The sun barely lingered at the horizon, casting a dim, burnt orange glow over the lake. Mark sat alone on the shore beneath a towering cliff.
He had already buried Nexus's body. His stomach growled. He had tried climbing the cliff to find food, but the jagged surface mocked him—it was too steep. A normal human couldn't climb it, and Mark was painfully, frustratingly normal.
The last thing he remembered was sitting in his favorite spot at the cliff's edge. He had planned to end it all while listening to "Thick of It". But when he stood up, something happened. Was it a strong wind? Did someone push him? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that he fell—plummeting into the icy lake. And yet… despite knowing how to swim, he hadn't tried to save himself.
Mark muttered, "I guess it's the same for this guy," looking at the body now residing in—
His gaze shifted to the twin moons overhead. They hung heavy in the alien sky, one glowing pale blue and the other one is white. They were mesmerizing yet unnerving.
"This ain't Earth," he muttered, finally accepting the obvious.
The strange wildlife around him drove the point home. Birds perched nearby with tails made of flickering fire. Fish swam lazily in the water, their scales ablaze with an impossible, underwater flame.
Mark sighed and lay back on the muddy shore. His clothes were soaked, his body ached, and the memories of Kram—the assassin whose body he now occupied—began to seep into his consciousness.
Kram had once been a boy like any other, living a simple, happy life. His family wasn't rich, but his father had taught him to stand for justice, and his mother's kindness made every day feel like sunshine.
That sunshine dimmed the day the count of their county raised taxes to an unbearable level. Kram's father, a principled man, lodged a complaint with the king's court, believing in justice.
But the king was as corrupt as the count. Soldiers came for Kram's family, sent to silence their dissent.
Kram's father and his friend fought desperately to buy time, yelling for Kram to run. Hidden in the forest, Kram watched as the soldiers dragged his parents' bodies into the woods, laughing about their rewards. His father's friend was butchered beside them.
Kram's heart had hardened that day. The bright-eyed boy who believed in justice became a man consumed by vengeance. He joined the assassins not for glory but to dismantle the empire that had crushed him.
Mark rubbed his temple as Kram's memories settled in his mind.
When dawn came, Mark was sitting on the shore. He muttered to himself, "Guess that guy Kram wasn't a bad guy, since he hesitated in his first kill and died even though he could have survived."
He started digging another grave. After filling it with sand and forming a proper grave, he sat down to observe the area. Then he wrote Kram's name in the sand.
In the distance, beyond the lake, Mark could see a dark forest teeming with even stranger creatures. Shadows with glowing eyes moved between the trees. Farther out still, a lone boat drifted across the water, steered by a middle-aged man in a white shirt.
Mark sighed. "What do I do now? Should I yell for that boatman? Cross the lake and find something to eat?"
He paused, his voice quieter. "But do I even want to live? It's not like I have anything to live for…"
He stared at his reflection in the water. "But… I don't feel like dying either."
A grin spread across his face—wild, unhinged.
Mark muttered loudly, "If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna take everyone with me."
"Let's sing Thick of It! HEHEHEHEHEHEHE!" he cackled. "Then I won't be the only one who wants to die!"
(Couldn't add the lyrics due to copyright issues)
And so, Ugly Mark began singing while looking even uglier, his voice ringing out at the top of his lungs:
"Oi! I ain't ugly, nor is my voice, you ugly author!" he interrupted himself mid-lyric. "Hear me out, bish!"
Then he belted out the song, his voice cracking like a dying banshee.
[Birds nearby froze mid-chirp. Their eyes widened in terror, and they bolted—wings flapping wildly as if the apocalypse had arrived.]
He sang the next line.
[The flaming fish darted away, splashing and scattering like their lives depended on it.]
Another line.
[In the distant forest, animals stampeded through the underbrush. Roars, howls, and panic echoed across the landscape, as if a demon had been unleashed.]
Another one.
[Nearby trees trembled violently, their branches shaking. Some of them screamed—yes, SCREAMED—"SOMEONE CUT US DOWN! KILL US! WE CANNOT ENDURE THIS! THIS IS NOT LIVING! THIS IS WORSE THAN DEATH!"]
Mark didn't stop. His voice carried across the lake, a weapon of mass destruction.
"Woah-oh-oh—"
And then—WHAM!
Something heavy struck him in the head. He yelped and fell backward, clutching the throbbing spot. Blinking through the pain, Mark looked up.
There, on the shore, stood the middle-aged boatman in his white shirt. He loomed over Mark, a vicious glare twisting his face. His expression was one of pure disgust, as though he were staring at a "four-day-old stored stool that had become black and smelled like shitty shit."
"Oi, fucking author—MARK DIDN'T SAY THAT CALMLY AT ALL!" Mark growled, rubbing his head.
The man didn't speak for a moment, just stared down at Mark with quiet, simmering rage.
Finally, the boatman broke the silence. "Give me one reason not to kill you, you four-day-old stored stool that has become black and smells like shitty shit."
(Authors note: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, I JINXED IT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—I did not say this calmly at all.)
Mark blinked.
[Middle-aged man:]
Name: ????
Age: ????
Occupation: ????
[Mark:]
"Four-day-old stored stool that has become black and smells like shitty shit…"
"OI, BISH! MARK DIDN'T SAY THAT CALMLY AT ALL!"
The boatman's glare deepened. His grip on the oar tightened ominously.
To be continued…