Shorter one today. Hope you enjoy.

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(0/12):

Health: (0/400)

He recognized this feeling... the feeling of floating in the void for an instant and an eternity. A place where time was nothing. A place where space was nothing. Where his mind was blank and his thoughts trickled sluggishly until they came to a halt. Here, he was suspended in a great sea of nothingness, there was no light, there was no darkness. There was no hate, or regret, or joy, or pain. Indeed, his heart was gone. His self was gone. All those terrible emotions which plagued him since being birthed in the world had vanished. He had no skin, and no eyes, and no nerves, and no mind, and no soul... he was nothing.

He was dissolved.

He was peacefully quiet.

He was peacefully dead.

And just as he began to fall away into the abyss...

*tsssss*

A great pressure seized him by the throat, shaking him out from his blissful stupor. It twisted him and contorted him, violently wrangling his essence back into a physical form. Suddenly his thoughts began rushing once more. His consciousness coalesced and began stewing in pain and rage. His memories all flooded back and whipped his exhausted heart - conjuring from it a flame of hatred. It bloomed and it consumed, and The Terrarian felt his skull burning and burning. Air hit his lungs, and they burned. Stones scraped his skin, and they seared against his already overwhelmed mind. There was a roaring! An all consuming mindless noise that reverberated through his ribcage and wrenched him forward - from the comforting womb of silence into that garish hateful light.

*Splat*

"Ghhh!"

It hurt!

The void had spit him into the ruins of his patio - and it hurt!

All his nerves were fresh and exposed. He felt every single scratch of the rough stones against his torso and his face. He trembled against the cool breeze that gusted over his prone form and the sunlight that beat down upon him, offering a sensation not-quite burning. Everything hurt... even things that should not hurt - but he could do nothing to ease his discomfort. His muscles were weak and rubbery; he could barely lift a finger, much less crawl from beneath the searing sun, nor take shelter from the bitter wind, nor prevent the jagged, cracked bricks from digging wounds into his flesh. His eyes had yet to form, and the light hurt them terribly. He tried to grind his teeth, but found they were all missing...

(running footsteps)

How tiresome this all was. How shameful. How ignoble. Why was he alive again?! Why was he back in this body? At this point, he was only really living to exact revenge, but what good did revenge do him? Why couldn't he just die and be done with this farce of a world! He had fervently wished to escape into that vanishing expanse, to dissolve into that the purity of nothingness, but he couldn't even do that. There was no rest for him... he could not have his peace.

Has The Guide done this to me?

...

Was this a curse The Guide had forced upon him? The curse of unending life, so he could never escape despair? That he would simply exist to hate?

Of...of course it's The Guide. Nobody else knows me. Nobody hates me enough to do something like this! That man... that man...

The Guide had ordained it, and it was so. He was made to struggle and to hate, to writhe in a pit of his own despair and drag everyone and everything into it. He knew it was destroying him. It would grind him down until he was nothing but a striving beast. It would wreck his soul, and steal all his joy and make it mourning. Hate. Hate! Was a curse it was! It made him miserable beyond belief, but he could not escape from it. He longed to be released from these sordid chains, but he could not forgive. He could not forget. His rage sat upon his shoulders like a cruel taskmaster and drove him until he was ragged; it lashed at him until he was but a hollow husk.

Oh Guide... You paid back love with savage cruelty...

Why, why why?! Why had the Guide done this?! Why does he hate me so? Did The Terrarian not faintly remember that man's wrath-filled expression when he looked upon the wretched Crimson creatures. He found it strange a the time, but did not pursue it for fear of discovering something he didn't want to know. Why was The Guide so insistent on destroying The Eye? or The Crimson Brain? Why did The Terrarian appear in The Crimson village when he escaped The Bomb and teleported 'home'? And why did that place smell of The Guide, as if he'd lived there for years and years and years? Whose were the desiccated bodies that staggered around - so unlike the other crimson creatures?

("There you are, you bastard!")

The Terrarian didn't know. He didn't know because in his naiveite, he had sought to know nothing. He had partaken in a blind faith, and his faith had slain him. Now... now he-

*shunk*

Suddenly, something pierced his elbow and scarlet pain bloomed behind his eyes. All this thoughts were washed away as something broad and sharp, not quite a sword - perhaps a spade crushed the joint - shattering the bone and grinding through his tender muscles and tendons alike. The pain was overwhelming - so unlike any battle wounds he'd sustained. This was something new, and The Terrarian was hating every moment of it. He opened his mouth to shriek but no sound issued from his throat. There was no air in his lungs to expel. There was a boot planted against his spine, slowly cracking his ribs and denying him breath. Just... just who was-

*crunch*

A hand grasped his wrist and twisted the twisted and twisted until - until his forearm came clean off! The limb was yanked away. He could hear it begin to scuttle around before it was thrown in - what sounded like a metal box. There was the click of a latch, and the noise of the limb thrashing weakly within. What was happening! Who had attacked him!?

"G-gghh!"

The spade came down once more - this time upon the joint behind his knee. He felt the crack of soft bones splitting beneath sharpened steel. He felt the supporting cartilage stretch apart in those small, yet monstrously powerful hands. Oh- was he being killed? Was he being killed again?! Who was it this time?! Another of The Guide's allies? The person tearing him to pieces was doing so with a giddy gusto. They seemed joyful in their movements, as if he were some treasure they were greedily harvesting from the earth. The Terrarian trembled as he lost the lower portion of one leg - and it was likewise locked away. He was losing the feeling in his nerves again... he'd lost too much blood.

Dead again... pathetic...

And just like that, he fell into a lull.

How much time had passed? He could not tell. He just knew each time he heard the strike of steel against stone - or the click of a latch locking shut, another part of him had been cut away and packaged. Was he being sold? Like those pieces of meat at the marketplace that were wrapped in cellophane or suspended on hooks?

...

As he helplessly felt his lifeblood seeping away, his skin became cold and numb and his hearing dulled - he stopped caring. This was his lot. This is how he would live out the rest of his unending existence. Death was useless. What good did death do him!? If only the spilling of blood could grant him peace! If only he could die and escape into nothingness. To vanish. To be annihilated and find silence in death. But no. The blood gushing from his stumps splattered into the stones to the tune of his erratic heartbeat. The hateful stench of his own blood had become far too familiar, and he could feel its warmth pooling against his skin.

He was drifting away. He was fading into the silence-

("No you don't you bastard. I need you alive!")

A muffled noise. The scent of alcohol and healing potions. He could feel it splashing upon his back, in his face, his lips were pried open and he was made to drink. That stinging red liquid pooled in his stomach and caused the wounds to slowly close where his limbs had been amputated. He could feel strips of bandages being hastily thrown upon him. He registered two thin arms thread around his chest to hoist him up - then drop him down.

And jagged curved spikes tore into his flesh as he fell - spikes, nay hooks - that anchored into his skin and shot pain through him at even the slightest hint of movement. They ringed him roundabout, digging their barbs into him. Into his chest, into his back, his ribs and his face - and then...

Then a latch clicked shut over his head.

And The Terrarian sighed, wondering what else The Guide had in store for him.

Things were... odd ever since he woke up this morning. Not that odd was ever particularly concerning - after all, he was not only the only 'non-magical' on staff, he was the only 'non-magical' in general in this cursed place.

So, The Guide expected a certain level of abuse from his comrades. Looks of derision at the minimum, profound rudeness was expected, pranks in abundance... but usually not glances of wonder and fear. Well... he couldn't say it was necessarily an unwelcome change. For the first time ever since he arrived, his lecture hall's giant chalkboards didn't have enormous un-erasable drawings of male anatomy upon them. The Students actually sat still and didn't howl like animals while he was speaking - and best of all, nobody set his hair on fire.

I'm certainly glad my fiancée is a stylist... now that I think of it, why didn't I go to her for my haircuts?

Of course, that wasn't to say the students were angelic to any degree. Halfway through lecture, he suddenly tasted grass in his mouth - and (rather terrifyingly, he had to admit. He'd never been subject to a spell like this) began spitting flower petals. None of the students admitted to casting that spell - none ever did - so The Guide resorted to assigning an extra chapter of reading. Strangely, there was no outcry - but he was sure these little demons would soon think of something in retaliation.

*knock-knock*

The Guide blinked and looked up from exam grading as somebody tentatively rapped at his door. It was late afternoon - well after lecture and during his class-assigned office hours. Of course, he hadn't had a single attendee to any of his office hours before - but they were two months into the semester, and it was about time some of those little demons started caring about their grades. Well... despite that The Guide had come to wholeheartedly hate most of his students, he was glad the janitorial staff had cleaned his office before it was flooded with people. He didn't need the rumor that he was a 'slob' added on top of the rest of the accusations.

The Guide sighed, adjusted his reading glasses, and raised his voice.

"Come in."

The door opened with a creak, and a number of solemn-faced students filed in. The majority of these weren't The Guide's 'problem' students. He could tell at a glance. Indeed, these were the halfway decent ones that actually scored highly in the class and cared more about their future than deriding 'non-magicals'. Even so, The Guide was rather surprised to a whole gaggle of them crammed into his office, shuffling and squeezing against each other until they up against the book-cases, and squeezed against the front of his desk. The door was propped open - by the mass of students, and from the hallway several of them stood on their toes or sat upon each other's shoulders to listen to him. They were all silent and nervous looking, and frankly - The Guide was terribly confused at this. He raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Well then, what a surprise. What was so woefully underexplained during lecture that you've all come here en-masse to speak to me?"

"...um."

They all looked nervously at him, then - their pointperson - a pale scrap of a girl - tentatively presented him with the front page of a newspaper. She gulped. Her voice shook as she stuttered through a clearly rehearsed, but badly executed speech.

"P-professor. We just... (gulp) we saw all the paramedics, and... and you really died! They held a funeral and everything! Look! How... how are you alive? Are you really The Professor?"

She unfurled the newspaper. The headline read: 'First non-Magical Professor at CAU found dead over The Autumn Festival, mere months after a contentious hiring. Investigations underway'. His portrait, ringed about with memorial flowers, was smack dab in the middle of the newspaper. It looked like the genuine article... but The Guide was entirely unfazed. He'd had this sort of thing done to him a thousand times before. Students had pranked him with illusions of being trapped in a dungeon, of being run down by dragons, of being beheaded by a Monster Kni-. This prank was far less ingenious, and by no means would The Guide fall for it. As if printing a single headline on a newspaper would faze him! Perhaps it was even a real headline! With how moneyed these students were, there was no doubt a few of them could force this kind of article to be written. In any case, The Guide was quite sure he wasn't dead, so he rolled his eyes and snatched the paper from The Pointperson's hands. Without a second glance, he tore it end to end and tossed it in the wastebasket - where the inbuilt spell promptly incinerated it.

The Room was silent as they waited for the thin string of smoke to dissipate. The Guide sighed and put on his lecture voice.

"... right. Enough of that nonsense. If you have yet to notice, I'm quite tired of the pranks you all so dearly love to play on me. I had little tolerance for it in the beginning. I have even less tolerance for it now. Does anyone actually have questions concerning todays lecture?"

"..."

"No?"

"..."

"Well if there is nothing else, then kindly leave."

DEPARTMENT OF IMPERIAL ARMY HEADQUARTERS:

Memorandum High Commandant. Letter of Instruction issued from The Imperial Palace

* Commandant Gilgal has been dismissed from his post. The Commander of Legion #05 will stand in as High Commandant in his place.

* The Northern Theatre has closed. Siege upon The Resistance was successful, and estimated 70% of enemy combatants were neutralized. Weapons and equipment seized

* Troops are to be transported back to their barracks and continue to search out resistance members near their stations. A price of 20 Gold will be awarded per Resistance head, per soldier that acquired said head. Note - the following articles must be presented as proof of resistance membership in order to receive compensation:

a) Resistance Encryption Codes
b) Badge/Medals signaling alliance with The House of Braelor, Statis, The Archmage, The Sea King Amidas,
c) Authentic membership cards,
d) Signed testimony by a minimum of three verified townspeople indicating The Subject is a Resistance Member or highly suspect therof.

Troops who are found to have brought heads without appropriate verification forego further compensation through the program. Program will run for a period of 30 days, and is then subject to renewal.

* Should any iterations of 'The Resistance Hero' or 'False Terrarian' appear near your barracks or vicinity, immediately contact central with the entity's location. The Empire treats this issue with the utmost care, and has made it chief priority to capture and eliminate all of these entities for testing and disposal. Reminder to treat all instances of 'False Terrarian' with extreme care. Contact on Dedicated channel- 45GHX. Do not engage.

MK: I wonder why he hates me. I just appeared in a summoning circle in the middle of his village, surrounded by the dead members of everyone he's ever known. Like, what does that even mean? I really have no idea.

Faze:... you don't?

So Yharim is doing a few things. 1) cleaning up the actual resistance. 2) hes dealing with The Crimson personally. I think Yharon is busy trying to burn the crimson out of the land. I think for story sake we are going to have it be more surface level, instead of going deep underground. 3) root out pockets of fled resistance members. 4) Dead with faze. There are two ways hes trying to deal with faze. Yharim knows that Only another Terrarian can really fight on par with a Terrarian. He also knows that Terrarians are famous for just destroying empires and shit. So when Faze got summoned he's like shit. He doesn't want to summon another pure terrarian because that one will probably turn on him too - so he's asked Draedon to create a controllable one. That is Project Nephilim. To create a creature that is controllable, and can deadlock The Terrarian in combat - thereby neutralizing him.

The other way is necessary because Draedon has yet to find success in creating an artificial terrarian. It is to attempt to capture and demoralize Faze. Yharim is also careful to continually destroy all resistance infrastructure so Faze can't really rally them.

Anyways, thanks for reading.