How long had it been since he fell unconscious? Maybe it was a couple of minutes, maybe a couple of hours. He would have stayed there if not for a voice that was less comforting than what he would have liked
"Soldier! Get up!" a male voice shouted with authority.
His body, which would normally have moved instinctively upon hearing that, stayed still this time. Yet, he managed to open his eyes, which wasn't much comfort when all he could see was a muddy battlefield, a gray sky, and the bodies of his platoon.
"Hey! Can you hear me?!" Oh, he could hear him. The problem was, he couldn't move. His body, though injured, had the ability to move, but no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn't respond. Was it because of the bodies in front of him? But he didn't feel so bad that he couldn't move. Although, thinking about it, they were his platoon, those people he'd bonded with for most of his time in the military...
Okay, maybe he understood why his body wasn't moving or why he was slowly developing a panic attack. His heart felt like a war drum in his chest, his body began to shake, and he felt nauseous seeing the bodies of his friends in front of him. Breathing had a similar difficulty as when Marik punched him in the pit of his stomach, and now he was lying on the floor in front of him.
His body moved again, this time not because he was trembling, not because he even thought about moving. The man who had previously screamed in his face began dragging him toward what he could only hope was safety.
He could hear the man yelling at someone else, but he ignored him. Instead, he looked in the opposite direction they were going. There, he could see two people in the distance, standing facing each other.
He recognized them, of course he did, how could he not? They were both great powers on opposing sides in this war. On one side was the assassin of his platoon, Garam Kith, with his monotonous face, blond hair, and pitch-black cloak and dark red gambeson, the bearer of one of the Authorities of Surya, the ancient sun god. Our instructions were to stay away from him and not come within 100 meters, as he has the ability to see absolutely everything within a 50-meter radius, which, combined with his absurd speed, was practically death personified for the other side. To think he used to be one of us.
On the other side stood a red-haired woman with hazel eyes, dressed in a military uniform that once conveyed an air of authority and elegance, now stained with mud and the blood of allies and enemies. Her face was wrinkled in frustration that simultaneously fueled her with anger. She was Maistir Doiche, his savior and a Blessed of Lugh, thanks to whom she had gained supernatural proficiency in most things.
In her right hand, she held a beautiful golden spear, while on her left arm was a shield that inexplicably left his hand completely free. Garam, instead, held a rustically beautiful claymore with inscriptions on the blade that were impossible to read from where he stood.
The two appeared to be talking, with Maistir shouting at Garam in anger and even a hint of sadness. Garam opened his mouth and spoke with all the conviction his monotonous face could muster. As he finished speaking, they both raised their beautiful weapons. Behind Garam, dozens of constructs made of light were created, illuminating the dead land around them as the gray sky began to darken, fearing for both of their lives.
Maistir made dozens of copies of her spear float behind her, just like Garam. They both stared at each other until...
"Close the fucking doors!" the man dragging him shouted, causing him to wake up enough to see somewhere other than the battlefield. He found himself in what he could only assume was an underground bunker, where two men were trying to close a pair of massive metal doors while he continued to be dragged.
In the midst of the tortuously slow process of closing the doors, he could see Garam and Maistir making their first move against each other.
Garam's light constructs were the first to advance, being intercepted by Maistir's spears. The moment the first projectiles collided, Garam shot forward towards Maistir. In response, the Lugh-blessed made symbols with her left hand while chanting, causing countless pikes to erupt from the ground, aiming at Garam. He simply dodged them lightly while continuing to advance at the same speed.
The pikes never stopped coming. From the front, from the sides, from below, or from behind. It made no difference to Garam, who could see everything, just as he could see the magical traps in the air, invisible to the ordinary eye, but not to him.
Garam swung his Claymore from side to side, slicing cleanly through the traps without triggering them, something that should have been impossible. But both the weapon and the user weren't normal.
He knew that both Garam's Claymore and Maistir's spear and shield were artifacts. The difference was that while Maistir's were kept secret, both their origin and their effects, Garam's Claymore was made public and purposefully displayed proudly by the rebels. It turns out that the supposed original owner of the Claymore was William Wallace, a man who fought for his freedom and that of his people. A way to boost morale was to impose the image of William Wallace on Garam with his sword, which had the effect of ignoring, in this case being used to ignore the effect of the traps being activated so they could be safely deactivated.
While the traps may not have stopped him, Maistir didn't expect them to. All she needed was a little more time. At that moment, as Garam was fluidly destroying the traps, Maistir once again made hand symbols along with a chant, and with them she was surrounded by a prismatic glow, in what I could only assume was a physical enhancement.
By the time she finished her upgrade, Garam had already rushed at her at full speed again, so she returned the honors by rushing in as well.
But, just as they were about to continue the duel in close combat, the bunker doors closed, just in time to protect them, as immediately afterward the entire place rumbled.
***
"Hmph!" The man who dragged him toward the bunker made one last effort, seating him in a box against the wall. He was still short of breath and nauseous, but he regained enough control to take a deeper look at where he was and, more importantly, who he was with.
"Hey! Are you listening?" It was the same man he owed his life to, as well as Miss Maistir Doiche. He had brown hair and equally dark brown eyes, was considerably taller than him, and had quite a bit more muscle.
"What... What?" Certainly not the best impression, but he was still trying to get used to being in control of his body again. Besides, he didn't give a bad explanation of what he was feeling.
"Well. Looks like he's at least responding." A voice spoke to his left. Slowly and awkwardly turning his head, he saw that the person speaking wasn't much older than him. Similar in build to his own.
Ignoring his comment, the man from before attempted to speak, though he was cut off by a quake considerably larger, knocking down anyone who hadn't been steady or holding on to something.
Once the strong quake had passed, the robust man spoke again, "Name and rank." Or rather, he demanded.
"I'm... I'm Duman Von Regen, sir. Infantryman." The now-identified Duman said without thinking too much. A big mistake.
"What!? A Regen?!" screamed a woman lying nearby, being treated for a gunshot wound.
Duman could feel everyone's gaze turning toward him in hope. What did they expect? He couldn't even process the death of his friends, and now they expect him to somehow miraculously help them escape those two monsters outside?
Luckily, the man in front of him didn't care about any of this and continued with the introductions. "Francis Boldan, squad leader. From now on, everyone in this bunker is part of my squad, including you. Understood?"
"Ah, um... Yes, sir." Looking back at what now was his shelter and his new platoon, he couldn't help but despair. It was a surprisingly spacious place considering how it looked from the outside. Plus, it seemed to be still descending through some kind of enormous freight elevator. His comrades, on the other hand, seemed to have been through much worse than Duman. Some were wounded, like the injured woman who'd yelled his family name. Some were deranged. All were tired. A feeling that Francis seemed to understand.
"Take this opportunity to rest. We'll be moving in 30 minutes," he said authoritatively. Although some were hesitant.
"What? Move to where exactly? Those monsters are still out there! Do I need to tell you what will happen if we go outside while they're fighting? In fact, it's a miracle this place hasn't collapsed since the first collision." said the man found in Duman's left.
"Hey! Be careful what you say, Major Doiche is one of those 'monsters' you're referring to," Francis replied.
"Ugh! Never mind. Why are they here in the first place? Aren't they, like... Too important to be in this place?" This time a woman with wild, black hair spoke, her head between her knees.
So, his new platoon mates continued arguing during what was supposed to be a rest period. Duman, on the other hand, could only sit and stare at the ground while he tried to process it all.
'Is this how it ends? One moment we were doing reconnaissance and joking about what to do once we got back. And the next, half the platoon's heads were rolling, while the other half was slaughtered by those light things... And, of all the possible survivors, why me? Dann was expecting a baby. Alex's wife was waiting him at home. Jennifer's parents were waiting for their daughter. So why me of them all?... I... I!...' He was slipping into another panic attack. He knew that was the last thing this new, makeshift platoon needed, where doubt and mistrust flourished. But he couldn't help it. His body was sweating, he started to tremble, he was having slight difficulty breathing. It was all too much.
"Hey. You... are you really a Regen?" A small, timid voice spoke. Turning his head, he saw five people surrounding him, one of them being the woman with a gunshot wound, and next to her was a man who seemed to be scolding her with his eyes for forcing herself so much. On the other hand, the other three people were two boys and a girl, no older than 19, looking at him with eyes shining with hope.
"...What?" Duman replied, surprised by the sudden interruption of his thoughts. He wasn't complaining, after all, and while it didn't erase the effects of the panic attack, it did lessen them. But before the young men could ask again, the woman with short, honey-colored hair slapped the boy on the back of the head. The boy was extremely pale, and he wore gothic accessories over his military uniform, which Duman was sure was some kind of dress code violation. Although it did help him identify him as a vampire.
"Hey, brat, don't you know what manners are? Please forgive him. I, Melonie Rosenbauch, present myself before a Regen. Ugh!" She said, finishing with a bow that made her bullet wound ache. To which the man next to her groaned.
"Ugh! What did I tell you? Take it easy. It took me enough effort to close the wound without you reopening it..." The man at her side scolded Melonie, at which point Melonie elbowed him while pointing at Duman.
"What? Oh, right. I, Neil Hunt, present myself to a Regen." Neil said, bowing slightly, though he was actually more concerned with Melonie's injury than paying respect to Duman.
The three youngsters at the front, wanting to do the same as their elders, stepped forward.
"I, Louis Nilman, present myself before a Regen," the Vampire boy said confidently, giving an elegant and fluid bow.
"In the presence of a Regen, I, Anastir of Fenair, introduce myself," said the other boy elegantly, who was slightly taller than Louis and had elongated ears, along with light-colored hair that bordered on white. All of these were clear indicators that Anastir was an Elf, although unlike Elves, Anastir had insultingly short hair for an Elf, which for a Human would be the equivalent of just coming from the barber's.
Although there was something odd about the two of them, as Anastir finished introducing himself, he flashed Louis a smug smile. Something Duman didn't really understand, and didn't have time to, since there was still one more person to introduce themselves.
"Good morning. I, Olivia Quinn, introduce myself to a Regen," a human girl with shoulder-length light brown hair said, slightly nervous. She, instead, decided to use the same introduction as her elders, adding a friendly greeting that Duman appreciated.
Still, he couldn't help but remember the reason they'd approached him. His last name. Although there was something odd about it. The young men might not have known his first name, and they did know his family name, but both adults certainly knew his personal history. It turns out he'd been a fairly well-known bit of news in the human realm for a few months about ten years ago. Which begs the question: why did they approach him? Was it to mock him?
Turning to look at the two grown ups, the woman, Melonie, gave him an apologetic smile, while Neil just stood there with his arms crossed, looking slightly bitter.
Finally, after a few long seconds of silence, and after Melonie beckoned him, Duman spoke.
"I... As Duman Von Regen and part of the Regen family, acknowledge your presence." He said, doing his best to remember the etiquette classes corresponding to his family's level.
The three youngsters's eyes lit up, amazed and excited by the prospect of speaking with someone so "important". Melonie, on the other hand, let out an amused smile, both at what Duman said and at the youngsters's excitement. Neil, meanwhile, merely raised an eyebrow.
They both clearly knew about Duman, along with his past, but they hadn't made fun of him yet. So what did they want from him?
"Hey!... Ahem! I mean... Mr. Duman, is it true that there is a particular A-rank individual in your family?" The young Elf Anastir said in an uncomfortably formal manner considering how excited he was.
"Um... Well, yes, there are quite a few. Though perhaps you're referring to my grandfather, Hukdar Von Regen. He's been an A-ranker for as long as I can remember, actually," Duman replied, slightly uncomfortable with Anastir's formal manner. "By the way, there's no need to be so formal," he finished, attempting a smile that, given his nervousness, he was sure wasn't the most friendly or beautiful.
Fortunately, the youngsters were excited enough not to notice, skipping to the next question.
"Wow! There are really that many? Hey, do you know Elence?" Olivia said, causing the other two teens to look at her with dirty eyes.
"Olivia! You can't talk like that in front of a Regen," Louis said. "Please forgive her, Mr. Duman."
"Hey, there's nothing to forgive. I was the one who wanted you to drop the formalities, remember?" Duman replied, before turning to the young human woman. "And by the way, Olivia, right? Of course I know Elence. After all, he's my uncle."
"So! Is it true that he single-handedly hunted down a B-rank Blasphemer, even though he was a B-rank Blessed?" Olivia chimed in again, asking about one of his family's many stories.
"Sure. I remember he even gave me a weapon crafted from the Blasphemer's remains for my 15th birthday," Duman replied again, smiling as he remembered stories from his childhood. His chest even puffed out slightly with pride for his family, making him forget his panic attack or the fact that they were on a battlefield with two monsters outside. Until the next question came.
"Um... So you know Keli too?" Louis asked, with a strange shyness. Something that provoked a small mocking smile from both Anastir and Melonie.
"Of course I know Keli! Keli is... is my... my father." Duman said. Excited and filled with pride at first, but that quickly subsided. Luckily, in that moment Francis and the rest of the squad had reached a consensus on what to do.
"Good. Everyone! Listen up! Since Miss Maistir and the rebel Garam are fighting outside, what we do next is go down that cargo elevator and try to find another exit or more supplies. Understood!? Then move!" Francis shouted, grabbing his jacket and weapon to move.
This served as an excuse for Duman to leave the conversation, moving quickly towards the large freight elevator.
***
Once everyone was ready, Francis called the elevator, causing those large doors to open.
Once everyone was inside, Duman was surprised by the large number of people inside, he could count about 20. He could almost swear that before he entered the elevator there were fewer people.
"Impressive, isn't it? I guess we were too spread out before to be able to see how many of us there were." a female voice said behind him. Turning around, he could see Melonie standing next to Neil. The youngsters couldn't be seen with them or among so many people.
"Huh? Ah, um... Yeah, I guess." Duman said, taken aback and a little unsure about the little incident earlier and about having practically run away without telling them anything else.
"...By the way, I'm sorry about earlier," Melonie said after a brief silence. "I didn't mean for the little ones to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to distract them a little. This is a bad place to be at such a young age." she finished, sad and bitter about the situation of those young people. A feeling Neil seemed to share based in his facial expression.
"Oh, um... Yeah, it's no problem. I'm glad I could help out a little. Besides... they helped me out a little too." Duman admitted, a smile spreading across his face.
"...Heh. Those brats certainly have that ability." Neil said, chiming in with a smile that was followed by a giggle from Melanie.
"Hey! Who are you calling a brat, idiot?" Louis complained, coming up behind Duman with Anastir and Olivia behind him.
"Who do you think I'm talking about, brat?" Neil sneered.
"Hey! You-!" Louis approached Neil, only for Neil to grab his head and rub his hair, annoying Louis, who squirmed in an attempt to get away. This earned them the looks of every person in the elevator, who seemed amused or at least entertained. Duman could even swear he saw a faint smile on Francis's face.
It's not as if Duman could talk much either. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to laugh freely, without so many worries, or rather, without remembering his worries.
It was so bad that he started to feel like he was roasting. The problems of having 20 people in a closed space, coupled with the fact that he was covered in sweat, blood, and mud.
With that in mind, he casually removed his combat jacket, revealing a black short-sleeved T-shirt clinging to his body. A small detail was revealed, which Anastir noticed.
"Hey, sir. Are those bullet scars?" I asked innocently, with eyes shining with excitement.
But that question didn't excite Duman though, and he began to sweat and tremble again. Of course, he'd think they were bullet scars, since he'd never seen a real bullet scar, nor the scar left by a cigarette burn.
He couldn't tell him the truth, but he also couldn't pretend he hadn't heard it, since both Olivia and Melonie were now watching. So, using his improvisational skills, he decided to paint a new story over scars.
"Yes. I got these scars when I was captured by the enemy. They kept me locked up, torturing me for the sheer pleasure of doing so. But I managed to withstand everything they threw at me. Look at me, now I'm in perfect condition and at my peak performance." He said with a confidence he didn't really feel, while trying to hide the chills and sweat.
"Wow... Really?" Olivia chimed in, having moved away from Melonie upon hearing the story Duman was telling.
"Of course I'm serious. Who do you think I am?"
"But then why are you here?" Louis asked, now freed by Neil.
"That's because my allies came to my rescue, of course."
"Oh. Okay, but that's not what I meant. I mean, why are you down here? Shouldn't you be powerful enough to at least escape?" Louis asked, causing his elders to either scoff or downright laugh at Duman, because they all knew his story. But none of that mattered now; the only ones that mattered were the three young people in front of him. Plus, Melonie, Neil, and, surprisingly, Francis, were doing a pretty good job of shutting everyone else up.
"Pfft. Oh come on. Not even my... father could hold on any of them at my age," Duman replied. "You're not born strong, not even in the Regen family. While a large family may help its members get a head start, it's one's duty to learn to stand on their own two feet and build themselves up."
"Really?" the little vampire asked innocently, and maybe even hopefully.
"Of course," Duman replied. "Take my Uncle Elence for example, along with the story from before. While it's true that he alone hunted a B-rank Blasphemer, even though he was a B-rank Blessed, on my birthday I begged him to tell me the story of how he hunted him. And let me tell you, it's nothing like the legends of how Uncle Elence hunted the Blasphemer gracefully or even with ease."
"In reality, Uncle Elence fought tooth and nail, in the most inelegant way you could imagine, pushing his abilities to the limit and even using his surroundings as a weapon, finally managing to kill him. And even then, he had to be taken to the emergency room, as he was on the verge of death."
As he finished his little story, the youngsters had bright eyes, leaning slightly forward, trying to listen to his story as best they could. Looking past the youngsters, even the grown ups stopped mocking him. Instead, they stood quietly, trying to listen to his story.
Thus, in front of the youngsters's puppy-dog eyes, Duman continued telling stories, both 'his own' and those of his family.
No one knew if they were real stories or if Duman had invented them. But it seemed like they were on a long ride in that elevator, and Duman didn't stop telling stories, nor did they stop listening.