"There isn't a cure…"
As his word lingered in the air, Ranni's tense shoulders slumped, inducing a blank, conceding stare.
"…but there is one person who can treat it, at the very least."
Ranni's eyes refocused, a glimmer of hope flickering across her face. She eagerly leaned across the counter, though that steely and distant facade remained.
"Who?"
"I don't know for sure," Mark admitted. "A Mutant living in the Demonic wilds. Other than that, I can't say."
Ranni stepped back, deep in thought. She went back to her toast, applying avocado spread and stirring her coffee.
'A microcosm of distraction…'
There was a calm silence. Mark bided his time and held his tongue, but eventually he grew the courage to establish safe boundaries.
"My knowledge of the future is foggy, at best," Mark explained. "I'm not omnipotent, and I can't write you a nice list of every major event or powerful Item."
"I understand," Ranni replied. Confidence had returned to her voice. "I suppose you have a few questions of your own?"
'Finally, time to make money.'
Mark had tried his very hardest to connect to her struggles. He did all he could.
Yet for the most part, his mind remained fixated on his desire for an Excursion. That was his real opportunity to secure true power. All this squabble and fuss over money would no longer be relevant; a valuable Item would uplift his trajectory.
Giving himself the ability to choose was important, not even from a moral standpoint. Flexibility was key to survival. Survival was key to thriving.
"Yeah, what's my job exactly?"
"A part-time member."
"And that includes…?"
She took a bite out of her toast.
"Didn't you read the contract?" she sarcastically asked between bites.
"Yes," Mark rolled his eyes. "It was vague."
"Because that's what your job is. You do whatever the Guild requires."
"And the guild requires…?"
Ranni sat her toast down, walking forward and leaning against the counter.
"It requires you… to go out and make some money."
"Perfect," Mark hopped off the stool. "Then I'll be off."
"No," Ranni's voice cut through, stopping Mark dead in his tracks. "Excursion members operate in teams. Especially at your level, a solo Excursion is courting death."
'Another one… what the fuck? I'm actually going insane.'
"So you're coming with?" Mark asked, snapping out of his foolish thoughts.
"No, I have a Guild to run," Ranni replied, glancing at her watch as she spoke. "There's a group I want you to meet. They'll accompany you, no questions asked."
"Thank you," Mark turned and pointed as he entered the elevator. "I appreciate you."
"They'll meet you in the lobby," Ranni called out, a small smirk encroaching upon her lips as she sipped the last of her coffee.
'Wait…'
As the elevator began to close, Mark put his hand in between the doors to stop it.
"Hold on," Mark called out. "When is payday?"
"Friday," she called back.
Mark clicked his teeth in annoyance as the elevator door shut.
'Great. Don't pay me for another week and then crap on me for not having any good clothing. Brilliant.'
***
WHOOSH.
Winds howled within a frigid tempest. A snowy storm embodying a flat, icy wasteland, the sun blotted out by endless clouds
Within the grey and foggy torrents was a lone wanderer, unaffected by the elements.
Outstretched in his hand was a crimson lantern, its light eaten and swallowed by the storm.
His outline was cloaked and indecipherable—broken by two glowing, golden orbs of light; his eyes.
The Demonic Realm held many secrets, and this natural void was one. A place of eternal elemental strife.
The wanderer walked. Days, hours, minutes, only the gods knew for sure.
Eventually, the encompassing storm simply disappeared—the wanderer had traveled far enough.
He had stumbled upon his goal—a Winter oasis.
In front of him lay a colossal expanse of shallow snow. Gentle flakes fell to the ground.
Soundless. Eternally quiet; eternally tranquil.
Behind him was the grey wall of the storm he'd passed—seemingly impenetrable—it roared no longer.
In front was a snowy valley. The limitless horizon was broken by distant mountains—gigantic in scale—yet minuscule in his sight. Those distant mountains surrounded the snowy valley in a circle.
The wanderer continued forward, the loud crunching of snow underfoot seemed to echo in the boundless silence.
He pushed back the hood of his cloak, snowfall gently resting on his short black hair. The crimson lantern collapsed into a swirl of ash, swept away by a soft and frigid breeze.
Dark circles jutted out of his otherwise handsome and carefully constructed face.
The cold air gently embraced the wanderer's face—though it felt warm and lulling compared to the chilling storm.
At the heart of the desolate valley stood a great oak, its twisted branches jutting like skeletal fingers. From afar, its silhouette shone a blue hue; a jagged scar on an otherwise pristine and boundless landscape.
But the wanderer was no stranger to walking. A little more couldn't hurt.
…
As he approached the tree, its familiar form became clearer—almost nostalgia-inducing. A small smile crept on the wanderer's face.
The massive, sprawling oak was encapsulated in blue ice. However, the sharp and jagged branch tips leaked; red droplets dripped out of the branch ends. Red tears which pattered against the ground like rain.
It created an entire radius of crimson. Blood stained the pristine white snow underneath the tree's leafless branches. The crunch of snow transformed into wet mush underfoot.
On one side of the tree, the branches parted. Underneath was an unnerving, wrinkly, and macabre sight.
Frozen within the tree's bark was a grotesque face, its features warped and distorted.
Massive eyes, obscured by ever-frost, glinted with life as the young man approached.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
The tree's face moved and twisted, breaking the enshrined ice. The pieces shattered and fell to the wet snow below.
"Hah…" the wanderer exhaled in relieved respite. "Finally. It is nice to see you again, Karnil."
The tree's distorted face finally settled, its black eyes squinting and observing the unknown visitor.
"You are… unknown," the baritone voice slowly cleared and settled. "And I… am Tantalus."
"Ah, that's right. I've forgotten," the wanderer muttered self-deprecatingly as he finally rested on the ground. His boots barely touched the edge of the crimson snow. "I'm a stranger to this world."
"Why seek me… human? I… victim of the divine?" Tantalus asked.
"I come from another world, one quite similar to this one," the wanderer recounted. "And I owe a great deal of gratitude to the… other, you."
Tantalus squinted in response, unsure of the human's credibility; though deep in his remains, he was glad to be free of boredom. The cursed tree hadn't conversed with anyone in several millennia.
The golden-eyed man paused as if recounting years of struggle, strife, and loss; he no longer had any tears to give.
"We've both lost everything to the Demon God," the wanderer sighed, his eyes glossy and aimless. "Though you've lost much more than that..."
"Hmm…" Tantalus grunted in reply.
"Don't you desire revenge, Tantalus?"
Another long pause from another broken and aimless being.
"I have long lost… the privilege of desire. Too long… cursed."
"Understandable. Then I suppose you won't mind my actions…"
Tantalus raised a wooden brow, his curiosity piqued by the strange otherworlder.
The wanderer stood up and spun, his arms encapsulating the snowy plain.
"Just imagine it," he began, staring all around the expanse. "Your curse will become the beating heart of an entire kingdom. And you, my dear tree friend, will fuel End's demise, right under his nose."
The wanderer's every word, every movement, was charged with emotion. His demeanor was of a weathered yet energetic immaturity—chipped and shattered by loss.
"Is that… so?" Tantalus croaked.
"It is so," the wanderer nodded. "I have experience in god-killing. And together, we will exact revenge against the Demon God. I swear upon my name…
He turned around to meet Tantulus' frozen face.
"…William von Westergard."