Begin (6) 18: Let The Games…
Begin (6) Death…
it wears a different face for every set of eyes that encounters it.
For some, it slips in like a thief in the night…
without any warning.
For others, it comes as a patient teacher, inevitable and unhurried.
To another, it may be nothing more than a mirror held up to their face, reflecting the fears or desires that already existed within.
And killing…
killing is never just one thing.
In one heart, it might be seen as a necessity; in another, it leaves a mark that never fades.
Yet for someone else, it could become a doorway—one that, once opened, can never truly be shut.
What defines someone as human changes depending on the weight carried by the hands that take a life or witness its end.
However, no matter how it’s perceived, one moment remains the same for everyone.
The first time death is not just observed but taken into one’s own hands, the first time blood responds to an intentional act, something permanent and unshakable embeds itself deep within the self.
The old mentality breaks apart, and from those small fractures, something new takes shape.
It might settle into the strength of a shield or become the sharpness of a blade.
Change is never completely good or bad; it just is.
From that point forward, the person who stepped across that line would never be the same as the one who stood before it.
If this were ordinary life, back on Earth before the dawn of the game, perhaps such an act would have been more of a mental shift than anything else.
But now, in just a few short days, life had become the farthest thing from ordinary.
And in the vast tapestry of existence, every crossing like this left its own indelible mark.
The act doesn’t stop at the edges of one’s mind.
It leaves a mark on the very fabric of existence around them—a mark that’s always listening, always growing, waiting for the day it blooms into something useful.
—– “So, how are we going to—” Atlas was beginning to ask Neon as he turned, but he never got the chance to finish.
[Child of Dark (Mythic)] HUMMMMM!!!!!
In that instant, Neon tapped into his latest ability, lifting his hand with an easy, almost lazy motion.
The surrounding darkness stirred and swelled, as if it had been lurking in anticipation, ready to obey the unspoken order.
Tendrils of pure shadow erupted from the ground and the air itself, coiling around both men with absurd speed.
BOOOOM!!!!!
BOOOOOM!!!!
BOOOOM!!!!!
The constructs hurled them into the ground over and over—once, twice, then a third time—each blow so forceful it knocked the air from their lungs and carved deep craters into the soft Earth along the riverbank.
When the violent thrashing at last subsided, the tendrils hoisted the two figures, holding them upright yet utterly powerless, dangling like shattered puppets on invisible strings.
Atlas took in the scene and forced a smile, though it wavered at the corners, the heavy burden of their purpose here still pressing hard against his chest.
“You could’ve at least let me fight one of them,” he said, his tone light but with a trace of sincerity.
“You know… so I’d have an excuse to kill.” “Brother… will you always need an excuse to kill?” Neon asked, shaking his head.
He wasn’t exactly eager or in a hurry to take another human’s life either, but he knew, just as Atlas did, that not every killing would come with a justifiable reason.
In the world of fantasy, killing was as common as spending money, and that was the main reason they were both trying to come to terms with its inevitability so soon.
As they shifted their gaze back to the men, the woman—stunning, with flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes—rose and made her way toward them, her steps wavering slightly.
“Thank you… Thank you both; I don’t know what would have—” she began, bowing deeply, her voice shaking with relief as she tried to express her gratitude.
“Get lost,” Neon muttered, rolling his eyes and cutting her off before she could finish.
He walked past her without another glance, with his attention solely on one of the men as though she had never been part of the moment.
Atlas shook his head at the quick dismissal, his gaze settling on the woman with a calmer expression.
“You should find somewhere safe,” he said softly.
“Stuff like this is only going to happen more often if you’re not prepared to protect yourself.” She nodded, the fear still fresh in her eyes, then rose into the night sky with the amateurish, slightly unsteady control of someone only beginning to understand the new power flowing through her veins.
In a matter of moments, she had floated away over the treeline, leaving the two young men alone with the captives and the dark work still waiting to be finished.
Neon walked a short distance toward the river, and as he moved, the shadow tendrils followed without command, dragging the unconscious men so their heads hung directly above the clear, steadily flowing water.
Atlas watched the deliberate motion, drew another deep breath that did little to quiet the tremor in his chest, and then followed with steps that were steady even while the rest of him still shook.
Once they stood side by side at the water’s edge, Neon raised one hand in a silent wave.
HUMM!!!
In that moment, two knives of pure darkness coalesced in the air, their edges sharp and cold, and he offered one to Atlas without a word.
For a long moment, they looked into each other’s eyes, red meeting green across the small space between them, both reading the same mixture of resolve and quiet dread.
Atlas steadied himself first as he grabbed the knife.
“We do it on three.” Neon gave a single nod and moved to the broad-shouldered man while Atlas approached the other.
The two unconscious figures hung suspended in the grip of darkness, their heads swaying just above the river’s clear, steady current, knives poised with casual menace against their exposed throats.
Before any counting could start, Neon’s voice cut through the tension, low and calm.
“Atlas… don’t think, just do the shit.” Atlas nodded, the motion sharp.
“Yeah… right.
Just do it.” — “One…” “…Two…” Their voices wavered on the second syllable, the word “two” breaking apart in the stillness, carried away by the soft murmur of the water nearby.
Sweat dampened their palms, slick and warm, making the dark blades quiver slightly where they rested against skin.
Badump!
Badump!
In that moment, every heartbeat pounded louder than the one before, and each breath felt as if it had been stolen away.
Yet when the final count reached “three,” neither of them wavered.
“THREE!” SHK!!!!
SHK!!!!