"I apologize. I intended to bring you both down in a gentler way, but Rust accidentally damaged the elevator system."
Zecker pulled a remote control from his pocket and pressed a button.
A buzzing sound echoed, along with the clanking of metal as the safety gate lowered.
Leaping into view in front of White was a horrifying creature, covered in numerous large and small scars.
It had one body, but two heads, both glaring and drooling at him. Four arms and eight legs moved with surprising agility, but constantly struck against each other in a hostile manner.
"Subject 124, take the one lying there to the holding cell."
Zecker's voice startled the creature. It immediately stood upright. The two heads turned around, searching for the one lying there with a wild, insane look.
With the spotlight shining on him, Rust was easily located by Subject 124. That was all it needed; it quickly lunged forward with its twelve limbs and two drooling mouths. "Uekkk." – The surgical knife flew towards the monster and pierced one of its legs.
It only managed to let out a single roar. But the button and Zecker only allowed that much.
"Don't come closer."
White crawled forward, clinging to the ice sword still stuck in the floor to get up slowly.
This awful smell made his posture and body contort and twist.
The pain in his arm prevented him from even pulling the sword out of the floor.
"What is this? Excalibur?"
Of course not. He was just weak. And White himself understood that.
White knew he was like this again. Fearful. That's why his jokes and his mouth kept moving.
As if by constantly talking, he wouldn't accidentally swallow the fear that was about to engulf him.
But even so, it still crept into his palms, making his hands tremble. It ran down to his legs, making him almost fall.
"How pathetic." – White mocked himself aloud. But he twisted those words into an insult, just to avoid looking too pathetic in front of the two people before him. "You dare turn innocent people into things like this? For what?"
Tears welled up in his brown eyes. The will that seemed to be about to break inside White kept struggling between bouts of fatigue just to keep his weak, tearful self from falling before the enemy. Perhaps because if he showed his weakness now, the disgusting creature would be himself and Rust.
Under the bright light, the man placed both hands on his sword and grinned triumphantly. Zecker now looked at him like a devoted follower. His sudden kneeling and repeated bowing surprised White somewhat, given the effectiveness of the lighting effects.
"The White Savior. It's him! It's him! He's returned!"
He said this while activating the electricity. But not only on subject 124, but on all the creatures behind the bars.
A pained scream and an unexpected electric shock echoed. Then, a chorus of chanting, "White Savior," in various voices, sounded, as if welcoming a long-awaited savior.
And perhaps that was what White had hoped for when he learned he had been transported to a completely different world. It must have been a stage where the spotlight was meant only for him, with blood, heroism, weapons, followers, and even recognition, whether voluntary or forced.
Yet, with all of that, why did White utterly despise it at this very moment?
"You say I am the savior?"
"Absolutely, my dear"
White's trembling voice echoed like thunder to Zecker. He remained kneeling, inching forward with his tail wagging incessantly.
"How can you be so sure about that?"
Using the sword as leverage, White pushed himself up, causing it to finally slip out of the crack. His entire body lunged forward, holding the white ice sword, its tip pointed directly at Zecker.
"That's because I still recognize you. No matter how many layers of my being I shed, I still recognize you. Whether you are old or young, I can still tell it was you, my dear White Savior. With that voice, that posture, that face, I could never mistake you for anyone else, even if you were much younger. But ultimately, the truth remains the same: you have returned, just as the prophecy foretold."-Zecker stepped forward. His heavy footsteps continued to bring his vulnerable neck closer to the sword.
He knew. The White Savior he knew would never dare to act so easily.
He knew everything about the Savior he had been waiting for. He had observed, studied, researched, hoped, despaired, created, and done everything.
And then this day came.
The day he himself would guide the Savior of this world along the precise path of destiny that awaited him.
A satisfied smile curved his lips as tears streamed down his face. Memories flooded his mind along with the tears.
These inhumane experiments were all for this day.
The despair and hope were all for this day.
The sacrifices, however painful, were all for this day.
And his entire life had been leading up to this day. "My Savior." – A large, muscular arm rested on the hilt of the sword. – "Put down the sword. This is not the path you should take. Follow me; I have found the ultimate path of power for you. The path that will allow you to save this world with the least amount of suffering."
His eyes, which had just been filled with tears, shone brightly, like black jewels.
White's trembling arms and legs gradually relaxed. He seemed to be succumbing to these seductive words.
But as his hands began to loosen their grip, another hideous figure made him clench his teeth and swing the sword again.
Subject 124 immediately jumped into his field of vision. It moved towards him, neither fast nor slow, giving him just enough time to react and sever the thread connecting the two heads.
White hadn't even realized what had happened. He only became aware of something when blood covered the blade, and his clothes still held the scent and warmth of his own body. "124, huh? So you're also doomed. Never mind. Maybe 265 will be better than you."
124? White wondered. But why did its eyes seem so familiar? Like him and White being helplessly tortured and beaten by those beastmen. Like someone lying there, looking at the other with hope that they would escape this prison through that sacrifice.
He wasn't sure if it had just suddenly gone berserk. Or if some part of its remaining sanity had managed to awaken to warn him.
But now, looking back. If he followed Zecker, what kind of savior would he be?
So, this time, the sword was directly aimed at Zecker.
"Can I understand that as a refusal, then, my Savior?"
"Your savior?"—The inherent mockery returned to his face—"I don't even care. I never intend to save this terrible. I am White Turner. I said I will become a Savior because I want to do it. No-fukin-one could never force me to become any type of savior or hero or anything you desire." The ice blade slowly approached the lizard's neck. He could feel the sharpness and cold of White's blade against his veins.
"But the White Savior…. Everything is dying. The soul, the karma, the god, and even you. They are all collapsed. And you are the only one who."
"You said this world is being destroyed. But what you're doing here is no different."
White interrupts Zecker' with a blank emotional face. He glanced around. It was surprisingly quiet.
He didn't know if they understood what he was saying. Or if there was some type of oppressive aura emanating from below that made these brutes surprisingly intelligent.
"But isn't it supposed to be your job to save everyone? That's the only reason you're here."
With a point of view from Zecker, this is unacceptable.
He did sacrifice so much for this moment. It was so close to the true ending, the salvation that the lizard hero wanted to bring to this world. However, one step ahead may be the widest river that needs to be gotten through.
So what?
An ice sword and a powerless human race. How much of a threat did this pose to a former hero?
With a single punch, too fast for the human eye to follow, the sword flew from his hand, and his consciousness left his body.
"But don't worry. The body of the Hero and Savior is here. I will create the masterpiece for the final battle of this world." His eyes softened as he cradled the small body, no bigger than his two hands. For him, this was perfect.
"Click-click"
He recognized that sound. It was the sound of the prison cell door opening.
Then again, "click-click" and the sound continued, echoing monotonously in the dim, barely illuminated space.
Due to the narrowing of the sound, Zecker's grip on White becomes harder. The human being transitions from pink to red, then to green, and finally becomes faint in White.
Also, the most intentional concerns of Zecker has come.