A/N: The greatest writer on this website, 69EpicCirno69, returns with a fresh, never before seen take on the "I STUMBLED INTO TEYVAT WITH AWESOME SUPER POWERS, NOW I'M GONNA BREED HALF OF MONDSTADT" genre.

I take no responsibility for any destroyed grey matter. All the chapter titles are references to metal songs. I am very funny and original.


It's hard to say goodbye sometimes. I've raised this child and now its time to go. Life calls for me elsewhere.

"THIS IS THE LAST SONG FOR TONIGHT! SPELLS! OF! DECAYYYYYYY"

I begin playing the palm-muted riff, already exhausted from all the headbanging on stage. I'm not focused on the music at all, I can barely hear it. I'm simply going through the motions. Playing our oldest song is just another exercise in muscle memory at this point. The crowd goes wild in this tightly packed venue. Full house, a good way to start any tour. Loads of idiots falling over in the circle pit, just as we like to see.

It's hard to believe this band used to be just me on drums and my best friend Malcolm with a shitty out of tune guitar. A couple of dumb middle school kids playing Metallica covers in the backyard to an audience made up of my dad, his younger sister and Bubba, my old dog (I miss him). Eventually we got bored of playing the same songs and tried writing our own. The very first song we crafted—Spells of Decay—was a slab of pure fucking death metal, and it sounded… well, not exactly good, but cool. We started looking around for any kids our age interested in making the band a real thing and well… that's how Festering Wound came to be, 10 years ago. Since then, we never slowed down. The only real line-up change we made was myself, moving from the drummer role to guitarist since that's where I shine best.

The crowd cheers as we end the song. I hold back my tears, since breaking down on stage is decidedly not metal. I have an image to maintain as an hardened purveyor of pestilence, or however the fuck some of these motherfuckers like to think us as.

...

"Fucking hell…" I dump a water bottle over my head as I'm sitting next to my car on the venue's parking lot.

Malcolm is smoking a joint and laughing at me as I sob my soul away. Rob, our bald bass player and vocalist has fucked off somewhere with his girl, probably getting shitfaced at this moment. Wish I could join them, to be honest. Diego, our drummer and token Hispanic friend, is currently on the phone with our manager. Probably discussing something related to the tour. Dude lives for the band. I appreciate him, but it's unbelievable the sacrifices he makes. Wish he'd ease up sometimes.

"Want a hit?" Malcolm comes over and offers me his joint.

"No."

Malcolm shrugs and sits down next to me. We spend a moment in silence, waiting for Diego to come back. But the fucker just can't stay quiet for too long.

"How bad is it? Your old man, I mean."

"Can barely remember my face sometimes." I rub my eyes and push my hair away from my face. "That shit ate through him so fast. I…" I can't finish whatever it is I wanted to say. He pats me on the back.

"I never asked but… why grad school? Thought you burned out on math during your degree. Figured you'd want to jump straight into the workforce..."

"Yup." I pop the 'p' for emphasis. "I did burn out. But I kinda miss it already. I need some structure in my life right now. You know how the band life is, yeah? And I don't feel like enough of a man to go out and work." Malcolm simply nods.

I never needed to work a "real job" in my life. Its not like my family is rich rich, but we're certainly well off. Or were. Once dementia reared its ugly head last year, my bitch of a mother—I won't dare name the fiend—walked out on us and took her "rightful" half. Tanked the family business in record time and wasted her share goofing off with her boy toy. She was probably cheating for a long while. The fact we never realized it is both a blessing and a curse. I figure the smartest thing to do now is finish my education and get a proper, stable job. I still have time, I'm just 25.

We hear a whistle, and see him jogging back.

"David said he's getting hits from promoters in Europe. They want to see us there next summer."

God damn, that's fantastic. It truly is. I start laughing and get up.

"I need to go home. It's been a pleasure working with you gentlemen."

We all laugh. Malcolm gives me a hug, Diego fist-bumps me.

"You call us if anything happens, alright man? Love ya, Kelly."

I nod and unlock my car.


"I'm home." I say quietly, not expecting any answer. It's already 2am, so dad should be asleep by now.

The TV is off, dishes are… not washed. Sigh. Seems he ordered Domino's for dinner instead of eating the soup I left him. Fucking idiot. At least he took the meds.

I slowly open his room's door and peek inside. Yup, sleeping like a baby.

Time to take a shower and go to sleep. Put an end to this chapter of my life.

I look in the mirror and laugh at my puffy red eyes. I look like shit.

"God damn, I smell like shit too."

I close my eyes and savor the warm water hitting my body. A weird feeling wells up inside me, halfway between sadness and satisfaction. It burns my chest and my every breath hurts. It is overwhelming my senses, and the noise and splatter of the water seems to stop. Suddenly I feel a chill running down my back and open my eyes to a sight I never expected.

A dilapidated stone room.

I am pretty sure I did not get hit by a truck. That's how it usually goes, isn't it?

Just to check if I'm passed out dreaming, I decide to pinch my nutsack. Don't try this at home.

"FFFFFFFFFFFuckinghellthathurts" I somehow manage to hiss out.

I laugh a bit, not because its funny, but because its fucked up. WHY THE FUCK IS IT ME? God, I know my band wasn't always nice to you, but this is a bit too much punishment, you stupid cunt!

"Think I'm an errand boy. Huh! I'll show ya once this job's over…"

A man's voice. Not mine. I'm not alone here. I figure I have two choices here: scream for help, or hide.

"What the?!"

Or the third choice, freeze and do nothing. We'll see if this works. Before I can get a word in, this trench-coat wearing manlet calls for someone.

"HEY BOSS!" he yells.

We're both staring at each other, sharing looks of confusion and waiting for this Boss character to show up.

"Tsk. What's the matter to you, Wei? The cabbages are right… W-who the fuck is this?"

… yeah, another confused soul. I figured that's what would happen.

"Hi?" I manage to push out a very shaky greeting.

"Hello." / "Uhm… hi?" The two men say as they look at me, and then at each other.

Then... "HEY, WHAT THE FU- AHH!" I'm thrown to the floor by this Wei fucker and feel something pointy and cold touch my neck. This dude is straddling my chest. If I didn't have a 10 inch blade right next to my soft flesh, this would be a prime cut of homo-eroticism. No, it is still erotic if you're weird enough. Meanwhile, the "boss" ran somewhere, probably calling the remaining people - and here I'm assuming there's a whole gaggle of manlets ready to pounce on my naked body - to beat and/or viciously eradicate my ass.

"Move and you're dead!" Ok! I decide to stay nice and quiet! I hear the man shuffling about for something. He puts a cloth to my face and I instinctively begin to struggle. Yuuuuuuup, that's it, I'm getting my organs harvested. Losing strength...

Thanks for reading my story!