Right I don't typically do angst but I promise this is the tail end of it.

Devourer of Gods Theme is banger as heck. Check out the Calamity Soundtrack by DM Dokuro

Armour: Platinum

Weapon: Platinum Bow (Fire Arrows); Arkhalis

Acc(9/11): Band of Regeneration, Radar, Sailfish Boots, Round Shield, Aglet, Rover Drive, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg

Health: (395/400)

"The brain… I saw it... "

The flickering lamp light reflected off his sweat-slicked brow as he fought for every rattling breath. His long gray beard must be stained with foam and spittle by now. The pain had since faded into numbness, and he had already gone blind in one eye. He could still hear, and his voice was soft, strained and weak as he choked over his words.

"All the minds… I saw the crimson brain… all their minds… are there… in the brain..."

The old man knew he was dying. That great wound he'd sustained had rotted more quickly than he thought possible. That wicked yellow liquid that seeped into his bloodstream wanted him dead. It was wrecking havoc with his innards, consuming him from the inside out. Ichor. The blood of the Gods. The blood of the fallen Moon Lord himself. Mortals could not partake in the fallen divinity. Nobody had ever survived such an ordeal. No matter how many Healing Potions the frantic houseowner poured into his wound, The Merchant knew he would not see the morning.

"It's… coming… Crimson… Run… Young man… the dryad enchantment… is undone..."

The houseowner was yelling something at him, but The Merchant couldn't hear a word he said. He was most likely shouting encouragements. Urging him to live. Urging him to continue fighting. Yet, The Merchant knew his time was come. He had fallen prey to his greed. If only he had just left some of his wares, he could have escaped with the rest of his village. Yet, because he loved gold so much, he would now pass destitute into the land of the dead. What a shame. How Pathetic… a fitting end to his life of greed.

"Listen… to me...save yourself..."

The light flickered again as the houseowner jumped and stared down at him in despair. He was a young man with a kind face and intelligent, sad eyes. There were tears staining his cheeks, and The Merchant would have laughed if his lungs worked. While he was living, nobody would ever cry over somebody like him - a man who loved money above all else. Yet, in his last moments, this stranger mourned over him - begging him to live. The Merchant wished he could hear his voice.

"Don't… cry for me… flee… Crimson will consume… all of you… mind… and soul… its worse than...hell."

He was dying. He could feel it. He had always thought he would die alone and bitter. All his life he had been jealous of his possessions. He wouldn't share them with anyone. He had promised to bring his treasures with him to the grave. But... somehow, as he watched the young man run about and attempt to bind his grievous wounds, his stony heart softened. His voice rasped as he uttered the words.

"I'm dying… young man… t-take this… flee to the sunken… sea..."

Yes. The secret sunken sea. An aloof kingdom hidden beneath the desert, shielded from the dangers of the outside world. Those that fled there would survive the crimson flood. The old merchant had obtained the keys to the kingdom at great expense. An enchanted desert medallion. With rapidly numbing fingers, he reached up and tore the golden ingot from his neck. He pushed it into the young man's palm.

"Summon… the desert ruler… and flee to the sunken sea… "

This young man… he should live. Yes… he could escape The Crimson. The man's face was twisted in grief. There was guilt and despair marring his features. He clutched the gold ingot to his chest with one hand and grasped The Merchant's limp hand with the other. He was reciting something. Likely final rights.

"Go...Sur… survive… don't… let it catch you..."

The Young man bit his lip and nodded in understanding. He carefully attached the medallion about his neck and pressed his palms together in a gesture of thankfulness. How long has it been since somebody had thanked him? How long has it been since he had given a gift… It… it was a good feeling.

He was dying. But… but somehow he felt satisfied in these last moments. He nodded at the kind stranger and released a long, long breath. He lifted his eyes to the void and blessed the young man with his final thoughts.

And then… he was still.

He was numb by the time he trudged out the pungent shed to the red-bricked patio. He couldn't think. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Despair sat like a rock in his guts. The golden ingot was heavy around his neck. Even though he rubbed his cheeks raw trying to stem the flow of tears, they kept stubbornly leaking from beneath his eyelids.

He died right in front of me…

That Old Merchant had died here. It was the first time The Guide had seen somebody die before his eyes. It was a crushing feeling, watching somebody breathe their last, and it crushed him. He knew it wasn't his fault, but it crushed him regardless. Oh, how miserable his existence had become. No matter where he turned, all he saw was death and despair all about.

It's following me. Death follows me.

But what more… The Crimson! That damn Crimson! The rumors were true! The Merchant's dying words confirmed it. All the villagers, body and soul, were suffering a torpid existence worse than hell itself this very moment. How… how could he accept this? Were his family and friends wailing in agony whilst he frolicked around the forest collecting potion ingredients? Unforgivable!

I… I need to save them… but… but if I fail… I'll join them...

The Guide felt his breath once again catch in his throat, and he stopped to stare up at the sky, allowing the cool evening breeze to dry his eyes. His cheeks were flush burning red and his hands trembled even when he gripped them into tight fists. He had a decision to make. He could flee to the Sunken Sea and take refuge from the Crimson, or he could face the Crimson head on and risk his soul to free the spirits of his loved ones.

I'm… I'm scared… shit!

Cowardice granted him refuge. Courage threatened to condemn him to eternal suffering. What was the right decision? Should he flee - and be content to survive with his life intact? Or should he risk his very being to pursue his goal, which - now - was no longer to just avenge his family, but to free them as well. How his heart ached with the weight of deliberation.

Agh…

The emerald green grass folded beneath his feet as he crossed the small lawn and stepped into the illuminated patio. A light drizzle had begun to fall from gloomy clouds above, and the sky rumbled in solidarity with his broken spirit. The Terrarian had built something of a large open-air pavilion over the greater part of the patio, and was several paces away, kneeled over his crafting stations - clearly busy with something. The Guide was quick to shelter beneath the roofing and warmed himself beside the large fireplace built into its centre. He didn't fully understand why he had decided to seek out The Terrarian in this particular moment, but the alternative was wallowing in grief all alone. Silent, stony company was better than no company at all.

Haah… hmm… smells familiar

He turned his head to observe the man who was kneeling in the rain, bent over the… cooking pot? He was carefully stewing something within. The Terrarian was still dressed in full armour - cape and all - but had removed his helmet to stare sullenly at his project.

Whoa… is he's upset?

Perhaps it was obvious to him because The Terrarian typically wore such a blank expression - any inkling of emotion showed as clear as day. Or maybe The Guide was simply getting used to reading almost-human expressions, regardless, it was very clear that The Terrarian was deeply unhappy.

Ah crap…

The Guide emitted a low groan and squeezed his eyes shut. Why did everything need to pile up at once like this?! Earlier today, when the two of them first stumbled upon the gravely injured Merchant, The Terrarian had outright refused to help treat him. In fact, he had drawn his bow with the clear intention of putting the dying man out of his misery. This apparent heartlessness had elicited a violent response from The Guide, who had - rather thoughtlessly - exclaimed that he was 'a monster' before rushing past to help the man.

Maybe The Terrarian would have spared the merchant many long hours of suffering...

And The Guide didn't notice it at the time, but now as he thought back on it, The Terrarian had stiffened rather dramatically at the accusation. It was merely a careless word, but… had the Terrarian had taken it to heart?

Maybe, or he could just be mad at the rain - or anything else for that matter. Hm(sniff)… that's… really familiar… what's he making?

Willingly distracted by curiosity, The Guide drove himself to his feet and approached through the rain. His shoes sloshed through the rapidly growing puddles and he shivered as the cold liquid ran down his shirt and soaked through his hair. The Terrarian clearly heard him coming, but didn't turn to address him. He simply spoke aloud as he ladeled blinkroot heads and Daybloom leaves over lake-bass.

"Guide."

He's… he's making Mom's recipe…

The Guide felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper as the familiar scent struck him with a pang of homesickness. He froze in his tracks and stood there several paces back - feeling ever more miserable. He couldn't bring himself to formulate a response to The Terrarian, and simply waited for him to say his piece. Given how things were going today, The Guide half expected to get his head chopped off for the insult.

"..."

The rain pattered on the red brick patio. The dusk was slowly fading into nightfall. The Terrarian's voice was flat and calm, and seemed to overlay the surrounding noises. He didn't speak loudly, but his speech was very clear. Snipped. Rehearsed.

"You know who you are."

A heavy pause. The Guide furrowed his brow, but refrained from asking for clarification. He knew The Terrarian wasn't finished. He simply took a seat on the low brick wall which bordered the patio and waited in the cold. Watching closely.

"You... know where you came from. You know what you want, and you know how to get it. You know many, many things. Much more than I do."

The Guide blinked. He hadn't really expected a conversation, much less a meaningful one. He remained respectfully silent at the surprising display of humility from the man who wasn't only shockingly prideful, but was strong enough to kill him on a whim.

"And you have precious people."

The Terrarian indicated at the house with his chin, then immediately fixed his eyes back on the cooking pot.

"The old man who died. Those in the village you speak about. Your mother."

The Guide stiffened at the mention of those he had lost, yet refrained from showing anything on his face. The rain filled the long, pregnant silence until The Terrarian deigned to continue.

"And now, that you've lost your people, you continue moving forward… Guide. I'm not like you."

The Terrarian capped the cooking pot and stood to his feet. With a clack he fastened his helmet over his head and flipped the visor down, hiding his face entirely. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow - echoing metallically from the slatted visor.

"You're the only one I have. I have nothing else. I imagined if it had been you dying on that doorstep and I… I can't..."

A sharp intake of breath. The Guide might have fallen if he wasn't already sitting. The Terrarian had turned his back to formulate his words, and, in doing so, spared himself the expression of unabashed shock painting the Guide's face. After a long moment, he spoke again. His tone had grown hard. Quick and defiant.

"I don't know why you're here with someone like me… I can't begin to imagine what your agenda might be. I don't know who or what I am, but I won't be your servant. I certainly won't be your pet. If I'm merely a monster, then so be it. It means nothing. I will continue exactly as I have been."

The Guide opened his mouth, then closed it - unable to think of anything appropriate to say. Evidently his careless words had been absorbed and scrutinized. A normal person would have taken it as an insult, but The Terrarian had re-adjusted his life around it. It was at this moment The Guide realized how truly lost his companion was. The man did well to hide himself behind a cold, emotionless facade - but it couldn't last. His true thoughts were finally coming to light.

"I should never have assumed I was human. I simply wanted to believe it."

The Terrarian's silhouette drooped as his hollow words rang in the rain. His voice had lost its edge, and the hurt shone through. Of course he'd be hurt. Of course he was confused. He had been summoned into this world with nothing but a name, then was abandoned to fend for himself with nothing but base instincts. He didn't know the slightest thing about himself - and thereby attached great weight to The Guide's harsh comment. The result was a textbook existential crisis at three days old. The Guide had lost much, but even having lost, he still had far more than The Terrarian could boast of.

"…"

"..."

The rain was falling more harshly now. Its rapid pattering drummed down, nearly masking that sad note of forlorn desperation echoing in his hollow voice. The rain dripped off the horns of The Terrarian's helmet and soaked his cloak through until it was nearly black in colour. He halfway turned to hold The Guide in his peripheral vision and nigh whispered his closing words.

"Yet… even if I'm nothing but an empty creature…Guide, don't leave me. I don't think I could bear it."

Guide: Ok that's cool and all, but you overcooked the mushroom

Slayer: bro shut the hell up.

This is not gonna be a romance so don't expect that btw. It was a joke.

T is like bro I have no friends.