This was not how he imagined things would go.
Each breath clawed its way up his throat, hot and shallow, as if the desert itself was choking him. His legs threatened to buckle with each frantic step in the sand, the skin raw where the sediment wore down his dirty knees. Blood trickled down his calf from a jagged tear, from an injury that he cannot recall, each step sent fresh agony. But the relentless clicking behind him made him ignore the pain, gritting his teeth with each excruciating step through the wasteland.
Keep moving. Don't think. Just run.
His thoughts were in shambles, but now, that single thought was all that occupied his mind. He hadn't come this far to die like an animal, torn apart by some unrecognizable crime against nature. But his body betrayed him—lungs heaving like rusted steel plates scraping against each other, limbs growing heavier with each desperate stride. The cave up ahead was barely visible now, a sliver of hope against the heat haze. Would he make it? Would it even matter?
"You're supposed to go home. Prove them all wrong."
But of course, life always seemed to have something out for him.
"Look, honey, I know what you did was self-defense, but did you have to go so far?" her voice was soft, careful, the way it always was whenever she came to lecture him. It made him feel like she'd taken pity, like someone weak creature needing protecting.
He didn't answer. He just stared at the floor, jaw clenched. He wasn't ashamed—he never let himself feel that—but there was always something about the way she looked at him, the way her words got to him, that scraped at his pride. He wasn't used to this, to be treated like he was simply a kid.
"They started it," he muttered, his voice stiff.
"And you finished it," she said, stepping closer. "Like always."
That made him flinch, just a little. She didn't say it like she was angry, she never did, but he could feel the weight of her tone. She'd expected him to do better by now.
"I'm not gonna let anyone push me around," he said, defensive now, lifting his chin just slightly. "I ain't some punching bag."
"No one's asking you to be," she replied, her tone ever so patient. "But you don't have to hit harder just because you can."
He bristled, the words slamming into him in a way fists never could. She didn't get it. "If I don't, they'll keep coming back. They gotta learn their place."
"And you think breaking them will teach them that?" Her head tilted, her soft voice having a bit of a sharper tone.
His hands balled into fists at his sides. He hated when she talked like that, when she would make him think instead of just letting him be right. He looked away, scowling. "You don't know what it's like. You don't know what I had to-"
He cut himself off. She didn't need to be reminded. Didn't need to remember where he came from, the things he'd done before she and Dad found him. He owed them too much to throw it back at their faces.
She stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. It was gentle, the kind of touch that always made him feel like he didn't deserve it. Like he was not still that mangy stray that would snap at her.
"I don't expect you to let people hurt you," she said, "But why does it always have to be this way?"
He didn't answer, just shrugged off her hand. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn't help it? That he didn't know how to stop? That he didn't want to?
She let out a long and quiet sigh, and something about it made his chest ache. He didn't like disappointing her, not really.
He just didn't know how to be the person she wanted him to be.
"Why did you have to go so far?" she asked, her words quiet enough to slip past all the walls he tried to build.
The clicking was deafening now, a relentless rhythm of legs skittering across the sand. He risked another glance back, though he knew it would only make his anxieties worse. The big one was still there, he could clearly hear it, leading the pack. Its monstrous, alien form bearing down on him stood out from the rest of the small fry. Those swarmed behind it, each step unnervingly deliberate. This was a normal hunt for them.
He stumbled, catching himself just before he face planted to the sand, but the momentary misstep cost him. The lead creature let out something that he could only assume was a chirp—a noise so unnatural it made his skin crawl.
The desert stretched on endlessly, heat waves distorting the horizon into a cruel mirage. There was nothing out here—no rocks to hide behind, no trees to climb, no sign of civilization. Just him, his legs, and whatever few trinkets he snagged near an abandoned well.
Each step felt heavier than the last, his lungs burning as if someone had stuffed raspy coals inside them. His chest heaved, not used to being so out of breath. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as the sharp sting forced him to focus.
He slipped again on the loose sand, and this time he barely caught himself, lurching forward like a drunk. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to buckle, and frustration welled up in his chest. His pride demanded he push harder, run faster, find a way out of this, but reality was a different story.
If someone had told him a year ago that he'd end up like this, he would've laughed in their face. You're talking about the guy who took down three guys on his own no problem. The guy who never lost a fight.
" Why did you have to go so far?"
His jaw tightened, the muscles twitching as he forced the thought away. There was no room for that here. Not when these things were hunting him down.
The clicking grew louder. The big one was gaining on him. He could already see its shadow looming over him, and heard its mandibles clicking more erratically as it came near.
His legs faltered for half a step before finding their rhythm again. Pathetic. The word hissed in his mind, a cruel reprimanding word that dug itself into his psyche. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it, but it stung now more than ever. Back then, he'd have the power to spit it back in someone's face, make them regret even thinking about it. But now, there was no one here to judge him.
No one but himself.
The heat scorched his skin, sweat dripping down his back and stinging his eyes. His throat felt raw, every breath a struggle, but he forced himself forward. The thought of weakness was enough to make his stomach churned. The kind of deep, gnawing shame that came with knowing what he had been reduced to.
He didn't look back again. He didn't need to.
"Where's all that fire now?"
The words echoed in his skull, unbidden. His voice, younger, sharper, colder.
"Don't tell me you're pussying out!" He could still see the boy's face. He was wide-eyed and trembling, nose bleeding, hands up in a pitiful attempt at self-defense. The fight had already been over, but that didn't matter to him back then. He'd kept going, letting the thrill of domination drown out reason.
The memory burned as much as his lungs did now. They started it, he told himself back then, and even now the excuse tried to take root. But his mother's voice lingered like a ghost: "Why did you have to go so far?"
A sharp hiss from behind ripped him from the thought, his stomach flipping as the big one's shadow stretched over him. He had no luxury to ponder over pointless memories.
Why the hell was this happening to him? What did he do? What went wrong? No matter how he looked at this, it didn't make any sense.
"What the hell happened?" His father's voice still rang in his ears. Powerful, unrelenting, "We trusted you wouldn't do this again. Then we turn away for a bit, and we hear about this!"
"Dad, he had it coming," the young boy snapped, arms crossed in defiance. "You were the one who told me to defend myself when someone tried to mess with me."
The older man's hands had gripped his shoulders tightly, pulling him close. "Defend? Defend?! You had the boy bleeding on the ground and crying while getting the whole class to taunt him. What did he do to deserve that?"
Back then, he had looked away, grinding his teeth ruminating on that snake. That stupid, slithering snake that had it coming. Damn it. Why him? His fists clenched at his sides, the shame mixing with bitter defiance. What difference would it make trying to explain? "He tricked me," he muttered weakly.
"How?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
His father had finally yelled, voice cracking in a way the boy hadn't expected: "Please! You need to say something! Anything so we can help you from this mess! We can't keep doing this!"
Finally, he'd snapped. "It doesn't matter! That jerk deserved everything that happened to him! I don't care how hurt he got! HE DESERVED IT!"
He seriously needed to reevaluate when it was a good time to think about the shitty things in his life. The creatures were closing in, their clicking and hissing now pounding like war drums in his ears.
But through a miracle, a cave came into view. A narrow crack in the rock face, barely big enough to squeeze through, but it was shelter. A chance. If he could just make it, it would all be over. Maybe he was not cursed, maybe this was all just the beginning. He could finally-
His foot caught against the loose sand, legs finally giving out.
He hit the ground hard, the taste of sediment filling his mouth. Scrambling to his knees, he clawed at the sand, dragging himself forward in one last desperate moment of resolve. But they were already on him the moment he tripped.
The first claw raked across his back, tearing through flesh and clothes alike. He spun onto his back, drawing a sharpened stone from his pocket, the only weapon he had been able to get a hold of in this world. He wouldn't go down like this, not without a fight.
The edge found purchase in the neck of one of the creatures, and it screeched, thrashing wildly. The others hesitated for a moment, just long enough for him to get to his feet.
He swung the knife again, a clumsy arc that grazed another creature's flank. And for a moment, he thought he might have a chance. Until he struck the boss, and the small sharp flint snapped against the tough arthropod's shell.
He froze, unable to believe his weapon would shatter so easily.
The pod wasted no time, one of them leaping onto his back, claws digging into his shoulders. He roared in pain, slamming himself into the rocks to dislodge it, but the others had followed suit and crawled atop of him, covering in a mess of sharp limbs and crushing mandibles.
He would not scream.
One claw tore into his leg, and his voice went hoarse as he wailed in pain. His knees buckled under the weight of the bug like creatures, hitting the sand as they swarmed him.
He would not cry.
Tears blurred his vision as his arms were grabbed by the clicking mandibles, the joints popping with sickening cracks as they eagerly pulled his arms. One of them raked a claw across his chest, shredding flesh and muscle.
He would not beg for mercy.
"Please!" he choked out, his voice ragged and broken. "Don't do this! Just stop!"
And as he got swarmed, a final voice rang through his psyche as his consciousness faded.
"Listen to me, boy. You can't spend your life bullying and terrorizing people to get what you want," his grandfather's voice rang out in his mind. "One day, you'll meet someone, or something, that doesn't care how tough you think you are. Something that's beyond cunning moves or strength. And when that happens, you'll be on your own."
A claw pierced his side, and he convulsed.
"You think you're untouchable now, but pride like that always leads to their downfall, no matter how mighty the warrior can be. It leaves you angry, alone, and leads you to trouble far beyond what you will be able to handle." The voice softened but didn't lose its edge. "I don't want that for you, I want to be there for you, but that's the path that you seem to be taking."
Another claw hooked under his jaw, forcing his head back. His screams turned to wet, choking gasps as he felt the tendons in his neck stretch to the breaking point.
The last thing he saw was the pale sky above, empty and indifferent.
And with one last cry, the desert fell silent.
The wind still howled, sweeping grains of sand over his broken body. The creatures' chittering echoed away as they retreated into the distance, leaving behind only smears of blood and scattered pieces of flesh.
The sun blazed overhead, uncaring, as if nothing had happened. The desert swallowed the blood left behind.
It was a world that did not care. About the boy. About his screams, About the man he could have been and the lessons he had ignored.
And it would keep moving, long after he was gone.