After Mordred had realized what was going on, he finally felt a sense of relief.
It washed over him like cool water on a burning wound soothing, calming, clarifying. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing steadied. The frantic churning of his mind slowed to a steady, measured rhythm.
Now that I know what the original problem is, he thought, to some extent, I have gained victory over it.
He looked at his hands at the hands that had killed, that had failed to kill, that had been tricked by blood and shadow and killing intent.
Enlightened is a man who knows of his circumstances. Even if he does not have the capability to break out of them...
He smiled.
...he will at least survive.
But that was not how he thought. He did not want to simply survive. He wanted to thrive.
That was the genius of Mordred.
Of course, he thought, it would be a shame if I were to be swallowed by the scheming of the devil. I wouldn't be one to pay attention to. His eyes narrowed. Just another one that will die.
Above him, Darlington watched.
His mouth was open not in shock, not in awe, but in anticipation. His eyes those observer's eyes tracked Mordred's every movement, every breath, every shift in his expression.
Something was about to change.
He could feel it.
This world, he thought, is about to change.
He stroked his jaw a slow, deliberate motion as a thought came to his mind.
Mordred.
His fingers traced the line of his jaw.
He's not just a chess piece.
He thought about the nature of chess the pieces, the moves, the sacrifices. A normal chess piece was something you moved around. Something you sacrificed when you needed to. Something you granted victory for the greater good.
His eyes narrowed.
If I were to put Mordred there...
He paused.
...he's a chess piece that has become aware.
He leaned back, his mind racing.
If I'm an observer who is participating in a false game... He tapped his fingers against his invisible platform. Though this is only a hypothesis.
He looked at Mordred's still form.
I need more data to confirm. I need to see him make more actions.
His brow furrowed.
But is it safe... for that to happen?
Mordred spoke.
His voice was quiet, measured, certain.
"The chemical that he put in my body..." He touched his face where the blood had splashed, where the toxin had entered. "It heightened every single one of my senses to the maximum."
He looked at his hands.
"Basically... it's a booster."
He smiled.
"But the way he's playing it..." His smile faded. "It's a weapon."
He thought about medicine about the drugs that healed, that soothed, that made people better.
"Of course, even medicine that's made to make you feel better..." His voice dropped. "...if used correctly, it can be a poison."
He closed his eyes.
"So I just need to know that this is a poison." His voice hardened. "So I'll turn it into a medicine."
He touched his chest over his heart.
"It's in my body." His fingers pressed against his sternum. "So I just need to push it."
Mordred closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed deep, measured, controlled. His body relaxed muscles loosening, joints softening, nerves settling.
Unfortunately, he thought, this is a battlefield. So I don't have the time to take a longer method to remove all the toxins from my body.
His brow furrowed.
And after I win this battle... I will still be affected by it.
He pushed the thought aside.
But anyway, that is the future. There is no need to delve into what is to come.
A pause.
There is no past. His eyes opened. There is only the future.
He laughed.
It was not a joyful laugh. Not a mocking laugh. Something darker. Something that echoed across the battlefield like a promise.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The sound was horrific raw, primal, unhinged. It twisted through the air, bouncing off rocks and bodies, filling the grey sky with its madness.
"Devil!" His voice rose. "You're there, aren't you?"
He looked around at the empty space, at the shadows, at the absence where Gareth should have been.
"I've figured out your trick!" His smile was wide, sharp, dangerous. "Now watch as the darkness you hide in, the darkness you manipulate..."
He raised his hand.
"...watch as I become something you cannot handle."
The human body, he thought, has the sense of taste. The sense of hearing. Smelling. Sight.
He touched his tongue. His ears. His nose. His eyes.
And feeling.
His hand pressed against his chest against the nerves that carried sensation throughout his body.
Five senses. He took a breath. Five ways for the world to reach me. Five ways for the devil to touch me.
He closed his eyes.
No more.
Mordred tapped into all of his nerve senses.
He reached inside himself past the flesh, past the blood, past the chemicals that Gareth had poisoned him with and found the pathways. The connections. The threads that linked his body to his mind, his mind to the world.
One by one, he started to cut them off.
Taste.
The flavors on his tongue the copper of blood, the salt of sweat, the iron of the air vanished. His mouth became a hollow cave, empty, tasteless.
Hearing.
The sounds of the battlefield the clash of distant steel, the cries of dying men, the whisper of the wind faded. His ears became useless, deaf, still.
Smelling.
The scents blood, sand, death dissolved. His nose became a void, receiving nothing, transmitting nothing.
Sight.
The grey sky. The blood-soaked ground. The shadows where Gareth hid. All of it gone. His eyes remained open, but they saw nothing.
Feeling.
The sand beneath his feet. The weight of his armor. The grip of his sword. All of it erased. His skin became numb, his nerves silent, his body a shell.
He stood there, not feeling a single thing.
It was as good as not existing at all.
In his head, there was only darkness.
Not the darkness of night. Not the darkness of shadow. Something deeper. Something that had no shape, no texture, no limit. It stretched in every direction infinite, absolute, empty.
He was trapped in his own head.
Detached from the world.
Free.
Mordred had now reached a stage only few were able to reach.
The dark area.
His lips moved.
THE ZONE.
Mordred stood still, his eyes open, his breath steady.
And the grey sky watched.