Fier has been "falling" for who knows how long. At this point, an eternity could be selling it short.
As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure if he was falling or not. His body was in such a state that boggles his mind, and it only grew worse the more time he spent in this void of eternal darkness.
His sense of time and space had soon ceased, but not his determination. He was determined to get out in one piece, and so would attempt to pry open a little hole for him to crawl out and escape. Unfortunately, no actual progress has been made yet.
'Fuck! I refused to believe it!'
Perhaps it could be argued that the efficiency of his authority has partially decreased due to the loss of his senses, it wasn't a valid reason why he was making no progress at all. His authority was supposed to be best at navigating and tampering with souls, yet he again found himself powerless. It was utterly incomprehensible.
Thump!
Suddenly, his "fall" came to a sudden halt, as if he had somehow reached the bottom of an assumingly endless pit.
'Huh?!'
Thump!
Not waiting for him to realize what was happening, something hard hit his head.
'Ouch! What the...'
On his lap was a book, one thick enough to knock someone unconscious with a bash in the head. With fading bookmarks sticking out of tattered brownish-yellow pages, its appearance suggested a scholar's beloved antique.
In a place devoid of everything but darkness, it was strange that he could see and feel the book so clearly.
"An Absurdist's...Diary?"
Curious, Fier slowly flipped open the book.
"Huh? It's all...blank-"
Out of nowhere, a sharp pain penetrated his head. Before he knew it, he had already fallen over and was slowly losing consciousness again.
"Agh...W-wait..."
Soon enough, he fell asleep as a question scribbled itself onto a blank page.
[O Pathstrider of the imaginary, may you meet your truth]
***
"Wake up, ****! This isn't time to sleep!"
"Just leave him there! I need a hand, *****!"
"Ugh, I'm hungry! Is there nothing to eat at all?"
"F*ck! That little shit dared chip my precious blade! I'mma get him for this!"
"I wanna go home and sleep..."
"Focus, you buffoons! We're gonna get wiped out if you little fucks joke around!"
'Huh? What is…that sound?'
The rotting smell of corpses…
The smoky scent of burning flames…
The iron stench of blood…
**** had grown much accustomed to them, oddly enough so.
Being a mere child from a happy and ordinary family, he was supposed to grow up and become an upright citizen of his town.
He still remembered that day as clearly as when it happened. Everything was gone in a single night, leaving him stranded in the middle of a manmade hell. The cries of agony, the distinct smell of burning flesh, the howls of desperation, it was all familiar to him, but he never thought it could have been so haunting.
It was only supposed to be an ordinary town where ordinary people lived and shared happiness, and yet it was so mercilessly wiped from existence so easily.
He was forced onto the dirt, crawling toward his salvation never knowing why the world did him in like this.
However, that in itself was a lie. A lie to comfort himself of his choice, knowing he was throwing himself down an endlessly sinking hole.
He indulged in killing, as it came naturally to him. He fought and killed to the bitter end, each time excusing himself that it was inevitable, that it was vital to his salvation.
The amount of time he did so was probably enough to write three books as thick as an encyclopedia.
Most tragically, despite being the only one who knew it was wrong back then, he too had fallen in line, resorting to it as a tool that served his self-righteousness.
To the suffering, he was their hero, liberating them from the cruelty of life. To the ordinary, he was a monster, killing indiscriminately as he went about. To the elites, he was a force to be recruited or subdued, even annihilated if possible for their own safety. With the final decision of the heads of different religions, he was branded a Sinner, captured dead or alive.
Nonetheless, that wasn't enough to stop him. In truth, he was never for any heroic causes but his own. The world becoming his enemy was of no concern to him.
He was envious of those who did him wrong living so happily, and as such took away their happiness to his gratification.
It was momentary, but the feeling was addicting enough for him to continue his slaughter, unbeknownst to the crime he imposed against humanity and the high above. Before he knew it, he already bathed himself in blood, sinking as he climbed higher. He knew there was no way back.
At some point, he became aware of the wrongness of his and his town's existence. Accepting that fact, however, was a different thing.
Unexpectedly enough, he was able to find comrades who shared his sentiments in that desolate world. Together, they took revenge against those who wronged them, bringing about the downfall of everything.
With how uncontrollable the world had become, the gods soon sought to restart everything anew, starting the apocalypse that would bring everything back to its original state. It was the result of their own action, but it wasn't something they could accept. They weren't done yet.
And so fought hard they did. Hypocritical as they might have been, they took up the mantle of heroes to protect the world from its impending doom. It was no longer them against the world, but incomprehensible beings that upheld the foundation of the world.
Of course, it should only be obvious what the outcome was. They - humans who barely transcended mortal limits versus gods who stand at the peak of the world.
Sacrifice was unavoidable, and against the uncountable numerous forces sent by different gods all at once, strategies can only get them so far.
And so, the scene elapsed once again. Gods have died.
Humans have died.
Demons have died.
Beastkins have died.
Monsters have died.
Mysticals have died.
Everything was dying, one by one, turning into ashes scattered into the air.
The rotting smell of corpses…
The smoky scent of burning flames…
The iron stench of blood…
**** had grown much accustomed to them, oddly enough so.
But if you asked him whether he hated or liked them, he would say they're irresistible. Not in the sense that he likes them, but that turning to them is inevitable.
"...How envious. Even though you guys are so badly injured, where is all that spirit coming from?"
"The little bastard's finally awake! And didn't we talk about it? This is also our revenge on the world. We - the sinners whom the world shunned ended up saving it and becoming its heroes in the end. The irony!"
"Even if we died and everything ended in vain?"
"What's with this bastard all of a sudden, asking so many questions? Having cold feet?"
**** shook his head.
"Then the answer is obvious, isn't it? We just gotta come back alive! If not, won't you take responsibility and carry our will?"
Helpless before *****'s argument, **** let out a little chuckle and nodded.
"That's more like it. Now stand up and help me snatch those golden orbs floating around. It seems they might sell for quite a lot, enough to last us several years even."
"If you stopped spending so lavishly, sure."
Holding onto *****'s hand, **** remarked.
"Little bastard, I decide how I spend."
"Sure, sure. If you weren't embezzling the group's funds, that is."
"Speak for yourselves, spending behind our back to help those poor, broke bastards. Since when were you in charge of our funds again?"
"Since forever, duh."
"How does it feel? Wallowing in all that guilty pleasure? Envy much?"
"Better than seeing you wasting them on useless stuff at least, especially on a Monday morning."
"Wah! This little shit dare spoke like a working uncle despite never working a day job in his life, huh? The audacity!"
***** attempted to slap his back, to which he dodged.
"Tch. That was my show of affection, you know?"
"I'll pass-"
"What are you two dawdling about? Get back into the fight if you have time t-"
Several deafening trumpets proceeded to sound, stopping everything for just a second. It was a signal of both good and bad news.
"F*ck, more is coming! Get a grip and spread out!"
A cautious voice ordered.
"Morreeee? Nooooooooo...."
A long sigh wailed weakly.
"Ugh, my ears. Those trumpets sure look edible right now."
A growling stomach can be heard.
"Keep coming, little b*tches! I'm gonna crush every little single one of you for wounding my beloved!"
A raging temper roared.
"Finally, some handsome ones will come?"
A tempted, fluttering heart voiced.
"Ready to do this, ****?"
**** nodded without hesitation.
Directing his emotionless eyes toward the sky filled with all kinds of uncanny creatures, a melancholic smile grew on his face.
"Right. Even if all is for naught..."
***
Death was inevitable for all beings. All things, no matter their nature, must one day meet their end without fail. It wasn't predetermined fate, however, but rather the core of existence itself.
That day, the day that seemed to drag on for centuries, if not millenniums on end, was the day where the fate of everything was decided. He was prepared to die alongside his lifelong comrades, knowing that they went out with a bang, fighting against their imminent fate until the last minute.
However, before he realized it...he was all alone again. In a world where white ash became his only companion, there was no glory to be found.
"Even though I knew...and yet...and yet..."
***
"...And...yet..."
Red tears rolled down a young man's cheek as he slowly rose up.