Chapter 296
In the inner part of the Ganesha familia home…
“Why” Adi asked, in a barely audible tone.
“Why what?” Mors replied, casually leaning on a pillar, in the patio.
“Why do you do this?, Why did you, a hero of the past turn against us? Why put us through all this?” Adi questioned, her tone stronger.
She was still afraid of Mors, but that didn’t curb her curiosity, nor did it make her sink into despair.
“Hero?” Mors repeated, his tone filled with self mockery.
“Hero is not something I would ever label myself, perhaps the Zeus and Hera brats, but me…….I am just a cursed child” Mors said, subtle complex emotions flashing in his eyes.
“Why do you say that, I would assume that for you to reach level 7, you must have been in Orario for a long time and built connections, something for the city in some way.” Adi probed, noticing Mors subtle interest in talking.
She was being smart, trying to keep the conversation going for as long as possible.
By now she assumed the messenger that had left earlier must have noticed that she wasn’t around and reported to her sister, Shakti, who might quickly put together that something was off.
Either that or she would send another messenger to check on her.
Hearing Adi's question, Mors glared at her.
He already knew what Adi was trying to do, but he didn’t mind.
It made not much difference to him if reinforcements did come.
The only person around that had the means to do anything about him, was perhaps Draco, and he was currently unconscious.
“You are quite brazen to pull off such a stunt in front of me, do you think I am stupid?” Mors asked, his tone light but chilling.
Adi shuddered internally, but kept a blank expression.
“Whatever do you mean” she casually denied.
“Heh..heh…heh" Mors casually burst out in laughter, startling Adi and Draco's firebirds who huddled tightly on their perch.
“What’s so funny?” Adi asked, hesitantly.
“Nothing really….” Mors paused.
“You know what? I will humor your bravery and talk for a while. It shouldn't take Zald long to destroy Babel anyway” Mors said.
“Hmmm, where do I begin”
“How about a fun story about my past, and mysterious curse” Mors offered..
“Anything you want to talk about” Adi replied, still keeping her sword up just in case.
“Well it all began around a sixty years ago in a little elven village, or maybe more, I can’t recall……..” Mors began.
Around sixty plus years ago, Mors was birthed by an elf….
His mother had been captured and raped by some human slave traders, but was soon rescued by her fellow elves.
For reasons he still didn’t understand till this day, she gave birth to him at the cost of her life, but his birth came with a defect, a curse called rapid aging.
Mors aged very fast, too fast for a half-elf, even a human.
It was speculated that he wouldn’t live past 30.
It was bad enough that the other elves treated him badly as they all knew the circumstances surrounding his birth, but the rapid aging curse added to his treatment, twisted his young mind.
“If the village refused to acknowledge me,” Mors continued, his voice dropping to a low, resonant rumble that nonetheless commanded attention, “then they obviously didn’t possess the knowledge to help me. I realized quickly that the only thing that mattered in this world was power. Power was currency, power was survival, and power, I hoped, was a cure.”
He had left the secluded elven forests and plunged headlong into the unforgiving world.
His early years were a brutal blur.
While a normal half-elf would spend years ripening into their prime, Mors felt the constant, insidious pull of decay.
By the time he was twenty, his body functioned like that of a human nearing forty.
His hair began to thin, and aches plagued his joints.
The curse wasn't just biological, it was psychological; every moment spent idle was a moment stolen from his finite future.
“I fought,” Mors stated simply, wiping away the sixty years of accumulated dust from the memory.
“I fought monsters on the road, I fought bandits, and I fought other adventurers who looked at a scarred, prematurely aging half-elf and saw easy prey. The gods had given me the gift of the Falna, but fate had simultaneously placed a timer on its use. I had no time for slow growth, no time for patience, and certainly no time for moralizing.”
He recalled the first time he saw Orario.
It was a beacon of light, a promise of destiny, but to him, it was merely the largest congregation of power and knowledge in the world….a final, desperate chance.
“I joined the first familia that didn't flinch away from my appearance or ask too many questions about my condition,” Mors revealed, although he did not name the deity.
“They were pragmatic, focused only on results. And I, delivered results. I mastered the spear not for glory, but because hesitation meant death, and death meant the end of my quest for time.”
Adi listened intently, realizing that the man before her wasn't just a powerful betrayer; he was a walking tragedy molded by relentless necessity.
Mors continued, his gaze distant, lost in the labyrinth of his own past.
“Orario was a crucible. Every day in the dungeon was a snatch of stolen time. Most adventurers, they quest for glory, for wealth, for the gods’ favor. I quested for a reprieve from the ticking clock in my veins.”
“I tore through floors others hesitated over, my body screaming, my mind sharp with the desperate clarity of a condemned man. My Falna consumed the experience, devouring it at a rate that shocked even my own god. Levels came, not as celebrations, but as fresh burdens – each one raising the stakes, demanding more, yet never offering the one thing I truly sought: an end to the decay.”
He chuckled without humor.
“They called me a prodigy, a force of nature. They didn’t see the lines deepening around my eyes, the subtle tremor in my hands that I fought to suppress. By the time I reached Level 4, I was physically a man well past his prime, while barely having lived thirty years by the calendar”
“By the time I reached Level 6, the era was completely defined by only two names: Zeus and Hera. They were the apex. They were the standard of heroism,” Mors scoffed, a violent bitterness entering his tone.
“I fought beside their children and against them, at certain times. I watched them laugh, boast, and revel in the admiration of the masses, and I wanted to be like them. They were blessed with health and decades…..centuries, even of time to pursue their goals.”
He pushed off the pillar and took a slow, deliberate step toward Adi, who instinctively tightened her grip on her sword, though she held her ground.
“I thought, surely, if anyone could uncover an ancient cure, or craft an impossible magic item, it would be the heroes of the era, the saviors of mortals,” Mors whispered, his voice laced with the memory of hope dashed against reality.
“I brought the problem to them. I showed them the curse, the rapid decay accelerating my inevitable end. Do you know what the Great Heroes of the Past did?”
Adi shook her head, her eyes wide.
“They pitied me. They offered condolences. They told me to accept my fate,” Mors spat the last phrase out like poison.
“They could do a lot of things then, but they could not spare a single fragment of their combined power to save one half-elf who fought alongside them. They were too busy being lauded, too busy preening under the spotlight, too busy being heroes.”
A cold silence descended upon the patio, broken only by the chirping of insects outside and the distant, muffled sounds of the vast city struggling under siege.
Adi finally spoke, her voice low and challenging.
“But that doesn’t justify this. They may have failed you, but the entire city, the millions of lives, the future of Orario….they did nothing to contribute to your pain.”
Mors smirked, a terrible, joyless expression.
“Oh, but they are all complicit. They benefit from the flawed system put in place by these capricious gods and their self-righteous champions. They perpetuate the worship of those who failed me. I realized then that my life, my precious, rapidly receding time, meant nothing to the world I was sacrificing it for.”
He turned back toward the looming form of Babel, visible even from the sheltered patio, though the view was distorted by the sheer distance.
“The realization freed me,” Mors said, his eyes now shining with a dangerous conviction.
“I had been chasing their definition of heroism, chasing a cure within their framework. But if they couldn’t save me, I would save myself. I began to look deeper, not into the shallow glory of the surface, but into the darkness that underlies this whole system.”
He pulled a small, opaque crystal from his belt pouch—a material unknown to Adi, but which pulsed with a faint, disturbing internal light.
“Around that time, I met my current god, someone who understood me and that time was the only true currency, and he offered a path....to preservation, to true survival. Perhaps it was around that time that I became fascinated with death.”
Mors paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.
He had found a solution, but at the cost of his barely existent morals, and perhaps his soul.
“And you asked me why I turned against this city?” Mors concluded, meeting Adi’s gaze with devastating clarity.
“Because the system you defend condemned me to death while I was fighting for it. A hero saves others; I chose to save myself.”
He gave a slight, dismissive wave of his hand.
“Besides, you are wasting time, little Ganesha warrior. You relied on that messenger, didn't you? You hoped your sister, Shakti, or perhaps that loud-mouthed amazon brat, would swoop in.”
Mors chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth.
“I assure you, little warrior, whatever plans you made were factored in. Even now, your beloved familia members are likely rushing to Babel, pulled by the inevitable crisis Zald has unleashed. And as for your messenger…”
Mors inclined his head toward a dark corner of the patio, partially obscured by a large ornamental shrub.
A shadow seemed to writhe beneath the foliage.
“Let’s just say he decided to take a very long rest before he reached his destination. There will be no reinforcements. Not yet. And by the time someone realizes you are truly lost, it will no longer matter. Babel will be dust, and this world will belong to those who understand the true value of time.”
Adi’s breath hitched.
She had been so focused on distracting Mors that she had underestimated him.
Her blood ran cold as she finally comprehended the situation.
She and Draco were truly alone, and the clock was ticking faster than ever—not just for Mors, but for Orario itself.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………
Back in the Central Park…….
“Good or evil? Right or wrong?”
Beneath the graying skies, Zald spoke.
“It matters not how future generations will remember us. All that matters is the oath I swore to uphold.”
He stared at the boaz man before him, beaten to the knee, wearing a look of pain and frustration, and carried on regardless.
“That alone I can never go back on. I must complete my duty.”
“!....”
“And so I must devour all that stands in my way.”
A quiver began in Ottar’s hands and worked its way up his arms.
Zald couldn’t tell if it was pain, or anger.
Perhaps it was fear of what he knew was coming.
Either way, the conqueror showed no interest in a man who could no longer stand.
“We have spoken for far too long,” he said at last.
“I will not wait for the witch and jester. I shall oversee Orario’s demise personally.”
His long, crimson cloak fluttered as he turned and strode over to the white walls of Babel.
“With this sword…Babel will fall.”
However, just as he passed the fallen Ottar…
“…Wait!”
He heard the floor crack, beneath the weight of a foot that was not his own.
“…You stand?”
Zald turned to see a shell of a man, his knees crying out in agony.
Yet more than any vengeful spirit or enraged animal, Ottar looked to him like a newborn fawn.
His legs quivered.
His entire body dripped with blood.
His jaw hung open, his breath ragged and hoarse.
Zald turned and took in the grim and pathetic sight.
“What do you expect to do now, stubbornly clinging to life?” he asked.
“Do you really think you can stop me like….”
But Zald never finished his sentence.
Swish !
There was a flash of steel.
A streak traversed his sight from right to left.
Reflexively, Zald pulled his head back, but not fast enough.
The blow caught the plate of his helm, stripping it from his head and flinging it high into the air. “My helmet…!”
Humiliation further twisted Zald’s bare, scarred face.
‘Was it a sneak attack? No.’
From the moment Zald laid eyes on his foe, such a thing was impossible.
This was a swing so mighty even the ever-vigilant conqueror could not move out of the way in time.
Its source was none other than the very last sword that Ottar possessed.
The boar man huffed in exhaustion, but leveled his gaze at Zald’s exposed face.
Time seemed to stop, and it only restarted after the helmet hit the ground with a loud clash. “What…was that?” asked Zald.
“On second thought, you need not answer… I can smell it. I know what that is.”
“It’s anger. You are more furious than any man I have ever seen.”
The source of Ottar’s trembling was obvious to him now.
It was not fear or pain, but unbridled rage.
Ottar burned with flames of indignation.
Like an engine, it drove him to stand and granted him strength.
“Do my words touch a nerve?” Zald asked.
“Or do my actions incur your righteous fury?”
Zald remained unblinking in the face of Ottar’s fearsome scowl.
He peered into the boar man’s rust-colored eyes and scoffed.
“It matters not what you think,” he said.
“My path remains unchanged. To save this world…we must destroy it.”
“Enough.”
Ottar’s single word cut through the man’s farce.
“What did you say…?”
“I said enough. Your excuses mean nothing to me.”
“My excuses? What do you mean?”
“I mean, I couldn’t care less about your self-righteous words!”
Ottar listened to the cries of his own aching muscles, the curses of his own crumbling body. They spoke in Zald’s voice on the night of Ottar’s defeat.
‘You are weak. Pathetic.’
Ottar allowed those words to fuel his anger, and with trembling lips, he spoke.
“There is only one thing I wish to ask you, Zald, and it is this.”
His line of sight drifted down to the plate mail that covered the rest of Zald’s body.
“…How far has the sickness spread beneath that armor of yours?”
For the first time, Zald showed pure shock, just like the witch when her trickery was revealed. “When I fought you, I felt nothing of this duty you claim,” said Ottar.
“All I felt was a burning desire!” Ottar was not the smartest man.
He didn’t have the knack for cunning like Finn did.
All the boaz man knew was combat.
Only in the heat of battle could he find enlightenment.
“That night when you bested me… I was afraid of you…!”
He cast his thoughts back to the events of six days prior.
To the first night of the war, when he tasted complete and utter defeat at Zald’s hands.
Ottar had been forced to confront the embodiment of his limitations, a wall he could never cross. It was only now he realized how fearful he had been of it.
“That was why I didn’t see it back then. But I do now!”
Thinking back to how he had been that night, eyes clouded by despair, Ottar could only curse how low he had allowed himself to fall.
“You want to be a mountain for us to scale! That is all that drives you! You wish to propel us forward, just as your heroes did eight years ago! Just as Maxim did!!”
His roar rang throughout Central Park.
It carried beyond the wall of ice and the barriers of the mages.
To many adventurers, it was just a meaningless string of words.
But a single goddess at the peak of Babel recognized their significance and narrowed her silver eyes.
Zald, on the other hand, only laughed.
“…Heh.”
He stood before Ottar like the devil himself, defiant and grinning.
“That’s a fanciful theory you’ve concocted, brat. I’m not sure that I follow it, myself.”
“But let’s suppose for one moment you speak the truth. Why would that provoke you?”
“Because you have put me to shame!”
Ottar’s answer was simple, and full of raging fire that roasted his flesh from within.
“You have made a fool of me, each time I misjudged my strength! You’ve taught me only what it’s like to suffer in defeat and wallow in despair!”
These were warlord’s bitter memories.
This was his truth.
Time after time, he fought for the glory of his goddess, only to be humbled.
Though today he was known as the city’s mightiest warrior, Ottar’s road had been a tumultuous one, marked not by triumph but by defeat.
“And even now, I am weak! Even now, I allow you to block my path!”
Ottar never directed his hate at others.
Not his goddess, whom he loved and respected like no other.
Not Zeus nor Hera, who constantly stood in his way.
Not even Zald, Alfia or Mors, who laid waste to the city he called home.
Ottar’s hate always circled right back to himself.
When adversity, injustice, or calamity got the better of him, he always blamed his own weakness first.
“I am weak,” he roared.
“I am pathetic! That is what I curse, not your disappointment!”
Zald grinned.
“And so?”
“Nothing you say can change my mind! There is only one thing I must do!”
“And that is?”
“I must defeat you!!”
“Just try, if you think you can, mewling brat!!”
As Ottar made his passionate declaration, hunger filled Zald’s eyes.
“You have never beaten me, child! What makes you think this time will be any different?!”
His temper flared, like a mirror reflecting Ottar’s own rage.
“You are a loser! You always have been, and you always will be!! I’ll put you right back where you belong…..in the mud!”
“Then I will turn that mud into bricks, and use those bricks to build my kingdom!” Ottar replied.
Ottar was not afraid.
His strength came from both his oath to his goddess and his own determination.
This was his truth.
Humility and failure were his bread and water, sustaining him on the way to the mountain’s peak.
Zald raised his slab of steel and swung it, greatly amused by Ottar’s fire.
“If that’s your game, then prove it to me! Let me hear you roar! Show me that in the heart of every loser, there’s a winner yearning to be free!”
These were the words of his god, repurposed to provoke Ottar’s ire.
To rekindle his spirit.
To revitalize his bones and sinew.
His oozing blood became a coat of red-hot armor.
His eyes took on the wildness of a mad beast, and the boar growled. “Roooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
A/N: Feel free to read ahead on pat3on, donate and read 1 extra chapter as a free member.