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Warm Up - 3

"First to inherit, but last to be named. Its power you could never tame." A voice whispered. One of ferocity with its hint of snarls after, yet the tone was smooth and exude confidence.

He himself did not any longer. Standing on top of a bridge, with a lava moat one kilometer beneath to give Hell its ominous shine. The off-world metal vest he adorned, lightest it was, yet sturdier than the world's density laid in fragments, with bits still falling off. The fur of his chest and mane exposed.

"A scholar, a nomad, a king, and a pacifist, all four surrounded by their own mist."

He was certain of the latter most, his own kind could never be the first to strike. And there, on Hell's bridge he had been struck, yet unable to repay in kind. Down to his knees and before the spire, clouded by a voice that spoke of ire.

"The Key awaits, and brings about change. There is only one thing for you to exchange."

He was tired of these rhymes as he was running out of time. "If it's my life, then so be it."

There was a laugh that echoed, bounced off these obsidian walls. It knew of his hollow words, a prelude to the pride of many falls. "But what is a life I ask of you, and I only accept an answer so true."

He didn't like this, with the door to the spire opened. A needlelike appearance that stretched three kilometers tall, yet only as wide as a sixth. "What is a life?" He said rhetorically. "It's that of my own, my existence. And I don't mean it metaphorically."

"Ah, a good answer dear pacifist. Or perhaps a warrior would suit you." It said, direct and out of the hushed. "Once you have it, you will know what you have gotten yourself into."

The pacifist studied his own words, correlating it with the voice. And he wondered for half an hour, hoping to establish the best choice. So he asked, "Can you entertain me with a question, whoever you are?"

"Sure, dear warrior. Be as simple or as bizarre."

"Do I have a choice to not take this Key?" He asked, the thump on his heart apparent. Slow at first, and it became a snare drum, and in the silence that followed it sank and hoped the voice hadn't gone.

There was no answer then, and the pacifist felt himself more; the trembling blood-tipped claws, and the bodies of Hivemind soldiers and Alpha-humans littered on the bridge. And there was a silhouette that blocked the spire, limped and hanging onto the door- a lion. It wasn't him for his fur was brown with a dark gray mane.

He stood up and off his knees as he walked over the corpses. Boots squelched over blood, or crunched bones underneath. Death surrounding him from wherever there were ears they bled. And in the reformation of himself, a memory, a roar.

At the mouth of the door, the lion that clung on to it had knelt before him. This one, whose face he saw everywhere. The mascot of Earth: Kerrigan Amplemax. His groomed fur, scorched; the lavish product of his pelt now trailed with red from his ears; and his clothes tattered, almost stripped him fully, but morbid decency masked by the wide lacerations.

And he was certain he did not cause that to him. Yet, even if he did not know who did, there was no fear. The knelt and whimpering lion who almost fell if not clung on to his legs. What he saw behind was the Realm Key, floating in a gray and geometrically indiscernible space.

The Realm Key, shape of an elongated octahedron, yet made of some sort of black wood. Charcoal? Yet the fires of Hell did not ignite it.

"Docks... docks... docks..." Kerrigan said. "Head to the docks..."

"On the surface?" He wondered, realized his deafness, and pointed straight up to the ceiling to indicate it.

Kerrigan shook once, and looked past him. There were three more on the bridge with them.

He turned around and saw a seemingly familiar face, the gray deer. Fanged, without antlers, yet he bore a crown while draped in a kingly robe of purple and gold. Trapped in a feeling that he had not seen him once, yet his heart knew who he was deep down. And only him.

The other was a brown raccoon, with three swishing tails. Wearing the uniform of a spaceship mechanic, and perhaps that's who Kerrigan meant for the docks.

And the third had a raccoon's tail, but the face of a wolf. His muzzle was shrouded in darkness yet its shape retained. He was a scientist by its uniform, and it struck him that the space-faring raccoon would be the nomad.

The deer spoke after, "Tell him to wake up!" His voice did not seem to carry the authority of a royal. Shrill, and localized, almost as if he was on Earth.

"Wake up," Kerrigan said to him.

And he turned to the lion who glared at him in disgust. Apparently having heard what the deer said.

"Wake up, Dan!" He yelled.

"We're going to be late for work!"

Dan shot his eyes wide open, a cold sweat having run down his mane, but it was actually the bedside water he left for himself that his rude roommate, rudemate, splashed on him. "Vic, what the hell," he searched for the coati whose ring tail left the room.

"Count that as your morning shower, already made ham and toast." He could be heard thumping around in the living room-kitchen mix. "We'll be late for the transit."

"Alright, getting up." Dan sat up and slid off the bed, donned his barista uniform of green and white. And he combed his snow-white fur, and his mane of the same color so seamless that even shadows could not distinct them. One could only see the sudden build up of fur around his face, chin, and neck.

Once they were at the Roast and Rye's, a coffee shop that was out of their pay grade, Dan ought to thank his roommate. Victor was busy cleaning off the dust bunnies while he was booting up the cash register, and cycled through the non-copyright chill music beats befitting of a coffee shop.

After the jazz had cooled down to a calm beat, Dan said, "Thanks for waking me up."

"Thank me by setting up a second alarm next time." Victor disposed of the dust bunnies and got behind the counter and into the kitchen. "Or you'll get a coffee shower instead."

He liked the sound of that though, "Honestly, I'd prefer that."

And Victor came in with a fresh bottle of stardust meg, putting it under the garnishing counter and pinched the lions chubby side.

"Ow!"

"How about I wake you up like that instead?"

"Point taken." He glanced at the digital clock on the cash register. '08:59', and there were already two customers waiting outside. The first was a griffin in a hoodie and beanie, but it was the middle of spring. And the next one behind was a jackal, a regular.

He knew of the latter as an immigration officer, and was well received for having stayed this long. A part of him wished he was the interviewer, right after he came from Palluvia.