The rain is still heavy, heavier than before. My hair is thrown wildly about, dancing in my face as I frustrated try to brush it aside. Trudging through droves of mud and wet grass, mingling with my socks and shoes makes the bones in my legs feel weak, tender, as if to snap any second. But I can still feel, something. Something telling me to keep going. I look behind me, there's no one chasing me or trying to stop me. I pause, for a second, and look up. I see Mt. Ebott looming overhead, as the grassy bank in front of me starts to lean upwards and ascend towards the clouds middling at its peak. I swallow, throwing whatever disgusting taste this place had left on my tongue, before pressing on. Thrusting my feet into the mud, I go on, trudging, up the grassy banks, through the trees, past the rocky outcrops I had seen only from so far away before. The slopes get more and more steep as I keep going, so much so I feel the need to thrust my knife into the bank to pull myself along.

I notice a heavy incline in the hill, reaching near ninety degrees, and above, a rocky plateau juts from the top. Swallowing my pride, I feel determination flowing through my body. I jam the knife into the mud, thrust my hands into the soil, and start pulling myself up. Twigs and roots from fallen trees extend from the bank to give me a way up, to help me. My feet rest on wooden extensions of the hill, my nails digging, oh so painfully, into the wall-like grassy mountain before me. I look up. The rock is still a long way away. The mud is flowing down my clothes as the rain clots my hair into a thick, soggy mat. Looking up at the rock, I start to feel something behind me. It sounds like my father. Get back here, Chara, he says. Get down and get back to work, Chara. I stare at the rock. My nails ache from climbing before. Some higher pitched voices find me, circling me. They roar in tandem with my father's voice, loud, louder, yet louder still, CHARA, GIVE UP, CHARA, GIVE UP-

I plunge my fingers into the hill and pull myself away from the roots. Dangling there, I remove my hand and move up, thrusting into the mud a few more feet up. The same with the knife in my other hand, pulling myself through the sea of brown and green before me. I look up. GET DOWN, CHARA, GET DOWN. I keep going. The rock seems closer now, just a few feet. I pull out my hand and go to stab the hill yet again, but wince in pain and scream, I feel my hand loosening from the knife. Three of the five nails on my hand are completely gone. I fall, hands outstretched, the wind rushing past my head, before it smacks against a rock on the ground. I grit my teeth in morbid frustration as my eyes close, blackness engulfing me.

My father's sitting in his chair in front of me. I'm holding the knife. He's sitting there, staring at me. He's not doing anything, not in particular. Just staring, his eyebrows slanted, his teeth clenched. I feel a force behind me. I can't… I must. I run forward and thrust the knife into his chest. Blood starts seething from his body and covering my face, as a river of red gushing out and drowning me. I lie back, just letting it cover me. It feels… I stand up, feeling the weight of the blood mixed in my clothes lose its weight, as I look into my father's face. Fear… blind, unknowing… fear. It feels… great.

I open my eyes. I'm still lying, head against the rock, thumping, brutally, like a hammer on a church bell inside my skull. I lie there, staring up. The knife has fallen from the mud leaving a small hole even now being filled. The rock looms overhead. Give up, Chara, give up. Thunder roars overhead. I stand up, my legs begging me to sit down. I shamble forward, looking up at the rock. Give up, Chara, give up. I start climbing again, my nail-less fingers screaming at me. Give up, Chara, give up. I'm still climbing. Mud rushes down the hill, trying to wash me away, but I stay adamantly holding my place on the hill. Give up, Chara, give up. I find the knife. Tears mingle with the rain as I go on, grass wrapping the exposed fleshy, lumpy skin when its thrown into the hill again. CHARA, GIVE UP, CHARA, GIVE UP, the knife lands in the hill again before I thrust my hand up…

And find the surface of the plateau.

I pull myself onto an embankment in what feels like just a short time after I had left, yet I lie exhausted on the rocky plateau, my chest heaving in and out, feeling the furious rain prickle the absence of skin on my back. I pull myself to my feet, and turn around. Half the mountain lies beneath me. I turn… and half still remains above. But… I look down, and there's a cave. The wind and rain roar at me, I hold up my arms to block it out as I start trudging over the rock into this hole in the mountain. Cold drips fall from the ceiling of the cave, but it seems relatively dry. I keep walking. The floor is rocky and infrequent, my feet scream at me to sit down and stop. Give up, Chara, give up. I keep walking. The light from the outside starts to fade…

But there's more light coming from inside.