The Sound Of Despair

Pure, raw power flowed through Sturm. Instead of electrocuting him, the lightning matter in his veins transferred its energy to him. Like an overclocked computer, his body's performance seemed to increase on a comprehensive level. While his strength barely passed the threshold for a second-step commoner, the boost to his nervous system was what made Sturm feel like he had left his humanity behind.

His thought processes sped up multiple times, and every command his brain sent to his body was instantaneous. It was something Sturm had never realized before. Only now, after witnessing the difference, did he notice how slow the signals had been sent before.

A new gate had opened before Sturm, and the Art of the Nine Pillars reached a level he had hoped to achieve in at least tens of years. The sound, smell, vibration, color, and every other sensory stimulus were processed and analyzed clearer than ever before. As Sturm activated the [Black Room], nothing could escape his senses.

The initial burst of power during the cell conversion had already disappeared, but fully lightning-attributed mana cells would still double the power of any lightning magic. Consequently, Sturm's [Fists of Mjölnir] experienced a change as well. The lightning matter pumped through his hands with such a high frequency that the lightning ball surrounding his fists looked almost solid.

It was the first time Sturm felt as much in control, and it was time to end this phase of his life. The slave camp had both given him an opportunity and taken everything from him. Never had he been able to influence these outcomes, and only Edgar's goodwill had been a light in the dark. It was different now; Sturm would no longer be a victim of circumstances; he would break free and fulfill Edgar's and Reinhardt's expectations for him.

If he truly wanted to be able to move on, then avenging those two that had been family for him would be the first necessary step. As Sturm reveled in the feeling of power and being in control, he felt the desire to unleash all the pent-up power onto the slave camp's forces. They would not only be sacrifices but also test subjects. The [Fists of Mjölnir] had already been able to stun magic beasts before his transformation, so it was intriguing what it would do to commoners now.

The close to two hundred guards and slavers that were still rooted to the ground were slowly overcoming their terror and superstition. There was bravery in numbers, and no matter what that young slave was, they were two hundred while he was one. No one could fight forever, and the boy had already been running and fighting for hours. On top of that, those two lightning balls around his fists looked like they required a lot of energy, which was bound to exhaust him even more.

"Let's get that brat! There is no way he can kill all of us, and if we don't get him, then all of us are going to die anyway!" exclaimed one of the guards in the far back.

"Exactly! Just overrun him; he is bound to tire out at some point." another voice added from far away.

Some guards in front understood what those two were trying to do, but in the end, their arguments made sense, even if it was pure manipulation. It was their bad luck to be in the frontline, and someone had to be the first to engage the slave wrapped in lightning. They readied their weapons and steeled their resolve, staring intensely at the boy in front of the witch's hut.

*BOOM*

The sound of mighty thunder shook their eardrums, and a bright light blinded them for just a second. During that short moment, the slave had disappeared from their sight. Only a scorched spot of earth remained under the place he had stood in. As the camp's forces frantically searched for a sign of Sturm.

<<This is it. This speed, this power. Edgar, Reinhardt, please watch from wherever you are.>>

Sturm had used the moment of distraction to jump into the crowd. Information unrelentingly busted into his head, and only his increased thought speed allowed him to efficiently make use of it.

Like a ghost, he appeared and disappeared between the enemies. Always in exactly the spot, he needed to be in. The [Fists of Mjölnir], as it turned out, were enough to incapacitate commoners with a single strike. If hit twice, the victim would violently convulse before dropping unconscious.

One well-placed strike after another, demonstrating the efficiency of Earth's combat arts. There was no fancy movement, no acrobatics or jumping around. Two quick jabs were enough to finish off the commoners. Other kicks, punches, elbow, and knee strikes only came in when the angle proved impossible to deliver a jab.

A jab rarely had a lot of power in it, but it was quick, and in Sturm's case, literally lightning quick. The camp's forces unsuccessfully tried to pin the elusive lightning human down and only managed to get in each other's way in the process.

While a trained, experienced force would be easily able to isolate a single assailant, the local forces' lack of training and discipline showed through. Especially the slavers, who mainly used their whips, entangled friendlies every time they tried to strike out.

It wasn't Sturm's first rodeo in such a situation, having supported Reinhardt during their escape. Even though the powerful guard captain was not present anymore to deliver finishing blows, the experience of supporting his teacher, combined with the lightning cells' upgrade, allowed Sturm to take adequate decisions at any point in time.

One by one, the local forces were taken out, shaking uncontrollably on the ground. Every time thunder boomed, another victim lost control of his body. As more and more guards and slavers fell, doubts and fear once among spread like a contagious disease.

<<Anytime now. Anytime now, he will run out of energy.>>

<<Come on, just drop! I don't want to end up like those others.>>

<<He already took out half of us. That's at least a hundred commoners; there is no way he can go on for long anymore.>>

<<Phew… I'm just glad that maniac is on the other side. Wait! Don't come here! No!>>

If they did not know Sturm had already fought and fled for hours, then most of them would have long fled. The false hope of Sturm tiring out was what kept them from completely routing and ended up being the principal cause for their demise.

Dusk arrived, and the last remaining sun rays shone onto the slave camp. As the sunlight retreated, it seemed to give way to a single, bright figure standing in the middle of a small herb garden. With a shovel in hand, it excavated a deep pit. After the pit reached a few meters deep, it laid down a giant body and proceeded to shovel earth on top of it.

An old woman stood behind the figure, respectfully maintaining distance. She had woken up to see hundreds of slaves and guards lying unconscious in their own stomach fluids. The terrifying lightning around the boy had already regressed, but that did not mean she feared him any less.

If the young slave could take out so many commoners by himself, then killing a defenseless old healer would be easier than taking a toy from a child. The boy seemed in distress, kneeling in front of the grave. Judging by the tears flowing down his cheeks, the Rampage Bear must have been extremely important to him.

She approached Sturm; no matter how scared she was, if she consoled him in this moment of need, then he would surely spare her. Before she could get close enough to give him a hug, Sturm got up and looked at her.

"If I wanted you dead, then I would have already killed you. No matter your motivation, I appreciate your intention, but you can't touch me anymore. As a matter of fact, no one can."

The old witch seemed confused. "What do you mean with that?"

Sturm held out his arm. "Try out for yourself if you want, but be warned."

In the end, curiosity won against reason, and the old healer carefully touched Sturm's extended hand. The moment she made contact, an electric shock poured into her, like she had been tased. The woman momentarily lost control of her body and fell to the ground.

This was the price Sturm had to pay for his new power. No matter if he were in an overclocked state or not, no human would ever be able to touch him again. Rubber and other non-conducting gloves may be a solution, but not only were these rare or even inexistent in this world, but a gloved touch would never replace the feeling of real human skin.

Sturm knew the old witch would be fine, and it was long time for him to go. Reinhardt had been buried, and the slave camp's forces had been terrified to an extent they did not dare to approach him anymore.

His memories with Edgar and Reinhardt would forever accompany him, and their lessons were engraved into his soul. They would have wanted Sturm to keep fighting and struggling for survival. At any point now, reinforcements from Dagger's Rock Town would arrive. In consequence, the forest was the only remaining path for him. While it was full of dangers, any chance at survival was better than certain death in the town.

Commoners were still stronger than Sturm. Only a combination of magic, superior senses, experience, morale, and the lack of trained opponents allowed him to toy with the slave camp's forces. And Dagger's Rock Town would not send trained commoners but elite nobles. He felt sorry for the artisan slaves left behind, but it was already too late for them.

A new adventure began for Sturm. This was what he had hoped for on Earth, but the way he had reached this point left his heart aching.

<<I will make you proud.>>