Many thanks to all my reviewers! I love to read your comments.
Again, thank you for reading! Co-Author had to do a lot this round.
The chapter is late because of him (It's not. It's cuz of me, but I am blaming him for my slow)
Cheers
Armour: Brimflame (Vanity- Standard)
Weapon: Lashes of Chaos, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (500/500)
Armour: None
Weapon: None
Acc(0/12):
Health: (50/400)
The sunset just doesn't look the same anymore.
It used to bring me comfort. After all, The Archmage and I, we watched it together, day after day. Even now I am reminded of him when the sky is painted with all the colours of the flame. The hoot of the owl. The gentle glowing of firebugs. A serene, sacred night settles around me as the sun slips down beneath the horizon, allowing the earth to rest and cool. It is beautiful. I say so because I know it should be beautiful... but today, I cannot see it.
I cannot see the beauty.
For my chest is filled with leaden numbness.
...
I sigh as I turn my eyes from where the last of the sunset has disappeared. This has become a ritual. Perhaps it is foolishness, but I allow myself to indulge in it anyways. The Archmage is gone. I watch the sunset for both of us, and I reminisce foolishly about the short time we've spent together. It was in those times I was filled with all manner of lingering affections. Of softness. Of tenderness. Of joy and of love and of peace and of grace. My heart of stone was melted into flesh. My spirit of violence and brutality was taught temperance. I learned Empathy. I learned Compassion. I learned Mercy. I learned to love.
Oh, my poor naive heart... you've been taught to love.
Steel became spun glass.
And joys were swallowed in sorrow.
Tenderness was obscured by searing pain. My peace was torn asunder with conflict and my heart of flesh was marred. Marred beyond recognition by the cruelty of men. For from man, I have learned the meaning of compassion. From men, I've learned the meaning of brutality. Men have dealt treacherously with me, and others have shown themselves as noble and upright. Hands that offer comfort, may - in the next moment - do harm. And tongues that proclaim blessing might, in the very same breath pronounce curses.
For such is the way of man.
Deceptive in their hearts. Deceiving even themselves. They are wise as snakes, venomous and full of ambition; they are gentle and humble of heart, pure in thought and mind. They are plotters and schemers - eager to squeeze me dry; they are generous and charitable, happily sharing their portions. What is man that I might know him? Will I ever understand him? Is man not a mystery? He is incomprehensible and chaotic. In some ways almost divine, and in others as base as the more carnal of creatures. He is intelligent, and he is idiotic. He was weak and he is strong.
It is chaos! It is contradiction! And I cannot comprehend it. For all my learning, I cannot even begin to grasp the nature of men.
...
I sigh and lay back into the grass, feeling the warmth of the earth against my skin. High above, the stars seem to sparkle - shining there like diamonds upon velvet. In some ways I'm jealous of them. Those glorious untouchable stars, with none to harass them, none to pester them. They do not love, and they do not hate. They show no mercy, and they show no brutality. They have no need of anyone, and none can tell them what to do. They shine in the sky, sovereign, aloof... alone.
...
"Oh Hero... art thou now alone?"
My voice sounds strange, rough, after gnawing my tongue throughout the afternoon - and the tone inspires a level of dark amusement within me. It's a tone so very similar to that of My Teacher. It has that same sense of exasperation, of disappointment. I answer myself, mimicking the speech patterns of those archaic old scripts I've deigned the memorize at The Archmage's request.
"Indeed, thou art alone. Bereft of friends, yet rich in enemies... for they are as numerous as the sands upon the shores. What willst thou do, Hero?"
The pine needles rustle. The wind breezes through and the smell of sap and bark wafts to my nose. I wait for it to depart before continuing my soliloquy. I slip out of archaic speech as I raise my worries to the uncaring stars.
"The whole Capitol is chasing you. You saw the posters covering every street corner."
"...Yes, I mustn't go back there. I have, in my anger, provoked The King."
"Yes, but then will you run from him? Cringe and hide like a fugitive the rest of your days? Tell me, Hero. You who were destined to Herald the coming of a new age. You who even dared to grant yourself a Name... Are you A Terrarian? Or are you a rat?"
I chuckle to myself and lean back against the trunk of the tree, taking a long moment to carefully consider how I may respond to this query. An owl hoots. It glides on silent wings before diving to the ground - its claws outstretched. There's is a sharp 'squeak'... then silence. I watch it happen from my perch in the tree, then sigh and close my eyes once more.
"I will not fall prey to that snare called pride. Does not pride go before the fall? Have I not tasted my fill of defeat? Yea, perhaps I am a Terrarian... but I have nothing to my name. feats. I am Terrarian by name and nothing more. My nature is that of a conqueror. All powers are supposed to fall at my feet. My blood is the oil of war. My appearance is death to my enemies... yet look at me!"
I've shouted in the night. My voice echoes over the trees before disappearing into the black night. Startled, I lower my voice, whispering the query to myself.
"Look at me. What do you see?"
...
The night seems to grow heavy about me, wrapping me closely. The stars watch from their places in the sky. I gaze up at them and long for their peace. Why must I ponder my own existence? Why must this world be so complicated? Only moments ago, I bemoaned the chaos and contradiction in man... yet am I not paradoxical? I have killed a thousand men, then wept over the death of a monster. I have defeated monsters for the sake of savings lives. I have defeated monsters to destroy the lives of others. I hate the complexity of men, yet I desire nothing more than to be amongst them. I see them as hopeless and stupid, yet I devour their knowledge as a starving man devours bread. I look at myself. What do I see?
"I see weakness."
I'm nearly startled by my own voice.
"You are weak in spirit. You're a pathetic wretch of a man and it hurts to look at you. The Archmage, The Clone... all you hold precious is wrenched from your feeble grip. All has been seized from you. Do you know why?"
I shut my eyes. I know the answer.
"Because you are weak. You are weak because you are satisfied to rely on others. You relied on The Cultist for your every need. You relied on The Archmage to support your fragile heart. Even now, you behave as if someone will clean up your messes... Who will you lean on now, wretched infant that thou art? Is there any kindness left for you to cast yourself on? Where will you find mercy in this cruel world? Stand to your feet, Hero. You are all alone. There is none to help you. So go..."
I stand and spread my wings, placing one foot ahead of the other as I walk to the very tip of the tree branch. It creaks and bows beneath my weight, yet I worry not. I simply look to the stars and I harden my heart. I bare my teeth at the night and click them between each syllable.
"Hero, go and make yourself strong."
'Ahoy mateys! We're here! Get ye asses off yer seats!'
The Pirate Captain's voice was jovial as he stood at the helm of his ship and shouted over his crew. Oh! how he missed his days, roaming and pillaging gold from the landlubbers below, sailing the winds and ruling the skies. His territory stretched from horizon to horizon. His sea was the whole world, from end to end! There was nothing like it! There was nothing like looking down and seeing eagles soaring beneath your feet, or bobbing in the clouds as if they were white-capped waves. The wind! The sun! The whole world was his, and that included whatever sparkled and shines in the villages beneath him. The utter freedom of it all was nothing short of intoxicating, and it'd been a hello'va long time since The Pirate Captain had sailed the cloudsea.
'Get the ropes, hey! The ropes and the weapons! Down below - do you see it?!'
Because, of course, Yharim did not tolerate this sort of thing. In the Empire's early days, The King's influence was still mostly confined to the northwestern part of the continent - and The Captain mostly pillaged the south - roving and raving and searching for treasure amongst the possessions of the people. But as The Empire Spread, The Captain took special care to avoided its borders. He dared not face The Jungle Dragon in a battle for the skies as many of his piratey rivals had so foolishly done. The Flying Dutchman was a powerful ship, yes... but she was not quite that powerful. Eventually, when the Skies belonged to The King, The Captain retired to terrestrial crime, yet even twenty years later had never lost his thirst for the wide open sky.
'There really is a ring of sunflowers! Look! And inside it's all green!'
'I wonder if there will be any loot there!'
But today The Pirate Captain made an exception. Today he wasn't roaming the skies in search of goods to steal, or people to kidnap. No, rather he had embarked on a rather noble quest indeed. He had been paid to rescue a pink-haired woman from a village in the midst of The Crimson, and although it would be endlessly simple to just ignore the request - he thought he'd be honorable for once in his life. He ordered his old beloved ship be dragged out of storage and set out to the east, halfway expecting to find nothing at all in the scarlet wasteland.
It really sounded like a load of bollocks.
But The Guide's words held true. Perhaps there was some merit to those scholarly types after all, because the ridiculousness of his claim paled in comparison to seeing the thing with his own eye. To imagine a field of sunflowers would hold that writhing monstrosity at bay? But indeed, as they slowly descended upon that spot of green in the scarlet plain - the Dutchman creaking and groaning as it floated heavily upon the lilting breeze of the wind, The Captain scoffed and grinned. Even at his old age, there were so many sights for him to see.
His first mate scurried up to the helm to address him. He looked nearly as excited as The Captain felt.
"Captain, we are preparing the descent. Your orders?"
The Pirate Captain turned and addressed all his men in his reply.
"Keep yer eyes peeled fer a pink haired lass. Don't hurt 'er or I'll wring yer neck. Errything else? If it has value, take it! Let's go!"
*Yaaaaarrr!*
He was tired.
So tired.
His bones were made of lead, heavy and sinking him almost magnetically to the ground. The air was a weighted blanket thrown over his shoulders, and the brief moments he managed to hold open his eyelids, he found his vision drift so severely it was difficult to focus on anything at all. What a strange debilitating condition this was. No matter how he struggled, he could not win... for he was fighting against his very body. He wanted to leap to his feet and stand, to wipe the salt from his eyelids and investigate those strange noises outside... but he couldn't.
He was numb and fumbling, listening but not hearing, seeing but not understanding, desiring nothing but to press his cheek against The Guide's (increasingly stiff) shoulder and sink into the comfortable silence of sleep. He hadn't been this tired since The Guide 'rescued' him from the shores of The Sulfuric Sea...
That liar didn't rescue you...
The realization wasn't shocking anymore. By now, he had simply accepted that all the good things The Guide had done, were merely done as a means to an end. It was all a facade, a farce, a lie. Yet why did he still cling to the man's memory? He had been long forsaken. He had been tossed aside. Abandoned not once, but twice.
These thoughts that had once been so painful, simply shattered over his heart - shattering like arrows shatter against the walls of a fortress. They didn't sting so badly anymore. Indeed, nothing really stung at all. He was cold. He was numb. He nudged himself closer against The Guide's slackened jaw and allowed his thoughts to slip away into the empty, placid sea.
...
...
*Yarrr-clatter*
*Boom-boom-boom*
...?!
The Terrarian opened his one working eye and laboriously turned it up towards the window. He sniffed the air - but his recently reattached olfactory nerves had yet to fasten tightly enough to the rest of him. He could scarcely smell a thing. Who was that, rattling his door? Was it someone he knew, or was it a stranger? There was the glow and the noise of an explosion elsewhere in The Compound, and he briefly noted a piece of roof tiling flying through the air. Was...was somebody destroying his home? Who dared to ransack his compound?
...
The swell of indignance was mostly swallowed in exhaustion. He could scarcely move as he was. It'd been, well - he didn't know how long he'd lain here - but given the rigor mortis has settled into The Guide's corpse, The Terrarian guessed he had been here a few days. The Third Guide had not managed to kill him, but he had caused very grave injury. Even so, The Terrarian knew all would be healed in time...
*Boom!*
But...did he have time?
*Crack*
The noise of a small explosion rocked the floor and sent long cracks spiderwebbing across its hardwood finish. There was the noise of a great crowd outside. He heard the sound of swords clattering in their scabbards. He could hear the hammers clicking upon flintlocks. He heard the sound of harsh breathing and greedy mutterings and spittle upon beards. It was the sound of violent men.
And The Terrarian was afraid.
Of men, he was afraid. This was the world. A world he had been born into without direction or knowledge or purpose. A great confusing place, full of motivations and of lies, of betrayal and of complexity. For his whole life, he had hidden from The World. He had hidden here, in his compound. He had hidden behind The Guide. But now... but now it finally found him.
*Boom*
The door was burst off of its hinges, and nearly decapitated him as it shot across the living room and shattered something in the kitchen. The men came flooding in. A multitude of footfalls, and sharp blades and of firearms trampled around him - surrounding him. They made strange noises, speaking in accents he could scarcely understand - but their tone was that of disgust and morbid curiosity. He felt the muzzle of a gun poking at his back. Somebody else nudged at him with a foot. Mocking laughter, bright sunlight. Oh - if only he could languish in the dark! To hide that his works not be revealed! Yet beneath the eyes of strangers, The Terrarian dipped his head and shut his eyes. His numbed heart trembled.
And he was ashamed.
"Oy- Damn, there's a naked guy here. Looks like he tried to eat this other dude. It stinks so bad!"
"Is he even human? Look how fucked up he is. Holy shit, haha!"
Laughter, the impact of boots upon his softened bones. The hissing of dynamite and the moisture of spittle. Oh, how ashamed he was of all of it. To be found like this... so weak he could scarcely lift his head. So mangled, strangers wondered what manner of creature he might be. He could scarcely breathe, for his lungs were half-formed. He could scarcely move, for his muscles had yet to be filled with strength. He was weak. He was dressed in weakness and decorated in the entrails of his parent - and had found himself helpless amongst a pack of wolves.
And men, like wolves, would tear him to pieces.
Such was their nature. Cruel men. A Cruel world.
"Hold up - look at this!"
He felt a fingers press into his shoulderblades. A few men vocalized with a great deal of wonder before prying apart his skin and seizing the small tuft of feathers that was rooted beneath. A yank, a splatter of blood - a wing burst from his back. More laughter. Somebody grabbed his hair and wrenched his face upwards that he might see his crowd of scoffers. When tears welled in his working eye - they laughed all the more raucously.
"Wings? Are you supposed to be an Angel?! Oh- you'll auction well! Haha! Too bad you're so ugly! Is your nose on backwards? Holy shit!"
"Ey, Ey! I kinda recognize this dead guy. Isn't he the guy everyone was trying to track down last week?"
"Huh, wait I think you're right?"
They let him go. He curled in on himself, and hid beneath his wing. He wanted to flee. He wanted to dig a hole and bury himself that he might weep alone... but rough hands grabbed him beneath the arms and dragged him across the floor, muttering foggily as he left a trail of blood and feathers in his wake.
"... bring him outside. Let's ask the captain."
Pirate Captain: Save the pink haired woman!
Stylist: Oh that's me.
Party Girl: Oh that's me too.
poorbitch rip
Faze finally gonna grow up