Chương 2: True Desires

His lips trembled and his breath hitched. He couldn't be strong like him. His father never shed a tear, yet he couldn't stop his. He covered his face to hide the weakness, but it seeped through the gaps in his fingers. He hated this place. He really hated this place.... … |DxD|- Chapter 2- True Desires …... This mythical space was tainted by a single wooden cabin. The endless horizon and dull skies were matched only by the never-ending silence. It was a mix of grey and white all around with little variety.

But the weather was very peculiar. The centre where the cabin and hourglass were always had stable temperatures, never too hot or cold. It was comfortable enough to sleep with the windows open all year-round. This would change as one walked a few kilometres from the cabin and where this space showed its true nature. Gusts of wind would billow. The air might feel hot or cold. Further in, the weather would become more extreme.

The winds would grow strong enough to sweep hair and the tide of warmth could change at a flip of a coin. One moment, it would be hot and right in the next, it would feel like winter. These were the conditions Igor trained in. A month had passed since his moment of frustration and he'd decided to increase the difficulty of his training. One of those decisions was moving deeper into this world. He had forced himself to recover since that day's despair.

His back was a little straighter and his eyes held more determination, especially as he got ready to continue training again. He held a long spear in his hand with a strong, healthy grip. His stance was wide, stable, and his eyes were locked forward. He'd been standing like this without moving for the past few minutes. The weather was cold and the wind was strong enough to clog the nose. It pushed against him, forcing him to sway slightly. Every time his body wavered, Igor would silently adjust his stance.

His knees would bend a bit more. His feet would shift, searching for the stance that felt most stable and comfortable. [Maybe like… this?] He was not the best. It took him some tries to find the best stance. He shifted his feet and body a bit. No longer did he stand directly sideways, but just slightly diagonal. In this turbulent wind, he felt it gave him the best stability. [Let's keep it like this for now.] He nodded to himself and closed his eyes. He had to remember this stance.

It wasn't quite like the diagram in the training manual, but maybe it was because he was still young and short. Changing his stance might undermine his training of three years, but it was always best to fix mistakes early just like the book said.

"Hhup!" Igor thrust his spear forward once. It was a fast jab, not a committed strike. He quickly side-stepped and launched another thrust.

'Aim for the eye. Aim for the throat. Aim for the joints.' Marcei's words echoed in his mind. A thrust would always be faster than a slash. What he needed to do was perfect his thrust and evasion. The manual had all sorts of amazing techniques, but his goal was to use the spear to live, not triumph.

'You will not win a contest of strength.'

"Hm!" Igor sidestepped and performed an angled thrust. Both hands always remained on the spear. With one hand, the tip would dip from the weight.

'Your arms, body, and legs are very important. If the beast attacks, those three will decide if you live or die.' Igor poured everything into his training, regardless of the wind, regardless of the heat and cold. His feet always remained on the ground, constantly twisting and turning. The skin on his soles and toes had long since hardened from years of wear and tear. He moved quickly and continued like this for the next several minutes. He never stopped, never tired.

Young and small as he was, his body had been trained for speed and endurance, like a coiled spring that knows no fatigue. Three daily baths mixed with herbal powder allowed his body to recover fully in one short soak. Such a magic medicine allowed him to train to his absolute limit multiple times. Without fatigue, only willpower became the hard limit. To face that damned beast, to see his parents again, he would train until he gave out or the clock rang.

The minutes soon stretched into hours and his routine remained the same. Thrust once and retreat. Never twice. Never linger. Only rarely did he slash low. Only by ingraining these movesets would he stand a chance… because fear cannot triumph over instinct.

'Do not cower.'

"Ha!" He was young, but his isolation had allowed him to be self-introspective. When he met his grandpa and Marcei, he was a scared little boy. Not this time. If he met the beast, he wanted his instinct not drop his spear, but grip it firmly. If it roared, he must respond with a charge, not curl-up and cry. If it charged, he must dodge and thrust, not close his eyes and scream. Igor had his bath earlier, meaning he was full of energy. Training for hours on end was something he'd gradually gotten used to.

Effort meant a lot and it could reward. But it didn't mean it was everything for sometimes, effort simply wasn't enough.

"..." For a moment, Igor wavered in the wind. The weather had gotten increasingly hot and the heat wore him down quickly. His mind was not on the uncomfortable heat, but on his milestones. All of them were troubling him due to the grueling requirements. Some were in the hundreds. Some were in the thousands. All were either repetitions or endurance. All of them were gruelling and unforgiving. They had made him lose sleep, made him see himself as a failure.

The magic book would glow with his failure like a silent judge. It recorded nothing less than perfection.

"Tch." The sudden thoughts caused him to lose his footing and in turn, his balance. He corrected himself in time, but he was no longer in the mood to continue. His mind had been affected too much by his lack of progress. It was as if he'd hit a hard limit in terms of physique. It was frustrating beyond measure because he really tried. His stance dropped and a tired sigh escaped between his chapped lips. The ever-changing heat and cold had dried his skin. In this barren world, sweat was his only moisturizer.

He only just noticed the weather had turned misty. It was cooling after his exhausting exercise. There was temptation to rest, but he still had more to do. The jog back was quiet. There wasn't anyone he could talk to anyway. He glanced at the spear in his hand. That lingering fear still existed. He would have to plunge it into somebody's eye. Whether this beast was an animal or something else, the thought still made him very uncomfortable. He was reluctant to inflict that kind of pain on anyone or anything.

He couldn't begin to imagine the pain it would cause. He jogged quite a distance and soon enough, he returned to the cabin. When he slowed to a steady walk, it became so silent he could hear the ash-coloured sand sizzling through the hourglass. He slowly came to a stop next to it. He could still remember when the top was full like it was yesterday. Now, over half of the sand had sunk to the bottom. A frown formed on his face. For a brief flash, he saw his grandfather again in his final moments.

The vision made him look away in disgust. It wasn't at the memory, but at himself.

"Sorry, grandpa. I didn't finish my training today, but I won't give up." His voice was a quiet whisper choked with guilt and self-reproach. He couldn't suppress the feeling that he was not using the time he was provided well enough. The constant failure to achieve told him he was doing something wrong, but where?

'Five years is too short for the threat you will face, but it is the most we can do for you.'

"..." He just had to keep on trying. At worst, he'd sleep less than usual. It wouldn't be the first time. Igor walked into the cabin and a few moments later, came out with a handful of nutrient bars and one large plastic jug of water. He sat on the steps and took a large swig of water. Keeping a constant pace for hours on end left him very hungry and thirsty. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. He put down the jug and sat in silence.

His eyes stared deep into the never-ending grey. The skies were drab like his future if he continued to be lazy. He had to put in more effort. Only an occasional munch of the nutrient bar could disturb his focus. His mind always found the opportunity to wander and often times, he would find himself thinking of his parents. How were they doing? Did they miss him? Did they still remember him? These questions were always left unanswered, but he hoped they were alive and well. His eyebrows sunk.

The burden of his thoughts weighed heavily.

"Grandpa. Is it possible to maybe slow down a bit? From the look of things, I don't even have two years left, you know? I… I want to see mom and dad again, but I don't know if I can do it." The unknown was always terrifying. He did not know what this beast looked like, only that he had to persist against it. He always imagined it to be some figure as tall as a door, but what if it was bigger? What if it had countless arms? Could he fight that? Maybe it could shoot strange blasts. Could he dodge that?'

When you meet the beast, do not be frightened and do not hesitate.' Could he really… not hesitate?

'It is evil and will eat you alive.'

"..." The monster in his mind grew to be taller than a house. Its menacing and hulking appearance was not something that could be stopped by a child with a spear. His lips quivered slightly. He was afraid, but he suppressed that fear by shoving the last piece of the nutrient bar into his mouth. The crumpling sound of the wrapper was his pull back to reality. His eye caught his reflection in the hourglass. His hair was unkempt and dry. It fell down on his neck like a waterfall on rocks and felt as hard as it looked.

The heat and cold of this realm's depths had sucked out the moisture down to his scalp. The itchiness was an annoyance, but it was bearable compared to the loneliness. This always happened in moments when he was idle. His vision would blur and the grey would be replaced by sights of once blissful days, a family he would never see, their voices he would never hear, and their love he would never feel—"No." His right hand had clenched around the spear with so much force it trembled.

His face was locked in a defiant snarl, a drive to defy the cruel fate that placed him here.

"I'll see them." That monster…he will outlast it, no matter what means he has to use.

"I'll definitely see them again." … |DxD| …... The world was always ever-changing. Each rotation and revolution brought about new changes, new cycles, and new challenges. One could only hope to adapt to the circumstances as best as they could in hopes to survive, perhaps even thrive. Effort—even before the first step of a journey, a conscious decision has to be made within oneself to put in the needed drive to change and adapt to the challenges life throws their way.

Effort could overcome adversity, create miracles, and usher in new beginnings. Effort could change lives, bring light and warmth… or at least, most of the times. Sometimes… sometimes, effort was just never enough.

"WHY!?" Igor threw the diary on the ground. It slammed on its edges and skidded across the floor. The raven cover was scratched and the pages flapped violently until they soon lost momentum. In the blurry background, Igor was consumed in anguish and despair. The diary lay with its pages open. The neat handwritten notes were written in unreadable characters, but two numbers were boldly visible on the bottom of the page.

9, 161/10, 000 (3, 097=30%) Months of trying, years of dedicated effort and pushing himself to his absolute limits should've earned him the victory, not failure. Lack of sleep had placed dark circles around his eyes. Many months of fatigue and pressure had etched his face with stress lines. His hands, calloused beyond repair, hid his face from the world. He collapsed to his knees in shock and disbelief. How? How did this happen? He gave it his all. He gave it his everything. His spear lay fallen to his side.

It was his symbol of failure. He'd managed over nine-thousand spear thrusts, yet only a third of those were precise enough to be accepted. Three hours of constant effort had worn him down. It felt like the diary was laughing at him. His hands, slick with sweat and bruises, were now streaked with tears of indignation. This was a cruel joke. It had to be.

"You're lying!" He stood up and grabbed his spear. Ferocious intent blazed in his eyes. He briskly walked to the diary and raised his spear, ready to stab the page soaked brown with his fingerprints.

"You're lying to me!!!!" The spear hovered above, its blade aimed at the very numbers that glazed his eyes with madness. He stabbed down with all the strength and intent he could muster, but it was not meant to be. The spear descended like a diving falcon, but a translucent golden barrier covered the open book like a dome. The blade struck and rebounded, and the force blasted Igor off his feet. He tumbled on the ground like a ragdoll. His body spun and contorted without pause.

Lines and drops of blood splotched against the ground from a wound on his forehead. The impact had knocked the wind out of him. His chest heaved and breathing was difficult. He'd landed on his back and the force transferred all the way to his torso. He groaned in agony. It felt like he was paralysed from the neck and down. He curled his body and leaned on his side. A muffled groan escaped his throat. Blood was running from the cut on his forehead. He'd smelled the copper scent enough times to know what it was.

His eyes caught sight of the hourglass. The remaining ash inside was small, not even enough to fit in his hand. Was it a day? A week? How much time was left? He didn't know, but there was surely less than a month, perhaps two or three weeks at best. His eyes dimmed. It was pointless. He knew how much time he spent training to master his thrusts. Over half of his days were used and he was still infinitely far from performing ten-thousand perfect thrusts.

If he couldn't thrust properly on a consistent basis, that meant the chances of missing a crucial thrust would be high. [Mom…] Against that monster, nothing less than perfection was needed. He only had one chance to strike straight and true. Failing to perfectly hit its weak points would mean the end of everything. He could never afford to miss even once. A 30% chance of success was a guarantee of his loss. [Dad…] The ground felt cold on his cheek... just like his hope.

Perhaps in that forest, he would lay like this as the monster ate him alive. The thought made him tremble, but that was all it did. The very spark that would make him grab his spear had collapsed under the weight of unmet expectations. [Grandpa…] Was he a failure? Perhaps he was all along. Perhaps he shouldn't have been chosen for this. In five years, all he'd managed to do was fail. His eyes pooled and he shut them immediately. Crying wouldn't solve this. It never solved anything. [I'm sorry…] The seconds turned into minutes and soon, into hours. The lively patter of feet or the determined grunts of a boy no longer sounded out. It became silent like a graveyard and maybe, it would truly be one.... … |DxD| …...

"Hi again, grandpa." The hourglass responded by continuing to trickle sand down the middle. The amount inside the top half was barely large enough to see with the human eye. For days on end, Igor would always sit down on the porch next to it in silence. The words that needed to be said had been said. The tears that needed to be shed had been shed. Rage, grief, anger, despair, and all other emotions had been let out. All that remained was cold silent acceptance.

He had recovered these last few days, enough that he would give it his all when the time came. He had his spear at his side, yet wore no shoes, shirt, or any sort of armour. He'd gotten used to moving freely and offsetting this familiar feeling might endanger him further. He rested his head on his knees and glanced at the hourglass. Perhaps one hour remained. Perhaps one day. Time passed in glimpses and Igor never moved the whole time. His eyes listlessly stared into the horizon.

The only sign of life was the twitch of his leg. He didn't notice it was happening, but it betrayed his true mood. Far from calm, his mind was awash with numerous scenarios. After five years of being here and now being ten-years-old, he was self-aware enough to think analytically. The beast would be big. It would be strong. Marcei did not say if it could use magic, but Igor was also old enough to understand the old man did not have that much time left to divulge important information.

His hand reached out and clasped his spear. His face locked into a determined frown. The feel of hardwood gave him confidence. Aim, stab, and dodge. He repeated those words in his mind. That's all he had to do until he got the chance to escape or… deliver the decisive blow. He swallowed the saliva pooling in his throat. The only contact he had with blood was his own. There was a battle of hesitation brewing within him. Could he do it? Would he even have the chance to? GONG! The chime of a graveyard bell rang.

It was deep… GONG! It was harrowing… GONG! … and it rang with finality. Igor looked around for the source, but it sounded everywhere. His eyes were wide and his body was tense. There was a tightness in his chest, like someone was pressing down on him. It was getting harder to breathe. The chime rang in long intervals. It was not gentle. It was not soothing. The deep undertone was a wave slowly eroding what little willpower Igor had managed to summon.

He stood up abruptly and gripped his spear tightly with both hands. His eyes darted around in alertness. Very soon, the chimes stopped and sizzling sounds of burning embers came from the hourglass. The ash inside the bottom-half became restless and started glowing white. The hourglass flipped itself like a wheel on an axle, moving the bottom-half to the top. Instead of the cycle restarting, a small hole on top opened and the glowing ash escaped through that opening like smoke through a chimney.

Igor hastily stepped back, almost tripping on the steps. He pointed his spear at the ash clustering together a few metres away from the porch. The arcing trail was like the long blade of a scythe and it frightened him. The cluster of ash grew bigger and bigger until it grew larger than a couch. Igor watched the glowing ball with wariness and flinched when it started expanding. Two metres… three metres… four metres. His head gradually tilted upwards. The horror on his face grew each moment.

Was he supposed to fight it here? His body trembled. The cluster of ash had grown to be the size of a house. Its width expanded until it looked like one giant glowing frame. It was a doorway, a gate. He could recognise it as such. It glowed pure white, like a shimmering display of glory and holiness. It was awe-inspiring and majestic, but Igor didn't move. He knew what the other side promised. His spear slipped from his grasp and clattered on the wooden porch. His body shook like a leaf in the wind.

His eyes were full of horror and his very skin had turned pale. His deep breaths had turned into rapid pants. His chest heaved as if someone had his heart in their grasp.

"N-No…" His back pressed against the door. His hand found the handle and he tried to open it, but his palms were lined with so much sweat he couldn't grip it properly with his frantic movements. He wasn't ready for this. He didn't want to do this. Beyond that glowing door lay a road to his death, a man-eating beast that would devour him alive.

"G-G-G-Get away!" Igor used both hands to wrench the door open. He ran inside and shut it behind him. He collapsed right behind the door and curled up. The familiar wooden interior was his solace, but he could not deny the reality behind him. His eyes pooled with tears. His toes dug into the floor. His heart thrummed violently. Fear, despair, shock, fright—so many feelings welled within him they left him crippled.

"Mom…dad…" His cries went unheard.

"Please…" He hid his head between his knees. He didn't want to leave. Maybe that door would go away. Maybe…maybe he wouldn't have to die.

"Get up, boy. Your problems will not fade by running from them."

END