From the tip of the heavy blade, an ember of fire lit up, slowly making its way around the blade, swirling like a vortex of flame. Jethro watched as a cold fist of fear tightened around his heart.
He hadn't expected to go this way. Not when this expedition started, not even when the first high-rank Darcbeast appeared.
For whatever naive reason, he had believed he would survive and return to Nebulon, finish the single year in the Academy, and go back to his father.
Live the simple, predictable life of a mechvet's son.
But now, all of that washed away in the blink of an eye— the very moment that ember of flame lit from the blade's tip.
Facing certain death was an incredibly profound experience; the ragged and shallow breathing, the surge of fearful adrenaline that forced him to notice every detail of his killer; his slit-pupiled eyes, the curved edge of his boot, the crystal orb in the center of his helm.
Time slowed down unbearably, and seconds started to feel like eternity.
To think that he had transmigrated into this world, only to die. It was a bitter fate to accept. So he tried to deny the inevitability of his death, but when the flame charged to its fullest and the word, "Burn" left Decterion's lips, Jethro knew it was his end.
Unbelievably so.
From the blade, fire burst forward in a gushing inferno that swallowed Jethro whole. His head snapped backwards instantly in blinding pain as fire wrapped around his body, crashing into him like a tsunami of hell.
Jethro's lungs seized immediately. The heat clawed at his skin. His flesh began to sizzle like meat on a stove. His body convulsed under the weight of it, his fingers tightened like claws, and his muscles clenched inside of him.
But moments after the initial pain, Jethro noticed something else; he noticed that he should have been dead by now.
The fire should have torn to his flesh and bones seconds after it poured on him. More shocking still— the flames weren't as hot as they should be.
Yes, it was painful. But the pain was not unbearable, it did not feel like it was going to scorch him to indistinguishable ash. He was burning slowly. Far too slowly for such devastating flames.
His body was resisting the fire.
Without conscious command, he absorbed the heat expertly and stabilized it, expelling its burning effect both externally and internally.
At first, Jethro wondered how this was possible. But it didn't take long for him to recognize how it was happening.
His Red Lizard.
The only ability it had shared with him was thermal durability. The same ability he had scoffed at, the same one Moffrey had ridiculed.
That seemingly worthless power was saving his life.
But for how long?
Even though Jethro could regulate his heat, his skin still blistered, his hair still burned. It was slow of course, slower than any natural or unnatural burning should be, but it still hurt. And even the flames couldn't quite understand why it wasn't doing what it normally did.
It thrashed over his skin, over and over again. Jethro felt himself cooking, layer by layer. His outer skin was already blackened, blood hissed and bubbled on open wounds, and the smell of his own burnt flesh filled his nose.
Yet, with clenched teeth and a renewed will to live, Jethro held the pain for a few more seconds when the flames finally ceased.
Decterion lowered his double-edged sword, the tip of a blade clinking against the blackened earth. He watched while the fires dissolved.
When the smoke cleared, it showed a half dead boy. Smoke curled up from Jethro's charred skin. The sound of steam hissing teased the air as his burnt blood tried to cool.
His entire body was scorched, half of his face almost showed bone, his hair was nearly all gone and so were his clothes. Every breath the boy took rattled out of him painfully like scraping glass.
With a long drag of his breath, he collapsed backward.
Painful coughs filled with smoke left him when his body hit the ground. His eyes turned lazy, making the cavern around him appear blurry and distant. Naturally, he was too weak to do anything but lay there, half naked, covered only by a few strips of blackened cloth.
Soft, quiet footsteps approached him. When he shifted his eyes downward where the sound came from, he saw Decterion standing closely over him, a silent look of intrigue in his lightning eyes.
"You are alive," the conqueror said.
It wasn't a compliment. Just merely a statement of his cold disbelief.
His cerulean eyes narrowed. "How is that possible?"
Then, he heard a curious sound. From the scorched remnants of Jethro's burnt jacket pocket, there was squeaking and moving. Decterion tilted his head curiously as a curled, soot-covered shape crawled out, whimpering.
A frown of understanding appeared on his face. "So that was your pocket beast?" he muttered. "A Red Lizard."
The Lizard's crimson scales were now ashen and scarred, trembling as it climbed onto Jethro's chest, its tiny feet tapping his burnt flesh. It nudged at his jaw, mewling, tongue flicking out like it was trying to clean the ash and wounds all over his body.
Jethro turned his head slowly, looking down at the tiny Red Lizard who at that moment, didn't look ugly anymore.
"Hey… bud," he muttered weakly. The Lizard whimpered, nudging his head over and over, like it was crying.
"Don't worry." Jethro whispered, his lips splitting with the effort. Each word was a battle. "You did… good. Real good." He swallowed painfully, tasting blood and ash. "I take back… all the bad things… I ever said about you, okay, bud? Every stupid word."
The lizard whimpered again, actually crying this time.
"You're not useless. And you're not a coward." Jethro coughed, raspy and dry. "Look what you did…"
He coughed again, weaker this time. "...Hah… you saved my life."
With a louder whimper, the Red Lizard curled itself on his chest, like it was trying to hug his larger frame. In that moment, that tiny ugly monster became a small, trembling anchor against the overwhelming devastation. And Jethro laid there, fighting tears himself.
"Pathetic."
Decterion stared at the scene with a twitch of disgust. The display of raw, irrational loyalty was clearly repellent to him. "This exercise has amused me enough." He lifted his massive weapon, blade gleaming with death.
But a sudden high-pitched shriek caused him to hesitate. The Red Lizard launched itself off Jethro's chest, landing squarely between its master and the towering conqueror.
It splayed its tiny legs wide for balance, back arched and its bulgy eyes glowing as fierceless as it could manage, warning Decterion to stay back.
Decterion paused, blade held aloft and looking down at the tiny creature with something between annoyance and curiosity.
"Lizard! No!" Jethro choked out. A surge of panic gave him the strength to curl to his weaker side. He dragged himself toward the stubborn mechbeast, who stood like a desperate guardian, shrieking at Decterion. "What are you doing? Get out of the way, Lizard! Move!"
The Gutterling refused, shrieking continuously like a puppy barking in defence of its owner, leaving the conqueror in a short state of uncertainty and surprise.
The sheer, irrational loyalty radiating from the scorched creature, its absolute refusal to yield— Such devotion…
For what? This mere scrap of a human?
Jethro stretched his trembling, blistered hand, reaching for his Lizard. "I know you're not a coward! You don't have to do this! Lizard! Get out of there!"
"Enough!" Decterion roared, the brief hesitation vanishing beneath a wave of impatience and revulsion. He lifted his blade higher, ignoring the tiny beast. The sword would kill it too. "No more delays! No more games! Your miserable existence ends now!"
He lowered the blade with speed.
Jethro lunged with a push of pain at the same time and caught his Lizard, wrapping his palm around it. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the strike, the pain and his final breath.
He waited a little longer.
Nothing. Nothing came.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes and looked up at Decterion. What Jethro saw surprised and confused him.
Decterion was frozen. Not with ice or any magic Jethro could see. He had simply lost the capability to move. His wielding arm was locked mid-swing, his muscles appeared jammed, and there was a profound look of bewilderment on his shadowed face.
He and Jethro shared something for the first time; utter confusion of what was happening.
Suddenly, a sharp, synthetic chime dinged in the cavern. It sounded like it was coming from within Decterion, yet Jethro could hear it too.
[New Host has been identified]
[Initiating Forceful Transfer of Codex Ownership]
[Movement Restrictions in Effect Until Transfer is Complete]
Following that, multiple lines of brilliant blue light lanced out of Decterion's back weaving together with impossible speed to encase both figures within a humming sphere of luminous filaments.
Jethro's vision snapped white for a moment, and he could swear that before the look of terror on Decterion's shadowed face, a screen appeared to him with the same written words that rang in his ear.
[Please remain still. Movement will be restricted].
The paralysis had struck him too.
Simultaneously, a strange, invasive sensation creeped up Jethro's body. There was something climbing inside of him, racing through his nervous system. It felt like hot ink, spilling into every vein, every nerve, crawling through his bloodstream with purpose.
When it surged into his mind, it was like a bulb had been lit, illuminating his brain with a light of profound knowledge.
A screen flickered in his thoughts. Then another. And another.
It was like his mind had turned into a glyph of its own. He saw words scribble themselves all over his own thoughts. Names of mechbeasts of all types. Their origins, habitats, evolutionary paths, abilities, weaknesses. They all collided in his brain as they arranged themselves in shelves of knowledge.
Jethro's eyes widened in awe and confusion, feeling the energy slowly rest within his body. The sphere of light slowly dissolved, and silence returned.
But this silence also bore the disoriented mask of Decterion's face. His twitching eyes and tightened strain of his fist upon his weapon.
"No…" he whispered, stepping back, voice cracking. He touched his chest plate. "My Codex…"
When he realized that he could not feel the power at all within him, he said the words again, louder, furious. "MY CODEX!"
Jethro struggled to his knees, still coughing smoke. He barely even knew what had just happened, but he made sure to hold his Lizard close to his chest.
Decterion's eyes met him, and they flashed with soul-deep hatred and rage. "You!" he roared, baring his teeth. "Filth! Give it back!"
He swung his massive blade with another roar, pulling it in arc towards Jethro's neck.
The voice spoke again, but this time, it was only in the confines of Jethro's newly expanded mind:
[Recognized that Host is in Critical Danger from Former Host]
[Automatic Defense Protocol Engaged]
Just when the blade was a hair's distance from Jethro's neck, a blinding crack split the air like thunder. It slammed straight into Decterion, lifting him bodily off his feet and hurling him backward with force.
His body slammed into a distant boulder so far that Jethro couldn't see it in the haze of the darkness.
Dust plummeted, and silence came. But it lasted for only mere seconds.
As Jethro was still trying to understand what was happening, he had a thunderous roar erupt behind him. Pivoting weakly, fresh terror spiked through his exhaustion once he saw that the three-headed dragon was attacking.
Angry in defence of its master, it sped at him, claws breaking the earth, jaws snapping opening.
Jethro scrabbled backwards with one hand and his knees, helpless to do anything but watch. He didn't see the silent ring of pure, blinding white light that irised open just behind him, casting no shadow, emitting no sound.
He only saw the dragon's middle head lunge and his Lizard shriek in fear.
The portal engulfed him instantly.
And the dragon's jaws snapped at nothing. When it looked around and could not find him, the heads raised to the sky and it let out an enraged bellow that shook the entire Rift.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Outside, atop of the abandoned mechhouse, the Rift pulsed once again and a figure slowly wandered out, staggering.
Padva, kneeling before her wounded Panther gazed into the Rift, surprised that there was another survivor. When the figure came out of the billowing Rift, her eyes widened. "No… way."
Jethro, the boy with the lowest rank beast, stood there. Half naked, clutching his Lizard in his hands, his entire body covered with wounds and burns, and a dissociated look on his face.
His eyes wandered around lazily and when they saw Padva, his lips parted weakly.
"Hey." Was all he said before collapsing on the floor.