Beneath The Surface

Climax 52 - My evil dragon

Normal text
Thinking
Onomatopoeia

Kaisa's POV
After that awkward 'coming out of the closet' ceremony, Dad has been visiting Piltover for the past few days. He's busy teaching the revolting humans how to deal with Void-constructs other than screaming bloody murder and praying for god to save them. Because I sure as hell wouldn't be coming to their rescue. I had enough of playing chaperone. Right now, my sole priority was to find Asta. And to get her to spill the beans. Truthfully! She's not the one who killed Mom. She's not! That girl must be hiding something from me!

"Again!" Dad's solemn voice thundered in the arena.

There were rounds of insufferable squabbles before the complaints were shut down by him tossing them back into hell like unwanted trash. Dad was operating the battle simulation machine. And being an absolute god at it. Within a few minutes of poking and prodding, he quickly got the hang of it. Even after years of being away from civilisation. He definitely wasn't a caveman unaware of the outside world.

Like a wicked sadist, he had slammed the difficulty to the max right off the bat. Which resulted in batches of students being wiped out within the first few rounds. And no. It's not to prepare them for war. Far from the truth. Dad had caught wind of the kind of shit they put me through. So he's just here to even the score. Of course, in an open and unremorseful way.

I secretly gave him a thumbs up. He merely snorted gleefully while spawning yet another wave of Baron Nashors to obliterate a horde of students. I could hear him cackling under his breath while pushing a bunch of buttons on the panel.

Beside me, Akali was whistling appreciatively, "Your dad seems cool. Doesn't give off a cranky old man vibe. I quite like him, actually."

Unlike those deadweights, we didn't need to undergo such hellish training since we're more than capable of protecting ourselves.

I laughed and shook my head, "Well, Dad used to work as a pathfinder. He travelled a lot for his job back then. So he knows many things. Such as how to deal with difficult gargoyles."

"Hmph. As long as he keeps his grubby hands off my Asta," Ahri huffed while glaring at him.

I reassured her, "Don't worry. I already talked to him about it. He promised not to touch her."

After a few more rounds of being walloped, Dad begrudgingly let them off the hook for the day. He dusted his hands with satisfaction while approaching us. Suddenly, his brisk footsteps faltered. Without warning, his body seized up and he started coughing uncontrollably. I panicked and rushed over to pat his back soothingly. But the torturous coughing fit didn't end. Not until a mouthful of blood was spat out. Seeing blackened blood drip down the mouthpiece of his helmet, I could feel my heart trembling. Beating erratically in fear. Ever since he started coming over, I was beginning to notice the glaring symptoms of terminal illness. He would often cough and wheeze like an old man when he wasn't even 60. Doing anything remotely taxing on his body would leave him exhausted and drained. My once mighty and powerful father who could easily carry me on his shoulders while laughing was now this sickly patient on the verge of dying.

I was scared. Stressed. Distraught. The thought of my only family leaving my world like this was giving me insomnia every night. I did everything to cure him-read hundreds of ancient medical books in the library, cooked up tons of smelly and disgusting herbal concoction that was said to be able to kill even fucking cancer itself (I personally didn't believe in those quack medicines). Everything. But none of them worked. Dad still continued coughing. Which only set off more anxiety. I was so desperate that I even resorted to using blood from those screeching voidlings. I had no choice. I needed to try every possible way. Just for the slim chance of hitting the jackpot. Anything to change his ghastly fate. I already lost Mom. I can't lose him too.