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It took only one month for another alien tribe to uninvitedly request his help.
They don’t even go merry around the request by asking for help from 'a hero from Earth', they just straight up mentioned his name. Boboiboy, the elemental hero, or as they put it,
"The One Who Wields The Sword Of Thunder."
Sounds cool on the surface, right? Wrong. It sounded horrendous to him. Doesn't matter that Gopal made a smug face at him, or Fang's rivalrous side-eye for such a 'grandiose' title bestowed upon him. The fact that a completely foreign society recognized him as a boy who held a deadly weapon, and asked for him to be a weapon—albeit implicitly—on top of that, pours a whole new genre of horror down onto him.
"You're thinking too deeply about this." Ochobot said, trying to tone down Boboiboy's subtle shaky hands as he packs his stuff into a backpack, "Take it positively! It could mean that more and more people are acknowledging your power!"
"Exactly!" Boboiboy pats his crudely folded clothes deeper into his backpack, "They see me as—as this powerful person who could fight anything. And that's it!" he sighs, "I'm a hero, Ochobot. I wanted to be a hero and to be seen as one. And my job is to protect, to help, not to just fight or be all-powerful."
Ochobot kept silent, before responding, "Yet you prepared your luggage anyway."
The boy's backpack closes with a loud zip, and the owner stares in disappointment at his own hands, "Yeah,
I can't say 'no' to people asking so desperately for my help, can't I?"
"Greetings, our earthling allies. This message is sent to you from our humble kingdom, Vrontiere, in a form of a request for help from the boy known as 'Boboiboy'.
Our once peaceful land was attacked by a traitorous neighbouring country, and we shamefully admit that it was our fault for underestimating their power. For months our defence has been chipped away and in our current situation, it might crumble anytime soon.
Please, O The One Who Wields The Sword Of Thunder.
Grant our plea."
"You don’t seem like you're in much trouble at all." Fang looked around the inner palace where he and his friends walked. Ruby adorned pillars and walls glimmer with no scratch visible, the black marble floor shined and looks routinely polished, and artistically carved ceilings provide a majestic roof over their heads—not to mention that Fang had seen 7 chandeliers since they entered Vrontiere's main palace.
Right, the main palace, because apparently there are 4 different castles in this kingdom. This one is the most regal however, the others resembled more of a fortress while still retaining the same aura of luxury from the outside. "Your message made it sound like your kingdom is on the verge of destruction," Fang questioned the taller alien that is leading them through the palace halls, the Vice Commander of Vrontiere Royal Guard, the man had briefly introduced himself moments before.
"Oh?" the Vice Commander voiced his question with a mocking tone, "I thought the things you saw out there had proved the direness of our situation enough."
"No it's not, apparently," Ying marched faster, her fingers tapping away at her wristwatch to open a media hologram of a picture and a video she took from the Justice MYS. Then she thrusts her arm forward to him, "We expected to see crumbling walls like your description," she furrows her brows, "instead we were greeted by your unblemished walls of stone and jewels, meanwhile one region of the kingdom looked obviously impoverished yet the people held their weapons high towards your castle."
The Vice Commander only spared a glance at Ying, makes a quiet huff then turns his chin forward again.
What Yaya asked next forced the group to a halt.
"There was never a war, was there?" The Vice Commander turned all the way around to face them, and Yaya stared at the man in the eyes, "You... You deceived us. The problem wasn’t the attack, wasn’t it? It probably was—"
"And what do you know about it?" The tall alien cuts her off, "Probabilities, and nothing else. Don't you dare, an outsider, speak as if you've experienced our kingdom's history yourself," he throws his arms to his sides, "Damned children and your incessant inquiries. I knew it was a better idea to only bring in the boy!"
His gut sensing the ill intent, Gopal, in a rare occurrence, put himself in front of Boboiboy. He could see the tense expressions of his friends, their palms grasping and releasing empty air; warming up. If anything, they would never let anyone treat any one of them as a tool. And this man in front of them wore the eyes of nobody but someone who itches to grasp on life as means to an end.
"Boboiboy," Gopal whispered to the silent boy behind him, his head turned, his eyes following a second later, "this isn't cool anymore, I think we should—"
The bare look of a betrayed trust that dug a hole so deep in Boboiboy's dark pupils made Gopal's breath hitched and him to take a step back, pulling the attention of others. Eyes widened, the Kokotaim gang stared at their listless friend in concern with a tinge of wariness. The Vice Commander's interest too is completely piqued by the reaction.
Boboiboy inhales, then exhales, repeating the motion in hushes for a few seconds, before opening his mouth, "I trusted you,
I came here to help. And you—" he pauses, unable to form the next words except repeating the last, "You..."
"You will aid us," the red-clad alien pushes through the group with such force; they stumbled down to the floor. He grabs a hold of Boboiboy's vacant arm and clicked his tongue when he felt resistance, "I'll say it again and again, you will aid us. You never had no choice in this matter, you—your thunder elemental—had always belonged to Vrontiere. It's child's logic for you to obey our demands. It's within our right to use you for our wishes."
The Vice Commander narrows his eyes, "Especially when that power you wield was stolen from us."
The rest of the young soldiers scrambled to get back up as their best friend is being dragged away. But they're immediately held down by a platoon of guards, their limbs pinned and their hearts cursed in mind for they could do nothing but watch as Boboiboy's back drove further.
Boboiboy could've turned into an elemental right then and there. He could’ve fought back. Yet a selfish, denial part of him whispered an idea that there could be a... good reason for them to practically begged for help to him. For them to ask help for the hero that he's—supposedly—known for. So instead he asked, "Where are you taking me?"
Unlike before, the Vrontiere alien grinned at his question, "Why yes, I haven't told you, I suppose," the grip on Boboiboy's arm tenses in what could be described as elation,
"To our Commander herself."
It would be an underestimation to describe, the colour red on the woman before him, as beautiful. Sunlight hides and peeks in a flash in between her hair strands as she swiftly moved from a stance, to a thrust of her wooden long sword, to a deadly spin that may easily decapitate; rinse and repeat. Blood crimson eyes never left the direction where her sword points to. She looked like she was in some sort of a motion trance, however, there's something about the aura she exudes that could be trying to warn people out of her line of sight. The red light armour that covered her could be part of the reason as if the shade was invented solely for a being as deadly-looking as her.
Before Boboiboy could ask more about her to his guide, the Vice Commander was long gone from his side.
'To our Commander,' that man said. So Boboiboy searched around—what looks like—the castle's training ground for someone who might be the Commander. Took him a quick second to realize that the only ones who stood on the training area's barren ground were him,
and the woman in red.
The first thing he did, was to idly sit down and watch. He couldn’t bring himself to greet or approach, fearing that drawing her attention could result in his head and neck being severed in an instant. The boy watched, and observed, his mind trying to piece her attack pattern to fend off boredom—which wouldn't be there regardless, as he could feel a pang of awe with every move she did. There are no patterns though, no specific sequence of moves that he could group. She moved as if she was attacking invisible enemies; unpredictable enemies like those in real-life wars.
His minutes of admiration end as the Commander jams her wooden blade into the ground, making it stand for her side to lean on it. She tilts her head to the side, staring back at Boboiboy from up her chin which sends a phantom shiver up his spine. Boboiboy stood up, feeling a little bit ashamed that he's been sitting all the while the Commander worked up her sweat—not that she looked out of breath or anything, but still. Crimson gaze kept sticking through his motion, whilst Boboiboy kept his low.
"So," the Commander eyes him, "you're the one who stole Halilintar from that man, hm?"
The corner of Boboiboy's lip twitches, "I don't—with respect, please don’t phrase it like that, ma'am. I claimed back this power because I need it to protect my home—Earth. I didn’t steal it like I'm a power-hungry thief."
The Commander makes a closed-lip chuckle, smiling in please, "What a noble cause." She shifts her sides to lean more comfortably, "What's your name, boy?"
She, the Commander, called him without knowing his name? "Boboiboy," he answered shortly.
"Ah, so it is your real name?" she raises her brows, "Apologies, I thought it was an alias since it sounded very... sweet." Boboiboy dies a little inside at her comment (is that what everyone thinks of his name?)
"...And you are?" he asks with hesitance.
The woman kept her mouth shut for a second, before answering, "Satriantar, you may call me by 'Satria'."
'Miss Satria, then,' Boboiboy noted to himself.
Satriantar straightens her back, which startled Boboiboy a little. She now stands with her back straight, "Then you must've understood why we summoned you," she tells with a straight face, unlike minutes ago, in line with his initial impression, "we need you for the sake of this kingdom," she continued with more clearance.
Boboiboy, in a rush of irritation, held his head up,
"Not for the sake of your people?"
Satriantar narrows her eyes into a prickling gaze, but Boboiboy keeps pushing through.
"I'm sorry, Miss Satria," Boboiboy tries his best not to tremble under her stare, "I can't give you Halilintar, nor can I help you if it's to bring harm to people."
The Commander pulled her sword out of the ground with a harsh tug, and walked towards the weapon rack in dust-grazing steps, "You think I called you here, to beg for that elemental?" she places her wooden sword to lean at the sides of the rack, then grabs on the hilt of a blade resembling a cutlass, "I am offended," she turns and rotates the cutlass as if checking the sharpness of its blade, then continues with a side glance towards Boboiboy, "of the fact that you thought that I thought I am oh so incapable without the ability to summon electric sparkles out of my fingertips."
Boboiboy didn’t mean for it like that, at least he believed so. He opened his mouth for a rebuttal, with doubt still hanging off the back of his mind.
And it is that very doubt that allowed him to pause every thought he had to duck away from the blade that was inches off his face.
The boy's eyes met a pair of red painted boots that were supposed to be meters away from him moments ago. His stare caught their shift and he promptly dodged far back to avoid any more slashes towards him.
All of that happened in less than a second.
Boboiboy knew what she taunted him for—if it could be called that. He knew what request she declared when she pointed her sword towards his heart.
"Boboiboy Halilintar!" the boy shouted his elemental transformation mid-dodge, and his silhouette was gone in a flash before Satriantar could have a look at his Halilintar form, leaving a trail of red electric sparks. Halilintar kept moving from one point to another around Satriantar whilst still keeping a great distance from her. In his hands are the all-familiar pair of crimson thunder swords.
Meanwhile, Satriantar kept her stance, unmoving. But for all he knows she could've landed a strike on him if he lets his guard for just a millisecond. The time for one of them to make the next move had to come, and Halilintar realized Satriantar isn't going to move anytime soon, so he willed himself and took the initiative. He places himself in what most could say is the cliché position, right on Satriantar's back, his blades pointing towards her hair-covered nape. He was sure he could outpace the Commander with his power to do such a common trick.
What met Halilintar's blade was only a thread of red hair, as Satriantar ducked and swiftly retaliates with a gut-wrenching strike of her cutlass' hilt to the boy's abdomen. Halilintar stifles a choked groan when the hit landed, so strong that his body also got flung at least 2 meters back. The boy sucked for breath, one hand clutching his throbbing stomach in pain. Another free arm of his stabs his thunder blade to the ground to stop his body from flying further, his legs almost buckle and he thought he could have at least a second to steady himself.
The boy hadn't even taken half a breath before a kick to his head craned his neck to almost a full circle. In pure instinct, Halilintar reformed his blade into a thunder spear and thrusts the weapon toward his formidable attacker. His attack is easily blocked by a leather armored arm, and Satriantar doesn’t waste her chance to drop a straight kick to Halilintar's chest—planting his back to the ground.
If Boboiboy was taught to curse, Halilintar would've to spit out a hundred of them by now. His whole torso hurts like hell, he doesn’t even care what look Satriantar gave him as he groaned loudly. His brain now switches from fighting mode to screaming at him to just flee. However, Halilintar doesn’t want to imagine what kind of impression he would imprint on the former thunder elemental master if he turned his tail now. Ashamed, raged, pained, Halilintar shakingly moves one hand from hugging himself to form one more thunder sword.
The boy spreads out one of his arms, red electricity flowing through the limb to his palm in the process of summoning a blade.
Red, he expected a crackling neon red blade in his grasp.
Red, was the first colour that entered his vision when he turned to see why his arm had felt numb.
A slash wound across his spread-out arm dug a deep gash in a straight line. Dark crimson liquid flows steadily out of the wound, wholly covering his limb in red paint that smells of iron. Trickling blood turned into a pour in a minute, creating quite a pool near Halilintar's foot.
Halilintar's pupils shrunk in comprehension.
"H—" his other fine arm grips over his wounded arm with a distressed shudder.
"AAAAAAAAGGGHHHHKK!" Halilintar screamed. He hugged his arm to his side, the pain spread to his shoulders, his neck, and his head throbs like hell. His eyes burn with prickling tears, and through his blurry vision, he caught Satriantar's bloodied cutlass from the corner of his sight.
She cut his arm.
She cut him.
Halilintar continues his pained screams, only pausing for sharp intakes of breaths and choked sobs. He experienced cuts, thin neat slashes all over his body. But not yet a deep gash that overflows with his blood like this one. His whole body shakes from the wound and aches of his torso that hadn't subsided. But his knees refused to buckle yet.
Turns out he doesn’t need to kneel himself.
As Satriantar wholeheartedly delivers another merciless kick to his legs,
and next thing Halilintar knew, he was staring straight into the sun.
Nothing but the sky filled his vision, nothing but his ragged breaths filled his hearing, and nothing but pain crawled under his skin.
All Halilintar could do is to only bit back his humiliation under the former thunder elemental wielder's gaze.
The woman sighed, before planting his red painted cutlass blade into the ground horrifyingly inches off Halilintar's face. She walked over his laying body and sat near him, her side leaning onto her sword. Halilintar couldn’t see where she's looking, but he assumed she's looking at the sprawling kingdom of Vrontiere in the distance.
"This land," Satriantar begins, "I conquered it from the claws of beasts* with everything I've got years and years ago. By that, I meant myself, a rusted sword, and a handful of my most loyal men.
After that, I thought it was the end. I thought after I weeded out the beasts* of that time, I and my people would be free of terror.
And then I learned of war between men. War between equally sentient beings. And at the same time, I learned of it, I mastered it. I came out victorious again and again on top of piles of those that possessed a mind yet be possessed of their heart.
I was known and cheered by this kingdom as the one who freed them of fear. By outsiders, as the harbinger of fear. Those times, the acts of me fending and bringing down fear only with my own hands were both praised by songs and dreaded in prayers."
Satriantar glanced back at Halilintar, finding him closing his eyes but still breathing to listen, she continues with a sigh, "Then I was granted a power—that I deemed as unnecessary, yet my people kept pushing me to acquiesce—by a travelling inventor.
That day, I became fear itself.
My fame then travelled across galaxies, and all that heard my name are in awe yet at the same time, fearful. The same goes for my people, they view the militia as these... almost godly beings that could protect them to the end of time. Yet for the same reason, they also see us as untouchable, terrifying, those who could only be stared at from afar.
This kingdom views the thunder elemental I wielded as their pride and a symbol of terror.
And before I knew it, I'd become a beast* myself."
The woman suddenly stood from her spot, walks around Halilintar to his wounded arm's side, then—as suddenly—ripped a long piece of fabric off her pants, "Decades later, the thing that made me known as a persona of fear was stolen by that man," she carries on with her story as she wrapped the fabric around Halilintar's bleeding arm, "I did not grieve over the loss for the reason, as you've experienced, I hold a prowess of battle that is enough to protect Vrontiere."
She tightens the wrap, and ties it, "However, my people felt as if our kingdom had lost an immense amount of power. Even when I came home with another hundred victories, they stared at us as if we are weakening. And with their pride 'gone', so did their 'fear' of us." Satriantar finished tying the knot, and stared at Halilintar's still closed eyes, noting the distressed creases on his features that are fading.
"I would never request for you to hurt people. But sometimes, a display of showmanship is not enough to convince the audience."
Halilintar felt his body being lifted, hands under his knees and shoulder. Satriantar carried him like he is weightless, and walked back inside the castle. As the bright sunlight left his eyelids, he managed to open his eyes just slightly to catch a faint smile on his carrier's lips. "Now, we shall visit our healers first. We will relay the plan to you a moment after you are able to stand."
The boy managed a small nod before passing out.
Boboiboy exited the infirmary with a healed arm and a wonder of the existence of magic.
Be not afraid.
The Vrontiere's Commander's words rang in Halilintar's head. Words that were both given to him as she explained what he had to do and to the horde of ragged-clothed groups of families that stood before him.
Be not afraid.
Halilintar chanted voicelessly in his heart. Pointed to his raising hand, and the sea of eyes that follow his arm's movement.
He only needed to summon rain. But not to create a downpour of cloud tears that brought smiles to children. He is to paint the clouds in red that could only bring down thunders.
It's just rain.
It's just rain.
Most of them would only suffer some burns, and they will leave with peace laced with calm terror.
A baby shrieked with a loud cry as a stray thunderbolt struck. The people whomst a moment ago held their pitchforks high lowered them to protect their kin as they huddled closer.
The sight made his finger twitch.
Red clouds had gathered atop them, acting as a roof of impending doom that is about to befall. It would only take another move from Halilintar to make it happen.
Halilintar's crimson irises gazed at the eyes of mothers embracing their infants, fathers with their vexed stances, and children hiding behind taller trembling legs.
And the boy thought, if he do this, would he walk out of this place with pride? with relief? or will he walk out with stares of fear and hatred stabbed into his back? Could he, who dreamed of himself as a hero, bring back order with the price of directly hurting the very people this kingdom is supposed to protect?
Between the royal army and the commonfolk who only feared for their safety in their homes, which one needed his aid the most?
Halilintar turned his back to the people,
and faced Satriantar with her hundreds of men behind her.
Then pointed towards Vrontiere's Royal Army.
"All hail The One Who Wields The Sword Of Thunder!" shouted a man.
"All hail The One Who Wields The Sword Of Thunder!" repeated people.
Sounds of cheer rang through the halls of Vrontiere's main castle's emptied halls, now filled to the brim by a crowd of joy-faced folk. Children threw their makeshift confetti, bards sung their jolly melodies, farmers danced silly in celebration,
and Halilintar was above all of them.
The boy's nervous smile was contaminated by their laughs, and he joined their delight as his body is lifted by people. Like this, he's able to see the sight that he had hoped for—smiley grins and warm laughter painted on everyone's faces. It felt like he was inside a renaissance painting.
Halilintar's power watch suddenly beeps at the same time it emitted a blue light, and then a miniature hologram of a certain raven-haired alien boy pops out, "Boboi—" Fang's worried expressions faltered for a second, and switched to an annoyed one in a flash, "What the—what are you doing?!"
"Oh, Fang!" Halilintar shuffled on top of the hands that carried him so he could lean slightly to the right to face his friend, "It's okay! I took care of their problem! I saved them, Fang!" the boy chuckled, "People are throwing a whole celebration party in the castle, and I guess I got dragged into it."
Fang lets out a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness, we heard a blaring thunder from Vrontiere so we thought... Well, I'm glad to hear that you're okay." As if he realized something wrong with his sentence, Fang cleared his throat, "'We'. I meant 'we'. We're glad you and the Vrontiere people are okay, and whatever." Halilintar snorts amusedly, and Fang adds a fake cough, "We didn’t park our spaceship far, do you want us to pick you up now?"
Halilintar's answer was halted when an alien called for his presence. Looks like he has to stay for a while longer. "Could you guys wait for a bit more? Someone's calling me," Halilintar said to the hologram. Fang rolled his eyes with a smirk, "Fine, superstar," then he ended their call right after.
Halilintar climbed down his throne of arms, and then shuffled through dancing men to reach the alien man that called for him. By the moment he reached a levelled ground, a well-toned arm of an alien pulled him up to his side. The arm belonged to the man that called him, and the man flashes him a proud grin. The man then faced the crowd, "People of Vrontiere!" the man called out. In an instant, the music stopped, children craned their heads up, and shoes no longer tapped the floor.
The man's arm wraps itself around Halilintar's shoulder, shaking him playfully, "This boy, represented what our kingdom should've been. Thunder. Power.
Terror!
All that had been robbed from us decades ago, yet that selfish woman never took it back. Took our right back!" The crowd jeered at the reference of Satriantar, they boo and roar with resentment. Halilintar kept his nervous smile, but his furrowed-up eyebrows don’t lie.
"At ease, my folks!" the man soothed the crowd, "For Satriantar and her men are now locked in our deepest chambers for as long as they robbed us of freedom of mind—decades of darkness and aimless terror! All thanks to The One Who Wields The Sword Of Thunder!" different to the mention of Satriantar, the people of Vrontiere howled with cheers at the outlander boy's title.
"Now then, our boy," the man bowed slightly to match Halilintar's height, his grip on Halilintar tightening, "we would like to honour you, our saviour, the greatest honour we could serve.
We bestow you, the role of Vrontiere's newest Commander!"
Before anyone could start another chain of cheers, Halilintar denied with widened eyes,
"No!" he shouted, "I—I think we have some misunderstanding, I'm—"
"Ah! But of course! Please forgive our hastiness!" the man smiled softly, "Of course, of course, you don’t deserve the same title as that woman. Then you shall be, our Grand M—"
"I don't belong to you!"
All is silent, but unlike the previous silence where they open wide their senses to pay attention. They stare at Halilintar in bewilderment, confusion scattered in their eyes. The man who held his shoulders straightened his back, "...Pardon?" the man inquired.
"I'm sorry, but I didn’t help you guys to be..." Halilintar motioned with his hands in the search for the word, "...put in a pedestal or—or to be owned by this kingdom. I cared for you guys, I do. But I also have my own planet, my own home, friends, and families to protect.
I can't stay here.
And I'm sorry too, that I won't relinquish my thunder element to your kingdom. I need it for my duties as a soldier and as a hero for my own people.
I helped you gain back your... rights... in hopes of you rebuilding your society by your collective strength. For everyone to not rely on the ownage of power for it to act as a shield from your enemies forever. I want you to stand independent from now on,
without me, or Satriantar."
At first, the silence stretches on.
And on.
And on.
A man from the crowd lifted a rusty knife in his fist.
And people followed, with random small sharp-pointed things they carry in their pockets.
The man that held Halilintar forcefully pushed him aside. Gone was the prideful yet soft gaze that the man bore, replaced by a disgusted, disgruntled expression. "You foe," the man said, and the crowd turned their blades towards the boy they cheered for moments ago.
Oh.
Oh, so this is what Satriantar meant. This kingdom, and these people, were born out of fear. As mortals, are creatures of fear. They glorify being the source of terror, and they feared those who might be brought the same terror upon them.
The thunder elemental was their terror. They are scared of it, but it is also the very thing that made them safe. With the thunder elemental, the only thing they fear is that power. With it gone, mad they be. All of a sudden the world noticed the loss of their trump card,
all of a sudden they felt many fears at once that overwhelmed them.
In reality, they were too disillusioned to realize they are nothing but as strong as they were. But the loss of the thunder elemental felt like the loss of their visualized symbol. Yes, thousands of victories over outlanders are not enough to satisfy. If they cannot dread over their protectors, then they cannot trust those protectors to be capable of their obligations—to guard them.
Mad, gone far mad this kingdom had been. Far back since Satriantar toppled the last iron-fisted tyrants, or perhaps far beyond that. Even if Halilintar had obeyed Satriantar's wishes, he would be forced to stay here all the same. Because these people had become far too dependent on this power.
It feeds their paranoia.
Halilintar cannot save them.
Boboiboy cannot save them.
Yet he still felt but an ounce of pity. He could not just flee and leave them to rot away in their pit of madness. Oh no, oh no, oh no no no, the boy could not bear the role as the one who left them to their suffering. He will save them, he will save them from this madness they call fear. This madness that was born out of their own minds.
Red electricity surged through his blood veins, and Halilintar raised his hand to the sky beyond the chandelier with a pitiful half-smile etched on his face.
A crimson thunder shall fall to free Vrontiere of their history old misery.
Boboiboy Voltra was born on top of a bed of rubble and corpses.
He stared into the horizon, beyond acres of ashes and blood, and the first thing he thought, 'Ah, this is what I'm capable of.'
And it terrifies him to the core.
What did he expect? To only take the lives of the people? Only? Oh, how he had to stifle a pained laugh.
He stared at his hands, red electricity constantly coursing through his fingers in a steady rhythm, and he saw the hands of a beast*.
Look at him, who razed an entire kingdom to the soil, and buried the underground prisoners for true eternity with its ruins. For what reason? 'To completely erase the root of fear on this land,' he thought.
Was it?
Was it not because he was simply scared of being murdered by the mass?
Voltra imagined what would Satriantar do in his shoes. However, the image couldn’t come to his mind. Satriantar, atop of being an undefeatable fighter, was a knight. Her heart belonged to her people. No matter how scared she was of what destruction she was capable of, no matter how scared she was of death, she will never succumb to those fears. Thus she never fed on the glory of her power—unlike her easily blinded people.
But if, only if, Satriantar did lay a hand on her kin with her power. Accidental or not. Voltra thought,
that she wouldn't hesitate to cut her head off herself as repentance.
What about him? No, he can't kill himself, he shouldn’t die. He still... Everyone... His family and friends still need him to protect them. Many dangerous threats could harm his loved ones, and he's scared of losing them. He needs this power, he needs to be alive to protect them all—
But then, what if they turned their weapons on him because they feared his power? After they witnessed the trail of desolation he left?
What if he killed them, just like he killed the people of Vrontiere?
He needs to stay away from them. He should cut off any connections—
But who could protect them if not him?! Without him, they would all die in less than a—
He shouldn’t have received this power from the start. He shouldn’t have meddled in these extraterrestrial matters. He should've died—
However, he fears death as all mortals do. Or rather than death itself, he feared the unknown phenomenon that is after-death. But if he lived, he could hurt the people closest to him. He wants to protect but he can't trust himself to do so. Because he's scared of the idea of losing them but also his power. He's scared of the fact that he's breathing and could release more life-threatening attacks, yet he also feared the idea beyond death.
He's scared. He's frightened. He's afraid. He's panicked. He's worried. He's intimidated. He's terrified. He's petrified. He's horrified. He's hysterical.
He's gone mad.
The boy thought he faced the face of fear and fought it. Alas, he was feeding it all along. No different from the people Vrontiere.
Struck by his thundering madness, Voltra arrived at one conclusion. A conclusion that he will risk it all if it could ease his throbbing insanity.
He could not defeat fear. But perhaps... Perhaps he could destroy what birthed fear.
Voltra looked up to the sky covered in velvet clouds, and decided that for the next breath he exhales, he shall
destroy everything.