"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane."
― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Dim light, a pale blue sheen over the damp floor. Cast by a growth of mushrooms, it gave the world a hollow definition. Cracked stone, from wall to wall. His prison, his grave. Ven leaned back, his long hair a river of white against the rocky floor.
His scarred shoulders cracked. He shifted them in circles, the burn of arthritis a familiar company. Ven straightened his back, a series of sharp pops that brought a sigh from his lips. Ten years... Ten years, since Vendak had been sealed within the dungeon of his own palace.
"Ten years, brother..." Ven glanced at the mound of fungus. "I made it, thanks to you..."
Vendak's hand reached out and seized a small mushroom. He shook free its toxic spores and tossed it into his bearded mouth. The essence of sewer, an aftertaste of human waste, crept onto his tongue. It lingered, oily and thick as it dripped down his throat.
"So, now what, you stupid system?"
Ven raised his gaze, to the words that only he could see. A small line of text hovered in his vision like a taunt.
"Survive and receive rewards. One wish for every one hundred years, no more or less. Time survived: 99.9 years."
"I know, I know..." Ven sighed. Minutes remained before he turned one hundred. "but, you better come through..."
"Any wish can be fulfilled. One wish for every hundred years, no more, no less."
"I hope so..." Ven leaned back against the fungal mound. "Because I already know what I want."
Ven had been reborn with a system, a useless one that needed one hundred years to charge. His wish, after all these years, was to be reborn once more. This time he wanted a world of magic and wonder, not a filth-covered cityscape that encased the planet.
Ven closed his eyes and watched the counter that burned in his vision. His life had been a struggle to survive. A collage of blood and murder, mostly repressed to the back of his thoughts. He'd awoken to the darkness and dirt, only his brother to care for his infant form. The sights and sounds of that day remained sharp in his mind, a vision that slipped, unbidden, over his eyes.
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"Congratulations to user Vendak Soth for receiving the survival system. Survive and receive rewards. One wish for every one hundred years, no more or less. Time survived: 0 years."
The words stood alone in the dark. A pressured space that squeezed. A rhythmic pulse swept Ven forward. Where am I... A light appeared, a glimpse of air followed, soft, yet cold on his face. He squirmed toward the taste of freedom. The light widened and Ven fell to the floor. Screams and heat, a barrage of senses that crushed him tighter than the constrictive tunnel.
What language is that...
Ven tried to speak, but all that came out was a high-pitched cry. Everything is so big. The world came into focus. He lay, sprawled on the floor of a burning chamber. Men and women struggled, swords in hand as they chopped and cleaved. A woman stood above him, a long spear in her hands.
She shoved a small boy, no older than ten, toward Ven. They shared a desperate communication before the child swept Ven into his arms. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he darted into the smoke.
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"Ahhhhh..."
Ven leaned back. Water ran down his face and carved thick lines on his dirty skin. He'd grown into a huge child, something his brother complained about constantly. He stood at over five feet, with muscled limbs and a sturdy waist.
Ten years had passed, since his fiery rescue. His brother, Callum, had taught him well. Together, they scrounged an existence in this strange, endless city.
"I miss the sun..."
This place had no seasons, no light beyond the dim glow of fungus and lichens. The streets went forever, abandoned, and crumbled beyond repair. Rock encased the massive tunnels, a barrier to a sky Ven had never seen.
"VEN!" Callum called from the distance. "We've got to go, the raiders are pushing further north."
"Alright, brother," Ven stood from the murky puddle and faced Callum. "Where should we go?"
"I've been thinking, we need a permanent home." Callum put his hand on Ven's shoulder. "It's time we started recruiting."
Ven shook his head. Callum was obsessed with becoming a king, something about reclaiming their birthright. It didn't matter to Ven. All he needed to do was survive.
"Whatever you say..."
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Blood poured into Ven's eyes, his sword buried deep into the heart of a teen, barely old enough to be a man. He pried his blade, a lever that opened the boy's wound to the air.
A gurgle escaped the young man's lips. Ven pushed him aside, into the chaos of the battle around them. Men and women, pressed together in a cacophony of metal and death.
Ven's sword carved into another, a woman with a spear. Her focus was to the side and his weapon found its home in her skull.
"A waste..."
Ven glanced to the side. His brother Callum had waded into the enemy line, a wolfish grin on his face. "Idiot... we've already won." Ven shook his head and lept to guard his brother's back.
This was the last battle of a horrible war. Twenty years of blood and murder culminated in this massive chamber. The final defense before the topsider armies fell.
Ven pushed his shield, a wall between Callum and the thrust of a spear. His sword chopped at the shaft as it retreated and a soldier lost their weapon.
"Keep yourself together, brother!"
"HAHAHAHA!" Callum howled. "THIS is why we were born, Ven, to rush all who stand before us!"
Ven rolled his eye to the chamber's ceiling, miles above. Callum had gained a taste for blood. The years had turned him a bit mad, something Ven related to. I'm half-mad, myself... He took life without thought, a butcher who went to work with brutal efficiency.
"I'm going to have to talk with him..." Ven plunged his sword into a man's throat. "He's getting too casual with human life."