Chapitre 2: Prologue - Limbic Resonance
A/n- The prologue has been edited. This is how this book starts now.
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A kaleidoscope of pain and fury made him stumble back.
Painting the broken stones beneath his feet was his own lifeblood. A scream tore from his lips. His mouth. His entire body. His soul. A raw, animal sound as another blade found its mark, burying itself deep in his flesh.
He ripped it free, the metal tearing flesh and flung it back at his unseen attacker. The sound barrier rippled as the supersonic blade severed the head of its user, cutting armour, flesh, ligaments and bone alike.
Shadows. Grotesque mockeries of men. Elongated limbs, faces contorted in masks of rage. The miasma of hatred was sickening. So much hatred, all directed at one man.
He fought them. He slashed them with his sword. A silver serpent in the twilight.
A canopy of wind blades, flame balls, water arrows formed a dome overhead and started to fall like meteors towards the lone man, facing the world.
But his grey eyes remained focused. He weaved through a hail of blades and spells. He parried a blow from a hulking brute, the clang of metal echoing through the din. He ducked under a fireball, the heat singeing his hair. He sidestepped a swipe from an oversized wolf, his blade flashing in a deadly arc, severing its arm in a spray of gore.
Another monstrosity with one eye marched towards him with a giant mace in hand. Attempting to take him out in one hit from his blindspot. But a streak of lightning tore its body apart, reducing it to cinders.
The pain in his chest raised. Not out of the bloodloss, but the exhilaration.
"Is this all you have for me? Lord of Cinders?"
A mocking laugh seethed through his pearl teeth stained by crimson and black.
"What you commit is a sin of the highest order." The demon in question spoke out, his voice causing hot shivers down everyone's spines. "This act of blasphemy warrants execution." He continued.
"Blasphemy." The man chuckled. "Idiots. Swallowing belief patterns because you can't think for yourself."
"It's not about independent thinking." The sound of a sword taller than the man grating against its scabbard filled the battlefield. "It's about the insult you have intended for the holy order. Against him." The demon's head lowered, eyes brimming with rage.
"No one goes against him. Not even you."
As the last syllable left the demon's mouth, the entire world shifted and the distance between the demon and the man was suddenly deleted. Like it never even existed. His sword was mere inches away from the demonic entity's head.
Then the world twisted.
The bay beneath him shifted, his horse's muscles bunching and rippling as it snorted, a plume of warm breath misting in the cool air. He barely registered it.
The man's gaze was lost in the sea of green that stretched out before him, the wind shushing through the tall grass like a thousand hushed voices. It was a green that seemed to hold every shade imaginable, from the pale, almost yellow new growth near the river to the deep, almost blue shadows beneath the distant trees.
Overhead, the sky was a churning mass of grey and white, sunlight struggling to pierce the gathering storm clouds. He could smell the rain coming—a clean, earthy scent. A low rumble of thunder and he saw the flicker of lightning reflected in his own grey eyes.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been riding on his horse, travelling, lost in thought, unable to see the colours that painted the world bright, as all he saw was a monotonous black and white.
Time seemed to melt away out here, at the edge of the world. He felt like an ordinary man. Just another man, not a lord, not a warrior, not a sinner, not a…
"Lost in the clouds again?"
A voice broke through his reverie. He turned to see her riding towards him, her white hair sitting very well with the vibrant blue of her eyes.
She was, but a splash of colour against the muted greens and greys of the landscape. He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners with a warmth that had been absent for years that had felt like centuries now.
"Something like that," he replied, his voice rough with disuse.
She laughed, a sound as bright and clear as a bird's song. "You'll be dreaming your life away if you're not careful," she said, her words barely audible over the rising wind. "The bleak midwinter has long ended."
"But…" The man's scorched hand never left the golden hilted sword strapped to his hip.
She smiled beautifully. "Come on, … A…m…"
Her voice trailed off, the last syllable of his name lost in a sudden gust that whipped across the plains.
The world was tilting, spinning, accelerating at a dizzying speed. The green around him blurred, then browned, then vanished beneath a blanket of white. The sun became a streak of fire across the sky, days and nights blended into an indistinguishable blur.
A pair of eyes, unchanged, envisioned—or rather, saw—mountains rise and fall, forests bloom and wither, rivers change their course. Everything fell into a potion of temporariness, with "change" being the sole eternal concept being left behind.
The sensation in the dream-like state felt like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, powerless to resist the forces that were pulling him along. Like a whirlpool.
The man felt his heartbeat quicken. Beating, constantly beating in his ears. Until it was all he could hear.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
"He" blinked, his eyes adjusting to the harsh fluorescent light that filled the space. The scent of shampoo and stale coffee was strong around him. "He" was slumped against a cosy pillow, a textbook open in front of "him", the words swimming like worms before "his" eyes.
"Arthur! Are you even listening?"
The girl's voice was sharp, impatient. The boy looked up, startled, his mind still reeling from the visions that had just filled "his" head.
"Ah…sorry…" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Just… spaced out for a minute."
He glanced back at the textbook, at the diagram of the human brain, and a shiver ran down his spine. The sensation of touching eternity was fresh behind Arthur's pale grey eyes.
He shook his head that felt as heavy as lead. It had been a long and tiring journey after all.
The road journey from Hammerfest of Troms og Finnmark—Northern Norway—to Oslo, extending for about 1,520 kilometres, was much more mentally draining than one would have thought.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone