Shortly thereafter, smaller pulses stirred and ran up and down his body. The red glow of King’s seras was all at once competing with another hue that swept across his paralyzed limbs. Then, just as when King and his followers had come to Palostrol, the ground began to shudder and the air whipped with energy. Yet this time, the one causing the seratic diffusion was Master Eltin himself, albeit on a smaller scale. The emerald light of his seras quickly grew brighter and brighter, fighting that of King’s. His body slowly came back to his command, as his arms rigidly broke free at last.
Denze had had no idea that Master Eltin could control such an amount of seras. The students had always suspected him of hiding his true prowess, but to imagine him at his level was beyond their comprehension. Denze simply couldn’t fathom the sorts of feats either King or Master Eltin possessed; he could only guess that there were great. Consequently, he couldn’t tell who was the better serialist, given he could measure neither.
Eltin slowly, gradually began to roar as he stretched the bondage of King’s series to its limits. Pulling both arms out to his sides, he finally shattered the red aura. A rapid expulsion of air blasted out from where he stood. The wild wind knocked Denze backwards off of his feet, dispelling the series that had locked him in place as well. He tumbled backwards, rolling sideways several times. Whereas this gust blew him down harshly, King, however, looked entirely unaffected, save for the billowing of his dark cloak.
“Hoh?” he said, as if passively intrigued by this development. Still, he didn’t turn around.
“Nabel,” Master Eltin said as the green around him intensified. “You may be correct. Perhaps the world isn’t ready for serialization or the consequences it entails. Nevertheless, you’re wrong about one thing, now just as much as you were then.” Eltin stood up, straight and true.
“You are not the one who will decide who is privileged to serialize. It is an art that any soul is free to engage in, whether you deem it fine or not. You have no right to say who is qualified and who is not, but all have a right to serialization. It is unalienable and undeniable.”
King merely smiled at this rebuttal before he spoke to counter his former student.
“Eloquent words, Sambur, are but babble before the blade,” he said.
The quaking ceased as Eltin held out his hand to the side, his grasp loose and open. He began pulling seras into a shape of some sort, something long and slender. Denze recovered just in time to see these events in action. On all fours, he popped his head up; still a bit unstable, however, he could do little more than view things from here. The seras kept growing downward, assembling as layers heaped and dripped one upon the other. However, it stopped once reaching a given length.
A bright flash ensued, blinding all for a fleeting instant. A sort of chime echoed as the burst of light faded. Where a mass of seras had aggregated, a sword now replaced it. To his eye, Denze thought it very much appeared to be a sword of metal rather than the radiant power of the soul. Even so, he clearly felt seras emanating from the tool. Never had Master Eltin mentioned this brand of series, nor had he ever hinted at its possibility.
With the sword fully formed now, Master Eltin gripped it firmly by the handle. He then raised it high over his head, twirling it around like a propeller until he stopped all at once. Using both hands, he slammed the sharpened end straight into the ground, piercing the pavement beneath him. A green dome manifested, rising up and encompassing the area where King and Eltin stood. The translucent film, though thin in appearance, was actually pure seras, and as such it served as an incredible barrier.
“You and I are trapped here,” Eltin stated, leveling his sword up horizontally at arms length in front of him; the point steadied at King’s backside. “No amount of seras may pass this field, and incidentally no serialists may enter or exit until the series is finished, by my choosing of course. Now, draw your servai, so that we might put to rest our differences.”
Eltin then held his sword in both hands as he leaned forward, ready to initiate the fight. Through all of this though, King yet faced the other way, unconcerned about Eltin’s obvious aggressions. He looked up as if only to observe the barrier in better detail.
“Hmm... At least you’re still as creative as you ever were. But, the technical merits of this fascinating series means little, tactically speaking.”
“Turn and fight,” Eltin said forcefully. “You have nowhere to go, and this is what you came for, correct? In any case, I have tipped your hand. You must draw your servai as well and fight.”
At this, King laughed as he shook his head.
“Are these the fallacies of a fool? Or have you forgotten just that much of what I taught you? No matter how impeccable the series, a contest between two serialists is a battle of seras. Whatever your techniques and methods are, it is seras that determines who will win. And in that category, I outclass you by some orders. Observe.”
King held up his left hand into the air and snapped his fingers. Instantly, as the little pop of his gesture echoed, the barrier broke away violently, ripped down like glass. Yet another swirling rush of wind pummeled everything. Denze had to duck down low to avoid getting blown away again. Master Eltin instinctively had braced for the impact by bringing his sword into a defensive position, but despite doing so, the currents pushed him back a full meter, even as his body did not budge. He grunted as if stressed by the effort needed to maintain his composure against this blast. As things settled, King turned around at last to face Eltin.
“You assume to have forced me to draw my servai? I assure you, you haven’t. I needn’t trouble myself at all.”
Eltin scowled at this remark.
“Then how do you intend to deal with me?”
“The servai is one of the most important series I ever created. It is pure seras honed into the image of whatever weapon the serialist wants. It quite literally can turn the soul into a blade. A single stroke of the servai damages not flesh but the soul itself, attacking the seras of the opponent. My servai is not something I draw lightly. I would ideally prefer to use it against someone I could at the least respect as a serialist. You, however, have long since fallen out of my graces. Additionally, I could more than best you without resorting to such an esteemed series.”
Eltin’s face seethed with anger at King’s response, and he was all the more incensed by the man’s cool attitude.
“Whether you respect me or not, you’ll still have to face me. If you believe you can strike me down, then I have no more left to say to-”
A red bolt suddenly seared across the air, a straight and narrow beam that zoomed without so much as a whisper. The ray pierced Eltin’s arm with ease and cleanly exited from the other side, disappearing altogether but meters after having cut through its target. Through his left elbow, the laser-like attack bore a circular wound, incinerating flesh and bone in an instant. King stood there with his arms folded, but his left index finger was pointing directly at Eltin. From its tip, a bright glow began to fade.
Eltin gasped and grimaced but did not cry out in pain. His left arm fell limply to his side, unhinged and useless as blood poured from the hole. He was then forced to wield his sword, his servai, with one hand alone.
“As I’ve said before on a different subject, this is not a matter of belief. It is a matter of fact,” King grinned.
Eltin growled lowly to himself, but shortly thereafter, he vanished as his image quickly blurred away. In but a mere half of a second, he reappeared behind and above King. With servai overhead, he swung it down over his shoulder, aiming to hit King two meters below.
“How slow,” King remarked. In a single motion, he took his right hand and dunked it toward the ground. At once, a force grabbed Eltin from above, rapidly accelerating him downwards. He slammed torso-first onto the pavement; his servai fell just centimeters short of King’s heels. The impact left him with two broken ribs at a minimum, and if his left arm hadn’t suffered any fractures before, it certain did so now.
“Ghh... unnh...” Eltin struggled to keep his head up. King turned around without rush, but as he did so, Eltin sprang up unexpectedly. However, this was an act of retreat; in two great hops, he put some distance between their positions. Yet once he had fled, he teetered slightly; his breaths came laboriously.
“You seemed fairly insistent in having me draw my servai a moment ago. But do you really think this little encounter of ours would have gone more favorably had I drawn it?”
Eltin made no response, but he spent that time instead stabilizing his posture and calming his respiration.
“Or perhaps you were curious to see just what my servai looks like? You have never seen it after all.”
King’s body dashed away and reappeared right before Eltin. Instantaneously upon his arrival, he swung out with blade in hand. There was scarcely any delay between his movements and the materialization of his servai. Its razor edge cut through Eltin chest in a perfect horizontal line, spraying bright green globs into the air as it sliced the very seras of his enemy. His servai took the form of a straight, double-sided sword, black in color until it came down to the ivory hilt and handle.
“In that case, observe carefully.”
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