Obsession's Tragedy : The Search For SSS Rank Thighs

Just before the memory was about to end, Finnian stopped it from ascending by pausing the playback.

An ingenious idea sparked in his mind.

"Wait. So if I learned a large amount of Norwegian during these few weeks, couldn't I just relearn it?"

The task was simple, and the best part was it took no time at all.

Quite literally.

In the space where time didn't move, Finnian spent his time scrubbing through his memories, learning all the Norwegian that he possibly could from his prior self.

It would have been boring if he wasn't able to rewatch all of the battles that he had taken part in with his MegaMech. And when the boredom did set in, he would make wagers with his shadow, anthropomorphizing it as if he were "Lost From Light" himself.

Thankfully for the boy, his understanding of the language came quickly, as if augmented by some form of muscle memory carried over from his past life.

Soon he had learned all that he possibly could learn.

Concluding the memory, Finnian returned to the present.

-----------------------------

"See, he's just staring at the knife," Kerian said to the old man.

"Well, he's probably traumatized from the time when you tried to stab him. I always knew your little hobby of collecting knives would lead to something like this."

"Like what? Like your demon baby, quite literally, biting the life out of me?"

It was strange.

Very strange.

For the first time since Finnian had entered this new world, disregarding his mother telling him to 'hold on,' he was finally able to understand what people were saying.

Now came the fun part.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, awe you able to compwehend my diawect?"

There were two unfortunate factors at play here.

The first was the fact that Finnian still spoke like a toddler, meaning that his words came out slurred and broken. The second was the fact that Finnian had learned mostly the posh phrases from Norwegian, making him sound painfully high-class.

The man and the boy looked at each other, then looked back at the baby, and then back at one another.

They were shocked, shocked to the point of speechlessness.

Then, allowing the silence to remain unperturbed, Kerian walked to the book that sat in front of the child, closed it, and walked out of the room, aiming to return it back to Edna as it no longer had any use here.

"Mawvellous, the muwderous one is gone. Now then, owd man, would you be so kind and face me towards a miwwor? It's been some time, you see, and I'm stiww in the dawk about my own facial features."

"..."

The old man was left staring blankly at the baby.

"Owd boy? Owd boy? Awe you stiww with us, chap?"

The old man, without saying a word, lifted the boy up and began to take him to the bathroom.

Above the modern basin, a broad rectangular mirror dominated the wall, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. The smooth chrome frame caught the light, adding a faint sheen. Below it, the porcelain sink rested in pristine perfection, its glossy surface untouched.

The mirror reflected the stillness of the room, broken only by the quiet drip of water from the tap. It seemed to expand the space, making the bathroom feel larger than it was.

And there, in the middle of that room, for the first time, Finnian saw himself.

The baby's big eyes were full of wonder as he looked at his reflection.

Chubby cheeks flushed pink, a tiny glisten of drool clung to the corner of his mouth, falling to the floor as he cooed softly.

His small, chubby hands reached for the glass, his fingers spreading out as if he were trying to touch the other baby, who was looking at him with the same wide-eyed amazement.

His dark red, wispy hair stuck up in messy tufts, and his round face was a picture of awe, the kind only an infant could muster when faced with the unknown.

His eyes, however, were strange.

His pupils were white, accented by a ring of black, the two blending into each other at the peripheries.

He tilted his head to the side, the reflection copying him perfectly, and his mouth opened slightly in a soft, toothless grin. A moment of pure delight in this strange encounter.

"Haha, I'm cute as shit." the child thought to himself.

From behind the baby, a soft, trembling voice began to murmur.

"So uh..."

Father Fionnlagh interrupted.

"Are you a child of the divine?"

"Wut?"

"Finnian..." he said, his voice trembling with a mix of wonder and fear. "Ruhk, the way you wield it... nothing like this has ever existed. Not since god took the ability to manipulate it from us. But you... you can truly use it."

His hands shook slightly as he spoke, overwhelmed by the weight of his own words. "You must be from a place we call the Divine Realm, that's what we call it, or, at least, I do. The more devout followers refer to it as 'The Halls of Grecorion'..." He hesitated, reluctant to say what came next. "Looking at you, I think that's where you're from."

"Our religion is a reinvigorated one, after the calamity of the coming god, our belief came back to prominence."

He took a step back, as though standing before something both beautiful and terrible.

"You have to understand, young one. Once, God's gift to each of us was Ruhk manipulation. But we twisted it into something wicked. So, he took it away. And then... he sent the Kaiju, his celestial messengers. Few understand their true purpose. They came to remind us of our transgressions, to lead us back to the righteous path."

His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "I left the Core for this reason. How could I raise my sword against the will of god?"

"But you... you are different."

"You use magic in its purest, unspoiled form. Like something out of the old scriptures, brought to life. After all these years of studying the holy texts, I never... I never thought I would see this."

"Some say his name with ceremony, calling him Grecorion in their rehearsed prayers. But watching you, witnessing this magic no one else possesses..." He swallowed hard. "I think you must know him simply as Father."

"Finnian, you are something holy. Something truly divine.

The kind of miracle we stopped daring to pray for..."

The old man knelt down, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me... did he send you to us? After all these years of silence, are you a sign that he hasn't abandoned us completely?"

Finnian was taken aback by the line of questioning. Previously, he simply believed that it was a custom in this world to have servants, and that his servant was none other than the old man.

Though he was not able to understand all of Fionnlagh's words, the meaning behind them were obvious. The man was desperate.

He was in need of motivation.

Finnian's specialty.

"You ask me if I'm the son of youw gowd? He who took magic fwom you as punishment fow youw misdeeds."

Finnian puffed up his chest as he continued to speak, looking at Fionnlagh in the mirror as the old man continued to hold him.

"Yes, young one, I must know!"

Finnian paused for a second, pretending to think about his answer, a crude cover for his attempt to simply add suspense to the situation.

"On da day whewe I deem you wowthy, I shall weveal my twue being to you."

"Ah," the old man said in a pondering tone, "So I must reveal to you that I am worthy? I accept this challenge, you will not be disappointed, Finnian, or would you prefer Mr. Thorne... Master Thorne maybe?"

As the old man was thinking up the right way to refer to the newly, potentially, ascended baby, Finnian was coming to terms with many realities about his new situation.

The first being his name.

"Finnian Thorne huh... I can't say I don't like it, I did hear them mentioning that name a few times but I didn't even know it was a name at the time.

"Also now I know a small amount of information about this world... Kaiju, Kaiju hunters, lost magic, vengeful gods, such juicy information.

"It was likely then that my mother was a Kaiju, or maybe... I don't know, a not fully formed Kaiju, like she was going to turn into one soon.

"But then how the hell does that work?

"Ughhh, my head hurts with all this new info, I just learnt a whole language in a week, and I'm trying to find out the origins of my Kaiju mother. I need a break."

"Before that though, I should see how the old man reacts to my advice."

With his advice, Finnian was able to kill two birds with one stone.

First, he was able to get someone to effectively work under him for free, their payment merely coming in the form of words of validation.

Secondly, he succeeded in motivating Fionnlagh instead of leaving him feeling depressed or stagnant. Had Finnian responded with one of the two obvious answers—'Yes, I am the son of your god,' or 'No, I'm just a normal magical baby'—the old man would either have fallen into despair or become bored, as his work would be complete. After all, the son of his god would likely be far too powerful to require his assistance in anything.

His option truly was the best.

"So owd man, what do I caww you?"

"My name is Fionnlagh."

"Huh, you and I have quite similar names."

"Well, that makes sense, I did name you after all."

"Hmm, that must be one of the customs here. On that topic there is much I need to learn about this world, but first I think I need a na—"

A loud crash echoed through the small bathroom as the door shot open, almost hitting the two with enough force to knock them out cold.

"I got it!" an excited voice announced.

In the doorway stood a girl, hair draped over her ears, wearing a weathered dress and holding a black shard in her hands, her dark brown eyes piercing the soul of the old man.

It was Feyra.

"You hear me, Father? I found it, I know where the baby came from."

"Shit!"

-----------------------------

The whole event, starting from Fionnlagh looking at Finnian through the crack in the door to now, had only taken about forty minutes to an hour.

And in that brief span of time, Feyra had been searching.

Sitting in a room housing ten beds and ten bedside tables, it would be hard for Feyra to call the room her own. Not just because of the fact that it was shared by nine others, but also because barely anything that she owned was present in the room. That's not to say that her belongings were somewhere else, but simply that the young girl had few possessions.

And as she sat on her bed, looking at one of these few belongings, she contemplated her next move.

"Well, looks like there's a true mystery here. I bet Father wouldn't allow me to go near the crater that he found that child in, and in a normal situation with a normal eight-year-old they would listen. But, unlike them, I refuse to be stepped on by 'The Man.'"

Feyra thought about inviting Kerian with her to do some research, but she quickly decided against it, remembering what happened last time she tried to organize a plan with Kerian, and the fact that he couldn't even stay awake during the explanation.

"I gotta have backup. If I don't and something bad happens, then it's all over."

Though Feyra was a bit of a thrill seeker, she was also very cautious, as was demonstrated by the mounds of parchment on her desk detailing each and every one of her attempts to 'stick it to the man.'

Though technically the church housed many orphans, many of them were either too young, too old, or just weren't currently on the church grounds.

Slim pickings for the young girl.

Mentally searching through potential candidates, she was left with only one viable option.

Well, maybe calling him a viable option was somewhat of a stretch.

After all, the boy could not even walk.

Getting up from her bed, Feyra walked out of the room and down the corridor, stopping when she saw the door to the boy's room.

Unlike the others in the orphanage, he was the only one to have his own room. However, unsurprisingly, no one was envious of him; after all, the room was not a bedroom, but a workshop.

"Hello! Dorian, are you in there? Adventure calls!" the young girl shouted from the other side of the door.

Her shouts, however, were met by faint whirring and hums.

Understanding that the boy likely would not hear her calls over the racket that he was making in the room, she decided just to enter.

"Hey Dorian, you ready to go on an adventure? You better not be burnt out sleeping again. Hey, legless, can you hear meeeeee?"

The pun was painfully on the nose, but due to the fact that the boy was indeed lacking legs—or more accurately, lacking legs from the knee down—combined with the fact that he was a sucker for archery, or at least used to be, the name stuck.

"Hey sport, what can I do for ya?"

Dorian was one of the oldest orphans in the church, due mostly to the fact that no one really wanted to adopt a child with no legs, and even if they did, almost no one had the money to afford the same accessibility facilities that the church had, or even anything anywhere close.

He was hunched over at his desk, his eyes so close to the parchment he was working on it looked almost as if they were feeling the pages. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were blue, however compared to what the boy was sitting on these details were trivial.

The boy sat on a wheelchair of his own creation. It was a marvellous fusion of wooden elegance and industrial ingenuity, with dark mahogany forming its sturdy frame and plush burgundy velvet cushioning that seemed more fitting for a nobleman's study than a mobility device.

The large wheels were rimmed with intricate black ironwork, their spokes adorned with delicate scrollwork that caught the light on their brass accents.

At its sides, brass pipes and gauges gave the chair a distinctly mechanical appearance, while ornate steam vents crowned with small brass chimney caps rose from behind the high-backed seat.

The armrests were fitted with various brass levers and dials, their purpose known only to their young inventor. The footrest, suspended by decorative iron brackets, completed the chair's blend of function and extravagance.

Dorian was an inventor, and this was simply one of his many inventions.

"Wait, before you say anything I want to show you something cool." the boy said as he reached into the pockets of his, once white, tattered trousers, removing from them a small wooden device.

"What's that supposed to be?" the young girl questioned.

"Oh you just wait and see."

On the side of the wooden box was a crank, and on its head was a serpentine mechanism; a wooden snake's head attached to a series of diamond-shaped segments. Each segment was joined by small brass fasteners, allowing the neck to extend and contract when the crank turned.

And turn the crank he did.

At first nothing happened, the pressure in the box building via the spring. Then, all of a sudden, a slight 'ting' could be heard, indicating that the machine was ready.

"Now watch this."

As the boy pressed the crank inward, the head of the snake shot forward, the multiple diamond-shaped segments allowing the head to stay attached while extending outward.

The head stopped in mid-air, just missing Feyra's ear.

"AH! You almost killed me with that!"

"That wouldn't have killed you, come on, it was barely even going that fast. If you wanna see fast I'll show you fast, kid."

Getting out his wooden screwdriver, the boy began to tinker with the machine.

"We don't have time for that, like I said before. Adventure calls!"

"Uh huh, adventure... So you're gonna stay up late again? Came here to invite me to your slumber party, maybe?"

"Why does everyone always bring that up," she said under her breath.

"No, this is a real adventure! You know the baby, right?"

"Father's divine baby? Yeah, I'm pretty sure everyone in the church knows about it, why?"

"Well, I think it's time we should investigate."

"Don't you do that stuff with that one kid that's obsessed with knives? What's his name, Killian?"

"Kerian."

"Kerian... Yeah, that's the one, where's he at?"

"Probably sleeping, knowing him..." she said under her breath.

However, unbeknownst to Feyra, the boy was, at this point, intently listening to a monster's origin story.

"What was that?" the boy responded, picking up on Feyra's murmuring.

"Oh, I was just saying... uhhh, forget about him. Yeah, it's you and me now, you're my new par—"

"Also," he interrupted, "why did you wait this long to investigate? The kid's been here for, like... weeks, no?"

Feyra paused. She didn't want to tell Dorian the truth, that she had spent the last few weeks formulating contingency plans just in case anything was to go wrong on her adventure.

Taking a step forward, Feyra began to speak, and as she began to speak, she began to fall.

"Well, you see, it's quite a funny story..."

As the girl continued her descent, her speech did not falter, her cadence nor tone showing not an ounce of shock or fear.

She had been falling her whole life after all.

And, by this point, she was used to it, and so was Dorian.

Before her face embraced the floor, Dorian threw the pillow that acted as his headrest to the floor.

Cushioning the girl's landing.

"See," she said, her words muffled by the cushion that was now enveloping her face, "Those are the kind of skills that I need."

Denied the use of his legs, Dorian turned his focus to his arms, developing a rare mastery. His hands became instruments of precision and agility, crafting with finesse and striking with unerring accuracy in archery. Each accomplishment lent new weight to the nickname "Legless."

"It doesn't matter whether or not you need me, kid. All that matters is whether or not I want to go... And... Now that I think about it... I think I might just want to."

The boy had spent the better part of the last few weeks writing up schematics for his new creation; in that way, the girl and himself were alike.

It would be good for them both to do something other than plan.

Going down the corridor, Dorian asked the only logical question that one should ask when invited out on an adventure.

"Alright, so what's the plan?"

"Don't you worry about that, Legless," the girl said, remembering the stacks of parchment piled up on her desk, "I've got everything memorized."

"Okay, well, that's good, but I'm still going to need a rundown."

As they continued to walk down the corridor, Feyra explain core parts of her plan. These mainly consisted of looking for clues in the somewhat cleaned-up wreckage that was left outside of the church at the baby's arrival.

However, just as Feyra grabbed onto the handle of the door to exit the church, she heard something; the sound of metal slicing through air and chains rattling against the floor.