(I am rewriting the last few chapters to realign them properly with my outline. Changes, yes, but the core of it is the same. And lore additions.)
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BOOM!
The wall shattered. Wood and glass all shrieked through the room in a bright storm.
'What...'
In that breath, there was nothing but dust.
Then a shape bled through it—him. The Awakened. Lean as a blade. He stood on the lip of the crash, staring down the height. Likely where the father sprawled dead.
Then slowly, turned his gaze towards Hope.
'....the hell?'
His sword gleamed an unnatural sheen from which Hope had barely dodged. The same one that nearly opened him from collar to spine last time. Where death guided the blade.
"Cough! Cough!"
Hope crouched on the far side of the room.
He recognized that white mask.
Two slits for eyes.
Wiped off any other features with a black hood hiding any locks.
There was no doubt about it.
'This fucking guy.'
Memories flooded from their fight against each other...then teamed against that Awakened Demon: Night Hound. From enemies to short-term comrades, to enemies again.
A certainly stubborn Awakened.
The black-clad Awakened stepped forward, a pressure rolling off him.
Hope stepped back.
How the hell did this guy dodge all those traps out there? If he met the tech Awakened, maybe he was shown a map. But then, what Aspect did the guy have to pinpoint him so easily? Was it really to see through walls?
No.
The fuck did he come after him with a sudden bang?
Out of sight, out of mind apparently didn't work on the guy.
He had met some prideful Awakened, short-lived ones on the battlefield. But others he met who were made for it. Lived for it. Bathed in it. There was no mistake in their range and power, a teamed effort and an independent one. It was something to have prayed for when against a Nightmare horde.
But to be at the end of it…
These odds...What was the right response?
'Attack....'
!!!
Swssh!
Hope's feet left the ground.
Not away, but toward the weight of the storm.
Awakened met Dreamer in a thunderclap of steel.
Kwang!
A downward slash hissed before Hope caught it on his shield. And from it, their battle screamed out.
It wasn't the moon that accompanied them, but the resting sun. The room tore under the last glow of sunset, shadows stretching like clawed hands over splintered furniture. But what also stretched across was the swing of a blade.
The Awakened stepped in. Fast.
Hope dropped to a knee.
The sword tore through air.
He then took the opportunity and sliced in a crescent aimed for the Awakened's throat. But the Awakened saw the intent, responding with a parry that pathetically shook his bones. How familiar. This ache.
Would've been disadvantageous, considering it sent him back, but Hope moved with the parry, letting it throw him into a spin with enough weight to swing against the next following strike.
Kwang!
It was more of a fighting chance in defense rather than offense. He knew that.
Hope was too slow.
Too slow to make a direct hit. His limbs chased through each motion as wind does. Each impact thudding like a war drum.
The Awakened pressed again. Hope's feet shuffled for balance across the debris when—there—a reflection above.
A glimmer.
The sword arced toward the ceiling, catching sunlight, turning into a golden blade of judgment.
Then fell like a hammer.
SmasH!
Wood splintered, blinding dust once more.
In that moment there was distance, a heartbeat for it sufficed. Enough to think. Enough to breathe. Too close and you lose options. And Hope lost plenty. He only traded one danger for another:
He angled away. But the Awakened cut him off.
He retreated. But the Awakened advanced like a falling star.
A strike.
Two strikes.
Another for his heart, tearing only fabric.
Tang! Tang! Tang!
Metal hissed sparks.
The only fire that bridged between them.
A demand that he either bend, break, or change. And adaptation was the only survival at the moment…
'Adapt…'
Kwang! Kwa-
'Adapt. Adapt. Adapt. Adapt—'
Hope's eyes flitted to the side.
Tracking a blur of movement.
The Awakened slipped right, exploiting Hope's stumble. There wasn't enough ground placement to block. Not enough spin to avoid. He could only absorb it.
And this time, he was driven back to a wall.
"Heook…"
Hope's body tightened, a flood of cold sores bloomed on his back. He had to blink hard enough to bring the ridiculous mask into focus.
A mask…
Why…
Why hide, Awakened?
Surely there are uglier things in this world.
For another heartbeat, everything stilled when they looked at each other. He was sure their eyes met like before, when they fought the Night Hound. Some sort of acknowledgement, though unspoken and unnamed. One couldn't tell if the man behind the mask was absurdly drunk on bloodlust, gloat, or vengeance.
Vengeful for what?
Hope had many sins.
But he doubted an angel came to reap those debts.
No need to compare him to a demon either. One didn't need horns or wings to turn into beasts. Just simply a reason.
Besides the Awakened's obvious aggression, annoyance at its toll, Hope didn't particularly want to cave the man's skull or empty his blood till it carpeted red. But he was certainly an inconvenience.
'Head…'
Shwwk!
Hope craned his neck aside.
The wall cracked where blade pierced before Hope slipped away.
He could slightly catch up with the aggression, but the strength wasn't matched. With Awakened Beasts or Awakened Monsters, Hope was assisted with baits, distractions, and the upperhand of a sane mind. Mostly. But this was an Awakened human.
Maybe he could attempt a surprise attack, but no opening showed itself.
Kwang!
He had to make one.
Kwaang!
'Or maybe…'
Their small world buckled into chaos—glass shrieked as boots danced upon it, the planks groaning like broken backs of ships.
Sword fell again, an arc aimed for his shoulder.
Wsh!
Hope blocked.
But it was weak.
His arm gave way under the descending strike like a mere slap of a hand.
But instead of resisting, Hope rode the weight once more, letting it drag him off-centered. There should've been the natural attempt of firmness. Control.
Hope collapsed instead.
And that collapse became momentum.
Hope snapped forward, twisting with the stolen weight, and drove his elbow between the Awakened's ribs.
He hit.
Reluctantly, it was only a hit. He couldn't manage a cold blow. He couldn't draw blood.
He only heard a faint grunt, and maybe…a glimpse of renewed anger as the Awakened twisted with uncanny speed to counter.
Ah. He didn't like that.
Kwangang!
Hope's eyes glazed over with each passing moment. It hadn't even been a whole minute.
No. Twenty-five seconds.
Progress from last time.
Escape was a fickle idea with this hunter.
He supposed training that night with his memories paid off. It wasn't only because he relived the training with his high-ranking officers and Master, but he also relived fighting this Awakened as well. And now a part of his patterns were known to Hope.
Part of it. Not entirely.
And not enough either.
Not if this dance dragged on and—
Kwang! Kwang!
Would he have to use his Aspect on him again?
Kwa–
'Do I?'
Kwaaang!
A metallic cry rang out like a church bell. Both recoiled from the clash.
Hope blinked.
'There–'
He caught sight of it.
Just as he pulled back, a clear pattern flashed as the Awakened's shoulders tilted left: a tiny buildup–a flicker of predictability in the opponent's attack. Priceless.
But it wasn't an opening. Not exactly one to force the Awakened into a mistake. He had only surprised the Awakened earlier by stepping into the attack.
That's what he should do then.
Trade one danger for another.
In a strangely mirror-like motion, both pressed forward, going for the head as if it were the prized trophy. The blade whistling toward his face was like death breathing against his skin. It wouldn't be the first but it certainly wouldn't be the last. Instead of peeling away, Hope stepped into it. He raised his arm, redirecting the blow just enough, the steel tearing through fabric.
It found flesh this time. The heat bloomed bright.
But Hope didn't notice.
Or rather, he didn't care.
It happened.
A switch flipped.
Hope rode the line of the blade before thought steeled, the cut climbing his arm. But it carried him closer. Carried him where Death met Dreamer.
He stepped into the Awakened's guard.
And then—
With a vicious upward force—
KracCK!
The [Ashen Shield] collided with the Awakened's mask, sending it spinning through the air like a broken moon.
Face…
His instinct darkly hummed.
Hope followed the arc with his free hand. Reaching. Claiming the advantage.
Of course. The face—
!!!
But as Hope was about to deliver the blow, as he was about to deliver the slumbering spell, his world froze.
The last ray of sunlight piercing through their cracked world fell upon the figure.
The black hood finally slipped back and…
Gold…
To Hope's surprise, it revealed a hair gleaming gold in the light, as if the sun itself had woven it. Beneath it, dark eyes framed by youth stared widely back.
But Hope…had seen this face before…
But not from this world.
'What the—'
His fingers faltered.
And for a moment, which seemed almost infinite, he didn't see the man in front of him but another.
The knight from his First Nightmare.
***
"Urk!"
Hundreds of images flooded Hope's eyes.
The voices deafened him.
The sunset's last rays that striped the room in its dying glory molded into his First Nightmare's fiery flames: the choked smell of burnt flesh and ash, heat tingling his skin, bodies melting into one. Hope pressed the side of his head as if he could push the visions from his mind. But it all resurfaced like a forbidden veil.
And that knight…reached across it.
He saw him. Saw the knight's surprise reflected in the Awakened's.
'Don't you know…in dreams, they look a lot like the living…'
'I've buried enough to know they all stay down—'
'Priest, don't do it! You can't give up like this!'
'Can you just—'
'No!'
'Let—'
'There's still a chance!'
'Can't be…' Hope's heart drummed, racing as much as the curse did.
'You have no right to speak of honor.'
'Of course. Pity they left you to defend the church on your own…'
Hope stepped back.
'We…the Knights Templar focused more on our physical upbringing than our education.'
Another step.
'[You have defeated an Awakened human: Knight of the Heart Templar]'
He couldn't see anymore—his vision torn by reality and layers of the past bled distortion.
A different coldness settled as even the Awakened paused in confusion.
The Spell. No. The First Nightmare. What was it? He was told it was like a dream, an illusory of sort…But was it from pure fabrication of the Spell's or from untold history? Hope knew it wasn't possible to take First Nightmares together. That wasn't his assumption. But if tailored to a person in soul and appearance, then what were the chances that people could embody a person within close relations from another person's trials?
'But you're not…That's not…'
Hope's face hardened.
Not a ghost. The dead stay dead.
And maybe Hope should—
The Awakened hesitated. His stance had also faltered as if sensing Hope's turmoil. Even when he had the advantage, he didn't attack. Maybe Hope looked pitiful. Lost. Enough for the Awakened to second guess himself. As if all the vigor, the high, and the grudge was forgotten.
Well then…
Hope straightened from his shock, doing another quick scan of the Awakened from head to toe.
'That is not him…'
It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. There was no recognition in the Awakened's eyes anyway.
Hope recalled his First Nightmare's character's hands looking similar to his own, as the knight looked similar to this Awakened. Not a spitting image. But close.
Too damn close.
"..."
"..."
'Mm…'
Hope blinked.
Paused.
'Can this guy seriously not talk?'
Not once did he speak. He did grunt, but even then it produced a weak sound. Not even when his partner contacted him did he talk. So was he mute?
But Hope's memories didn't give him a chance to continue that thought.
'Don't let that young mind of yours get anyideasIfIhaditmyway,Iwould'vedraggedhalfofyourbodytothosedoorsifIhad–'
Ah the cursed Heart God.
Too loud.
"Sigh. Fucking hell."
"...?!"
The Awakened's mouth dropped as Hope reached up to grip his wounds. It was so sudden to his flesh that it speckled red in his vision.
He supposed what he did was strange.
But the world came into focus.
And what remained was a haunting ghost, carrying a stolen face that Hope didn't know whether to tear off or not.