Whenever I lose motivation to write, I just listen to Stained Brutal Calamity again and I'm like ye boi, this is my inspiration. Like, literally the reason The Slayer is called the Slayer is more a play on words on 'Player' - and how in the song, (which one half is written from the perspective of the boss you're fighting) is like 'oh god, this guy's been killing everything' I'll fuvking die if I don't give this my best.

When you think about it, The Terrarian is an absolute horror. He just kills everything he comes across... which is what The Hero is doing I suppose (When planning this, I kinda wanted to name him 'The Player', but then it'll rhyme and I figured it was too confusing lmao), - not so much his little bro, who's wandering around looking for his limbs.

Armour: Titanium Armour (Mage)

Weapon: Infernal Rift; Stormfront Razor

Acc(11/11): Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Celestial Emblem, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, FrostSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Amalgamated Brain, Evasion Scarf, Frozen Wings.

Health: (425/425)

Armour: Victide Armour (Ranger)

Weapon: [UNUSABLE]Mandible Bow (Jester Arrows); Arkhalis

Acc(11/11): Band of Regeneration, Amidas Spark, Sailfish Boots, Luxor's Gift, Ocean Crest, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, Tsunami in a Bottle, Frog Leg, Aero Stone, Shield of the Ocean

Health: (350/400)

"The Dungeon? Why? Can't The Resistance do anything without me?"

I exhale hard and cross my arms over my chest - allowing the hefty titanium plates to screech obnoxiously against each other. The noise grates over the crowded throne room, echoing in the shocked silence until it dies against the cold marble pillars. Its cold here in the mountains, insufferably cold, but I've grown used to it. After all, if what they say is true, I was born here. Right here. They tell me I was given to them as 'a gift from heaven' to aid them in their battle against an evil king. They say it's my destiny to defeat the man called 'Yharim'.

They tell me many things.

And I don't believe any of them.

The air is frosty in my lungs. I can feel the regal marble intractably hard against the soles of my greaves. I'm here. Undoubtedly here. I feel the blood coursing in my veins. I can feel the eyes of every man and woman in this room staring at me in horror. Why Horror? Because I'm breaking free of their bindings? Ha! I blink and lift my chin to glare at the one who dares try and command me. The longer I think on it, the more frustrated I become. Who am I? Am I a 'gift'? A tool? Nonsense. Why have I subjected myself to the whims of this organization who has the audacity to expect obedience of me?

What an insult.

These thoughts have brewed in my mind for the past few days. I spent a long while carefully considering my position. Why am I here? Why do I listen to Statis and Braelor? Where did I come from; where will I go? I know there's something greater for me out there... I feel it in my bones.

Naturally, My Teacher tries to reason with me - and as usual, his reasoning is flawless. I have a difficult time contending with his monster intellect, especially when I battle his logic with unfounded feelings. No matter. I recognize his compelling arguments are – but the fact remains that I simply cannot be convinced. It is almost as if I'm wired to strike out on my own. To play in the mud, and to swat at insects. When I inquire of myself what my purpose might be, I am answered only with a strong sense of wanderlust.

I... I just want to be outside...

I don't know why.

But my soul longs for it.

I want to roam the mountain ranges, to feel the gravel crunch beneath my feet, to hear the wind blasting my ears. I want to scale the hills, to reach the peaks and gaze out over the vast expanse of this world. I want to meander wherever my heart desires, beholden to myself and myself only. Nobody to call me back. Nobody to nag and pester and saddle me with responsibilities. I'll go from one end of this great sky to the other. I'll chase the sun! I'll soar with the eagles. I'll swim with the fish. I'll delve beneath the ground into the unexplored depths, holding my life in my hands as I brave the dangers of the deep to seek the treasures of the caves.

This is what I wish to do. Everything in me desires to go and explore and build and dig and fight... but I can't.

Because instead, I'm here, standing in court, surrounding by a hundred nagging voices and a hundred pairs of expectant eyes. I know what they want from me. They want me to kill everything they point at. They set me loose against armies. They demand I rain magic like knives. As... and for a (comparatively) long time, I obeyed that expectation without question. Like a good little slave, I did their bidding.

But now... I've been struck with this realization like a bolt of lightning.

I've realized that I don't care.

And I don't need to care.

The Resistance and it's goal... I don't care about it. Not one bit. Why do I hate this 'Yharim'? I don't even know who he is! My teacher quotes me lists of his atrocities - as if it meant something to me, but why would I care if the insects murder each other. Have I not killed thousands at Braelor's command? Frankly, I cannot think of a single reason to hate this Tyrant... In fact, I have more reason to despise Braelor, than this faraway enemy.

For it is abundantly clear that I've allowed The Resistance to manipulate me for their gain. I'm upset with this. Not necessarily because I don't want The Resistance to succeed - but rather, because they had dared to use me. My pride does not tolerate this. I become indignant with the very thought. How dare they praise me as "Hero" yet treat me like a dog. Alas, they will have neither Hero nor dog. I'm off to go play in the mud.

How much time have I wasted here, doing what other people tell me? tch...

Ah, well it's no use mourning over bygones. I now seek to correct my errant behavior. I exhale a long breath and boldly raise my eyes to meet my captor's. Braelor glares at me, as do the hundreds of eyes all around. I can see them all around me, some faces twisted in disappointment, some in despair, some in anger... My Teacher is there too - but his face is covered with his long bird mask. I twinge of guilt runs through me... I hadn't shared with him this particular plan. He must be disappointed, but that too is a price I'm willing to pay.

"...Hero, what do you mean to say."

Braelor's voice booms out over the hall. I can hear a frown from behind his ornate helmet. He's tremendous. A giant. A Half-titan clothed head to toe in full battle regalia. His imposing figure is seated - lounged - on an enormous throne, and I suppress a smirk as I see him flinch at my blatant disrespect. As I feel the horrified gazes of the onlookers shatter against my armour - the thrill of rebellion runs from the crown of my head into my stomach, where it brews and begs to release as sneering laughter. I don't laugh, of course. It's not the impression I want to give at the moment. Instead, I set my face brazenly against The Commander of The Resistance and twist my lips into a sneer.

"I mean to say: I won't do it. I won't take your orders any longer. I won't be beholden to The Resistance."

The shocked silence persists. I can only imagine what's going through Braelor's head at this moment. This man receives cringing respect wherever he goes. The pathetic Resistance insects worship the very ground he walks on, kneeling and simpering and drooling... the whole lot of them are disgusting. I can't stand them. I certainly won't partake in their charade.

...

The mountain fortress's main hall is dreadfully silent. The frosty wind moans outside, carrying with it clouds and birds and all manner of small, base creatures... and soon, it would carry me. I too will fly free on the waves of the wind. The sky is blue and welcoming. The fresh snow calls out to me.

Soon, soon...

There's a loud scraping noise as Braelor stands from his throne, now towering surreally over my head. I can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks down. All around, the onlookers wait with bated breath, and even I - now needing to crane my neck to look The Commander in the eye, am beginning to feel nervous. Was this truly the best course of action? Should I have just run? Electricity zips through me and makes me jittery. Braelor's response hits me like a blow, but I do my best to maintain my defiant -now disingenuous- smirk.

The Commander doesn't shout.

He speaks in the same even tone he always uses. It's a slow cadence, but very impactful. It causes a faint itching to take root in my brain. The itch says: 'Danger'. Clicking punctuates his words as Braelor taps the hilt of his scythe rythmatically.

"Is that so, Hero... perhaps you had best apologize for your impundence and reconsider. Immediately."

Apologize? A rush of anger floods hot through my veins, fueling the smouldering disgust which bubbles in my gut. My nervousness is swallowed by indignation. I curl my lip into a snarl and open my eyes as wide as they go. I'm not going to play into Braelor's charade. I don't owe anybody anything, not recognition, not respect, nothing. The only reason I followed his orders in the beginning was because I didn't know any better. It's about time I shook off these shackles. I'll leave this place and forge my own path.

I try to speak slowly, calmly, coolly - just like My Teacher does - but when I hear my own voice echo back, it's anything but. I suppose I'm considerably more annoyed than I had anticipated to be. I set my jaw and bark up at Braelor, but as I do so, (quite distressingly) the image of a small dog yapping it its master appears in my head.

"Apologize? Why would I do that? I've granted you courtesy enough by announcing my departure... I wish you luck in your war. Farewell!"

Have I always sounded so shrill? I'm beginning to regret my decision. A collective, and rather comical, gasp rings about the throne room which rapidly devolves into low muttering, and then silence at Braelor's signal. Evidently Braelor, My Teacher (who is looking on with horror from one of the balconies) and everyone else had expected me to accept the task eagerly and gracefully. What a shock this must be, but the excitement of defiance is tainted by a very real fear.

Because... because perhaps I have misstepped. Would Braelor allow me to leave? Why is he standing there, holding that tremendous scythe. He's not serious, is he? Is he really going to fight me? I thought I was the "precious, irreplaceable Hero". Surely The Resistance wouldn't dare lay hand on me... Right? Many days ago, I had considered slipping out in the middle of the night, but thought it too far beneath me. I wouldn't be caught dead cringing in the shadows like a thief... I wanted to walk out the front gates with my head held high.

But... How Strong is Braelor? The Half-titan is holding his scythe in one hand. It's massive, the blade alone is twice my height, and glowing runes run up and down the length of it. It pulses with a tremendous amount of power. I can hear its low whine filling the throne room like a swarm of locusts. My skin crawls. My smirk has inadvertently turned into a grimace, and I now realize that I've taken two steps in retreat.

I can hear my heartbeat in my throat. I can feel my breath hiss between my teeth. My hands shake in fear? Excitement? I'm not sure. I'm haven't time to dwell on it.

Do I run?! I've never run before... not from anything...

Braelor holds his scythe aloft and the very sight turns my heart to wax. I feel my confidence evaporate. Do I flee and trampled my pride? Do I apologize and comply? Do I stand my ground and fight an overwhelming foe? I can't decide. I'm paralyzed with indecisiveness. As if by instinct, I turn and glance at My Teacher for guidance, searching for a signal, a hint, anything... but his eyes are shadowed beneath his hood. He's turned away from me in resignation.

That scares me more than anything else, even more than The Commander's declaration. Even now, his voice is soft - but the rumble behind it shakes my very core. I know it. I feel it in my bones.

I'm going to die.

"It appears that our Hero is lacking in discipline. Cultist, your efforts have gone to waste...I did not anticipate needing to do something so unsightly here, but this must be done."

Braelor raises his scythe. It glows with incredible power, nothing like my wand has yet produces. Ah, have I unconsciously summoned my weapon? I stare at the staff gripped tightly in my hand. It looks nigh pathetic before Braelor's weapon. Still... what else can be done? I'm terrified, but it set my eyes and I draw from my mana. Even as my breath rattles in my lungs, I begin to cast the defensive spells My Teacher has taught me.

But even so... I feel it in my bones.

I'm going to die.

"Ladies and Gentleman, I ask you to forgive me for showing you this travesty. The Hero's little tantrum may set back our plans a week or two - but I assure you, we will soon have him under control... Now-"

He fixes me with a cold stare.

"I hope you're ready, Little One. You have yet to taste the sting of death... Let us see if you can learn obedience through pain."

The water was dark and deep, cool and comforting against her fevered flesh. The muffled noises of underwater rubbed against her eardrums. She felt her lungs empty, and watched as the shining air bubbles rose from her mouth and nose.

Like a rock, she sank to the bottom - her bones were denser than her unmodified human counterparts... but this was her saving grace. The fish-scales beneath her skin allowed her to push through the water easily. A set of narrow gill flaps opened on either side of her throat. She couldn't breathe very well underwater - Draedon hadn't equipped her with the full aquatic kit - but she was certainly better off than the floundering, lumpy 'Travelling Merchant' which floated over her head. It was bleeding profusely, staining the water red. Chunks of flesh were falling off... barely human bits of flesh showering down on the lakebed to be eaten by the fish and the crabs.

*Thoom!*

A shockwave wracked the water as The Experiment tossed another explosive at The Travelling Merchant's flailing form. The water grew redder. The chunks grew more frequent. She had best get out of here, lest she find herself drenched in Crimson gore. As deftly as she could (her clothes dragged heavily against the water. She momentarily considered shedding her garb, but quashed the thought.) she dove down to the sandy floor and glanced around - searching for the best way to climb back to land. She was exhausted, aching and still quite injured. The last thing she wanted to do was scale a cliff...

And I still need to go look for The Arm... tch- eh?

Strange... what was that? An odd, rather hand-like shape was swaying in the current. The Party Girl blinked and activated her heat sensors. Yes, that was most definitely a hand. It was missing its last two fingers and was clad in a few bits of armour that matched The Experiment's exactly. Its wrist had been tied to a large stone which anchored it the the lake floor. The Nurse and The Arms Dealer must have abandoned the limb here.

Ha! What a stroke of luck! Unless she'd been chased here by that monstrous Crimson creature, she certainly would never have found The Experiment's arm (She still didn't know his real name, and had a great deal of reservation -actually- calling him 'bitchface'.)

Quickly, she swam over - pushing through driftwood and seagrass, to cut The Arm free of its bonds. Strangely, it didn't attack her. Neither did it move... did it die? Well, that wasn't really her business. She had agreed to find The Arm. In return, The Experiment had agreed to track Amidas for her. If The Experiment couldn't find a way to stick the arm back on, that was entirely his fault. He still needed to uphold his end of the deal.

*Thoom!*

Another explosion... how many bombs did The Experiment have stuffed under his cloak? Perhaps he was just generating them out of thin air? She scoffed although she had seen him do just the same with Healing Potions. The Experiment really was quite strange.

The water really was becoming quite red.

She fixed her gaze at the far bank and, with the limp arm hugged to her chest, she began swimming to shore.

Hero: Hey Braelor, You're super vertically fat.
Braelor: ...
H: Hey Braelor, Are you related to slenderman?
B:...
H: Hey Braelor, I bet your hairdresser needs to pack oxygen to give you a trim
B:...
H: Hey Braelor, You know, touching the top of the doorway isn't a personality trait?
B:...
H: Braelor, Is it uncomfortable that everyone's eye level is at your crotch?
B:...
H: Hey Braelor, how's the weather up there?-
B: (on phone) Cultist you've better come pick up your kid because I'm 'botta stomp the shit outta him.

It's the Hero's turn to eat humble pie. :-,) rip Faze. Braelor's big and stronk, and Hero's a bit too big for his britches. Poor child is about to get mashed into meatball.

I'll handle Dryad, Guide, Merchant #1 and Stylist next chapter. I promise Stylist is actully gonna do something in the future. You know that I kill everyone I'm not gonna use lmao. (I'm not a very compassionate creator).

Love and kisses