Weapons of Mass Destruction-Chapter 536: Champion Feroy

The next few days turn into a race against time.

Can we make the damaged parts of Exoria functional enough before they locate us? Will we manage it before the mimic takes over his mind? Will he even be able to activate Exoria in his current state? Could we escape now and leave the Champion behind as he is?

Leth leads most of the work, and I follow him. Sometimes I try to locate whatever the Champion left inside his body, but I can’t quite manage it. What a curious thing.

During the few times, Leth actually sleeps, one or two hours at a time. I keep the heating running. I patch up the degrading defensive array, which is slowly reaching a point where I won’t be able to repair it. The small damage is okay, but it’s too complex for me to deal with any larger issues that arise. But I learn a lot both from Exoria and the tent’s defensive array.

And I talk to the Champion.

Just like he did in front of the other lumorans, he acts strong in front of Leth. It’s something I think I should have noticed before, but I still consider this Champion silly. I believe all the lumorans saw through his attempts and loved him anyway.

But when Leth is asleep, Champion Feroy allows his mask to break. That’s when I step in, to offer him a chance to talk about himself, his memories, or anything to keep him grounded in the fight raging in his mind. Slowly, he does so, and his face loses some of the tension that’s grown so ingrained in his expression.

Champion Feroy is a gentle man. More than talking about himself or his achievements, he speaks of the people he’s met, about all the kindness he’s witnessed in his life, and about the unfairness that saddened him.

He talks about a time before the war, about his older sister, how she loved flowers, and how she loved to dance when they were young.

She died back in one of the very first battles when the Elder Mimic attacked their city, nestled against one of the giant trees that used to be in the north. Trees that are now long gone, lost deep in the heart of Mimic territory.

He talks about his younger brother, who died on the third front when a Champion grade Mimic made its first unexpected appearance.

He reminisces about his brother’s brown eyes, rare amongst the golden eyed lumorans. A feature that seemed to make his brother very popular, especially combined with his easygoing demeanor and caring nature.

Champion Feroy tells me time and again, just how much love he had for both his siblings, seeming to forget the prior tellings each time.

Then he talks about the day he entered a competition, amongst dozens of other talented lumorans, for the right to become the next disciple of a Champion, an event that happened many times over the course of the war.

Much to his surprise, he was chosen. His and everyone else's.

Back then, he wasn’t a Champion, he was just a lumoran called Feroy, a candidate born with a weak body that no healer could fix because his weaknesses were too deeply rooted. He was just a man who couldn’t properly control his mana without tools to help him.

He talks about a day he visited a school full of orphans, how he spent the entirety of his monthly allowance from his master to buy them toys and sweets.

He talks about how he killed his mother and father, both overtaken by Mimics. At that moment, he almost gave up, but as always, he forced himself to keep going, determined to do better, to push forward.

“One more time,” he said to himself again and again, each time he failed or lost yet another person close to him.

He talks about how his master came up with the idea for Exoria, back then it was just a simple suit of armor that would help Feroy channel his mana and cover for his weak body. A tool that for others would only be a crutch, slowing them down, despite how it would come to be so important to him.

Over the years though it evolved into what it is now, every addition and expansion tailored to support him as he grew stronger.

I listen, only stopping to ask the occasional question or two, especially when he seems lost in thought. When I offer to try and help him, he refuses, telling me he is containing the Mimic. He doesn’t want to risk the Mimic affecting me through physical contact.

A part of me wants to risk it, to help him, perhaps out of curiosity. But I know he’s right. So I listen to the story of his life. His struggles, his failures, and sometimes his achievements, which he mentions shyly and always briefly.

He talks even more about the time his disciples, Hephas and Naeve, caught some kind of small animal and dumped it in Exoria’s cockpit. That scared little creature released a strong scent that filled the cabin for days, impossible to clean out during the training they were doing back then. It’s something he seems to look back on with a certain kind of fondness.

His first meeting with Serabeth, who broke his nose after misunderstanding his compliment as a pushy pickup line. She did it even though she knew he was a Champion.

His first meeting with Level 9 Technician Ito, who was only Level 6 at the time, and the man who created the first pieces of the armor that would become Exoria. A man similar in age to Feroy, with whom he had shared many adventures.

Gradually, I piece together bits of information: the rare illness that makes his body weak and forces him to rely on tools to prop up his abilities; the talent that, despite everything, made him the second strongest Champion among the lumorans.

Exoria is a tool, a crutch, he needs it just to wield his power without killing himself, even if it holds him back.

When he was just a candidate, it made some people look down on him. Even so, he still had his followers, people like Serabeth, Technician Ito, and disciples who still decided to follow in his footsteps and use war armor they didn’t need. These war armors were largely funded by Feroy, carried by his influence, even at the cost of postponing Exoria’s own upgrades.

Dozens of lumorans followed this man, and each one had their own reasons: whether it was his gentle nature, his refusal to give up, or his strength. Most of these people are dead now because they chose to follow and help him with the dangerous mission he felt was so crucial to the survival of their people. Even when they had to rush to the battlefield without the proper preparations.

Even though the combination of Feroy’s illness and the wounds from previous battles prevented him from using Exoria. Even though he couldn’t use his mana anymore without his war armor—and despite knowing that the next time he activated Exoria would probably kill him.

The fact that he is alive now after everyone struggled to fix it and he activated it, is almost a miracle. Even before heading to the second front, he expected to die from the consequences of his prior fight, the unhealing wounds he suffered, and his worsening sickness. Maybe his survival is even the result of the Mimic slowly taking over him.

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“Once a Mimic enters your body, it can’t escape. It’ll either take over or try to kill you as it dies. The only thing that might change that is probably a Progenitor Mimic,” the Lumoran in front of me says out of nowhere.

Making sure I’m listening, he explains, “At first, it’s like you almost don’t notice. They do their best to remove your memory of their entry. Sometimes they fail, but most of the time they succeed. The next important step they take is to maximize your will to live, so you’ll avoid danger and be less likely to end your own life before losing your will to the Mimic.”

While speaking, he carefully touches the circular crystalline feature on his left wrist with his fingertips. “Then, if they’re not capable of taking over quickly, they try to weaken you, physically and mentally.”

He thinks for a while before smiling. “I believe a strong will and mental defenses are more important than your skills, traits, classes, or passives, judging by my ‘guest’s’ behavior.”

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“Is it really not possible to remove it?”

“We’ve tried many times, even with the Lord Absolute’s help. Even the weakest Mimics cannot be removed by us without destroying the mind of their host.”

Probably because of all the time I’ve spent with Kyralon and his questions, I’ve started getting just as curious myself, so I ask, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“I don’t mind. I’m grateful for your company and for how kind you’ve been to listen to my stories. Please, ask away.”

“You won’t tell me about your mission here or about the message you left with Leth, right?”

“I hope you understand why.”

“In that case, what keeps you going? Your disciples, your friends, the technicians you spent all those decades with, and the people who were willing to follow you here, even knowing none of you were likely to survive, are all dead. What else remains?”

He pulls his legs closer to his chest and draws the blanket around his body. Lit by my thermal pyramid, he thinks for a moment.

When he looks back up at me, his eyes are clear. “First, I want to tell you that I never expected it would end this way. If I had known, I wouldn’t have allowed any of the mercenaries to join this expedition. This is our planet's problem, and I thought we would have more time, but things went terribly wrong.”

He doesn’t seem to be lying, from what I can tell, so I nod.

“As for what keeps me going,” he pauses before continuing, “it’s probably the feeling that it’s all about to end. I’ll die soon while helping you escape, and I’ll take down as many Mimics as I can, including the one currently worming its way into my mind. After that, there will be no more watching the people I care about die or seeing my fellow lumorans suffer. I'm so very tired, Assistant Nathaniel, so just this once, I will be selfish. But before that, I’ll push one more time and give it my best. So that when I meet those who’ve passed on before me, I can look into their faces with pride and say, ‘I did my best,’ and thank them.”

After that, Champion Feroy doesn’t speak anymore.

His once-gentle eyes grow colder as he sits and watches Leth and I fix up Exoria.

He doesn’t eat or drink.

And he doesn’t sleep or meditate.

A day passes like that, and finally, a presence appears in the surrounding area.

The Mimics buried in the snow stop hiding and stand up. Eager to welcome the latest powerful addition to their ranks.

Waiting for the second-strongest among the lumoran Champions to become one of the strongest Mimics in existence—immense talent and capabilities taken over, with the Mimic potentially fixing or replacing his body.

There is almost a kind of rhythm in the air, a vibration I can feel in my chest and a distant humming noise that gradually grows stronger, enough to pierce through the relentless blizzard. It feels almost like a ritual to welcome the new arrival.

Champion Feroy stands for the first time in a long while. His face is thin, dark circles under his eyes, and he moves slowly, almost mechanically.

Leth and I watch as he steps closer to us.

Almost in desperation, Leth calls out to him with the same love the now-dead Lumorans in this camp once felt.

The Champion touches the surface of the war armor, and the humming becomes almost ear-piercing.

He slowly climbs into the cockpit, then rests inside and closes his eyes.

The new rhythms quicken, and even the blizzard begins to subside for a moment.

His eyes open. They are clear and beautiful as he smiles gently.

“One more time,” he says.

The cockpit slams shut, and the rhythmic cries of the monsters are replaced by screams and waves of mana washing over the area, and multiple signatures rise to meet it, each rivaling the presence of a Champion.

Exoria stands in a single, energetic motion, piercing through the roof of the half-collapsed tent and sending piles of snow tumbling down on us.

When his domain expands from the war armor, I act, stretching a multitude of Ley Lines outward in every direction.

Even though there are multiple Champion grade Mimics, none can tear it apart, the lumoran Champion won’t allow it. The mimics fail to put so much as a dent in the lumoran Champion’s domain during his last stand.

I grab Leth and take us as far away as I can along one of the lines.

Immediately, multiple presences reach out, trying to track us, but Exoria takes a step, and the blizzard ceases with a single pulse rippling out from the impact.

The sky, ever clouded and filled with falling snow, turns a clear blue as the sunlight begins pouring down on the area, shining down on the tall, black suit of war armor. It almost seems like it’s absorbing that light.

Only the scratches reveal the silver metal beneath. The war armor, like its pilot, is scarred, damaged, and barely holding itself together. And yet here it stands, ready to give its all, one last time.

Despite having no wings, it floats into the air, a tremor reverberating through the surroundings. And a huge halo forms over its head, seemingly woven from the essence of light itself.

I teleport us again and again, throwing Ley Lines as far as I can by tying them to my projectiles. Leth vomits a few times from all the rapid teleportation, but we need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.

Gradually, only a few stronger presences manage to keep pace. All the others being held at bay by Exoria and its pilot in a battle I can sense even at this distance.

There’s a terrible screeching. Explosions of light. And earthquakes that reach us even here. The shockwaves send us rolling and vaporize the snow around us.

Even from miles away, an immense rumbling shakes the air, while flashes of light evaporate everything in their path.

That little black shape with its halo of light, remains, floating resolute against the pale blue sky, even extends some sort of temporary field around us that deflects the attacks of the Mimics still in pursuit. Some of the suit’s attacks reach us even here, killing some of our pursuers while permanently scarring the area.

It continues like that hour after hour. And I can still feel the fight as we continue our flight.

Champion Feroy against three Mimic Champions, along with countless weaker ones.

Then it’s one against two.

Then just one against one.

When only a single presence remains, the world feels peaceful for a fleeting moment, the gentle light holding steady against the blizzard of the second front.

One more radiant flash and even that last signature disappears.