Chattering, shaking teeth and loss of sensation in most of his left hand were clear signs of hypothermia.
And with no shelter to hide under or ways to warm himself up, it was only a matter of time before he passed.
He titled his head back, a harsh laugh making its way out his throat, before his knees buckled, almost forcing him to kneel over.
Drops of blood spilled from his lips, giving color to the once pure snow.
"I really fucked up didn't I?" he rattled, seemingly unfazed by the pain.
He wanted nothing more than to cry, to throw a temper tantrum, throw himself onto the ground, pounding the floor with tears and snot running down his face.
He wanted to scream, sob at how unfair the world was, how it wasn't his fault. It was their fault. He did everything he was supposed to.
They hadn't held up their side of the bargain.
His eyes teared up, hot tears running down cold, pale cheeks. The tears burned as if taunting him of his failures.
But he couldn't do anything now. They were out of reach.
He was the idiot that had trusted them and took the fall for everything.
He would die here, in this forest, alone. Dying a dog's death.
At that moment, he felt like an old man, whose creaking body just simply couldn't keep up.
Every step was a battle, one his body fought against his mind. His body screamed at him, pleading for him to stop, desperate for a break. Yet his mind refused, but the temptation only grew stronger.
In the end, it was his spirit that broke, his will to continue simply dissipated.
He simply didn't find any point in it.
God, he was tired.
He just wanted to sleep.
Eyelids growing heavy, he seriously considered it. Going to sleep now, leaving it all behind. He wouldn't have to deal with all of this if he was asleep, right?
Yeah…. That sounded good.
Let's just take a break, leave all of this behind.
Maybe it'll be better once I wake up…..
His eyelids grew heavy, and he slumped over, shakily breathing his last.
Like a puppet whose string had been cut, he just… stopped. The muscles and tendons that worked against gravity spasmed.
His heart, after 21 years of faithful work, had finally halted.
He was dead before his body hit the snowbank.
Even in death, he failed to do anything substantial, or even leave his mark on the world.
A pathetic end, fit for a pathetic man.
It should have ended there, the end of a rather pathetic story, bland and uninteresting. Even the plot twist was obvious, one that was rather cliché.
Yet, the gears of fate shifted, and a second chance was given.
But of course, just like everything else in his life, something had gone wrong.
—-
I woke up.
Where am I?
It felt good to be out of that cold.
But where am I, and why was it so dark?
I reached out with my ar-. Wait, where was my arm?
Panicking, I turned my neck.
Except I couldn't. I didn't have one.
Panic began setting in.
What the fuck was going on?
Then anger.
What the hell was happening? What the fuck did I do to deserve this?
Then desperation.
I couldn't even scream, for I had no mouth.
I couldn't cry, for I had no eyes.
I couldn't die, for I was no longer of flesh and blood.
How long has it been?
Without a body and nobody to talk to, I simply didn't have any means to tell time.
There was no night/day cycle, no biological clock, or any outside stimulus.
For all I know, it could've been a mere second in the real world.
Or it could be minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia.
But it didn't matter, all I could do was wait.
I had begun going over my memories, going through everything that I remembered.
It wasn't a lot, but it was better than facing the void, the silence. I'd like to think that it kept me sane.
If nothing else, I've reflected on my whole life. So many things that should have been obvious, that I missed from my point of view.
My emotions felt more dull, thought muted might have been the better description.
It became tiring and wore on me trying to stay happy, getting angry didn't do anything, and getting depressed and lost only made me drift away more.
I was just tired of everything.
. . .
I don't know what else to do. I've gone through all my memories, gone through all the stuff I had learned, all of the entertainment that I had ever consumed.
I've grown bored, yet I can do nothing about it. It's tough being in the void.
I don't want to lose who I am. Yet I could already feel my memories fading.
But I refuse. I recount everything I remember, going over all of the stuff that had been part of my life, yet I couldn't help but notice that something was missing each time.
I knew that I was going insane in the void, yet there was nothing that I could do to stop it.
.
.
.
H̵̛̱̘̰̀̋͗́͠e̷̢̛̖̳͉͕̙̞̓̈͌̊̕y̷̧͕̺̮͚͙̘̮̼̪̗͎̘̭̾̎̐
Waitissomeonetalkingtomewhatthehellwasgoingon.
H̷̞̩̙̟͚͉̩̓͒̇̔͝͠ą̵̛̙̺͕͔̻̝͛̏̋̆̾̉̏̌͊̆̇͊̈́h̷͉̬̒̔́͆͑̍̌̀͂̕a̸̢͚͖̮̗̹̳̭̖̮̳̘͗̇̆̔͋̔̽̆ͅ,̶̧̱͚͇̩̼̱̲͙̰̘͎̈́̕ ̶̛̥̳͔͈͚̃̿͗̿̐̓͆͗̓̚͝͠s̵̨̢̝̳̤̻̟̄̿̌̕͝l̶͎̜̭̯̰̺̀͊͜͠ọ̴̰͉̯͍̘̖̺̬͍͎̓̂̑͛̇͜͝ͅw̶͕̹̼͈̣̰͎̘̟̎̇̔̈̎̋̌͒͂̚ͅ ̸̡̖͉̝̱̪͆̇̌̿̀̅̚͘͘͠d̸̛̪̖̥̗́͊ȏ̵̘͇̖͚͓̜͕̗̯̂̌̃̃̂̏̋̔̐̆̈́͜͠w̷͔̬̺̺̌̽n̸̛̻̺̪͓̻̈́̀̏̓̅̋́͘̚̚͠ ̷̡̨̡̺͎͇̦͙͕̠̝̇̎͝ḁ̷̩̞͍͂̑̓̔͗̍̾̾͌͘ ̵̢͔͉̝̻͈̦̩͎͙͋̀̀͋́̈́̐̿̔̓͊̐͌̏͝l̸̳͚̖̇͛̑͝ị̴̧̨̠͖̘͖͑̿̔͋̀́̿͊͠͠ẗ̴͚́̀̔̑t̵̨̧̜̫̗͎̻̬͖̤̰̣̪̑̒̃l̵͈̝̠̳̟̜̦̗̿̇̍̿̀͌͘̕ë̶̜͇̜͓̹̫̲̫̞̤͔͉́̐̆̆ͅ.̶̼͔̀̒̄ ̵̡͕̹̬̣͔̪̱̩̼̭͎̜̬̋̑̌̎͠M̶̢̥͉̞̤̤̟̌ͅy̸̛͕̜͓̪̟͕̥̼͍̲̖̙̿̒͘ͅ ̷͖̫̦̥̬̠̍̀́̂̉̓́̓̇͗̄͝n̵̖̰͊͌̊̓̍̅͂̿̚̕a̴̡̟̰̤̻̣̤̠͔̓͆̋͋̿̇̀̾͒̀͝m̸̛̫̰̼͖̼̓̿͋̒̈́̊̈́͊̌͘͝͝e̶̲̎'̸̛̰̈́͋̀̽͐͒̄̕͠ş̴̡̜̟̥̘̫̩͙̞̩̃̈̆̽͌̄̒̀͝ ̸͇̔̿͑͊̂̇Ỏ̵̧̩͈̹͕̟͇̤͙̣̐̀͠r̵͚̦̝͖̥̪̮̟̟͂͜ö̵̫̘́̀̓̉̕,̷̧̙͇̰̝̬̗̘̪̮̔̄̓̑̓͐̀ ̴̧̨̮̠̘̭̼̮̥̀͜ͅw̷̧̧̯̹͈̖͎̱͇̮̜̥̑̈̒̃̌̾͋́̔͊͗̎͐̕ḩ̸̢͇͇̝̳̻̯͇̺͈̘͚̠̝̀̌̊̽̆͊̚ä̴͓́̉̂̆̔̅͆͊̾͘͠͠͝t̶͉̯̥̟̘͉͖͇̰̤̮̥̂̈́̽͂͆̽̕'̶̨̥̜̠͍̹̤̠̤̪̹̜̖͖͕̊̉͑̐̃̂͌͂̌̀̚͝s̴̛͎̗͍͉̀̿͌̏͂̑̓͋͑ͅ ̷̪͍̥̀̅͜ẏ̶͙͚̱̳͇͈̯̞̭̻̰̥̻̹́͠o̵̲̿̈̚ȕ̷̬̮̣̼͕̝̺͙͔̘̞̺̼̓̕͝ṟ̶͚͉̥͉̰̹͇̬̰̱͂̌̆͛̓̒̈́̚ș̴̠̤͙͇̦̗̫̹̙̹̓̌́͆̊̕?̷̼̩̩͚̫̲̠̓
Oh. My name's s̸̰̹͚͇̬̜͍̪͕̦̰͊H̴̨̯͖̙̝̤̳̥̤͙̹̅̋̈́̃̄̈́̎̚͝͠ȩ̶͕̪̠̥̬̖͚̥̫̠̟̀̆̔̐̋̒̇̀̀͝Ń̶̢͔̫̻̲͚̜̟̬̼̞̇̎͒̔̂̕i̶̧̲̺̟̟͔͍̺͐̀̓͋̂̄ņ̷̡͓͔̺̯̰̜̲̺͝
Ņ̴̛̥̠̞̳͙̯͉̖̦͇͔̈́ͅǐ̵̫͈̩̙̳̰̹̯̯͍͆͗̅̄̊̄́́̀̑̚͝C̷̢͓̠̖̟͕̯͙͍͎̬̜̭͓̈́͂̓̐͗̓̿̉̎ę̷͖͍̘̞̫̗͙̦̬͂̀̑̇̈͑̀́̆͗̇͛̋͝ ̷̢̨̰͕̖̬̟̭̹͓̥̋́̇͂̃̃̐͐̂t̶̡̪͉̊́̐̃͛̈̅͘͝͝O̷̗̖͉̗̬͗̒́̎̔̂́͘͘ ̵͔̱͇̟̯̑́̀̔m̶͙̾͛͋Ë̷̡̘̩̘̠͈̬́͐͂͊͆͛̂̕ȩ̴͇̙̹̱̣̻͍̞͙̩͋̃̔́͌̾̚͝ͅȚ̵͠ ̸̢̩̥̰̟̖̾́̿͆͐̎̀̊̉͒̚͜͝y̴̗̎͗̍̆O̷̢̧͙̹̘͍͎̼̻͓̮̭̎̍̀̆̇̓͘ư̷̢̢̼͙̠̜̜̝̤̱̮̥̤̮̍͆̃͐͋̍̐̎́̇̉͐͘͝ ̷̨̧͎͇͎̥̰͌͒̄̅̉̋̈́̿͊̕͝
Nice to meet you too ̶̫͑̅̿̑͐̔̓͆͑̿͊̚O̴̢̟̞͖̤̟̱̥̦̠̫͜͝ř̴͇̘͇̳́̐̾̍̌̓̍́͆͜͝ǒ̷̢̻̜̼̙͍̥̪͖̣̩̥̗̐̽ͅͅ!
It seemed like he had really messed up this time, the old man sighed.
Rubbing his forehead, hoping to soothe the headache that this would no doubt cause, the being known as Ozerath, the Soul Shaper sighed.
It was hardly his fault though! He had been busy working on one of his newest creations and was working on autopilot when the package came in.
And so, instead of working on it, he had opted to just skim over the package, and place it aside.
Now he was stuck with a [Mute] soul with the potential to blow up half his workshop.
One that he couldn't just dispose of since he actually needed it for something.
Great.
He let out another sigh.
It really was a nasty situation.
Leaving it alone wasn't an option, give it a bit more time, and it'll probably detonate and destroy half his workshop by the time he could contain it.
He took a close look at it, hoping to find something that would resolve the issue….
Holy shit! It managed to split itself apart! The damn soul was so Distorted it had split itself in two!
If it weren't for the fact that the torn soul was quite literally a ticking time bomb, he would have loved to examine it further.
If he just let it out of the soul marble, it would probably grow like a cancer until it evolved or mutated..
He shuddered. A [Mute] soul was bad enough, but something stupid like a [Void Mute]?
He might have been immortal, but that didn't mean that he couldn't feel pain.
Patching it up wouldn't work either, and would probably backfire. Patching souls up was a short term solution at best, and the [Miracle] essence needed to patch the soul up would wear off eventually, repressing the issue wasn't a viable solution.
The only real option was blending it with another soul, diluting its [Mute] status to something more manageable, something that was actually salvageable.
But therein itself was the problem.
A [Mute] soul was so distorted that it would contaminate a normal soul nearly instantly. [Mute] souls were essentially a massive soul tumor, and providing another soul would merely give it more essence to corrupt and spread to.
And given the fact that being [Mute] automatically locked something into the {Evil} alignment, he would have to tread carefully.
The last [Mute] soul that he had let out without thinking about the consequences, an eternity ago, had caused some serious issues.
He stroked his beard.
A soul that was either strong enough to resist this level of Distortion would have to be extremely strong-willed or even more Distorted. Problem was, most souls that met the criteria were extremely powerful, and with the risk of contamination, he'd rather not arm the [Mute] with even more power.
So he would have to find a soul that was not only Distorted but strong-willed and also had an alignment that would shove the [Mute] from Evil to Neutral.
….
Wait a second.
The old man jumped out of his chair, a motion that was rather out of place considering his old appearance and ran towards the back of the workshop.
He rummaged through a bin, looking for the orb that contained the soul of the perfect donor.
His hand dug around, bringing the orbs level to his spectacles before he dropped them.
He was looking for a very specific one.
The names flew by one by one.
Luffy, Harry, Cloud, Jaune, Percy, and Issei.
None of them fit.
Until the orb he was looking for was in his hand.
Such a shame that he had to use this soul too.
After all, Unlimited Blades Work was an interesting place, even after so many years.
There are going to be some cool things that I want to fuck around with, and the tag should make it obvious that our MC won't exactly be in the Fateverse.
This is a rewrite that I decided to do, since I feel like this story needs a revamp and update already. Some details have been fleshed out, and I'm going to be releasing this rewrite along with the other rewritten chapters, before finishing it off with a suple-, I mean an actual new chapter.
It's been a month since I decided to rewrite and start fresh.