Chapter 8: Theater

A dark figure continued to plummet into the depths, bringing the sound of fluttering cloth with it.

The boy remained in a state of unconsciousness as his head drove further down, down into the fissure he had fallen into.

It showed no sign of an end. The chasm seemed bottomless.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an hour. His mind was lying dormant, and he showed no sign of waking either. Time passed again, with the boy plummeting forth.

This continued for a time before... his body stirred.

Two vertical slits, green, manifested from the visor that he wore. It moved around, like orbs of light visible in the darkness. It took a few moments for reality to set in.

[I’m....] His mind remained groggy, having woken up recently, before he realized he was- [Falling!!!!!]

He screamed into the pitch-black space, utterly frightened at the prospect of his body splattering on the ground.

He could feel pain, and dropping from an inordinate height seemed like an idea that caused excruciating pain for the victim.

Seeing that he was still falling headfirst, he adjusted his balance, shifting into an upright position. How this affected the chances of him living was still unknown, but his choice of movement increased, so perhaps it gave him a better chance at survival.

With nothing else coming to mind, he continued his mindless journey of falling down.

A few minutes down the line, he considered various options related to escaping the precarious situation he had found himself in.

First, he considered grasping the walls of the crevice, trying to hang on. He abandoned this idea, having realized that the space seemed to stretch itself, preventing him from ever reaching the wall.

The second idea also dismissed itself, as it involved him trying to create an airborne implement capable of slowing down his fall, with the materials coming from the clothes that he wore. This idea also ended up being worthless, as his clothes refused to be torn down.

He fell with impunity.

The silence remained deafening, reminding him of the fact that if he fell down with no safety measures in place, he would splatter on the ground.

Just because he had an extraordinary physique didn’t mean that he would be safe against a member of the fundamental forces; gravity.

As he continued to ponder about his situation, he noticed a strange light coming at the bottom of his view. An irregular glow at the end of the tunnel.

[Is that... the ground?] He asked, his curiosity welling from within.

If the strange light he saw signified the ground, he only had a few seconds left. He found no way to reduce his velocity, a grave matter indeed.

The bizarre flickering of incandescence continued to increase in its intensity until finally he had exited the chasm.

A new sight greeted him, having recently passed through the breached ground. As he continued to fall down, he saw various chairs arranged in rows and columns. All of them were empty.

The chairs from each row descended further until it reached a wooden platform. Said platform had velvet curtains driven to the side, stage lights illuminating podium.

There was also a strange object shining in its center, as the place became a familiar sight driven into his mind. It was a cinema. Or rather, a theater.

The place had a compelling ambiance, making him feel like a character within a stage play. How this feeling came to be was relatively unknown to him, but it was the least of his worries. It was the least because he still continued to fall.

He had a few seconds until impact, so he looked for anything helpful that he could use. Anything, anything he could hold on to would make the difference between life and death. But alas, there was none. He continued to plummet closer and closer to the ground.

‘Geez, is this how I’m going to die?’ The boy thought, afraid of the prospect of getting squished into the ground.

The boy, accepting the futility of his actions, braced himself for the impact that never... came?

Instead of a frightening crash into the ground, his descent slowed down.

His flight downwards went slower, and slower, until he remained levitating, a few meters from land. The result disappointed him.

[Why do I seem disappointed...] Even his thoughts surprised him, as he expected more? [I mean... I didn’t expect to survive scot-free but uh, shouldn’t I be happy about this?]

As he said these words, the force preventing him from falling resumed itself.

What appeared a relaxing stay in the air resulted in the figure’s body hitting the ground.

Because of the imbalance caused by the sudden change, he tumbled and hit the ground, head first. The rest of his body followed, showcasing the shadowy figure’s form displayed embarrassingly.

[The world’s... propensity... to annoy me never seems to know no bounds... does it?] He muttered, his body still flat on the ground.

[Steady yourself for eternal damnation, you accursed puzzle maker...]

The boy stood up, brushing whatever dust that may have formed on him. As he finished cleaning himself up, he looked around the theater, taking in the view once more.

He had landed in a place far from the platform, near the chairs with the highest elevation.

From his location, he had a panoramic view of the platform from an elevated standing. He had the higher ground.

[So.... what other horrors am I meant to see next?] He remembered the events that transpired before he ended up here.

[The last place I came from already made me question my sanity, so I doubt this room can do any better than that.]

He traipsed down the audience hall, pacing his steps to get a better view of the room. Every single chair in existence remained empty.

For what purpose these chairs have, it probably was for the aesthetics, as there was no audience. He walked further down, approaching the illuminated stage.

The walls of the theater place had artistic works of all kinds. Drawings, paintings, murals, and even wood etchings were present, displaying themselves in full view.

Depictions of monsters being slain seemed to be the recurring theme among them, as the illustrations never deviated from the idea.

Among these artworks, a single one stood out among the rest. The figure of a towering steampunk-esque golem, complete with metal pipes and a clockwork aesthetic, was visible on the canvas with its background the color of charcoal, unlike the others, which had far more pleasing backdrops.

Facing the golem was the form of a small, tiny humanoid with a certain visor on its head, a familiar sight to him.

[Is that... me?] He asked, while gazing at the painting. From what he could glean from it, he saw himself there. [What the hell am I doing there?]

In the illustration, said figure held a knife, gleaming in the painted darkness. It faced the hulking automaton, readying itself for battle.

The combined use of different artistic perspectives made the image very appealing to him. A feeling that he couldn’t understand where it had originated from.

[I’m not a narcissist, but I look heroic in that picture.] He exclaimed, somewhat happy at his accurate depiction.

[But still... why in the world would I have myself illustrated, battling an enemy at that.]

He made a few guesses about it.

First, the painting was made before he lost his memories, hence the accuracy of his painted figure.

Second, it was referring to an action he was going to take in the future, which explains the mysterious details, though it didn't really help him understand what it meant.

Or third, it was a red herring, made to throw him off. The last possibility bored him to bits, so he didn’t hope for that.

[Ignoring that, I still don’t have a clue on how to proceed. Might as well visit the stage then.] He said, approaching the location.

Now that he was in immediate proximity to the stage, he would get a closer look at the platform. The same details he saw earlier still applied.

Stage lights remained lit, bathing the stage in bright light. Velvet curtains remained tied and driven to the side, giving the appearance of an empty stage. Arched cloth hanged from the ceiling, draping over the proscenium arch. And the backstage, hidden by a wall of red blinds.

The most curious addition to his observations was a single silver knife, glistening under the illumination. And he found it to be similar with what the figure in the painting held.

[Is this thing the one I saw earlier?] He leaned closer, trying to get a better look at it. [Oh gosh, it’s similar.]

The knife lying on the ground was alike what he saw on the image. With both knives; one that was illustrated within a canvas painting, and one that stood beneath his feet as it silently remained gleaming.

As with the latter one, he found it to be a real incarnation of its painted, bladed form. His interest on it only grew bigger.

And with his curiosity, new knowledge poured into him.

[Not again...] His knowledge was accompanied with a splitting headache.

|||

Halcyon Droplet [Inheritance]:

The Halcyon Droplet is an antique ornate knife with Victorian motifs and of an unknown origin.

The blade itself has a length of thirteen inches, with crystal etchings as engraved on its keen edge. Its handle is six inches by comparison, where floral patterns are inscribed into a decorative base.

This regal blade exhibits no special properties when wielded by those undeserving of its merciful edge.

When paired with its owner, however, only then does its anomalous attributes arise. Its true wielder is worthy of comparison with the warriors of old, where they felled various beasts of scale and fangs... Yet the fallen king surpasses them all.

---

Excerpt from; [Library of Ruin - Archived]

[Modifiers]

+ It is a weapon of the fallen king.

|||

[Stupid headache...] His migraine vanished as quickly as it appeared, and it caught the boy off-guard. And of course, his anger was obvious. [Fallen king this, fallen king that-]

The appearance of yet another conundrum, where the 'fallen king' was made known once more. And with what he knew, it still made no sense.

[I DON'T CARE!]

Its constant appearance within his thoughts was a concerning matter, though he would do his best to ignore it. He had far too many things on his plate to divide his attention, and this strange affair would be the least of his concerns.

And, quite frankly, he found more interest with the blade itself, rather than its history.

[Sigh...] His irritable self saw respite with the migraine's disappearance, and so he chose to dispense himself with the silver knife. [I still need to decide about this thing.]

He eyed the bladed steel with importance; moreso with what little history he discovered about the blade. His hatred for the reocurring dispensure of knowledge upon his mind was easily accurate, and he found it to be true.

His interest, however, only grew more as he gained more information about the 'Halcyon Droplet', as he believed it to be called.

[Do I pick it up or not?] He contemplated, weighing his options. [If I pick it up, I might ‘accidentally’ summon a monster whose goal is to stop me in my heroic quest to leave this place...]

He thought back to his hellbound travels, and he found it to be quite unsatisfactory, what with its countless dangers that surrounded him on every front.

It had been no more than three days, and yet he neared death many times.

To those who say that brandishing the knife would see him good, it did not seem to be that way, when what his fleeting past was already quite grim.

If he possessed a weapon with which to slay someone, he may have to face an enemy far more powerful than him, if the paintings were to be believed.

He saw monsters slain by warriors, of beasts that fell by the blades of many. Of battlefields torn by battle, as the heroes bled to death.

And from the largest of the artworks, he saw himself in harm's way as it faced an automaton far beyond his diminutive frame.

[Then again, if I don’t, I’ll probably stay stuck here until something interesting happens.]

:::

+ Halcyon Droplet [Inheritance] can be acquired.

:::

From what he knew, any important action he enacted triggered change within his surroundings, and it may be the key to his freedom from this new environment. If just as before, he followed what was scripted, then his reality would be subjected to another trial.

If he died, then his life would end at that point. But who is to say that he wouldn't survive another one?

[Alright!] He proclaimed, having decided on his next course of action. [It’s better than being locked in here.]

He drew near the knife, noticing that it still shimmered under the light. Soon, it would be within his reach now. He knelt down, retrieving the blade from the ground. The silver steel felt cold with his grasp.

And it was in his hands now.

:::

[Inheritance]

+ Catalyst

+ Halcyon Droplet (Acquired)

:::

[A most curious implement, you must have your uses.] The boy held the blade in his right hand, as he studied it with an unwavering gaze. [Now... what am I supposed to do with you?]

He held the blade under the light, highlighting the details that he couldn’t see before. What he noticed was the present of exotic ornamentation on its make.

The handle, of auric gold, had engravings of blossoming buds, giving it a sophisticated appearance.

A blade fashioned from argent silver, clashing with the knife’s hold.

A silvery white knife that seemed to gleam under the presence of light, making itself a lustrous presence.

Etched on the blade were portrayals of crystals, rising from the base until the knifepoint, giving it a look similar to a flickering flame.

And finally, on the blade’s spine, a single engraving made. Written in cursive were the words ‘Family of Promises’.

[Oh, what a beautiful blade you are!] The blade’s beauty still stunned him, for he had never expected such an artifact to appear in his hands. [Your beauty astounds me, and yet...]

It didn’t look like a proper weapon, let alone a usable one. The knife seemed to favor a resplendent form, as it chose an opulent appearance in trade of practical use. This held him back from properly curating the blade.

Though, that did not stop the boy from swinging it around. He looked like a child holding a new toy. A child clothed in ebony, with a blade whose color neared sterling ivory. He, who was veiled in black, held a weapon unfit for his tiny hands.

The fact that he held a blade may not sit well with those who deem children to be far too stupid to wield such dangerous things.

[The edge itself is quite sharp!] He remarked with surprise, having traced his fingers against the knife’s edge. [And... what’s this?]

The spine, despite having no edge at all, possessed sharpness not possible for an ornamental knife.

[The spine can cut too?]

Or rather, the whole knife’s sharpness was something impractical. The blade looked nothing more than a creation of extravagance, a showpiece.

[This vorpal blade is swift and keen, and ready for service.] He sounded like a connoisseur, deeply appreciative of the knife he held. [I’m keeping it, so it's mine now.]

[Since I’m done with my critique, I might as well look at what’s behind the backstage.]

With blade in hand, he advanced towards the backstage, intending to discover what lay hidden beneath the covers. The sound of his steps reverberated across the theater, his knife gleaming under the light.

In time, he found himself in front of the place. Before he could touch the curtains... the sound of camera shutters filled the room.

Accompanied by the ticking of clocks, the room shook.

[Oh well, there it goes.] He said whilst lackadaisical in thought, though the noise did bother him. [I wonder what it is this time.]

The stage lights shifted in color as they displayed numbers on the ground. And from there, it began to count the chimes.

{5} The chairs hovered from above, suspended by an unknown force.

{4} The paintings joined the seats in their strange dance as they floated past the curtained sky.

{3} The seats and paintings ceased their dance, and froze from their distorted tracks.

{2} Of splintered steel and stone, the room begun to vanish.

{1} The curtains swung open, an empty void revealed.

A moment of silence ensued, leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Before he could even think further... the blaring of a horn silenced everything else.

{|}

Judge, Jury, and Executioner:

The curtains go up as the buzzer goes off.

Shattered dreams remain reality, to mark the fallen king’s conquest.

Bearer of the guilty crown, he weeps.

To slay the guardian automata.

{|}

In the sky, those words revealed themselves, the letters glowing in the dark.

The entire theater had vanished, and it revealed nothing to him. A cloak of darkness that surpassed the faltering lights, and it shrouded him in its mist.

And yet... he did not feel endangered. The darkened shroud was in his embrace, with no animosity present in its touch.

Light shone from above, allowing him to see once more. The ground had changed in appearance, now a circular arena. Its surface looked like a...

‘A clock?’ He thought, still oblivious to the realm’s actions.

The ground had the face of a grandfather clock, cardinal numbers displayed. Second, hour, and minute hands completed the structure.

Their positions denoted three minutes till ten, as if it waited for the next hour.

The sound of ticking echoed, black fog seeping at the edges of the arena. The antique clockface continued its constant noise, as it was nearing the cusp of the hour that will come next.

[Am I going to fight someone?] He mumbled his questions aloud as he pondered for their answers. [How much more do I need to move around before I can finally escape this awful place?]

In the blink of an eye, 3 minutes had gone by. The boy’s questions remained unanswered as the clock had begun its hateful, strident chime.

The time... it was already 10 A.M.

{10:00}

Golden sparks appeared in the sky, repelling the darkness for a few brief moments. Once the sparks had stopped, a clockwork timer appeared in its place, suspended in motion.

A large, mechanical figure stumbled into the arena, coming from the black fog that seeped against the verge of light and darkness.

It towered into the heavens, making him seem like an ant. Its body seemed to fail, mechanical pieces falling into ground as it moved.

[... what in the world?]

Its arms had their exoskeleton exposed and the pipes rusty and twisted. The creature’s legs in the same state as them.

Its head cleaved in half, a single mechanical eye being the only functional object in its face.

Gears and springs sprang up from their proper places, covering the creature in metal scars.

The golem with intricate clockwork, comprising its entire self, a marvel of machinery that would have taken centuries to unwind, had already fallen from its former glory.

It was but a mere husk of its former self.

In its appearance, what he saw was not a hideous, monstrous beast. Instead, he recognized it as a miserable existence, asking for reprieve amongst its marred scars.

In this accursed place, it was the first time that he felt compassion. Compassion for someone other than himself.

[You’re... broken, aren’t you?] The boy voiced his pity, sympathizing with the state that the guardian had fallen to. [Unlike that which was painted, you've broken down.]

He also felt a bit of kinship with the creature, sensing the unwillingness that it emanated.

[How long have you been here?]

The creature could only stare at the boy in reply, as it had no mouth to speak with. Its left hand moved, pointing at the timer that remained visible in the sky.

The timer intensified in its presence, an ominous aura looming among them.

The same golden sparks from before covered the floating timepiece in blinding light, its intensity much brighter than before. This continued for a few more seconds before the scintillations died down.

The timer was counting down now.

[It’s counting down already?] The boy asked the creature, curious about how the creature would react. [What do you want to do then?]

[You’re the first person I’ve talked with ever since I came into being. So... I’ll heed your words.]

The mechanical creature closed its single eye before opening them back up. Despite the lack of communication, he understood its actions very well.

The weariness it had, the desolation it felt. For a mechanical being, it seemed awfully human.

And its wish, for him to fulfil. It asked to be-

[Killed, then...] The boy lowered his gaze, despondent about the silent reply that came. There was no need for words, when its misery was plain to him. [Very well.]

Both combatants approached the center, facing each other. The golem looked downwards, gazing at the boy’s figure. The boy itself stared at the robot, returning the gaze it gave him.

Both of them cast their eyes to each other, waiting for an occurrence to break the silence.

{9:00} Another chime came out, breaking the lull. A minute had already passed since the timer started.

The boy lowered his gaze once more, the green lines on the black box disappearing with his action.

[Automaton... you wish to be killed, yes?] He queried to the golem, reaffirming the choice that it had made.

[If so, then you must give me everything you can muster. Or I won’t kill you at all, and I’ll leave you within a single inch of your life.]

He exclaimed these words, proclaiming them to be the truth. The self-assurance that he had prevented him from feeling fear at all.

[Incapable of moving, but still alive.]

Something was driving him to battle the creature.

[You must be curious, why I’m asking such a favor from you.] The boy asked, not expecting an answer anymore. [Well, you see... it’s because I don’t see myself losing to you.]

A burst of confidence came forth from within him, its origins relatively unknown. A sense of Déjà vu had been bothering him all this time, as if he had done this before.

[Not now, nor ever.]

He didn’t see the mechanical creature as a danger.

In fact, it bore him no ill will at all.

The golem, surprised at the boy’s request, shuddered at his words. He was already asking to be killed, and yet... the boy requested for a proper fight.

Seeing as it had nothing else to lose, seeing that it wouldn’t hurt to try, the golem nodded in agreement, happy at the battle that would soon come.

[You want it too, don’t you?] He said, smiling at the prospect of a fight with it. [Don’t worry, I’ll make it a show worth remembering.]

A single green line formed on the dextral half of the visor, a curved line accompanying it. From the black box, a one-eyed freak, grinning at the situation before him. With the declaration of a worthy performance, his gaze rose back up to the creature.

[Guardian Automata... As you wish, I’ll be carrying out your order.] The boy held the blade in his hand, readying itself for battle.

The blade gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the light of the moon that remained invisible to the naked eye.

[As for our fight, by all means... do not disappoint.]