Searching For Andromeda 86 No Choice But To Move Forward

"Wh-what?!"

"I will try to save them," Ephraim said, with a plan that is still unclear in his mind. "You have to go inside where it's safe!"

Samuel scowled. "I'm not leaving any of you behind—!"

"Samuel!" Ephraim gritted his teeth as he hears yet another scream of pain. Another one was drowned in agony while they were stalling. He held both of Samuel's shoulders; fingers tremulous. 

Through his spectacle, Ephraim let out a pained expression and a look that Samuel couldn't explain. "Go!"

Never in Samuel's life did he have to engage in combat; not that he was given the opportunity to p.i.s.s people off to the point of having them want to beat him up. After all, despite the insults he received from the people who shunned him, they never resorted to violence. He was what one would be irate with, but not one to be considered as a person that needs to be taught a lesson. Even as a child, Sam didn't get into a fight. It wasn't that kids were afraid of him—even when they found him annoying, they kept their distance. And that part might have to do with him being acquainted with Berthold. Really, how could Berthold be that popular?

He still couldn't do anything but to go inside the door. At first, there was a light that welcomed him, and then what followed is nothing but . . . just sheer, bright ray. It wasn't as blinding as the first time he had stepped inside the chambers, but it wasn't too dim either.

The ground was just light as well. The ground was solid, so Samuel concluded that the floor might be made from quartz. He glanced around. The door's been unhitched, but it doesn't seem like the necromorphs could follow them here. But that doesn't eliminate Samuel's uncertainty at all.

All the talk about this vessel made him think of the possibilities that could happen in this certain chamber. It isn't guaranteed that this would serve as a safe haven, nor there was any a.s.surance that there wasn't a monster waiting to battle like those RPG games where you go to the last floor with the final, big boss to defeat to get that item you need to level up.

Samuel balled his fist. It's been a while ever since he came inside the pathway opened to all of them. Yet why? Why can't he even move a muscle?

Move! Samuel ought to move forward. To let the adults handle everything. They were right from the start. He was a youngling. He couldn't have done—or do anything. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have any experience in combat. He would only drag them down because they had to protect him.

Samuel looked down. But Ephraim—he was only brandishing that sword frantically; he looked like he was trying too hard and every swing of the weapon marks just how inexperienced he was. Yet he rushed. He rushed to save them.

But why can't Samuel do anything but run?

"d.a.m.n it," Samuel clenched his fist. Vashti is dead. Arletha is most likely gone. Everyone could also be . . . 

"No!" Samuel took a deep breath. There's still hope. He furrowed his brows and took a step forward. And then he took another one—until his steps became larger as he ran as fast as he could.

Right now, there's no choice but to move forward. Looking back won't do him good. Samuel continued to run. Running elsewhere he doesn't even know. To a place that is beyond him. Beyond Samuel Albrecht—beyond the realm of knowledge he had acc.u.mulated!

**

At first, there was light, and then—sheer darkness. The darkness wasn't just obscurity or nothingness. It was gloom, and it conjured a heavy feeling to anyone that behold it. From that seclusion came out a monster larger than that of an average Morphed being. It was an evolved necromorph—a NECRON.

The Necron wasn't an impulsive attacker, as opposed to a necromorph who attacks indiscriminately. A Necron is something that follows orders from its master obediently without fail. 

But it wasn't the tameness of this monster that makes it better than the normal necromorph. A Necron is created artificially with a copy of the genomes of the morphed beings residing in multiple dungeons. Wahid's creations cannot be controlled, but that doesn't mean they cannot be created. From the formation down to the cellular level, these monsters match precisely how the morphed beings are made. 

And the resources that can be gathered from a special source that isn't created by Wahid, the Necrons, therefore—are born. What makes these Necrons isn't because of this certain, special trait. It wasn't because they were artificially created or they were controllable and special.

It was because these monsters defy a certain law set by Wahid.

Mana is something that cannot be stolen nor could be transferred from one person to another. Mana equates to a unique, individual lifeform of one being. It is a universal law created by the One, Supreme Being. 

Necrons are designed to ravage mana for them to regenerate continuously. They are considered as power - hungry monsters designed to suck the life of others. With a monster that defies the law set by Wahid—speaks of so much power its creator holds. 

However, there is a flaw to this monster. There is a limit on how much mana they can hold. Once they reach the threshold, they become almost immortal. Conversely, if they reach their limit, they will be obstinate and relapse into their primal instinct like a normal necromorph. They do not belong to the dungeon, so they would cause abnormality. They aren't humans, who are a creation of Wahid, or were they created by the materials in this world. They are anomalies meant to redirect the flow of fate.

"It seems like the dungeon did not repel the Necrons, Incarnate." Says a man shawled in a dark-red cloak.

A young man with an ash-gray colored hair gave no response. He sat on a cathedra above all of them, shrouded in pitch-black darkness. He gave an air, something that spoke of the differences between their ranks.

"What did he just say? 'Incarnate'?" A child lying on a sofa with a candy on her mouth stifled a laugh.

"Oh, it's the new 'scientist' who created those lousy monsters." Says a girl with dark-purple locks twirled like waves. She was on the side of the boy. 

"Take his Tier away." The girl who stood beside the young man throned far north said.

"Understood."

"Wh-what—I! I only received this today!" The shawled man said, holding onto the bronze necklace with the design of a triangular insignia with an eye in the middle as a pendant; desperate to protect his 'treasure'.

"You're getting c.o.c.ky even if you only received the lowest rank," a man with a razor-sharp claw pierced straight to the man's chest. He had a golden necklace with the same emblem—and the others as well from silver to gold. The shawled man was the only one with the bronze.

"Don't call our Master 'Incarnate,' you impertinent imbecile." 

"Kegh—" the shawled man coughed blood.

"Heehh. He's dying already." The girl flung the candy to the floor. "As expected of a Bronze Tier."

The grey-haired boy glowered to the shawled man, who was painfully dying while all of them watched.

"I—kegh—I f-fulfilled my d-duty, didn't I? I—I was useful until the e-end, w-wasn't I—?"

"Ugh. His blood is piling up in a puddle. Disgusting."

The grey-haired, young man parted his lips to speak. "You—"

All of his subjects glanced towards him in antic.i.p.ation of what he would say.

"Are useless." He says. And with those words, all of his va.s.sals came to the man and in one hit of every weapon they had, chopped the shawled scientist in smithereens. 

The grey-haired master closed his eyes.

"A useless p.a.w.n should not exist." He mumbled. 

The subjects simpered as they recapitulate to chop the already stagnant scientist.

"You do not belong to Aikhtiar."