Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player



The gaunt man had turned out to be quite the chatterbox, which Kieran expected given his fanatic disposition. It was typically in the nature of a zealot to want to talk and spread the word about their self-proclaimed supreme faith. 

That's what the gaunt man dressed in holy robes did.

The man was loquacious to a fault, going on to describe in great detail how he prepped the Voiceless, how many of them had been gathered up, and how the Voiceless came to be.

All of the Voiceless were children no older than twelve or thirteen.

Beyond that age, they became too difficult to break, train and brainwash. That's precisely what these strange zealots did… they brainwashed children! What else would you call forced instillation of faith through suggestive and manipulative actions? Brainwashing.

'Fucking lunatics. I've been thrust into a commune of lunatics!'

Kieran inwardly groaned, feeling his frustrations bubble over. Not being able to express his irritation or voice his vexations left him sullen and bitter. And, thinking of the Voiceless' fate left him feeling an even darker emotion.

The thought of preying upon children left Kieran in a dour mood as he reluctantly followed behind the gaunt man. He had tried to shuffle away once the skeletal man first unlocked his long chain, keeping him tied to the wall. 

Kieran had even gone as far as to hide a jagged stone beneath his rags, and when the man wasn't looking, he smashed his head, bringing to bear that fight he had taunted Kieran about.

The attempt was utterly worthless! The rock shattered into fine pieces after colliding with the man's adamantium skull. 

'What the hell is his skull made of? Ah, maybe if I choke him…'

The unnerving bishop responded with an eerie smile, one filled with twisted mirth. It was as if he was elated by Kieran's lingering grit. A new wave of fanaticism and glee surged from the zealous bishop.

Kieran avoided any looks the zealous bishop gave him and focused only on the chains and cuffs now biding his wrist. The link was as long as Kieran's body was wide. An inkling of a sound plan formed in his mind. 

'His skull might be harder than a rock, but is that throat stronger than steel?'

Convinced by his seemingly suicidal plan to kill off this zealous bishop guiding him to places unknown, Kieran gathered every ounce of strength his weary body could muster and pounced on the robed jailer's back. He gained purchase on the bishop's back, wrapped those chains around his neck like metal noose forged to steal life, and then wrenched with the unremarkable force he could muster.

It was a decent plan… had he had the strength to execute it properly.

There was no strain or struggle from the bishop as he lifted his hands and snapped the chains apart. His gaunt body was a deceptive facade. He was thin, excessively and distressingly so, but lean and wiry muscle twitched with fearsome power.

'This day just gets better and better.'

Kieran despaired as the metal links made resonant noises upon hitting the cold stone floor.

"A little fight is appreciated. But too much fight is a detestable sin. We must wash you of it quickly. Don't worry, boy. The Culling will temper you nicely." 

Then, Kieran's world went black as he saw the bishop move with frightening speed. Something heavy and absolute had hit the back of his neck, severing his consciousness from the waking world. 

When Kieran awoke again, he was tossed into a large pit where dirt, sand, and jagged rock mixed to form a hazardous setting. A quick look around gave him additional information.

He was surrounded by other children. Many, perhaps even hundreds of them. The children found themselves in something like an arena. A giant cage of death imprisoned them with steel gates leading out and attached to the north and south ends.

Kieran took in the grim sight of many robed figures sitting in the staggered stands with solemn, gloomy, or severe expressions. There was an uncanny resemblance in their robes, labeling them of the same faith, but there were also striking differences—the color and complexity of the insignia emblazoned on their breast.

None matched the impression of the gaunt man's robes.

However, Kieran couldn't focus on how exquisite their attire was. He looked around at the hundreds of children surrounding him. Their conditions varied greatly, but their broken eyes exuded the same demented and primal savagery.

Those children were no different from wounded and starved beasts. 

Come to think of it, when was the last time he had eaten? Kieran instinctively gripped his stomach and made himself as unnoticeable as possible. 

That same gaunt man reappeared, standing outside the north gate. That same disturbing fanaticism brewed in his eyes, except it was thicker now, reinforced and exacerbated by the upcoming Culling of the Voiceless.

"You have been selected for greatness. Rejoice! This is a blessed fate. You get to stand before He Who Wars and receive his flame. Fight, children. Slaughter and bath in the blood of your brothers and sisters. Let the blood of War flow through your veins, and His flame burn in your hearts."

The stands began chanting in a language Kieran could not understand. Some ancient, lost tongue he reckoned.

"I, Weiss, Cardinal of War and Flame, give you this blessing to fight. You are Voiceless, and you are without a name. Earn a name, earn your keep, establish your faith! War, children. War!"

Kieran could feel the numerous demented gazes keen to attack and savage their enemies. Many children's eyes fell upon broken weaponry scattered across the Pit of Culling.

'These guys are assholes…'

Kieran looked around with a complex expression, mostly regret but also reproach and condemnation.

'I can't believe I have to kill children. If I don't, they'll just kill me. This is for survival. Right… survival.'

A simultaneous roar of savagery erupted in the Pit. And the children warred. This wasn't the first round of the Culling. It would continue until the barbaric faith of War and Flame ran hot through their veins. This was only the beginning, and Kieran knew it.

His fate had been sealed.

Kieran paced backward, retreating from the fight. He didn't fear the battle, but he did have remorse for the children. During his retreat, he was bumped and knocked to the ground but didn't take his eyes off the bloody scene before him.

There was no hint of technique, reason, or logic in how the children moved and fought. They bit, clawed, and bashed each other with rocks. Some of the smarter ones made use of the dulled, broken weapons. 

Sadly, those weapons only made the victim's pain more unbearable.

Kieran frowned, but soon, he faced the fires of their brutality. He stepped back, avoiding the approach of many children… until he was stabbed in his side, his torso lanced.

Then, something sinister and malevolent bubbled out of him with the increasing cuts to his body. While they were children, it was either him or them, and when it boiled down to it… he would always choose himself.

ραndαsΝοvεl ƈοm And so, Kieran's rampage began. It started with a single beheading and hot blood spattering across his face.

Wearing that blood like a mask, Kieran's rage billowed silently.

Something dreadful had awoken inside this Culling. Dread had found its home and proper seat.

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