The Blazing Memories

Edoran's gaze swept across the battlefield, the burning city twisting his gut into a knot. Fire poured from shattered buildings. 

Smoke churned in the blood-red sky. The air stank of scorched flesh and nitrate.

Everywhere he looked, chaos reigned. Soldiers in heavy armor clashed with monstrous beasts, their blades clanging like the tolling of doomsday bells. 

Reverberators, warriors who had gained their power by slaying savages, were scattered across the field, glowing with energy, their cores pulsing violently as they held the last line.

Each time a Reverberator slew a savage, the creature's essence was compressed and sealed into a crystalline vessel which they held, the core. 

This core wasn't just a container, it was a living archive of battle data, instincts, and raw, primal energy. Every muscle twitch, every survival tactic, every killing reflex the savage had honed, it all became a part of the Reverberator.

It is made from savages and was built inside a homunculus while being made. Humans just tend to hold them to use it.

But the process wasn't perfect.

Reverberators could store an infinite number of essences, but their bodies could only resonate with one at a time. 

When a stored essence was activated, their form would partially morph, bone structure shifting, muscle density increasing, skin taking on textures or colors from the savage in question. 

Their eyes might glow, their arms become clawed, their breath turn venomous or volcanic.

The more aligned the Reverberator was with the savage's nature, the more intense the transformation. 

Some trained themselves to mimic only parts, claws, speed or regenerative factors. Others gave in completely, becoming monstrous silhouettes of the beasts they had slain.

But switching between stored savages was a brutal ordeal. It meant severing a living connection, suppressing one identity to awaken another. The stronger the essence, the more it fought back during that switch. It wasn't just power, it was psychological warfare.

Reverberators who stored too many, too fast, risked mental collapse. Not because the core couldn't handle it, but because their mind couldn't.

That was the price of killing monsters, you became a chorus of them. And every time you drew on their strength, you had to remember who you were, or lose yourself to the echo.

Above it all loomed the Blazing Whale.

The sky monster drifted like a god of wrath, its grotesquely pale body charred and bleeding fire. Wounds riddled its flesh, but it burned hotter for it, not weaker.

Its presence alone made the air ripple with heat. Its breath was a storm of fire, each exhale obliterating chunks of cityscape and reducing entire units of soldiers to ashes.

A sudden crack. Something above broke loose.

A hunk of burning debris the size of a transport ship spiraled toward Edoran. He screamed and threw himself to the side, the roar of impact nearly deafening him. Shrapnel scythed through the air. 

Heat licked at his skin. He scrambled up, chest heaving, dust caking his throat.

Then he noticed them.

A handful of people, standing calmly amid the destruction.

They weren't running. They weren't screaming. They just stared upward at the Blazing Whale, serene smiles on their faces, as if basking in divine light. Even as others died around them, their expressions didn't change.

Something twisted inside Edoran.

Why are they smiling? What do they know that I don't?

Before he could think, a tall man in gray armor appeared beside him. 

Without hesitation, the man hurled chunks of debris skyward with inhuman strength. The stones vaporized midair, incinerated by the Whale's breath before they could touch it.

"You!" the man barked. He shoved Edoran hard. "Get out of here, kid! It's over. Lady Zora is engaging the creature. Let the Reverberators finish this."

"No!" Edoran shouted. His voice cracked. "My friend's hurt! I have to save him!"

The man looked at him, exasperated but not unkind. "I get it. But if you stay, you'll die too. Go now, or your friend won't be the only one lost."

Edoran hesitated. Pain and logic warred inside him.

Then he ran.

He ducked under the man's arm and bolted toward the medical center. Rubble and corpses blurred past. His legs pumped harder than ever. 

'I have to save Jake. I owe him for saving me.'

When he arrived, his stomach dropped.

The medical center was abandoned. No staff. No injured. Nothing.

The silence screamed.

He forced his way inside, his hands trembling. Cabinets hung open. Supplies were ransacked. His fingers scrambled across the shelves, brushing past shattered glass until they found bandages and salves. He turned to go.

A thunderous crack.

The ceiling caved in.

Edoran let instinct take over. He summoned his core and punched upward with every ounce of strength. The debris exploded around him, a narrow gap opening just wide enough. He crawled through, choking on dust, and looked up.

A yellow eye glowed from the shadows. Its pupil, a red ring with a white core pierced into his very soul.

Then darkness swallowed him.

Edoran awoke in cold sterility. A sharp, metallic scent clung to the air.

The lab.

No.

Not again.

Rows of tanks lined the walls. Inside each floated a failed homunculus, pale, silent, unmoving. 

Some were malformed. Others looked like children, forever frozen in fetal positions.

His chest tightened.

From behind a glass wall, voices filtered in.

"This one's a failure," someone said. "Core output's not even seventy percent."

A second voice, colder. "We need another like the Warmonger. A true weapon. Not this trash."

A third voice, softer, cracked. "But they're people. We've discarded over a million. A million lives just... erased."

"Bill," the second voice snapped, "if you ever call them 'people' again, you're finished. They're tools. Understand?"

Silence. Bill turned away, defeated.

Edoran clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

A movement drew his eye.

A small body, no older than six, lay half-buried beneath dead homunculi. Its fragile frame twitched.

"Hold on! I'm here!"

He lunged.

But his hands passed through it.

He screamed. Clawed. Desperate to dig the child out. Nothing worked.

The child stopped moving.

Edoran collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

Then the scene shifted.

He was inside a tank.

Jake and Harold stood outside.

"He's perfect," Jake said, grinning. "A weapon worth betting on."

Harold nodded. "We'll use him to crush the savages."

Edoran slammed his fists against the glass. He couldn't breathe. The tank filled with water. His vision blurred.

It shifted again.

Now he was in a cage. He was shorter and younger with long dark hair covering his face.

The crowd roared.

Bets were placed. The savage, a tiger-like beast charged. Edoran, barely clothed, held a baton. 

It might as well have been a twig.

The creature struck.

Pain exploded in his ribs. He flew across the cage and slammed into the bars. Something cracked. Blood poured from his mouth.

Then, gunfire. Screaming. Soldiers.

"DEFENSE CORPS! HANDS IN THE AIR!"

A soldier lifted him, carried him to safety. Everything faded.

Edoran blinked.

He was back in reality.

The Whale was dead.

NOVA Star Vehicles had arrived, their massive machines carving up the corpse. A horrific victory. Empty.

Then he remembered Jake.

Edoran sprinted to Star Wraith Industries, dread clawing at his chest.

The building stood mostly intact. He burst through the doors.

Harold was on the floor.

Jake's body lay limp in his arms.

Blood pooled around his neck. His eyes stared, vacant.

Edoran froze.

"No..."

He dropped beside them. Reached out. Jake's skin was cold.

"What happened?" he choked out.

Harold didn't look up. His voice was hollow. "A savage... it got to us. I couldn't stop it."

Edoran's world shattered.

He should have been here. He should have stayed. Maybe he could have saved him.

Tears blurred his vision.

A group of armored soldiers entered.

The leader looked at Jake and sighed with relief. "Only a homunculus was lost. Young master Harold, we have to get you to safety."

Something inside Edoran snapped.

His fist collided with the soldier's jaw. The man crumpled.

"JUST a homunculus?!" he screamed. "Jake was my friend! He mattered!"

Silence.

No one dared speak.

Harold rose, still holding Jake's body.

"Come with me," he whispered.

They placed Jake in the back of an armored vehicle.

The drive was quiet. Dead.

They arrived at a garden. A single, massive tree stood in the center.

"He loved it here," Harold said. "Said it was peaceful."

He dug the grave himself. Every shovelful was agony. His hands trembled. Dirt mixed with blood and tears.

Edoran stood still, watching. Helpless.

'If this is a dream, let me wake up.'

Harold placed Jake gently into the earth.

Silence followed.

Then footsteps.

William arrived. He said nothing. Just placed a hand on Harold's shoulder.

Harold broke.

His cries echoed through the garden.

And Edoran's heart cracked with every sob.

The world, once again, had taken someone precious and left him nothing but memories and pain.