Vanorion IncarnateChapter 5: Gauntlet
Arc awoke in a different enclosure.
The room was sealed, with no visible entrance or exit. Brilliant white LEDs illuminated every surface, their relentless glare burning into his increasingly sensitive eyes. A steel bed with a thin mattress stood against one wall, accompanied by a bare desk. There was nothing else.
No books.
No equipment.
No distractions.
His previous cell had been little better, but at least it had once reminded him of home. He had shared that space with Viroshiki, his creator, surrounded by the remnants of a life that had belonged to them both.
This room had no such connection.
It was a box designed to keep him alive.
Nothing more.
The only colour came from the blood.
It seeped from tiny wounds scattered across his skin, trickling down his arms and face without ever seeming to stop. The bleeding was slight, but persistent. His damaged tissue repeatedly attempted to repair itself, only for fresh microtears to open as the Alkanite continued to alter his body.
A faint mist of blood hung around his face whenever he moved.
His head throbbed with a pressure that never entirely disappeared, and every so often the ache intensified until his vision blurred.
He stared at his reflection.
His remaining brown eye was changing.
A thin silver ring had formed around the iris, its faint glow clashing with the dark pigmentation that remained. Blood gathered at the corner of the eye, then slid down his cheek.
Arc clutched his head.
Pain surged through his skull, pounding behind his eyes until he could barely think.
He dragged himself towards the bed and collapsed onto the thin mattress. Curling into himself, he pressed his hands against his face and tried to make the pain stop.
It did not.
He had no one to call for help. No one who would answer if he did.
Eventually, exhaustion overcame him.
Arc cried himself to sleep.
For all the knowledge he possessed, for all the extraordinary things his mind could understand, he was still a child who had been torn away from home.
And he missed his mother.
Two months passed.
The infusion process occurred once every two weeks.
Each session was worse than the one before it.
The Alkanite was being introduced into his body in carefully controlled quantities, but the changes it produced were anything but gentle. His cells ruptured and reconstructed themselves around the foreign compound, leaving his body increasingly saturated with the living metal.
The migraines had become white noise.
Pain was no longer an isolated event. It was a constant presence, a rhythm beneath every thought and movement.
He was always bleeding.
His gums. His eyes. His ears.
Blood streaked across his teeth, leaving the taste of iron permanently lodged in his mouth. It ran from his ears as well, and the pressure inside his skull sometimes grew so severe that he could scarcely distinguish one sound from another.
Cold sweat soaked his clothes.
His heart pounded beneath his ribs, and his skin burned as though his wounds had been coated in menthol and exposed to freezing air.
Even with his sensitivity dulled by the implants, it was unbearable.
Both his eyes had turned silver.
The faint white glow within them reflected the light of the compliance implant embedded deep within his nervous system. The change was not merely cosmetic. His perception had been altered, and the implant ensured that Doctor Hibino could interfere with the parts of his mind that might otherwise have helped him resist.
Arc understood the purpose of the device.
It was a blockade.
A means of suppressing his mental functions and keeping him docile whenever his captors required it.
He could think.
He could remember.
He could understand what was being done to him.
But the connection between thought and action had become unreliable, and the doctor who had done this to him held the means to make it worse.
Arc tried to claw at his skin.
His fingers barely moved.
He tried to scream.
Only a strained sound escaped his throat.
He could not stop the pain.
Desperation eventually overcame what remained of his restraint. He threw himself towards the wall, intending to smash his head against the unyielding surface.
He never reached it.
A hand caught him by the back of his clothes.
Arc struggled as the guard lifted him away from the wall, but his efforts were feeble. The woman wore full protective armour, her movements controlled and practised. He had not even heard the entrance open.
The seamless wall behind them had parted without a sound.
She dragged him through it.
Arc's gaze shifted towards their destination.
A transparent enclosure stood in the centre of an enormous chamber. Its panels were made from crystalline tempered glass, their edges outlined in turquoise green. Beyond it lay a room of steel walls and reinforced flooring.
An arena.
The word surfaced in his mind before he could fully understand why.
He looked towards the stands.
Doctor Hibino sat among the observers, his lightly scarred face illuminated by the arena's lighting. His metallic gold eyes were fixed on Arc, their circular pupils slowly narrowing into slits.
The doctor looked pleased.
Arc's stomach tightened.
He had seen that expression before. It was the look Hibino wore whenever another stage of his suffering was about to begin.
An entrance opened on the opposite side of the arena.
Another child was brought inside.
He was bound in insulated chains, his mouth secured behind a heavy muzzle. Blonde hair fell in straight, shoulder-length strands across his face, partially concealing a pair of cold forest-green eyes.
He appeared to be around Arc's age, although his limbs were longer and his build considerably lankier.
He fought the restraints with furious determination.
The chains rattled as he twisted against them, glaring at the guards with an intensity that suggested he would gladly tear them apart if given the opportunity.
Arc noticed the markings on his skin.
Black patches covered portions of his body, irregular in shape and texture. They resembled neither tattoos nor ordinary scars. Their surface looked almost organic, like the specialised skin of an electric eel.
A guard in full insulated armour stood behind the boy.
Arc looked from the stranger to the guard, then towards the stands.
Doctor Hibino was watching them both.
The glass walls around Arc suddenly retracted into the floor.
He stumbled as the enclosure disappeared, leaving him exposed within the arena.
A small weapon lay on the ground before him.
A copper dagger.
Arc stared at it.
His silver eyes shifted towards the boy opposite him, who continued to strain against his chains.
The pieces fell into place.
He was going to have to fight the other child.
Arc's gaze travelled across the steel walls and conductive flooring. He examined the reinforced panels, the exposed metal supports, and the narrow spaces between the arena's structural components.
There were no obvious escape routes.
Every inch of the room was designed to kill him.
He looked down at the dagger again.
Then the guard behind the blonde boy produced an injector.
Doctor Hibino leaned forward in his seat.
"Meet Strom Reinhardt."
The name meant nothing to Arc.
The dark liquid inside the injector glowed faintly as the guard approached Strom. The boy thrashed violently, but the insulated restraints kept him in place long enough for the guard to drive the needle into his jugular.
Strom's body went rigid.
His forest-green eyes sparked.
The colour changed rapidly, darkening before erupting into a brilliant neon green. His irises hardened into diamond-like shapes, while black lines spread outward from them in branching patterns resembling fractal lightning.
His fingers lengthened.
Claws emerged from their tips.
A guttural roar escaped the muzzle, muffled by the restraints still covering his mouth.
Then the chains shattered.
Electricity exploded from Strom's body.
Neon-green arcs struck the floor and raced across the steel panels, branching into wild, erratic discharges. The entire arena seemed to come alive with lightning.
Arc barely had time to react.
The first surge struck him.
Pain detonated through his nervous system.
His body lit up beneath his skin as the current raced through him, outlining nerves and blood vessels in a violent flash. The force hurled him backwards, and Strom's claws tore across his forearm as he passed.
Arc struck the ground and skidded.
A smoking imprint marked the damaged flesh of his arm.
The smell of burnt tissue filled the air.
He stared at the wound for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to move.
Strom was already charging.
Arc barely avoided the next attack.
Strom's fist smashed into the floor where he had been standing, sending a wave of electricity racing across the steel. The discharge ricocheted from one wall to another, splitting into branching arcs that filled the arena with violent flashes of green.
Arc raised his arms to shield himself.
It made little difference.
Electricity struck his shoulders and raced down his torso. His muscles locked, his nerves spasmed, and the skin along his forearms began to blister. The tips of his hair singed as another discharge passed close enough to scorch them.
He staggered sideways.
Strom followed, his movements becoming increasingly erratic as the electricity coursing through his body intensified. He attacked with the ferocity of someone who could no longer distinguish between an opponent and anything else in his path.
Arc ducked beneath a thunderous swing.
The fist missed his head by inches.
He could not afford another direct hit.
His altered vision helped him follow the movement of Strom's limbs, but perception alone could not protect him. His body was already damaged, and each shock left his nervous system struggling to recover before the next attack arrived.
The arena made everything worse.
He was trapped inside a reverse Faraday cage.
Every wall, every panel, every section of flooring was conductive. Strom's electricity bounced through the enclosure with nowhere to dissipate safely. The metal that formed the arena's structure had become part of the attack, carrying each discharge into every corner of the room.
There was nowhere to hide.
Arc tried to remain airborne, using brief leaps and changes of direction to avoid contact with the conductive floor. It bought him moments at a time, nothing more.
Each landing brought fresh agony.
Each near miss left his nerves trembling.
Strom lunged again.
Arc twisted away, barely avoiding the claws that swept across his chest. He landed hard and slid backwards, his boots scraping against the floor as electricity crackled around his feet.
He needed a way to break the cycle.
He could not overpower Strom directly. He could not escape the arena. And with every passing second, the damage to his body was accumulating faster than he could compensate for it.
His silver eyes began to glow.
He forced himself to keep moving.
A bolt struck the floor beside him, throwing sparks across his legs. He leapt over the next discharge, twisted in midair, and landed several metres away.
Strom turned towards him.
Arc ripped off his sleeves.
The elastic material came away in strips. He wrapped it around his feet and left hand, using the fabric as an imperfect barrier between his skin and the conductive floor.
It would not make him immune to electricity.
But it might reduce the amount of current passing directly through him when he made contact with the metal.
He seized the copper dagger.
Strom attacked before he could finish adjusting his grip.
Arc raised the blade to parry. Metal struck against claw, sending a sharp vibration through his hand. He sidestepped to the left, avoiding the full force of Strom's follow-up strike, and stumbled away as another discharge erupted between them.
His arm was burning.
His skin was splitting.
Blood seeped from the wounds around his eyes, and his heart hammered so violently that he could feel each beat in his throat.
He was angry.
Not only at Strom, but at himself.
He had been dragged into this place, mutilated, injected with an unknown compound, and turned into a prisoner who could barely control his own body. Now he was expected to fight another child for the amusement of the people responsible.
He could have surrendered.
He could have stopped moving and waited for the inevitable.
But he knew he would not die here.
Not if he could do anything about it.
Arc tightened his grip on the dagger.
He would survive.
Even if he had to become something he could never take back.
The pressure inside him continued to build.
Every dodge, block, and parry pushed him closer to his limits. His enhanced perception allowed him to follow Strom's movements and anticipate the paths of the electrical discharges, but his body still had to endure the consequences.
He could see the attacks coming.
He could not always move quickly enough to avoid them.
Another shock struck his side.
Arc's muscles seized, and he nearly fell. He forced himself forward before Strom could close the distance, stumbling past a bolt that tore through the space where his head had been.
Then he noticed something.
The electricity.
Under the altered perception of his Alkanite-infused eyes, Strom's attacks were no longer simply flashes of light. Arc could perceive the energy driving them, tracing the Uratsu that formed each discharge as it surged through Strom's body and leapt into the arena.
The current moved like a collection of wild serpents.
It struck the steel walls, split apart, and returned along unpredictable paths.
Arc watched.
He studied the intervals between the discharges. The angles at which they struck the walls. The brief moments when the energy scattered before gathering again.
His vision overlaid successive movements, allowing him to follow the trajectories with increasing precision.
He began to anticipate where the next bolt would travel.
Arc moved.
A discharge struck the wall behind him.
He slipped beneath another, pivoted around Strom's outstretched arm, and used the boy's own body to shield himself from a third. Electricity still struck him, but not with the same destructive force as before.
Some of the current passed through him.
Instead of tearing through his body, portions of it dispersed harmlessly into the surrounding space.
Arc barely noticed at first.
His attention was fixed on staying alive.
Then he looked down at his ruined arm.
The flesh was carbonised in places, split open and bleeding. Beneath the damaged tissue, something silver began to move.
A metallic liquid oozed from the scorched flesh.
It mixed with his blood, threading through the damaged cells and spreading down his forearm towards his hand. From there, it continued along his body, reaching his feet.
Alkanite.
The compound was reacting to the damage.
Arc watched as the silver substance hardened around the injuries, reinforcing the compromised tissue. It followed the lines of his joints and wrapped around the damaged structures beneath his skin.
His fingers moved.
He flexed his hand.
For the first time since the attack began, the movement felt reliable.
The Alkanite had given him back a measure of control.
He planted his feet against the floor.
Strom charged.
Arc lowered his stance.
His silver eyes reflected the neon-green lightning surrounding them, their glow shifting as the energy passed through the arena.
He waited until the final moment.
Then he struck.
His fist drove into Strom's sternum.
The impact interrupted the boy's charge and forced the air from his lungs. Strom staggered backwards, doubling over as his electricity faltered for a fraction of a second.
Arc retreated immediately, keeping the dagger between them.
It was not a decisive victory.
It was barely even an opening.
But it was the first clean blow he had managed to land.
And now he understood something about the Alkanite.
The silver substance left on Strom's chest was beginning to glow.
It had transferred during the impact, spreading across the fabric and skin beneath it. As the electricity around Strom intensified, the Alkanite pulsed in response.
The compound was charging.
Arc felt an instinctive pull towards it.
He could not explain the sensation. It was not a thought so much as a recognition, a strange awareness of energy gathering within the metallic substance.
He moved before the opportunity disappeared.
Strom swung at him.
Arc slipped past the blow and drove his damaged fist into the boy's side. The Alkanite coating his arm shimmered as it absorbed the surrounding electrical discharge, its silver surface brightening with every surge.
The impact connected.
Power travelled through the metallic compound, then redistributed through Arc's body.
For a brief instant, he felt stronger.
Not healed.
Not restored.
Just stronger.
The difference was enough to keep him moving.
Strom reacted faster than Arc expected.
His hand caught Arc's next strike and redirected it, forcing the punch wide. Before Arc could recover, the copper dagger flashed between them.
The blade pierced his palm.
Arc hissed through clenched teeth.
Pain shot up his arm, but he refused to release the weapon. He twisted away, using Strom's grip to pull himself off balance and slip into the boy's blind spot.
Then he attacked low.
The dagger cut into Strom's thigh.
Arc changed direction and struck again, slicing through the tendons near the ankle.
Strom's leg buckled.
His movements became uneven, the electricity around him surging wildly as he struggled to maintain his balance.
Arc retreated before the boy could retaliate.
A memory surfaced.
Training droids.
The precise movements of their mechanical limbs. The way his mother had taught him to recognise joints, identify weaknesses, and disable a larger opponent without wasting energy on unnecessary attacks.
He remembered Viroshiki watching him practise.
He remembered the quiet corrections, the insistence that every movement have a purpose.
He had never understood why those lessons mattered so much.
Now he did.
He was not strong enough to win by force.
He would have to make every strike count.
Strom lurched towards him, electricity crawling across his skin. His attacks had become increasingly animalistic, his movements driven by instinct and pain rather than any coherent strategy.
Arc waited.
The boy swung.
Arc stepped inside the attack.
For one brief moment, Strom's guard opened.
Arc moved through it.
The Alkanite spread along the copper dagger, extending its length and reshaping the weapon into a short sword. Silver metal flowed over the blade, turning its dull surface into something sharper and more substantial.
Arc drove it forward.
The blade pierced Strom's ribcage.
It passed through the heart and emerged from his back.
Strom froze.
Their eyes met.
Arc's silver gaze reflected the neon light surrounding them, the glow almost white at its centre. Strom's brilliant green eyes widened as he looked down at the blade protruding from his chest.
The electricity around his body faltered.
Something inside him began to collapse.
Arc felt it before he understood it.
A pressure formed around the core sustaining Strom's supernatural augmentation. The energy gathered inward, contracting violently as the spiritual structure that had supported his power destabilised.
Then the core imploded.
The final discharge erupted outward.
Electricity lashed across the chamber, striking Arc from every direction. His nerves flared beneath his skin, and his body convulsed as the accumulated energy tore through him.
Blood sprayed across his face.
His grip loosened.
For a moment, he could hear nothing but the violent crackle of electricity and the frantic pounding of his heart.
Strom's body shuddered.
The neon glow in his eyes faded, leaving the forest green beneath. His expression changed, the ferocity draining from his face until he looked almost like an ordinary boy again.
He looked at Arc.
His lips trembled.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Then he died.
Arc stood frozen.
The sword remained lodged through Strom's chest, and the boy's weight rested against it. Slowly, the life left in his body disappeared.
Something shifted within the remains of Strom's spiritual augmentation core.
Arc felt the change as the core's residual structure transferred into him, drawn towards the Alkanite that had spread across his weapon and into the wound. The living metal crept through Strom's body, absorbing the unbound Uratsu left behind by the collapse.
Strom's body went limp.
The sword slipped free.
He fell to the floor.
Dead.
Arc stared at him.
His eyes dilated, the silver momentarily darkening until his pupils appeared almost black. His hands trembled around the weapon, and he could not bring himself to look away from the body at his feet.
He had killed someone.
Not by accident.
Not in the confusion of a battlefield.
He had deliberately chosen to drive the blade through another child's heart because it was the only way he could see to survive.
A child who had been restrained, injected, and turned into a weapon just as he had been.
A child who might never have wanted to fight him.
Innocent.
The realisation struck harder than any of Strom's attacks.
Arc's fingers loosened around the hilt.
The Alkanite withdrew from the dagger, flowing back into his body. As the silver liquid disappeared beneath his skin, the light in his eyes began to change.
The white glow intensified.
Then a new colour emerged.
Electric cyan.
It spread through his silver irises, brightening until the light was almost white at its centre. The residual energy within him settled, and the hollow sensation that had accompanied his existence seemed to diminish by the smallest degree.
Something had filled part of the emptiness.
Arc did not know what it meant.
He barely had the strength to wonder.
He dropped to one knee.
The weight of what he had done finally reached him. His stomach clenched, and he turned aside, vomiting violently onto the steel floor.
His body shook.
He tried to breathe.
He could not stop seeing Strom's face.
The boy's final expression.
The words he had whispered.
Thank you.
Arc pressed a hand against the floor, his fingers trembling as he struggled to remain upright. Blood dripped from his mouth and eyes, mingling with the mess beside him.
He had survived.
But survival had demanded something from him that he could never simply give back.
A shadow fell across him.
Arc barely had time to look up before a boot struck his ribs.
The impact lifted him off the ground and hurled him into the steel wall. His head snapped backwards as his body crashed against the reinforced panel, and he slid down to the floor.
He tried to rise.
His arms failed him.
The female guard in insulated armour stood over him. She examined him for a moment, apparently unimpressed by the damage he had endured.
The electrical restraints had not been enough.
Neither had the arena.
So she resorted to something simpler.
Her fist struck his temple.
Arc's vision fractured.
The cyan glow in his eyes flickered once before the world went dark.
His last sight was Strom's motionless body lying on the floor.
Then even that disappeared.