Hell Mode: Volume 9, page 25
“Wh-Why is this here?” he mumbled. He then recalled that Romu had fiddled with his gear.
“Prince Beku, would you like to continue?” the ratkin judge inquired.
Beku instinctively put his hand over the pill, shielding it from view.
“What will you do?” Giru asked. “If you can’t stand and fight, I’ll just end you here.”
But the Albahalan crown prince could only think about the pill hidden beneath his palm. His armor had been obliterated, and the powerful blow from Giru had shattered his bones. Beku also knew that his organs had been damaged and that his life was on the line. And yet, there was a way out of this predicament. It was literally in his hand.
“I... I...” Beku said.
He felt his heart and will waver. If he swallowed the pill, he felt like he would lose the pride he had spent his life building up, as well as the dignity of the Albahalan royal family. All he had to do was crush the pill and stand up as though nothing had happened. However, that would mean that he would lose this match. Should he die with pride or win with disgrace? His chest tightened, causing more pain than the wounds on his body, and he found himself on the verge of tears.
“Prince Beku! Please stand up!”
“Thank you for defeating the ark spider for us!”
“And you defeated the ogre general! Thank you so much!”
Cries of gratefulness reached his ears, and he raised his head. Citizens from rural areas were in the front rows of the audience, showering him with gratitude.
“Prince Beku, thanks to you, heroes with Talents have begun hunting monsters near our village!”
“We’re here today in hopes of expressing our gratitude!”
“Please don’t lose!”
Beku had saved these people during his travels around Albahal to become stronger in hopes of beating Giru. The Albahalan Beast Crown Prince locked eyes with these residents as they called his name, their voices converging into a roar. They were all rooting for him.
“Prince Beku!”
“Prince Beku!!!”
“Prince Bekuuu!!!”
“Such deafening cheers!” the rabbitkin shouted, barely audible over the crowd shouting Beku’s name. “You can hear them all the way outside the arena!”
Aurora Vision displays installed throughout the royal capital conveyed the scene to everyone in Albahal. Over a million beastkin raised their fists to cheer for their crown prince.
“Hmph. Fools,” Giru growled. “This royal capital will eventually belong to Brysen. They must be reeducated.”
Beku gasped. If he lost, would his people be in danger? Even if it meant sullying his name, he had to protect those who believed in him.
“I must protect them,” Beku muttered. He clutched the pill as Giru stood behind him.
“We’ve done this thrice. It’s gotten old,” Giru said. “Why don’t we just end it here?”
The Albahalan crown prince had already swallowed the forbidden item by the time Giru reached out to grab his head. He let out a deep breath, much to Giru’s surprise, and a hard, rugged hand gripped the Brysen Beast King’s wrist. The power the Beast Crown Prince was exerting was unbelievable; within the arena that trembled under the cheers of the crowd, Giru could hear his own wrist creaking.
“Y-You!” Giru shouted.
Beku was on all fours, but he still managed to fling Giru aside with one arm. The Brysen royal whirled through the air and landed on the sand as Beku stood up, crouched low, and emitted a low growl.
“Grr... Graaaaah!”
After a massive roar, Beku’s bones began to creak and groan as his bulky muscles writhed under his skin. This was no normal Beast Mode transformation. Nevertheless, Giru widened his eyes and howled happily.
“So, you finally took Romu’s pill, did you?!” the wolfkin sneered. “Everything is going as planned!”
Beku shot out like a golden arrow, charging straight at the Brysen Beast King.
“Graaah!” Beku roared, raising his right arm high and outstretching his claws to swing down at Giru.
“I won’t go down to simple attacks!” Giru shouted. “Hmph!”
The wolfkin slid his arm under Beku’s, hoping to change the trajectory of the Albahalan’s attack. But before he could do so, Beku snapped his arm with a disgusting crack.
“Gah?!” Giru cried.
“Graaaaar!” Beku roared, his right arm digging deep into Giru’s breastplate. He attacked with his left fist as well, burying it into Giru’s right side, denting the armor horribly.
“Wooow!” the announcer shouted. “Prince Beku has finally gone all out! Did the audience’s voices reach him?!”
The cheers of the people sitting in the very front of the crowd drowned out the announcer, causing the arena to shudder once more. As Beku continued his relentless attack, Giru could only go on the defensive, using the slightest of openings to retreat.
“Hah, hah... I don’t believe it!” Giru said with haggard breath as he tried to regain his composure. “Even I didn’t gain this much power after taking it!”
Beku drew near, once again forcing Giru to defend himself. Behind the rampaging Albahalan, the wolfkin spotted the small figure of Romu, smiling from within the hallway that led to the waiting room. As Giru dodged a punch and used his kick to parry an incoming leg, he huffed through his nose as though to deride himself.
“Hmph. It seems I’m the one who’s been tricked,” Giru muttered. “But I’m the strongest beastkin in history!”
“Graaar!” Beku roared, bloody specks of foam forming in the corners of his mouth.
“Taking that pill for the first time has made you excited, no doubt. But!”
Giru blocked Beku’s fist, placed the Beast Crown Prince’s arm under his armpit, and drew near. Then, gluing himself to Beku’s side, he opened his maw and went for the throat.
“What?! Giru just bit down on Prince Beku’s neck!” the announcer cried. “Huh?! Wh-What’s going on here?!”
Just then, Beku turned his neck to bite down on Giru’s throat as well. As the two sank their fangs into the other, they continued to use their arms and legs to launch a flurry of attacks. They tumbled across the sand like animals, forming one massive lump. The audience was taken aback; this sight was too beastly even for them, and they all fell silent, forgetting to call their crown prince’s name.
Clouds of dust were kicked up, and as the two rolled around, silence suddenly filled the air. Everyone felt like they could hear blood spurting. Then, they spotted Beku lying limp and motionless on the ground. Giru slowly stood up, but a moment later, blood sprayed from the wound on his neck. The spectators were deathly silent as they watched the gruesome scene.
“Impossible... If I consume the soul of one who swallows that pill, I should become the strongest beastkin in the world,” Giru murmured. “But I’ve never seen anyone become this strong from taking it. This isn’t what I was told... Why do you think I backed him into a corner?”
Giru took one staggering step, then another as he continued to mutter to himself, his body slowly reverting from Beast Mode. He gradually returned to his normal form as he fell forward into the sand.
“Did I win?” Beku wondered as he slowly sat up. “G-Giru?! What?! How?! Why did I...”
The Albahalan royal hastily got to his feet, maintaining his massive lion form. Amid the silence, a young lady’s high-pitched shriek could be heard.
“Giru! Nooooo!” Beast Princess Rena of Brysen screamed.
“Hold her back!” Muza ordered.
The royal guards hastily suppressed Rena, but she put up a fight, her screeches reaching Beku’s ears.
“How dare you?! He’s my older brother!” Rena shouted. “I-I’ll kill you!”
“I see... So I killed Giru,” Beku muttered, slowly comprehending his situation. “Huh? My body feels like it’s on fire!”
There was a sickening crunch as Beku, who was still in Beast Mode, grew larger once more. Unable to maintain his balance on two legs, he fell forward, turning into a massive, quadrupedal beast. His eyes glittered as they focused on the bloody corpse that was Giru.
“Graaaaawr!”
Beku unleashed a thunderous roar, tears of blood streaming from his eyes. His voice was filled with confusion and despair; it contained no trace of happiness over his victory.
“Total Beast Mode...” Beast King Muza murmured.
The audience, Shia, and Zeu were all frozen in astonishment as they heard Beku practically crying for help. There was one person, however, who was cackling with glee from the shadows.
“Hee hee hee! I did it! The first step for inheriting the bloodline is complete! Demon Lord, preparations for the sacrifice are going smoothly!” Romu exclaimed, a sinister smile stretched across his elderly face.
Side Story 2: Olbaas’s Resolve and Majestic (Part 1)
The round, pale moon illuminated the desert, which was devoid of anything but sand and darkness. Even the air was still, serving as a reminder of how lifeless the area was. A young Olbaas kicked up the fine sands, shivering in the cold of the night as he desperately searched for something.
The vast desert, lit up by the frosty moonlight, gave Olbaas no clues to aid him in his hunt. When he turned around, he saw that his footprints had disappeared completely. The young dark elf was all alone on the dunes. As that realization struck him, anxiety started to set in. He swiftly glanced around, trying to discern the direction he had come from, but the desert looked the same no matter where he looked. He had no idea where he currently was. He took a shot in the dark and tried to retrace his steps, but when he took a few steps and turned around, he once again saw that his footprints had vanished. Fear gripped his body as despair flashed through his mind.
Olbaas stood there and trembled. He understood just how terrifying it was to be alone, and he could not move his legs. No one was there for him. He had nowhere to go.
Warmth streamed down his cheeks. When he realized that it was tears, the emotions he had kept bottled up came gushing out in the form of sobs. He cried as loudly as he could, but his wailing disappeared into the sands. He just wanted someone—a certain someone—beside him. All the young boy could do was curl up atop the night-veiled desert and weep.
＊ ＊ ＊
Olbaas awoke to the chirping of the birds and the gentle rays of the sun trickling in from the wooden window. Realizing he was in his bed, he slowly sat up. When he pressed a finger against his cheek, his fingertip turned damp. It had been nearly a millennium since that night, yet he still had nightmares about it.
That night, young Olbaas had woken up in the middle of the night in his bedroom and found that the shrine was eerily quiet. Equal parts curious and scared, he had visited his father, Rehzel, who was supposed to be slumbering next door, but the man’s room had been empty. This had worried Olbaas, leading him to frantically search the shrine for his missing father. The boy had then exited the shrine and made his way outside Fabraaze. For some reason, there had been no guards stationed at the gate that night, which had allowed Olbaas to leave the village to wander the Muharino Desert. Yet he had still been unable to find Rehzel.
Young Olbaas, lost in the desert in the middle of the night, had curled up into a ball and wept. Before long, he had fallen asleep, and the next morning, the village residents had noticed the disappearance of the two royals. They had quickly searched the desert, where they had found Olbaas in nothing but his pajamas. The harsh, frosty night had nearly frozen the boy to death, and for the next week, he had been on death’s door.
When he had finally regained consciousness, Rehzel still had not returned. Olbaas had not seen his father since.
A year later, the young dark elf boy had been crowned king in lieu of the missing Rehzel. He had been forced to form a contract with Faable, the Sovereign of Spirits and defender of Fabraaze, by the village elders. They believed that only high dark elves with the blood of Rehzel were worthy to become the Oracle of Prayers, who protected the massive sapling that would eventually grow into the World Tree.
Since then, Olbaas had been shackled to his village. Not once had he left it.
“Is something the matter, Your Majesty?” the king’s attendant inquired, their voice filled with worry.
“Nothing at all,” Olbaas replied, doing his best to sound calm despite lying dazed in his bed.
“Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“Very well. I understand.”
Olbaas stood up and changed out of his messy pajamas, tying a sash firmly around his waist before sliding the door open and stepping into the hallway. The attendant quietly followed him as he headed to the dining area. Sensing his attendant behind him, he let out a small sigh.
By the time he had finished breakfast and returned to his room, his pajamas and bed had already been cleaned up. It was then that the attendant handed him a parchment.
“Today, you have a meeting with the elders. This is its program,” the attendant said.
Olbaas scanned the paper and was internally impressed to see just how many topics needed to be discussed in this small, cramped village. While he was doing so, a guard donning leather armor approached him.
“Everyone has gathered,” the guard reported.
“Very well. Let’s go,” Olbaas replied.
Sandwiched between his attendant and the guard, the king headed for the grand reception hall, the wood-walled room where the meeting would be held. There, the elders and generals awaited his arrival. Olbaas was familiar with all the faces at the meeting; there had only been a handful of replacements in the past millennium.
Much like elves, dark elves had long lifespans. Ever since the dark elves had left Rohzenheim and immigrated to a different land, barring a few exceptions, their numbers had only grown throughout the years. Rehzel, Olbaas’s father, was among the exceptions, as he had vanished without a trace.
Olbaas gazed at the crowd of familiar faces as he took his seat that was higher than the rest. The moment he crossed his legs to sit on the mat, a small shadow bolted from a corner of the room and curled itself up in Olbaas’s lap as it closed its eyes. This shadow was the nimble weasel Faable, the Sovereign of Spirits and the defender of the village.
“I apologize for keeping you all waiting. Please begin,” Olbaas said.
The elders and generals remained seated and bowed to their king before the elder to his left opened his mouth to speak.
“Now then, let us begin today’s meeting.”
“First up is the Central Continent, correct?” Olbaas said. “I hear their movements are rather concerning as of late.”
“The Demon Lord’s forces have been closing in on the Central Continent from the Forgotten Continent,” the elder in charge of intelligence reported. He had gathered information from his spies. “They plan to take over the northern region, then invade the continent of the dwarves and Rohzenheim. The humans have noticed this and are trying to form a group called the Five Continent Alliance.”
Spies were lurking throughout the Galiatan Continent, where Fabraaze was located, gathering information on other continents.
“Your Majesty, the Union is rallying others from Galiat in hopes that they will unite under this cause,” a general wearing leather armor reported. “They would welcome us with open arms.”
Olbaas furrowed his brow in confusion. “I don’t understand. I’ve stated multiple times that we will not associate ourselves with the Union more than necessary. Why did they bring this offer to us? Surely, you’ve gathered information regarding this?”
“Most certainly,” the elder in charge of intelligence replied. “It seems Rohzenheim has suggested that we be invited into the Alliance.”
The atmosphere in the room immediately grew tense.
“Rohzenheim?!” a general spat. “Just what are they planning?!”
“It seems Rohzenheim will become one of the leading nations of the Alliance, along with the Empires of Giamut and Baukis,” the elder said.
“Those wretched elves... Can’t they simply leave us alone?”
“Your Majesty, we should refuse this invitation!”
The elders and generals hurled insults at Rohzenheim and its people. Many went so far as to suggest staying out of the Alliance out of hatred toward them.
“I know,” Olbaas replied. “But despite our firm intentions being vocalized, we have still been encouraged to join the Alliance. We cannot simply turn them down. Why don’t we tell them that we shall consider the offer?”
As the leader of the race that had been chased out of Rohzenheim long ago, there was no way Olbaas would join a group that the elves were also a part of. However, since Fabraaze was physically located in Galiat, he had to maintain the bare minimum of connections. He thought it would be best to delay providing a firm response.
But this sort of response is fitting for a village holed up in the desert, waiting for the Guardian Tree to grow into a World Tree, Olbaas thought, the irony of it not lost on him. But the elders could not read his mind, so they merely nodded along, satisfied.
“Indeed. I believe it’s best to provide a vague response and avoid being too harsh,” an elder agreed.
“Continue gathering information in regard to this ‘Five Continent Alliance,’” Olbaas ordered. “And remain wary of Rohzenheim. Also, don’t let any details about the Demon Lord slip past you.”
“Most certainly,” the elder in charge of intelligence replied with a nod.
As though he had been waiting for that conversation to end, the elder in charge of trade was the next to open his mouth. “I would like to report on the news I heard from merchants now.”
He spoke of the people trekking across the Muharino Desert to buy and sell wares. They sold salt and crops that could not be produced in Fabraaze, though not everyone was permitted to trade with the dark elves. Only a select few who had built trust over the years were granted the privilege. Just the other day, these merchants had brought salt they had purchased from regions near the ocean and traded it for the herbal antidote that could be found in the village of the dark elves.
