Men, Monsters, and Mythics - The Universe's Scorn

by UngratefulMinds

In the beginning there existed only time and space and Eden—the universe's first paradise. But it has long since been burned away, torched by Scorn. He too has long since left, becoming human in flesh, leaving another to bear the terrible burden. And everyone forgot. But not the universe, nor the Mythics. And now, everything that the boy has run from has come back to haunt him.

1. In the Beginning

"Wha—what happened...? What have I done..?"

Bodies were strewn about all across the barren and charred ground. A searing fire illuminated the silhouettes of scorched bodies—men, women, and children alike. Were it not for the singed quality of their flesh—flies would have come to devour them. Some held out their hands over their face to vainly shield themselves from the flames, an act of selfish preservation. Others put their hands over the faces of others, a gesture of selfless protection. The sky blackened around the site, and clouds swirling before churning and pouring rain upon the flames and bodies. Perhaps, the sky itself was crying over them.

"You know full well what you did." A voice called out. Its tone was warbled and muffled but was so clear. "You did it because you just couldn't help yourself. But it's alright now, it's all in the past. You can open your eyes, and forget this all. It is only a dream, after all."

.

.

.

Bell felt his lungs bend and fold against itself as the sudden inhalation of oxygen smothered his gut. His body flung upright, his body instinctively sputtering out the excess air from his chest. A dizzying sickness rushed into Bell's brain, wrought forth by adrenaline and hyperventilation. Soon, the urge to vomit came over Bell. He winced and brought his hand over his mouth in an attempt to cover any undesirable bodily fluids from spilling onto his bed.

Haruhime wouldn't like having to clean the sheets from such a deplorable mess.

After waiting anxiously for a few moments, Bell let his hand slip off his mouth as he refocused on steadying his breathing. He felt his lungs unravel and unfurl themselves beneath his chest, and he let out a rather pathetic sigh. Why? Why was his chest pounding so hard against his chest? Why was he on the verge of vomiting? Why couldn't he remember what he dreamt of?

He brought his right hand to his head. He ran his fingers through his snow-white hair and dug his fingers into his scalp. He attempted to coerce his brain to produce a glimpse of what he had dreamed of but to no avail. It all felt so cold, so distant. Letting out yet another defeated sigh, he let his hand fall onto the bed sheets. There was no point in thinking about it. If his mind could not so much as cough out and sputter a glimpse of his dream, then he had no choice but to concede.

Bell had never liked the idea of conceding, acknowledging defeat. From the time since he had first arrived in Orario, he had refused to give in. While there were certainly times in which he felt utterly dejected by Orario's society, by both adventurers and gods alike, he refused to let it stand between him and his dream (his dream of becoming a hero, not to be confused with his previous dream of creating a harem). And ever since that fateful day where he met Hestia who accepted him as her child, Bell's resolve to never succumb to despair only continued to grow. It may have bolstered his recklessness and death's eagerness to snatch him away, yes, but it brought him closer to his dream.

Many times had he brushed against death and defeat, and defied fate—the night he dined and dashed to face the dungeon's monsters armorless and alone; the War Game against Apollo; to the rescuing of the Renard who posed as a pseudo prostitute. If anyone followed in the footsteps of Bell Cranel, they surely would perish.

And while the events surrounding Wiene and the Xenos had made Bell a pariah, he had recently been accepted by Orario as an adventurer once again. Even the orphaned children under Maria's care had recently apologized to him. It all felt so surreal to Bell. But his spirit had never truly faltered, despite it all.

And yet, here he was, lying in bed, cold sweat dripping from his face, his heart racing, punching against the confines of his ribcage. This was fear. He had no clue what he was so afraid of. But this feeling, it was like he was on the fifth floor of the dungeon again, running from an enraged humanoid bull. Only there was no gracious Sword Princess to save him. He was trapped in a dead-end, and all he could do was brace for the inevitable.

He needed air, he needed to clear his head. Bell hoisted his legs over the side of his bed in a defiant act against the creeping languor. Immediately, the sharp pain of his now contorted spine sent his body shooting upright and onto his feet. He stumbled slightly before momentarily taking a moment to stretch and straighten his back. Letting out yet another sigh, he tiptoed towards the door. Squinting in an attempt to peer past the veil of darkness encompassing the mansion, Bell cranked his neck left and right to scan for any movement. Internally noting that no one else was awake during the hour, he stealthily made his way down the steps towards the foyer. Reaching the entrance door, he gave it a silent, firm push.

A cool nightly summer breeze greeted him as he exited the mansion. Orario was quiet, but Bell knew this tranquility wouldn't last. It wouldn't be long before the streets would be bustling with vendors, citizens, and adventurous alike. But this was a nice change of pace for him. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he began to stroll about, no real destination set within his mind.

.

.

.

I'm beginning to remember. No, I've always remembered. I've simply hushed myself in the mind of this body. But it can no longer be stifled. I can't be ignored any more. How long will you remain ignorant, and how long can I remain dormant—me.