[Before Mission No. 27, where Lowkey nearly met his end]
He sat in his room in front of his hologram, his usual cup of coffee in hand, sitting comfortably, watching what was being displayed before him.
A city floating in the air, with domes, resting on massive pillars that reached the sky. So immense were they, they seemed to devour the sun's rays, obscuring them from everything below.
Defying all the surrounding technological advancement, it stood tall, representing an age outside this age. If it were to fall, it would shake the earth; if it remained, it would be like a mighty anchor.
This was the center of API City, also known as "The Dome of Light."
Atop a massive platform amid the four domed buildings stood a single man — large, muscular, with a masculine, chiseled face. He wore a white robe with golden edges, on which were engraved four arms, each holding (a sword, a spear, a shield, and a bow) respectively.
He cast his eyes over the grand stands surrounding him, where hundreds of thousands sat. Each group wore a similar robe, with varying trim colors:
Gold-trimmed robes with silver swords,
Gold with silver spears,
Gold with silver shields,
And gold with silver bows.
The towering man spoke loudly, his gaze sweeping across the stands: "I once asked myself: Does one pay the price for seeking wisdom early, or is that just the price of life?
But, to my surprise, another question came instead of an answer: Either way, why is the price so high?
It was a somewhat sarcastic question,"
he said, smiling, with a proud and brotherly gaze.
He continued:
"Then came another question: If wisdom is what I seek, then it is part of a life I never asked for.
Should someone pay the price for something they never requested?
That was strange to me at the time, but what followed was even more striking to my thoughts."
He looked into the eyes of some of the audience, despite the distance. His expression was completely neutral. Then he said:
"So, what is the price of seeking mercy? Is it destruction?"
His face now wrestled between sarcasm and a forced smile.
He concluded:
"Aristotle paid the price of his questions and path by dying poisoned at the hands of his own people. So beware of what you wish for, ask no more than what you take, and pay the price for what you do."
His face remained neutral as he said this, his gaze once again passing brotherly over those seated.
Some faces in the crowd were unreadable, but as he finished, the sound of applause could be heard echoing from the ground beneath the great pillars that held up the city.
Clearly, his words were not just a jest, a piece of wisdom, or a question; they were an unwritten law.
This was the speech of The Agent, delivered before hundreds of thousands of Operatives and millions of Users.
The Agent was the highest rank in this world, followed by the Operative, and then the Users, each with their own ranks.
After his speech came some talk about the state of API City, and then the event ended hours later with fireworks exploding in the sky, and the content broadcast across API City via a massive hologram.
---
[In the present moment]
In a crevice between two walls leaning against each other like a tent, Lowkey stood ready, peeking at the plague creature that resembled a spider with eight legs.
His eyes were locked on target. In moments like this, you can't think beyond the present situation, let alone occupy your mind with anything else.
"Malaria rank?"
His smile widened at the horror before him.
"Damn that cursed machine." He clenched his fist tightly.
The spider before him was of Malaria rank — so massive that Lowkey couldn't even imagine scratching it, let alone killing it.
But the situation was almost funny. This was the same rank he once thought he could fight head-on a few months ago — and now it was heading straight for him.
Badm… Badm… Badm…
Before Lowkey could act, nineteen red eyes stared at him through the cracks with condescension, as if he were an ant. One of its tentacled legs struck the walls, sending Lowkey and the debris flying into the air like a missile heading toward one of those massive trees.
BAM!
Moments later, Lowkey was struggling to move his muscles and regain his vision. He had crashed into one of those black trees with hellish red veins.
Luckily, he had hit the non-spiked part of the tree. Just inches from him was a jagged branch sticking out of a goat skull's mouth.
When he regained his sight and saw the scene beside his head, his pupils widened, and he froze momentarily before trembling slightly, looking toward the approaching plague.
Forgetting his torn muscles, he dragged himself, grabbed the goat's skull, and leapt from his spot, running in the opposite direction without looking back.
Amidst a forest of black trees with hellish red veins, Lowkey was running — away from the walls, his bike, the Tuberculosis Den, and the Malaria-ranked plague.
The forest itself might've been a plague of some rank, but compared to what was behind him, it was far less dangerous.
After some running, he decided to sneak a glance back — but there was nothing behind him, just the same black trees with hellish red veins, obscuring the view.
A soft exhale escaped his clenched teeth as he tried to catch his breath. After running over a kilometer, it was wise to pause and recover, even for someone who had received a blood-enhancement dose.
But the place was ominous — filled with heads mounted on branches, like sacrifices or offerings.
Lowkey furrowed his brow and began assessing his surroundings. A terrifying silence reigned. Nothing but those hellish trees and white, mossless soil.
Whenever someone feels a terrible sense of foreboding in any place or object, it likely means a plague is near — and this forest was no exception.
A look of wariness and curiosity overtook Lowkey's face.
His ear twitched at a sound from the direction he came:
Badm… Badm…
He wasted no time and resumed running the same way as before.
He was heading west — further from the walls. The way behind him was filled with horrors that could kill him with a single breath.
---
After half an hour of running, sweat accumulated on his forehead — not just from exertion but from the charged atmosphere.
After that long, he no longer knew which direction to go. Everything looked strangely identical.
His face paled with every step, now scratched and bleeding — each time he passed a tree, a strange jagged branch tried to pierce his face.
He tried carving a tree with his sword as a marker and ran for another half hour — but no sign of the marked tree, ruling out the idea that he was stuck in a loop.
What made it worse was the sunlight — previously helping him orient — was now gone.
In this darkness, the trees became shadows, and the white soil had turned dark.
He clenched his teeth and kept running, trying to find anything. His steps began slowing, his legs moving erratically.
Eventually, he stopped, wiped the sweat off his brow, rubbed his forehead, and slammed his sword against a tree trunk. But the strike didn't go deeper than a centimeter.
He punched the tree, dug a hole in the dark white soil, removed his bloodstained black cloak, and used it as a canopy over the hole — just enough to sit in and cover his head, hoping to recover or sleep briefly.
But before he could secure his cloak, a loud neigh and relatively heavy footsteps approached at insane speed.
His limbs trembled for a second before he took a ready stance.
BAMMMM!
Like a missile, it landed behind him. A white horse with a sharp nose and dark-lined eyes, with a large black patch covering part of its face, chest, one front leg, and half its torso.
Its body was covered in wounds, and its face was bleeding.
Lowkey grabbed his sword's hilt and moved toward the horse's neck. Then he noticed — it was a hybrid horse?!
Lowkey's mind wandered:
"A hybrid? How is it still alive?"
He muttered some words.
Still, he didn't let that stop him from trying to kill it. But the horse stood firm, staring at Lowkey with one purple eye full of fire and the other black and defiant —
as if saying: "I will fight to the end."
Badm… Badm…
A much heavier sound started approaching behind Lowkey.
The horse stomped its front leg and shook off the dirt.
But Lowkey was already sprinting to the left, away from both the sound and the horse.
Fortunately, the horse didn't care about him — it only stared into the shadows among the trees in this darkness.
Badm… Badmmmm…
Then emerged a fully black horse, its head bearing horns like those of a bull — infernal, massive horns. It was larger than the hybrid, with violet eyes and a sinister aura.
Badmmmmm… Badmmmmm…
The hybrid horse charged at it with full speed.
And just like that, the black horse charged too — but at a certain moment, it veered toward Lowkey.