Chapter 72

Chapter 72: The Initiator's Oath.

—Oooooohmmmm

The golden sphere hummed gently around him, fully enclosing him within its transparent, radiant shell.

A sudden, heavy silence fell over the scene as Gil tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Huh? But isn't that like..." he muttered, sounding half-asleep.

And just as he was trying to figure out what was going on, suddenly—as if he had pierced through a veil, a physical barrier—the real memories came rushing back to him piece by piece.

The details of his situation, already vivid and impossibly clear, became sharper still.

Every single moment returned: the crushing defeat against Hector...

waking up to the hundreds upon hundreds of voices he had heard before coming to amidst the captives...

the horrific stench of blood as he stepped into the arena...

the sickening sensation of wading through a pool of gore once inside...

the hideous laugh of Lucius's beasts...

the agonizing pain when his arm was bitten in exchange for pinning the creature down...

and the chain of actions that followed, crowned by his victory over the beast and his laughter echoing before everyone present in the arena...

And finally, the loss of his left arm—a reality he had been trying to ignore ever since he woke up from that nightmare.

Rumble...

The world around him suddenly trembled.

The walls—and reality itself—seemed to flicker in and out for a split second, but he was so lost in his thoughts that he barely paid it any mind.

As for El, he remained frozen in place, his gaze fixed upon him.

Then Gil began to speak, almost as if talking to himself.

"I found myself facing that bastard Hector, and he told me I'd come back to see him eventually to take back what was taken from me..." Clenching his right fist, he continued, "And I remember the healer... who made an impression on me at first, but turned out to be nothing more than a dog on a leash. And Arya... and that strange Helena. I remember everything. It... wasn't a nightmare."

Rumble...

Another tremor struck, more violent this time, the shockwave hitting even harder.

The surroundings flickered in and out like a glitching television screen.

This time, Gil noticed the phenomenon, though he didn't seem particularly surprised.

He just looked around the crumbling room and, after a brief pause, spoke aloud. "I see. So that was the real dream..."

Then...

"Hehehe... hehehe."

A quiet laugh escaped his lips—a sound laced with self-mockery, disbelief, and a tinge of profound sadness.

The moment those words left his mouth, the glitches and anomalies ceased all at once, as if everything had returned to normal—until...

CRACK!

Fine fractures began spreading all around him, running across the walls, the floor, everywhere. Slight at first, they rapidly expanded, threatening to collapse the entire space at any given second, so extreme was the instability.

Gil sighed heavily and turned toward El. "I must be even worse off than I thought... dragging you into my dreams just so I can vent to you."

Perceiving that the end was near, El's eyes seemed to glitter a bit as he flashed his signature easygoing smile and replied, "Well, since I'm already here and I know for a fact you brought me along to complain, is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Gil looked at him, then at the scenery crumbling all around them, and smiled faintly. "Yeah. I do have a few things to say."

First, Gil turned off his phone—along with the music playing on it—and set it down carefully on the nightstand. Then, crossing his legs as he sat, he looked at El and flashed a smirk of his own.

"You know, El... there’s a whole lot of stuff we never said to each other, things I kept to myself thinking it might ruin our friendship, or at least make things awkward. But well, since this is just a dream, I might as well say what's on my mind."

Gil sat up straight. "First of all, you are hands down the absolute worst friend anyone could ever have."

"Huh?" El sat up straight in his chair, staring at him. His expression seemed to say: Why isn't he following the script?

"What kind of friend takes a minor out drinking and drags him to shady clubs, tries to set him up with practically every girl that walks by, and actively encourages him to fight in his little underground ring, huh?"

"Hey, hey, hey! It wasn't so bad was it ? Come on! You’re always cooped up on your own—I couldn't help but worry about you! " El defended himself

"I remember beguining to drink soon than you."

Casting an accusing glare at his friend, Gil couldn't help but add, "You see? That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Alright, fine! Point taken about the booze and the clubs," El conceded. "But you can't blame me for wanting to keep you company and making sure you have someone else around. Who else do you even talk to in this city, huh? It's not healthy for someone your age," he said, his tone laced with genuine concern.

Embarrassed, Gil shrugged his shoulders and dropped the usual response he pulled out every single time in this kind of situation. "Better to be alone than in bad company."

At those words, El knew there was no convincing him. Realizing that what was about to follow was going to be a long barrage of nagging, he decided to cut him off. "Oh, really? So we're going there? You wouldn't have any social life without me."

"Now I think you're exaggerating," Gil said in a faint, defensive tone.

"And those buddies of yours... I've already told you to get out of that scene, El."

"You don't just leave whenever you want, you know that."

"Well, I figured as much, but you could at least hang out with people you can actually trust," Gil tried to convince the projection of El sitting in front of him.

Crack, crack, crack...

The fractures and fissures all around them were tightening, spreading wider, drawing closer.

"Alright, alright, alright, I'll change, I'll change," El said nonchalantly—a response that couldn't have sounded less sincere, though Gil was well used to it.

Gil flashed a gentle smile—the kind you rarely saw on his face—and in the very next second, did something El didn't expect at all.

Stepping forward, he wrapped his arm around El, hugging him tightly—so very tightly—and whispered in a voice barely audible, "Thank you for everything... big brother."

Immediately after, he let go and quickly stepped back. El reached out his hand, stunned. "What... what did you just call me?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly with emotion.

He stretched his hand toward Gil, drawing closer.

But at that exact moment, the surroundings all around them collapsed.

The destruction spread to El as well, until nothing remained of him but his upper body, still reaching out toward Gil.

Gil flashed him his signature bold and proud smile, speaking quickly: "See you later, El. Once I give that bastard a beatdown, I'll make him regret ever thinking he could capture me with impunity."

El, recognizing his friend in that moment, simply replied, "See you later," before the darkness consumed them both.

Finally, Gil opened his eyes, greeted by a sky of a billion stars. His back rested against the ground of the floating island inside his sanctuary, bathed in the soft glow of a golden light serving as his nightlight.

Once he got his bearings back, he didn't move right away; he just stayed there for a long moment.

Before long, glistening tears trickled imperceptibly down his cheeks, but he wiped them away quickly.

Pushing aside the feeling of emptiness and sadness that washed over him, he decided not to let himself be dragged down.

After all, if I want to see him again like I promised, I need to get moving.

Standing up, he walked up to the golden sphere and reached out his hand. At the warm touch, the sphere hummed softly in response. Gil smiled at this, and after a moment, stepped out of his sanctuary.

Once outside, practically everyone in the holding cell was already asleep—Greg and the others included.

As Gil stood up, Greg woke up, rubbing his eyes in his characteristic way, and asked sleepily,

"Something wrong, Gil?"

Gil shook his head and offered a gentle smile. "No, nothing. Go back to sleep. I'm just going to walk around for a bit."

Still looking rather exhausted and confused, Greg stared at him for a moment before nodding and sinking back into sleep.

Having reassured him, Gil walked past and glanced around the room, seeing that all the other captives were resting as well, though a few were coughing and tossing in their sleep, visibly restless.

He eventually arrived in front of the lift. He had chosen this particular spot because it was well away from the other captives.

Gil’s gaze hardened as he resolved to take that crucial first step toward reclaiming his old life. Leaning against the wall directly beside the lift, he materialized his spectral chains—not to bind anyone this time, but as a conduit.

Charging them with as much energy as he could muster, he willed them forward.

Clang!

Obeying his intent, the chains shot out from his right arm, spanning the dark distance until they embedded themselves deep into the blood-tinted ceiling above.

His expression grew increasingly stern.

No more being passive.

Injecting a continuous stream of energy through the links, he waited. A moment later, a sinister red hue began to gather where the chains bit into the ceiling.

After a brief, almost hesitant pause, the dark crimson energy surged down the length of the chains, rushing straight toward him.

Flashing a fearless smile, Gil thought: Time to take the initiative.