Capítulo 11: The Ashfords - Ⅴ
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After hours of relentless digging, with the sun having surrendered to the moon's gentle embrace, Andrew found himself unknowingly scooping out the last remnants of sand before the ground beneath them gave way. The sudden collapse dragged Andrew, his sister Sarah–who had coincidentally joined him at the most inconvenient moment–and Andrew's self-proclaimed best friend: Hugo, who had been engaged in a friendly 'Who Can Dig More Sand' competition with Andrew.
"Hey! You guys okay down there?!" One of the workers, still on the surface yelled out in concern.
Andrew, the first to recover from the collapse that had enveloped them, shook grains from every crevice of his clothing and yelled back. "Yeah, yeah! We're good! Get some ladders and ropes! We'll be fine!"
"Alright! Stay safe!" The voice faded, as the worker hurried off to fetch assistance.
Andrew glanced at his two companions. "You guys good?"
"Yep-cough-pers!" Sarah spoke out in between coughs, her voice muffled by the sand.
Hugo, still prone on the floor, flashed a thumbs up. "Just fat and lazy boss, I'm good."
Andrew extended a hand to help Hugo up, exerting considerable effort. "Jesus, you're right." he muttered under his breath
"What's that boss?" Hugo inquired.
"I need you to drop that diet and workout regime of yours because JE-SUS!" Andrew exclaimed.
"Ehehe… say boss… you get a haircut?" Hugo asked, he said while patting his own bald head, his gesture drawing a smile from Andrew.
As Hugo's attempt to change the subject hung in the air, Andrew couldn't help but crack a wry smile. "Yeah, I did. Sarah insisted." he replied, running a hand through his newly trimmed locks.
Indeed, Andrew's hair looked noticeably tidier compared to its previous long unkempt state. Thanks to Sarah's persistence, he had undergone a transformation at the hands of a skilled hairdresser. His sides were now neatly cropped, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline, while his bangs grazed just above his eyebrows styled with a hint of texturing for added flair. At the back, his hair was expertly tapered, ending in a clean line just above the nape of his neck.
In essence, Andrew sported a sleek and modern hairstyle–a simple yet stylish two-block with a textured fringe.
"I'd ask about yours… since it had been a drastic change since I last saw you. Shaved bald? Head's almost shiny, what'd make you do that?" Andrew asked Hugo in return.
Hugo shrugged nonchalantly in response. "The 'roids." he explained simply. "It sorta just started falling off, so I thought I'd help it out and get rid of it all."
Andrew had a stupefied expression on his face, before following quickly with a chuckle. "Ah… I see. Well, it suits you, my friend, you look like The Rock!"
With their lighthearted exchange concluded, the two men dust themselves off, soon joined by Sarah.
"So, Drew. What's the plan?" Sarah, flanking Andrew's left shoulder, asked curiously.
"The plan? Well… I'm gonna go deeper." Andrew replied, glancing from one companion to the other. "You guys coming?"
"Uuuh…"
"Well… I'm not going in alone, see?" Andrew produced a sleek pistol from a hidden holster in his jacket, expertly racking the slide with machined efficiency. His companions regarded him with raised eyebrows. "What? I'm an American."
With casual steps, Andrew proceeded forward, unfazed by potential dangers. After all, his brand new Glock 29 Gen 5 chambered in 10MM allured the greatest amount of security a man could ask for.
It didn't take long for two pairs of footsteps to echo behind Andrew, Sarah and Hugo falling into a step behind, drawn by the allure of adventure and perhaps a touch of concern for their impulsive armed friend.
…
As the three ventured deeper into the tomb, they were enveloped by a sense of awe and wonder at the grandeur of their surroundings. The air was heavy with the scent of ancient history, a blend of musty earth and the faint aroma of incense that had lingered for centuries.
The walls of the tomb rose high above them, adorned with intricate and indistinguishable writing and elaborate diagrams. Languages from a bygone era? Andrew thought, studying the runes.
Despite its age being potentially several millennia, the structure stood remarkably intact, a testament to the craftsmanship of its builders and the mysterious forces that had protected it from decay. The stone walls gleamed faintly in the dim moonlight, polished by centuries of wind and sand, their surfaces adorned with unfamiliar ornaments that sparkled like stars in the darkness, despite their dull appearances.
"Hey Hugo, got your FLD on you?" Andrew asked his employee.
Shuffling in his overall's front pocket, he pulls it out, handing it over to Andrew. "Here you are boss, would it still work? With that EMP thing and whatnot?" Hugo complied, then queried.
"Well… the eggheads back home figured that within the line of work that the FLDs will go through, they might encounter a situation like this. So, they encased every single crevice, hole, gap, you name it, with some type of metal. Or something, shit I dunno. I'm just a rich guy." Andrew stated haphazardly with a scoff.
With practiced ease, Andrew manipulated the buttons on the gadget, activating its functions with precision. The screen flickered to life, displaying a flurry of readings and data points that danced across its surface. As he adjusted the settings, filtering out extraneous signals and interference, a single blip remained on the screen, pulsing like a beacon in the darkness.
"Arcanum…" Andrew murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible above the soft hum of the device.
Hugo, observing Andrew's focused demeanor, couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity. "Boss? You good?" he inquired, his brow furrowing with concern.
Andrew's response was swift, his usual enthusiasm returning in full force. "Peachy! Right, now according to this device. It's past this wall, to the right. Ready to make history fellas?" he declared, his voice brimming with excitement.
"Let's do this boss!"
"We're right with you Drew~!"
"Excellent! Now, as a precaution. Hugh, take this back." Andrew states, flipping him back the FLD. "Right, stick a little bit behind me." Andrew commanded, his voice growing serious as he gripped his firearm tightly. Andrew led the way, his movements deliberate and measured as he approached the corner of the wall.
Briefly putting his back against the wall, Andrew noted that just around the corner should be whatever his FLD detected. With a final thought to his dear brother, he rapidly turns the corner!
…
…
…
…
"Andrew?" Sarah's voice worriedly calls for him, from the safety of cover.
…
"Andrew?!" Sarah called again, panic settling in her voice.
…
…
Not caring about her safety anymore, Sarah whipped herself around the corner, tears settling in the base of her eyes.
"ANDREW?!"
There, several dozen steps ahead, stood Andrew, his hand resting on a suit of plate armor that seemed to have materialized from the pages of a fantasy novel. The armor exuded an otherworldly aura, an unfamiliar energy that seemed to dimly glow the armor, almost as if it was calling her. Beckoning her over.
But it scared her, that's putting it lightly. It terrified her.
It wasn't the armor.
Not even the supernatural energy that it was pulsating.
But, him.
That expression.
It wasn't something that belonged to her brother.
It wasn't something that belonged to Andrew Ashford, it didn't even belong to Logan Ashford, the face her beloved brother had tried so hard to mimic.
No, it was something so much more…
…pure.
She felt a memory, from deep within her consciousness, be pulled to her forefront. She'd seen this once, and only once.
This was the same expression that Andrew wore twelve years ago.
The day after her oldest brother died.
The day that Andrew comprehended the supernatural element that is Arcanum.
It was…
Pure hate.
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*** Fjellborg Castle ***
—15 November 2023—
—Present Day—
"Outrageous!"
The sound of hands slamming like descending clubs on the wooden table echoed like the sound of a thrumming drum in a canyon.
The echoing sound vacuumed everything, filling the 「Hollow Sanctum」with an eerie stillness.
The sound of a huge wave crashing against the cliff that faced the North Sea drowned out the silence as the man slipped back into his seat, his face bright red. The man in question was Lawrence White, the current head of the "Whites."
Possessing a pot belly that stripped the image of someone touted as one of the strongest humans on earth, Lawrence was a middle-aged man, bearing a striking resemblance to his son—Michael White. However, his white hair was trimmed considerably shorter, styled into a side sweep with an excess of gel, making it look more like that of a porcupine's quills than human hair. His eyes were round and huge, almost as if they were ready to pop out any second.
His rather fat arm hammered down on the table viciously, making the wine inside the glasses in front of the adults ripple and violently judder to the sides. The redness on his face was still there, however, he took in a deep breath before settling back down, holding himself from stripping the whole place down.
Though his emotions appeared genuine at a cursory glance, beneath the surface laid nothing but a rotting greed festering Lawrence's psyche.
Despite his fat appearance, Lawrence was a huge man, currently second tallest amongst the adults as he stood at around 193 cm.
"Such an occurrence could have been averted had proper attention been paid in advance and appropriate measures been put in place. A stationed presence would have undoubtedly mitigated such a situation."
The one talking this time was a short man. He was around 162 cm. His black hair was usually kept short on the sides and back, while the top was slightly longer and styled by neatly brushing it back. He had a sly, businessman-like smile on his face, his words measured, yet full of scorn as he pushed the blame onto Lawrence.
"Don't you dare pin those accusations on me, Hiroshi!" Lawrence's voice boomed, causing Michael's gaze to snap towards him. He scrunched his nose in frustration, turning away from his father with a low grumble. "You know damn well that's a load of crap."
"Israel, though situated geographically in the Middle East, maintains a subsidiary membership within the European Union." Another man interjected, his shoulder-length blonde hair contrasting sharply with his tanned complexion as he entered the conversation. Maria subtly adjusted her position, moving closer to Yuki.
"However, it's evident that Israel's interests lie predominantly with the United States," he continued, his tone measured and diplomatic. "In this regard, the lion's share of accountability inevitably rests upon your shoulders, Lawrence. After all, they are intricately entwined with your nation's interests." His words were delivered with calculated precision, reinforcing Hiroshi's statement with a subtle yet decisive force.
As Arthur had guessed, they had already formed alliances. The scale of everything to come in the near future was quite big, after all.
The one who talked was Rafael Miranda. Father to Maria Miranda and the representative from South America.
"I'd reckon now isn't the opportune moment for assigning blame. What's paramount is the fact that we've allowed something profoundly precious to fall into the hands of those..." The man's words halted momentarily, his expression contorting with visible disgust. "...foulborns. Our sole focus must be on reclaiming what rightfully belongs to us, fair dinkum."
Blake Anderson interjected, his short luscious locks falling over his face roughly.
Every head turned in Blake's direction as he nodded his head with a big grin. "That's right. That foulborn—Andrew Ashford—might have found our Godfather—Adam's Battle Armour—however, we will take it back." He spoke as a sinister chill ran across the room.
"The long winter is coming." He spoke as a chill ran down everyone's spine.
"Eden… is coming."
"We are going to be one again. We have held this monopolised Arcanum knowledge to us due to its low ambient amount, but soon enough every foulborn would be able to use it." As he talked, he stood up, slamming his hands softly on to the table.
"However, we—Adam's chosen, we will retrieve his last gift for us. We will stand at the top in the end!"
A synchronised hum rumbled in everyone's throat, agreeing with him.
"In the Bleak Midwinter…" He paused, letting his words sink in. "...we will prevail."
As everyone's voice melded in with the synchronised cheer, Arthur's hollow orbs met Akesel's. Squinting his eyes, Aksel bobbed his head, as if asking him what was wrong. Staring deep into his father's olive eyes, Arthur shook his head.
'Adam's battle armour… I do not have any knowledge about it.' As he looked around, he found the other heirs equally confused, however, with their glasses filled with juice raised up regardless. '...hmm.'
A sigh escaped his lips as a decision formed in his mind.
Estado de energía semanal
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