There was a period of time where he truly believed that this was the afterlife.
It might be because of how bleak the skies always seemed to be, the sense of despair constantly looming across the entire city or whatever congregations of human civilisations that were left in this post-apocalyptic world, but in his opinion the main cause for his misguided belief was the very vague and spotty memories of a life from before and also the armada of hideous monsters that he has to fight on a daily basis all for the sake of trying to see the next sunrise.
Who he was before, what he did before, how he ended up here; all of those seemed so insignificant after he wound up here. He could barely recall about the days before he had this new lease of life and it no longer mattered. What mattered was his continued survival.
The constant fight for survival, the fragility of lives that he had to witness for two decades since his rebirth here, the ugly side of human nature; it convinced him that this was hell. Trust no one but yourself, only you can be responsible for your own survival– that was the dogma he abided by and which allowed him to survive in this hellhole for as long as he did.
This world was a very different world from the relatively peaceful one in his previous life. There were apparently godlike beings called the Aeons, where their followers tread on the path that the Aeons walked on, something about imaginary energy and the harmonisation of ideals. All of the scientific explanation flew over his head and honestly, knowing more wasn't going to help much in his quest for survival. He did manage to attain the power of a Path, however, even if he had no idea how he did it.
"Those who follow the Path of Preservation admire patience, sacrifice, and defensive behaviour," said one knowledgeable old man who was living at the city which he also lived at, one of the last bastions of humanity on this planet. The city is a weird mishmash of steampunk and high-tech cyber science, a weird oddity which he forced himself to get used to a long time ago, but that's not the important thing here.
The important thing was that the old man in question has the ability to identify the Path a Pathstrider walks on and that he identified him as a Pathstrider of Preservation. Patience, sacrifice, and defensive behaviour, he almost wanted to scoff out loud. He could perhaps accept defensive behaviour, but patience and sacrifice? Him?
He had shed all of the goodness and naivety out of him a long time ago. He had to in order to survive. He had seen too much backstabbing, outright coldblooded murder, unfairness etcetera etcetera a long time ago. He had seen people with good intentions dying in the most horrible of ways because they were taken advantage of, blindly putting their trust in the goodness of humanity which ultimately led to their demise. Patience and sacrifice gets you to nowhere with the exception of one destination: death.
So he learned a long time ago to fight for no one but himself, to live for no one but himself, to think of no one but himself. Only then can he survive, and only after he could guarantee his survival could he afford himself the luxury of how he wants to live.
So he left the old man's lodgings and took his words with a pinch of salt. It was said that a person is considered to be on a Path when their will overlaps with that Path, and those who can do so are called Pathstriders. His Path has been identified to be the Path of Preservation, and he honestly thinks that either the Aeon in question had been blind for that one moment when it selected him, or that the old man was getting in his years and had been spewing gibberish.
He headed back to the Association, a place in the slums where mercenaries for hire gather to complete tasks that the local government are incapable of doing for whatever reasons. The monster swarms are getting larger and larger recently, the waves of attacks getting more and more frequent, and everyone here was getting increasingly restless in fear that their city might really perish this time even if it had braved through the odds for more than three centuries. It didn't quite help that news had recently come in that another city not too far away from theirs had recently fallen to the monsters' latest assault, leaving only a scant few lucky survivors to escape and spread the word of its demise.
He accepted a job to patrol the city's walls, a job that seemed dull and paid little if you weren't any wiser, but that is dependent on who undertook this job. He's one of the top mercs and best fighters in this city, vanquishing countless monsters in numerous defence battles to the point that most monsters now recognise him on sight. His very presence at the city walls is a deterrent, one that the local government will gladly pay for if it meant persuading the monsters to think thrice before they decide to be up to any funny business.
"Those bastards are getting bolder," his patrol partner, a middle-aged man with a thick beard and a lit cigar hanging from his mouth, gritted out when he spotted the monster horde lurking outside the city walls from where they were on top. They are much larger in numbers as compared to before and are lurking much closer to the walls. Anyone who saw this sight would be worried that their city would be the next to fall.
Most inhabitants of the city had lost loved ones to the monsters at one point or another, it would be incredibly difficult to find someone who did not have any sort of grievance with them, so he wasn't too surprised at the hatred oozing out from the man's words.
"You think we can survive this?"
"It doesn't matter what we think. We can only try for the best and hope it doesn't come to the worst," he blandly replied to his partner. Unlike many others he had no loved ones left and no attachments to this place, so even if the city were to really fall he could escape and travel to other nearby cities, he had them all marked out on his map. Someone of his calibre and skills would be warmly welcomed anywhere.
He honestly doesn't care if this city falls or not. All he cares about is his own survival and if he's paid for his job.
"Hah, you're probably right," the middle-aged man huffed and smoke wafted out from his opened mouth when he exhaled. "Wonder how many more cities would be left ten years from now but knowing you, you'll still somehow be kicking and alive. You're a survivor, unlike us normal folks."
The conversation ended there and their patrol continued. His patrol shift eventually ended and he headed back to his home, situated at an isolated spot far away from privy eyes and thieves from the slums. He was about to open his door when he noticed that something was amiss.
Somebody had been here, the flowerpot outside had been shifted just that little bit to the left. He had purposely placed it in an obstructive position near his door such that anybody who wanted to knock on his door would very likely trip or knock over it. Now that he's on alert, he could faintly sense the presence of an unknown individual in his small little house somewhere in the living room.
Another break-in? He'd thought that those irritating burglars would have learnt their lessons when the last group who broke into his house was beaten into a pulp by yours truly and hung on the top of the city walls naked for all to see. Everyone in the city knew not to mess with him or even entertain the idea of breaking into his home, it's one of the strange unspoken rules in this lawless place which so happened to be one of humanity's last bastions on this planet.
The unassuming metal arm bracers he wore silently hummed into life and two shields manifested into existence, one on each arm. That is one thing he loves about futuristic technology that could not be found in his previous life. Everything is just so cool if you could afford it.
He opened the door and the subsequent events that played out happened in an instance. The living room was dark and he could see the vague outline of a petite female figure lounging on his couch. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye, shields humming with power when he bashed it in her direction. He heard her letting out a surprised girly yelp at the surprise and she managed to roll out of the way in the nick of time.
"Wait I'm just here to-"
He swung his shield at her once more, not at all interested in listening to whatever shitty excuses these scummy burglars wanted to spin. She ducked but found herself being grabbed by the throat and slammed against the wall, wheezing in discomfort as she hammered her fists at his hand to signal for him to let her go.
"The last time someone decided to break into my house, I pulled them through the streets for a parade and hung them from the city walls on display. I had thought that I had made my warning very clear to the entire city but apparently it wasn't clear enough," he growled, now able to observe the little thief in greater detail since they were close enough.
A girl in her late teens by his estimate with silver hair tied into a ponytail, short, black coat along with a crop-top which covers the upper part of her body that exposes her navel, black unbuttoned shorts and boots. She's probably just a few years his junior.
"I… didn't… know…" she wheezed uncomfortably thanks to his iron grip over her throat. He eventually released her when he judged that she's of no credible threat, dropping her onto the floor where she greedily heaved for air. She looked up at him with a scowl on her face and he raised his eyebrows at her in a silent challenge, daring her to make a move on his own turf.
"Damn Kafka, her intel didn't state that you were so freakin' violent," she spat and massaged her neck where he had choked her earlier, the red choke marks already starting to become visible through the faint light filtering in through his curtains. "I'm here to strike a deal, shithead."
"You don't initiate a deal by breaking into people's homes, pipsqueak," he snarked back in return, but he's now definitely interested in hearing what she has to say. A deal means a job and a job means more income. He would never say no to getting richer.
"Don't call me pipsqueak," she snarled. Obviously the topic of her height is a sore spot for her.
"Okay washboard."
"Wash-" She stopped herself halfway through her words, looked down at her chest, and for a moment he was certain that it took all of her self-restraint to not throw herself at him to claw at his face for the insult.
"You-! Gaaaah! You are lucky that Kafka said that we have to work with you or you would be game over right now!"
"So what's your deal?" He asked with a very unimpressed look on his face. Breaking into his home in order to strike a deal… who on earth in their right mind would do that?
"My deal? Look, you just happened to be the first npc on my very first tutorial quest to be a Stellaron Hunter. You help me, I help you, and we get out of each other's hair, get it?"
"And why should I help you?"
"Aren't you sick of those ugly mobs outside the walls?" She questioned in return. "I have a way to remove them from this planet once and for all, but I need help from a local to do so. Kafka said that you are the best candidate for the job."
"... Crazy bitch," he muttered under his breath. Oh he could understand every single word she said alright, but he certainly couldn't comprehend what she meant when she strung them into a single sentence. Who does she think she is? The protagonist of a game that can save the world?
"I heard that!"
"I meant for you to hear that," he retorted. "Now shoo and get out of my home. My patience is wearing thin and I really would strip you naked and hang you from the city walls if you annoy me too much. Get out."
"Wait wait wait I-"
He pushed her out of his home and shut the door with a slam. His life is crazy enough, he doesn't need a delusional crazy bitch making it even crazier than it already is. NPC? Tutorial quest? Does she think this hellhole is a game?
Crazy bitch.