Summary Chapter gonna be hell. 124!

Armour: Brimflame

Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine Retribution, Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)

Health: (500/500)

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(0/11):None

Health: (350/400)

He woke very suddenly.

The sensation was as if he'd been warm, comfortable and unsuspecting - then abruptly thrown into a bath of icy water, or shocked with electricity.

ghh-

It was terribly unpleasant, waking up like that - not that he had much experience 'waking up' at all. As far as he could remember, he had never fallen unconscious before. Sometimes he fell into a stupor (when he'd lost too much blood) but had never really slipped away such that he lost his senses. But now... he was aware he had really been unconscious, because he had really woken up. Was... was he supposed to sleep? He'd never wanted to sleep before. Why had he fallen asleep? Was he dead? What if-

...

As his brain slowly began churning - hastily scrambling together whatever memories it could reach to puzzle together his current situation - The Terrarian felt himself beginning to panic. Bits and pieces of the previous night's events slowly fell into place. The Vulture-headed mage. The Man in Red. The Crushing of his body and the spear that pierced his heart. The Red Man's overwhelming strength. His own dreadful weakness. What helplessness he felt! He could do nothing in the face of his attacker. What hopelessness pooled like tar in his gut. Indeed, he was slaughtered like a pig, left to bleed out on the acid sand. And his reaction to it all? Pathetic. Perhaps it was a mercy his throat had been crushed, otherwise he might had begged and sniveled and wailed under the Red Man's boot. 'A Slayer' he was indeed! One that was so miserable, he'd been kidnapped away from his home with the flick of a finger and slain by somebody he couldn't land a single strike on. As The Terrarian recalled his miserable performance, he was filled with such self loathing, he wanted to go right back to sleep and never wake up.

...

But alas, he didn't know how to retreat back into that inky, unfeeling blackness. Against his will, his sensation was returning to him. He could see the rosy darkness of the insides of his eyelids. He could feel the warm air swirling over his bare skin. His flesh felt tender and jelly-like, and there no strength in his bones - but somehow he knew he'd regain it. He there was this odd certainty in his mind that with time, he'd be completely fine. As such, he was quite content to lay still and wait for the world to come back into focus. He let out a deep breath and relished the sweet, clear air. How odd that he didn't taste blood... even if his throat had healed last night, he anticipated the coppery aftertaste of his own viscera. In fact, he paused to flinch his fingers and tense his limbs, there... there was no pain at all!

... where am I?

How could he be uninjured? Even if he healed, there was always a dull ache - a scar. But there was no pain at all! Not even from the wounds he'd sustained many weeks ago. The Terrarian wondered at that, his mind flicking back through what meager memories he had... when his fingers had been chopped off, they hadn't grown back. The Man in Red had nearly bisected him! He should not have been able to recover. He should be dead. He should have died last night as that great spear rent his heart asunder and drowned him in a pool of inky black tar. He had felt his ribcage crack in two. He had felt the arteries snapping and flailing - gushing blood all throughout his abdominal cavity and out of the great gaping wounds. Then his lungs filled with blood and the pressure of the abyss filled his head, then his eyes went dark and time stretched to infinity, and...

...and now I'm home?

(*rustle...clank*)

Was he really home? The smell in this place... it was The Guide's smell. The heat that filled the room was the heat from the fireplaces he had installed with his own two hands. The smooth sheets beneath him, he had woven from spiders silk. Until now, he had never used the items he had so obsessively cleaned, maintained and slaved over - but he knew them better than anyone. He knew the consistency of the threads. He knew how they flowed over each other like water. They shifted beneath his weight as he struggled to sit up - but, ultimately his muscles gave and he collapsed back into the bed with an unceremonious puff. The experience wasn't one he'd ever felt before... being unable to tolerate even his own body weight. It confused him, so he abandoned that endeavor for a later time.

(*tap...tap...tap...*)

He opened his eyes to look about, but found a small, cloth had been tied over his eyes. Its colour was white and plush, and The Terrarian stared up into the sunlight filtering through it. It was daytime. Outside, he could hear the gentle rustling of leaves and grass. He listened to the tremulous birdsongs carrying on the wind. Downstairs, he heard the whistling of a teakettle followed by the stove being turned off and footsteps laboriously climbing the stairs. The gait was familiar. It was The Guide's. Was he really home?

(*creeeak*)

"Hey buddy..."

The Guide. It was The Guide. His voice, his gait, his smell... It was him and he sounded terribly defeated. His tone was demurred and exhaustion seemed to radiate off of him. What seemed to be ailing his dear friend? The Terrarian wasn't one to really feel concern for others, but if The Guide was nervous, then something bad was certainly afoot. The Terrarian struggled once more to sit up and once more failed. He opened his mouth to raise the question, but his tongue tangled in on itself. He managed a single syllable before falling into a violent coughing fit.

"Gu-"

"Oh! Slayer wha-... Hey, hey, relax... calm down... shh, shh..."

"G-guide what happ-..."

His voice sounded odd in his own ears. Had it changed? No, it was the same. It just echoed stuffily in his head as his ears popped with pressure and breath flooded his lungs. He was pulled upright, gently, but still - the movement made his head spin. He couldn't see due to the blindfold, but he felt familiar hands holding both sides of his face - squashing his cheeks together in a rather unpleasant manner. The Guide was probably sitting right in front of him. The exhaustion in his tone was replaced with relief. He spoke in a half whisper.

"Hey, buddy? How do you feel? Do you want to eat something? You're not hurting, are you? Sorry about the blindfold, your eyes were all messed up. Is it uncomfortable?"

There was no doubt who it was. The Guide was always like this. When he got nervous, or was very happy, or was very upset he always asked his questions in bulk. He'd fire off five or ten in a single breath, and expect them all to be answered in order. Of course, The Terrarian never managed this. Right now, he hadn't even the fortitude to even sit up on his own, much less sit up and answer questions. Perhaps The Guide didn't expect him to answer anyways, because when The Terrarian allowed himself to sag forward, The Guide was quite ready to catch him and fold him into an embrace. He chuckled darkly and murmured as he pressed his lips into The Terrarian's hair.

"Sorry, too many questions? Don't worry about it. Just rest."

"...Guide?"

An inscrutable pause.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"How am I... I should be dead."

Per usual, he stated his questions as demands. Normally, this was just how he spoke, but this time - The Terrarian was truly demanding to know. He was well aware his current situation was almost too good to be true. Indeed, he had begged the cosmos for exactly this when he sank beneath that pool of inky black tar. He had begged the heavens to go home. He had begged the cosmos to return to The Guide...

And to think he had been given just what he asked for? He was dull, he was naïve, he might even be stupid... but living in this harsh world for just a month had taught him that fate was cruel. He had learned from the beginning that if he wanted peace and rest, he needed to spill blood for it, either his own or his enemies'. If he wanted good things, he needed to rail and struggle and wrest it from destiny's cruel hands. This... this idyllic paradise was entirely unrealistic. Where was he? Was he dead and now trapped in his own hopes and hallucinations? Was any of this real at all? It felt real. It smelled real. The Terrarian desperately wanted it to be real, but he must know if it wasn't.

It was a long moment before The Guide answered. It was as if he were carefully considering what to say. When he finally gave utterance, his voice was low, but stern, clipped and clear. There was just a hint of amusement, but little enough that The Terrarian knew The Guide was being completely serious.

"You really should be dead... I also thought you'd die when I saw..." an imperceptible pause. "When I saw what they did to you. When I saw you bleeding everywhere like that. I'm amazed you managed to recover. I've been up all night watching over you. You scared me, buddy. I thought you'd die at any moment."

"..."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they finally did - The Terrarian couldn't help but be overwhelmed. What did it mean that The Guide saw him? The Guide was there? He had come looking for him? He had seen him laying there, bleeding in the sand? Did he see The Red Man? Did he see The Vulture Headed Mage? The Guide, with his meagre strength and weak constitution had come to that cursed shore and faced down those terrible monsters to rescue him? It was almost unbelievable... but if not that, how else had he arrived back home? How else did he wake on the red patio, cradled in The Guide's arms? He hastily raised his head and croaked out to confirm.

"You... you rescued me?"

The Guide chuckled as he threaded his fingers through The Terrarian's hair and more firmly fastened the bandage covering his eyes. The man's heartbeat was uncharacteristically rapid as he spoke, as if he were excited or nervous. The Terrarian thought nothing of it. At this moment, he was eager to cling to every word that fell from the Guide's silver tongue. They made his heart leap and caused warmness to fill his chest. They were as sweet as honey as they were murmured into his ears.

"Rescue? Hah. You make it sound so heroic... It wasn't as glamourous as you're thinking, but yes... I did rescue you."

"..."

The Terrarian didn't say anything in response. He wasn't exactly sure what sort of expression he was wearing, but was thankful it was buried in the folds of The Guide's collar. What was he supposed to say now? He didn't know what could be said. Even his gratitude was too meager a thing to give in response to something so monumental. Did The Guide know how dreadful it was, being crushed to pulp by that Man in Red? Did he know how terrified he was, how utterly afraid he felt as he stood before the darkness of eternity? Did he know how dearly he desired to return to His Compound? To The Guide? To this small, idyllic little place in the sea of Crimson?

Maybe he did. Maybe that was why he came...

"Guide?"

"mhm?"

The Terrarian summoned his strength, then - with considerable effort raised his arms to wrap them around The Guide's shoulders, digging his oddly softened nails into the back of his 'parent's linen shirt. He took a while to collect his words, but The Guide didn't seem to be in a rush. He seemed quite happy, almost relieved, to sit at the edge of the bed and listen to the sounds of birds outside. He absentmindedly ran his fingers against The Terrarian's scalp until the almost-man spoke aloud.

"I was wrong to doubt you. I'm sorry I caused you trouble ... I won't make things hard for you any longer."

The Guide froze. He responded in a serious manner, but there was an undercurrent of excitement in his voice.

"What do you mean?"

"... anything. I'll do whatever you ask. I give you my allegiance. If you want to destroy this 'Wall', I will fight it for you. I won't hesitate anymore. Whatever you say... "

The Terrarian petered out into another weighty pause. Why had he said that? He didn't know what else he could say. There was nothing else he could give. The Guide's response was unexpected. Initially, he seemed taken aback, perhaps even offended in the same way he was offended when The Terrarian killed The Goblin Army. But after a very brief moment, the tension drained and The Guide hugged him tightly.

When he spoke, he sounded strangely sad.

"Slayer... you don't know how much that means to me... but for now, just focus on resting up. Once you're healthy, we should leave."

It's odd having a space all to myself.

A secret room where nobody steps foot in except for me.

Apparently The Archmage made it by tearing a small gap through timespace and connecting the 'zipper' to an untraveled portion of The Resistance Headquarters. He was proudly telling me how it was actually a room from a hundred years ago - and since it didn't technically exist in this time was the safest and most secure place he could plant my spawn point. I appreciate it and all... but he really could have chosen something more glamourous than a old, damp smelling broom closet.

*clink...clink...clink*

But given how winded The Archmage was after completing the spell (he retired to his bedchambers to sleep afterwards) I don't have the heart to ask him to re-do the ritual. It seems that this is the only spawn point I'm going to get, so I immediately set about scrubbing the filthy place clean. I have to admit I've never cleaned anything in my life, so I spent a good few hours invisibly snooping around a few of The Resistance's many janitors. From the bits of conversation I pick up, apparently The Resistance building used to be The Castle where Braelor and his family lived. The staff were all royal staff, and they didn't much appreciate that their workplace had become the scrappy headquarters of a rebellion.

*shuffle... splat*

But even if they're disgruntled, the janitorial staff are very good at their jobs. I watch them for a morning before pilfering a broom and a mop when their backs are turned, then immediately set about my work. I have to admit that cleaning is oddly satisfying, and I enjoy it in a strange sort of way. To imagine The Resistance Hero on his hands and knees, scrubbing out dust from between cobblestone cracks?! Well, nobody can see me - so although the task might be unbecoming, I don't let it bother me.

*Clink*

And it is only now that I realize I posses some sort of odd building power. It really is the strangest thing. I had accidentally ripped out a cobblestone when trying to scratch out the dust in a seam when it vanished and appeared in my inventory. I was really shocked at that - and hastily took it out and stuck it back in place. Well, it actually stuck. And when I put it back - all of its old, weathered cracks had disappeared entirely. It was now a perfectly whole, new Cobblestone.

Perhaps I am a bit neurotic after all, before after that discovery, I cheerfully ripped out every other cobblestone in the room and stuck them all back in their places. Then I line the walls with stone shelves, a few chests and several armours and their dummies (stolen from about The Resistance... invisibility is quite useful). I steal about half The Alchemist's inventory, as I know upon re-spawn my 'Unlimited Buffs' tattoo disappears -I've since learned how to reapply it, but such a thing takes time. I also indulge myself a bit. I take a nice looking rug, a bright red curtain, The Armchair I always sat on whilst studying in the library, a handful of books and a crystal chandelier from one of the castle's many dining rooms. Indeed, by the time I'm finished, my dusty broom closet looks like a proper treasure horde.

And most importantly, on the floor beneath me - is a rune that flickers in and out of existence whenever I walk over it. This is a miniaturized version of the large summoning circle in The Crimson Village. From now on, should I be killed (and not have another place designated as my 'home') I will appear in this place, to restock and prepare. Never again will I suffer like I suffered with The Worms. No longer am I at the mercy of anyone... because if I am killed - I can escape here.

Haaah...

I finish arranging the crate of Cadence potions on my shelf and step back to admire my handiwork. I feel an odd sense of accomplishment having transformed that little closet into a little home. Although this place is not as regal as The Palace, nor as intricate at The Archmage's castle, It is wholly mine. I built it with my own hands. There is a small, narrow window cut about a foot below the ceiling. It lets in a shaft of sunlight that lands upon my armchair and illuminates my bookcase. I don't really anticipate ever coming here purely to read - but who knows if I will ever have to hide. At least reading will give me something to do while I-

*Booooom!*

Faze: Look I built a room! I'm so proud of it! I'm the best.

Slayer:... *sniggers*

F: Did you just laugh at me?! I'll kill you again!

Omgg, next chapter is summary. Rip me while I try to get the times/days all correct. Lemme tell you, I never know how much time elapses in the story until I do a summary... and its always like 2 days for 40 chapters its crazy lol.

Okay love much.