Precipice (III)

After the members of Onslaught left the scene, it didn't take long for everyone else to follow suit, whatever questions had would have to go unanswered for the time being.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Cyril was the first to break the loud silence. Now that there were far fewer people around, it was much easier to talk without so many eyes watching them.

"I'm sure you've already figured it out by now, but I'd like you to look after Angelica when you're inside. She is very capable, but even after everything that's happened, that girl still has far too little experience with dungeon warfare."

"That's a pretty big ask, you know. Didn't she come to this city specifically for that reason—to prove that she's not just some pampered young lady?"

"Yes, I'm well aware. I wasn't asking you to go out of your way to protect her, Cyril." Yelena said as she extended her hand towards him. "Angelica is lacking neither strength nor willpower, she's very stubborn. I'm not concerned with either of those things, I supposed I phrased it badly earlier, but my request is fairly simple—watch her back, a bit of your sagacity would do her well when you come face to face with the goblins in there."

Cyril's eyes had gone wide from the shock, he caught himself a moment later and fixed Yelena a smile. This wasn't something he needed to think about too deeply.

"Oh, that's it? I planned on doing that anyway." Cyril firmly took hold of her hand, cementing their agreement without a second thought.

"I suspected as much, but still, you have my thanks. I'll return the favor sometime in the future."

"You really don't have to-"

"It's the least I could do, Cyril. I have a feeling you'll need it someday, given the kinds of situations you always seem to get entangled in," Yelena said sharply, leaving no room for rebuttal.

"That's enough idle talk for now, it's time for you to go. They're waiting for you." Yelena released her grip on his hand, urging him forward with the unspoken command in her gaze. The air of tentativeness around her had all but faded away by now, but her sincerity hadn't.

Cyril nodded to signal his assent.

He moved toward the gate in silence, stopping just inches from the swirling portal, and cast a final glance over his shoulder. Yelena's figure stood behind him, it was difficult to make out her expression from where he stood, the ethereal light shimmering from beyond the gate made the effort quite tedious.

Cyril's gaze didn't linger on her for long—just one good glance was all he needed. It was enough to catch the slight upward curve of her lips. He'd only seen it once before, but even that had been rare. Seeing Yelena wear that expression was an achievement few could ever claim.

Without another word, Cyril stepped across the boundary and let the swirl of light consume him, leaving only two words behind.

"I'm off."

Massive oak trees stretched toward a caliginous sky.

Several minutes had passed since Cyril entered the gate, but unlike what he'd been expecting, there was no one there to greet him on the other side. He was in an open space, but although the area was large, it somehow felt hollow, as though the entire thing was being cradled by the invisible walls of a giant sandbox.

What welcomed Cyril on the other side of the gate was not a cave like what he'd been expecting. There were no cavernous pits or unyielding stone walls to be found here. Instead, his surroundings vaguely resembled the remains of a large rainforest, one whose vegetation had long gone dry.

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The large oak trees—blighted and brittle — surrounded him in all directions. The tree barks were dyed a shade of chalk white, serving as a reminder of the vitality that they no longer possessed. They were prone to crumble when met with even the slightest of impacts.

The lonely dirt trail he'd been following up until now hadn't gotten him very far. Once he realized the road was literally leading him nowhere, Cyril clicked his tongue as he walked, augmenting the recoil beneath his feet and launching himself a good ten meters or so into the air.

He landed flawlessly, grabbing hold of a dry branch and leaning outward the moment his feet touched the brittle tree's crown.

"Did they get started already?" Cyril wondered, mumbling to himself from atop the large tree. He surveyed the arid landscape with a discerning gaze, even going so far as to shade his eyes despite the lack of sunlight.

Regrettably, it was only in moments like these that he thought to make use of his Mobius skill—yet, as fate would have it, such measures proved unnecessary. A brilliant flash of light flickered in the corner of Cyril's vision, preceding an unearthly shriek and the devastating impact that left his foothold quaking beneath him.

A deafening crash rocked the area, sending plumes of dust and mounds of rubble into the air before Cyril's eyes. In the aftermath of the explosion, a harsh hacking sound cut through the settling silence—and Cyril could pinpoint its source with his eyes alone.

The young man watched as one of the large oak trees off in the distance plummeted into the ground like a falling titan, its roots torn free and its trunk shattering the earth with a deafening crash.

That was enough to prime his instincts, within mere seconds, Cyril's body surged to life with a sporadic wave of determination. That's pretty far away. I'll have to try and not overdo it this time. he thought to himself, summoning the will to tame the skill he had so little control over.

After carefully bracing himself up against the tree's brittle bark, Cyril propelled himself forward with a kick— augmenting the force of his actions and flinging his body across the withering forest in an instant. His body soared through the air like a lance, piercing straight through the veil of rising dust and debris. Although he had tried his best to tame the skills effects, he ultimately ended up flinging himself across the forest at a velocity that that left him with no room for course correction.

As much as he wanted to voice his frustration over his own misjudgment, there was no time for that. His body—still cutting through the air like a bullet—smashed through all manner of branches and barks alike as the force of his descent sent Cyril crashing into the heart of ground zero.

The brief shock of amplifying his own skill was quickly drowned out by the sounds around him—iron piercing flesh, armor splintering, and metal crushing bone.

"Crap!!"

Cyril's body met the ground with a loud bang, cratering it in an instant—this time, his chaotic arrival sent bodies afloat alongside the rain of rubble and dust. Even Cyril himself wasn't spared from the disastrous effects of his own landing.

The impact of his descent sent him tumbling along the ground, luckily, he managed to find his bearing through the use of a well-timed somersault.

Planting his feet firmly, Cyril adjusted his stance and scanned the area. It took only a moment for him to grasp the full gravity of the situation—evident in the countless breakout conflicts erupting around him, with him caught squarely at the center.

His destructive landing had no lasting impact whatsoever, the current situation would not permit it. Cyril senses were assaulted by the chaotic clamor erupting all around him, the raging sounds of battle drummed up by his fellow hunters as they faced off against the inhuman creatures hording in on them.

A single glance was all it took form him to place a name to these monsters—creatures with human-like forms intertwined with bestial traits.

"Therianthropes?" Cyril let the words out on a hesitant breath.

Therianthropes was the classification that commonly referred to Centaurs and Minotaurs, but it could also be broadly applied to their designated kin because of their shared attributes, the very same ones that were being utilized to demolish hunters left and right.

Therianthropes had very little affinity for the magical arts, but for creatures like them, it was not essential. Powerful auras reinforced their bodies and granted them access to a level of physical might that could only be described as absurd.

What else did a barbarian need?

If their opponent lacked sufficient firepower, their fate was sealed—doomed to perish under the fearsome might of limbs powerful enough to crumple steel like beer cans.

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