Returning to No Applause, Only More of the Same

“-And so, due to breaking not only the wall and large parts of the prison, but also a promise not to cause a mess, the board has decided to penalize Inmate Wiedemann by isolation for a week and no longer. Should you choose to verbally or physically oppose this, the penalty will be far harsher than mere isolation.” -So spoke the voice in the speakers.

Isolation.

Kreig did not fight it, of course. He just sort of sat there all day while confused but silent construction-workers fixed his wall and a few Fighters (including that little one that’d been there during his meeting with his family) stood around staring at him, thumbing their weapons. The little one in the robe seemed upset but wouldn’t say anything.

He had a rather high level though, Kreig had to admit that. The wall was, by the magic of great hurry, finished in a mere day.

And then, his isolation began. It started out okay. Kreig sat and drew, painted portraits (mostly of his two new subjects, his brother and sister), and tried to make the most of the situation. But it didn’t go well for long. Two days went by. He grew unhappy. After having had the pleasure of human connection for entire days at a time, after tasting such sweet nectar after years of abstinence, he now found himself in withdrawal.

He sat there, genuinely considering the pros and cons of breaking out to speak to his friend, when there was a change. It was the fourth day of his isolation.

The speakers came on. The voice that spoke was neither the head observer that he’d painted nor the usual speaker. His voice was more refined, with a slight accent that Kreig couldn’t place. “Inmate Wiedemann. A situation has occurred. You will soon be escorted to the site of a disaster. Follow the directives of the authorities present and the terms of your incarceration may change. Prepare yourself.”

Brief, strong-worded, with no room for any sort of objection, not that Kreig had any. He just sat up straighter. He knew the tinge to those words. Something was going on, and he wasn’t about to mess up again.

Strangely, the sound of the human voice again made him feel bubbly, and the idea of meeting people… Why, it downright made him happy. And he couldn’t tell why.

As per the voice, within mere seconds, the Dragonheart door slid open, revealing three people at the forefront of a train of Fighters and guards. The man at the very front, who wore a dark navy suit adorned with countless medals and a matching hat, barked orders at the people behind him. These people were neither Fighters nor guards, but military in uniform and movement. They ran inside the cell, and once Kreig stood up, they surrounded him, shoving the barrels of guns in his face and chest.

Human, Lv.637

Human, Lv.22

Human, Lv.345

“Cuff ‘im,” the officer said. The soldiers around Kreig gave an affirmative chorus and dressed him in the collar and metal mittens quicker than he or Craig ever had. Then, with another order from the officer, he was led outside. While walking through the hallway, silent as he usually was, he was generously given some information on what in the world was happening.

“If you must refer to me, recall that my name is General Thunderhammer, and I don’t want to talk with you. This whole stunt is beneath me. Nevertheless, it was not my decision, and we are in a hurry. And don’t even try using that unknown skill that got you in trouble - we don’t need such a shortcut at this moment. No, what we need is overwhelming power. The beautiful city of Petuniaria is under siege by a wyrm that snaked its way out of a disgusting portal.

The level? A measly 700 or so. Confirmed by several Fighters at the site. I told ‘em a nuke could kill it, but did they listen? Oh, no, of course not. Always have to make things complicated, bringing out prisoners and invalids to do battles the glorious military could do a thousand times easier. And in this moment, that means you, prisoner. You will have no back-up. All you’ll have is your power and your wits, and if that isn’t enough, God only knows what is.”

...A wyrm. And level 700, too?

And Kreig was the only person available to defeat it? Kreig was a seasoned monster-killer. He could understand why a wyrm would pose such a problem. Though, of course, he hadn’t expected them to come here.

...He had no objections, and the general didn’t speak any other words of warning. They continued walking, and not even Craig or Frank said anything. Usually, Kreig welcomed silence. Now, it felt wrong. There were people all around him, and yet, their silence felt suffocating. Wrong. Still, it wasn’t his place to speak. Their silence was his.

The walk through the prison ended sooner than usual, and when they stepped onto the courtyard where a helicopter stood perched, Kreig was met with a familiar face. Someone who was also cuffed. Someone who shouldn’t be there.

“Huh? Kreig? Is that you?” Gerald asked, his face lighting up in a smile when he understood that it was, in fact, Kreig. “It is you! Greetings friend, any idea what’s happening?”

The soldiers at Gerald’s side kept him from walking any closer to Kreig. Kreig did, in fact, know what was happening, but he didn’t feel like telling Gerald. Instead, he turned to the general, giving him a disbelieving stare. “Yeah, thought you’d react like that. See, my superiors still don’t know whether you’ll comply with our orders or not. We want our men protected, and we don’t want you to fly away to God-knows-where. So. Call it emotional blackmail if you’d like, but if we see one wrong move, we won’t hesitate to pull the trigger on this guy.”

A threat. Interesting. Kreig had almost started to think people wouldn’t threaten him anymore, but…

“Uh, wait, is that true-?” Gerald frowned, turning to the soldiers around him. They didn’t respond.

...Yeah. Kreig wouldn’t do anything that would put the kid in trouble. Gerald had enough on his plate, and a firearm to his temple shouldn’t be another one. So, he submitted himself to the general. Allowed himself to be shuffled inside the helicopter. Frank and Craig sat on either side of him while the general sat in front of him. Gerald sat further down, surrounded by soldiers yet again.

This time, the flight was quick. The helicopter reached max speed within seconds, at which point it went too fast for Kreig to be able to understand exactly what was going on outside. Then, sooner than he thought, land came into view. Land, and a city.

Smoke billowed from various parts of it in generous amounts, alongside sirens and broadcasted urgent messages and the screams of people whose lives were about to be lost. Kreig heard it all, but he smelt it even more. As they landed, the smell assaulted his nostrils with fearful claws. Concrete and choking black smoke and gasoline and exposed wires and blood. The smell of slaughter. Even more so… Biting acid, slick scales, and the murmuring hiss of a wyrm run amok.

Wyrms usually lived in marshes and swamps, where they ate pretty much anything they came across. Once they got a meal, be it a swamp biter or a dragger, it would attack immediately, taking its time to digest the whole thing. That meal would feed the wyrm for several weeks, if not months. If a wyrm found two meals, it was in luck, and it would eat twice. That’s the thing about wyrms. It doesn’t have any internal sign of when it’s eaten enough. So when it finds a lot of prey, it just keeps eating.

If it stumbles across a village, it won’t stop eating until it’s been killed or its stomach bursts from overeating. That is, if it wasn’t too big for that.

This wyrm was big enough to eat many villages over and over again. It was dark green, with purple colourations around the eyes. An adult, overfed as an adolescent. An adult, still hungry.

Kreig saw it coming around the side of a building. It crushed a car beneath its bloated scaly stomach, lighter in colour than the scales on its back. A thick, forked tongue flicked out of its closed mouth, hovered in the air for a bit before darting back inside its mouth. It turned towards them where they stood beside the recently parked helicopter. Frank prepared a spell or skill, Craig raised his spear. The many soldiers there did not react, as the general had not told them to. He, in turn, merely stood there. Arms crossed.

It was up to Kreig to react. And they hadn’t even given him his armour or weapons. Maybe they assumed he’d be able to fight off a wyrm without it, maybe they hadn’t been able to move it.

Either way, they were correct. A wyrm would prove no more difficult for him to battle than a young dragon would. And still, he hesitated.

Something here felt off. As he looked into the eyes of the wyrm, those eyes still frenzied with the blood and flesh of countless humans, he found them somewhat intelligent. Far more intelligent than any reptile he’d ever seen. Reptiles were not intelligent. Dragons were only as intelligent as the stupidest humans available, and drakes weren’t even worth mentioning. Yet this creature… Something was off about it. It didn’t attack immediately.

It stood there, half-exposed, staring at Kreig, sizing him up as if it knew his strength. And then, it turned around. Slithered off in the other direction, leaving Kreig to stare at its leaving form.

“The hell are you doing, prisoner? Go after it without further ado!” the general said, pointing at the wyrm’s tail. Kreig turned to him and showed off his metal mittens. “Huh? You’re gonna look at me and tell me you can’t get out of those yourself?” He was right, but Kreig didn’t want to ruin them. Though, fighting without hands was… Even to Kreig, that would be difficult. So, he slowly pulled out one of his hands, feeling how the metal inside the glove groaned and snapped. With one hand out, he removed the other and handed the mittens to a nearby soldier. Freedom.

He stepped towards where the wyrm was going. “-And, remember! If you so much as try to escape, the kid gets it!” the general warned. “Fighter A and B, follow him or you get it too!”

Frank and Craig nodded and prepared to follow Kreig. Guess he wouldn’t be alone. Not that he minded much. He continued walking.

Wyrms could be very fast, but that was in the muddy marshes. On dry land, their numerous flippers and the paddle-like twin tails were just baggage that it couldn’t remove. Yet, this one was rather fast. Level 700. An elder wyrm, likely older than even Kreig. But not old enough to gain intelligence. No lizard could do that.

Something was off about this wyrm, and Kreig was interested in knowing what.