Chapter 643
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Chapter 643
Hopes and dreams.
Strange how two simple words can mean so much.
Pain and misery.
More words packed with significance. Im not sure which pair applies more to my life.
Life. There was a time when I was drunk on hope and dared to dream of life. Of living. Of going out into the world to find my place within. To find women to love. Family to cherish. Friends to stand by. Pets to spoil. Dreams. Fantasies. Taunting nightmares to soothe my tired soul and make me forget the horror of the waking world, which only serves to make things so much worse when I wake each morning, jolted out of those pleasant dreams by the unyielding boot.
Those dreams are little more than a distant memory, remnants of remnants I can barely recollect. Now, I dream of death. Of nonexistence. Of oblivion. The abyss calls to me, the empty darkness of the void, a blissful haven of nihility where no one can hurt me, a place I can finally rest in peace. Peace of the grave, peace of the sword, the peace of surrender and non-existence. A tempting proposition, yet though death seeks to seduce me, I fear the void too much to embrace it. I am not yet ready to die, but why? What do I have to live for? Every day begins with the boot and my pain and misery resumes once again, picking up where we last left off and only growing from there.
How long has it been since I woke wholly rested? Night falls, the day ends, and as I lay my weary head down to sleep, the morning dawns and the boot returns.
How long has it been since I quenched my thirst or filled my belly? That I can still stand is nothing short of Divine punishment, forcing me to live when I should be dead and gone.
That wouldnt be so bad. Dying of thirst or starvation. No, it would be horrible, but better than the alternative, I suppose. Itll happen someday soon, I suppose. Ill just stumble and fall, and no amount of punishment will bring me back to my feet. Then, Id just die, of no fault of my own, a victory of sorts against my tormentors, and a reward for enduring more than what any child should ever endure.
Child?New novel chapters are published on
Im no child. Im a grown ass man. A tired, beaten one, who no longer has it in him to hope. So I guess it doesnt change anything, but still. It matters. The truth matters. I am a beaten, tired, thirsty, hungry, helpless man.
Whose life is filled with pain and misery to no end.
Also true.
Why cling to existence and suffering? What reason do I have to continue on? Better to surrender to circumstance and slip peacefully into oblivion.
Except I know oblivion is a lie. The peace of the grave is not true peace, because true peace can only come from within. If I accept death in this life, there will only be another life to live, one in which the shame of failure will follow me. That matters. I will know I gave up, will know I couldnt fight the good fight, and that knowledge will change me for the worse. I will never give up. Never surrender. Where there is life, there is hope. Sweet, painful hope, but hope nonetheless. I hope for death, but I will not embrace it. If the Heavens want me dead, then theyll have to kill me themselves.
I am no quitter. I have people to rely on, and I will struggle to the bitter end.
The boot arrives as it always does, and a new day begins, one full of promised pain and misery, my penance for daring to harbour hopes and dreams. Food and water? None for me, though the other slaves eat and drink a plenty. In my dreams, I was a Warrior, a Talent beyond compare, but here, I am the weakest, lowliest slave of all, one who does not deserve sustenance. To avoid madness and temptation, I stare at my bruised, bloody, body and take stock of my injuries, a litany which can last a lifetime, if Im lucky.
My feet. Oh god, my feet. Theyre still whole, but barely recognizable. Cracked, bloodied, and misshapen, it hurts just to look at them, to think about, and even more to stand, but stand I must even during mealtime lest I be beaten for laziness. My toenails are all gone, ripped away one by one for varying reasons, more reasons than I even have toes, the memories dredged up by a fresh wave of agony as I shift my feet in nervous agitation. My calves are in no better shape, with strips of skin flayed away in alternating layers, so the half-healed scabs burst and break every time I squat to gather stones. My shins are so covered in bruises its hard to tell where one ends and another begins, but those pains are only a dull throb compared to the sharp pangs of torn flesh. Theres a glaring disconnect between my feet and my calves, namely my untouched ankles, spared from torment so I can still walk and work despite my other injuries. My knees are the same, but my ragged tunic hides the worst of my injuries, and my mind rebels when I try to catalogue them.
There are some memories not worth bringing up, some torments best left locked away. The agony remains to remind me, but best not to dwell and move on.
I have six fingers left split between two trembling hands, the stumps still raw and bleeding. These wounds hurt more than anything else, the pain piercing through to the core of my very soul and haunting me with their absence. Every other injury was inflicted upon me, but my four missing fingers? Those, I cut off myself, a decision I made between self-inflicted suffering or having suffering inflicted upon me, and my weakness shames me more than I care to admit. I shouldve refused, shouldve fought back, stabbed my knife into the guards tender thigh and fought until they had no choice but to kill me, but the fear of what might happen if I survive kept me from following through. I am no Warrior, only a slave who dreams of being one, and I can envision a thousand unsettling ways things could go if I ever got it in my head to fight back.
The visions. So realistic and lifelike, as if Id experienced it all myself firsthand, but then I would not have the strength to stand here.
Still, I could fight back in other ways. Like convincing the slaves to join hands.
How? Through the power of eloquent speech? Why would they even listen to a worthless runt like me?
I could sneak away in the darkness of night.
Assuming I can find the strength to stay awake after a long days work, and a spot to escape from, and avoid detection from the patrolling guards, and travel fast and far enough to escape pursuit without leaving a trace behind, where would I even go once free? Who would want me, a beaten, defeated, mutilated slave with no skills or prospects to be had?
No, better to give up and surrender. There is no hope, not for someone like me. I am but a useless, worthless child, one hated by the Heavens and fated to languish in suffering. So much suffering, yet still a lifetime left to endure. Yesterday, I cut off my fourth finger, the maximum any slave can lose, so what will they ask me to cut off next?
Asked and answered, the Heavens reply, as a solid fist clips me in the side of the head.
Ye deaf or sumthin, slave?
The inferno sucks the air from my lungs and steals away my screams, the heat evaporating my tears before ever touching my cheeks. A distant part of my mind notes that some of my pets almost escaped, as their smoking, smouldering bodies collapse and crumble apart. Cool, blessed water washes over me and douses the unnatural flames in an instant, but even as a stream of Healing Energy surges into my body, I feel it cut short as an armoured Demon burst out of Concealment and smashes its fist through Toktas chest. More Demons emerge, all cut from the same cloth, armoured entities of muscle and hatred who overpower my guards through sheer weight of numbers. Ping Ping makes a valiant effort to save me, but the attack caught her off-guard and left her frightened and injured. Her shell peeling and skin blistering from the intense heat, she makes a frantic effort and blows several Demons away with blasts of Water, but then another pillar of flames erupts from the earth and her death scream shatters what remains of my broken heart.
Leaving naught but rage behind.
A futile, impotent rage which serves no purpose as I charge the closest Demon, only to be swatted away like the useless cripple Ive become.
Growth? What growth? Im as worthless as Ive always been, a weak, stupid child who doesnt know how high the heavens truly are.
Striding out of the flames without his signature sneer, Gen-Shi marches over with an almost lazy stride, chin raised and hands clasped behind his back like a nobleman born. Grandeur and dignity ooze from every pore of his body, his cold indifference cementing the reality before me. This is no mere pretender, but Zhen Shi himself, wholly in control of Gens body and here to deal with me once and for all. Behind him stands an unimpressive, dusky man with an enormous glaive and golden helmet plume, as well as an armoured Demon with hate-filled amber eyes. Each holds a severed head in hand belonging to Akanai and Mom respectively, and my mind sets to screaming in abject denial even as I cry in silent despair. Studying me as I would study an unpleasant insect, Zhen-Shi makes no gesture and gives no orders, but the silent and deadly armoured Demons lift me to my feet. Faced with my hated foe, I finally find it in myself to fight and flail, scream and spit, rage and sob, but to no end, for he has taken everything from me, and I have nothing left.
Little Worm dresses in Imperial Armour and calls himself Legate, Zhen Shi begins, his tone dripping with bored disdain, And believes himself powerful. Foolish child. There is no power of any worth besides personal power. This Sovereign thought to ally with you, then later use you, but you are too stubborn and not worth the effort. Might makes right, that is the law of the Heavens, and you, little worm, have been found wanting.
His piece said, Zhen Shi turns away and unleashes another blast of flame, one which kills a handful of soldiers and sends dozens fleeing away. Powerless rage gives way to paralyzed shock, and I can do naught but watch as the Imperial Army is ground to dust beneath Defiled boots. Everywhere I look, Imperial soldiers are cut down by Chosen and Demons alike, the screams of the dying sounding clear as a bell while desperate men and women beg for mercy which they know will not come. The battle turns into a rout, the rout into a slaughter, and when the dust settles, only victorious Defiled and defeated Imperials are left alive, much to the latter groups regret.
Not content to let me wallow in misery, the Demons march me about the defeated army and show me the horrors the Defiled have wrought, familiar faces twisted in pain and horror as they too pray for death. Try as I might to block it all out, there is no ignoring the screams directed towards me, the pleas from unfortunate soldiers begging for salvation or condemning me for my foolish ways. This is my fault, their blood stained on my hands, for I gave the order to march and sealed their ignoble fates.
A few soldiers make a good fight of it, and I see Zian lead the charge, only for his meagre efforts to be swatted down as easily as mine were. Soon, I see where he found the courage to fight, as Jing Feis screams fill the air and are met with cheers and laughter from the Defiled. Other men and women share her suffering, the Defiled none too picky when it comes to sexual preference, and again, I see familiar faces in the crowd despite doing my best not to look too carefully. Worse off are those who continue to fight, like Fung, Seoyoon, Vichear, Tenjin, Tursinai, and so many others, all formed up in a square and surrounded on all sides, but still fighting to sell their lives dearly. Leading them is none other than my sister herself, covered in blood and cuts as she struggles to the last, but then she sees me held captive and reason gives way to rage.
No, I scream, but its already too late, her last, desperate charge dismantled by the Enemys greater numbers. Were it not for me, they couldve held out for longer, or at the very least died a better death, but in their haste to rescue me, my sister and friends have now been captured alive and doomed to suffer a fate far worse than death. The Demons stay and watch, but I cannot bear to open my eyes, my sisters every scream driving daggers deep into my soul. Hearing Alsantset suffer is a thousand times worse than enduring the pain myself, because she was the one who saved me from what should have been my end, the one who found me and brought me to safety, the one who shared her home and hearth despite all the risks it entailed.
And I have brought nothing but suffering into her life, a calamity of sorrow and regret.
This is the Path I have chosen. This is the fate I have wrought. Better if Id died in those mines, before my sister ever found me, a mistake I can never correct.
The tour continues, but I am already broken and defeated, so much so that it barely registers when I hear Dads name in reference to his overwhelming defeat at the hands of someone named Huanhuzi and his fleet of ships. I thought the Enemy might attack by sea, and I put countermeasures into place, but I suppose it wasnt enough in the end. The South fell too, to some General named Yuchun, and again, I lament my insufficient preparations, but despite some small part of me wanting to figure out what went wrong, I dont have it in me to care anymore.
Rather than kill me, the Demons bring me back to Zhen Shi, or rather the Gen being puppeted by him. The monster who took everything from me doesnt even spare me a glance, and instead, the golden-plumed general hands me a scroll and says, This Prince will spare your dog life, Legate of the Empire. Return to your Citadel, and present our terms. They be most generous, and this Prince urges you to accept.
Glancing down at the sealed document, I see the scroll is labelled, Terms of Surrender. The Imperial Army wont accept them, else Id just sign it right here, but I cannot return to my people like this. How can I face Taduk, Husolt, and Charok? How can I tell them everyone they love and hold dear has died? No, better if I died here with them, so I can spare myself the pain of their anger and disappointment, to be cursed at and disowned by the only family I have left. No, I cant face that pain, I cant do this anymore. Ive fought long enough, but this... this is too much.
I still live, but I have no hope.
I cant do this anymore.
Oblivion calls.
And I answer, fleeing for the safety and sanctity of a lie, seeking nihility and non-existence because it is the only escape I have left.
Better if I had never loved, so I would have nothing to lose.
Better if I had never hoped, so nothing would ever disappoint me.
Better if I had never existed, so suffering would never touch me.
I give up.
I surrender.
The world turns to darkness as I retreat to the void, where senseless oblivion awaits.
And here I will remain, forevermore.
Chapter Meme 1
Chapter Meme 2
Chapter Meme 3
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Chapter 643
Hopes and dreams.
Strange how two simple words can mean so much.
Pain and misery.
More words packed with significance. Im not sure which pair applies more to my life.
Life. There was a time when I was drunk on hope and dared to dream of life. Of living. Of going out into the world to find my place within. To find women to love. Family to cherish. Friends to stand by. Pets to spoil. Dreams. Fantasies. Taunting nightmares to soothe my tired soul and make me forget the horror of the waking world, which only serves to make things so much worse when I wake each morning, jolted out of those pleasant dreams by the unyielding boot.
Those dreams are little more than a distant memory, remnants of remnants I can barely recollect. Now, I dream of death. Of nonexistence. Of oblivion. The abyss calls to me, the empty darkness of the void, a blissful haven of nihility where no one can hurt me, a place I can finally rest in peace. Peace of the grave, peace of the sword, the peace of surrender and non-existence. A tempting proposition, yet though death seeks to seduce me, I fear the void too much to embrace it. I am not yet ready to die, but why? What do I have to live for? Every day begins with the boot and my pain and misery resumes once again, picking up where we last left off and only growing from there.
How long has it been since I woke wholly rested? Night falls, the day ends, and as I lay my weary head down to sleep, the morning dawns and the boot returns.
How long has it been since I quenched my thirst or filled my belly? That I can still stand is nothing short of Divine punishment, forcing me to live when I should be dead and gone.
That wouldnt be so bad. Dying of thirst or starvation. No, it would be horrible, but better than the alternative, I suppose. Itll happen someday soon, I suppose. Ill just stumble and fall, and no amount of punishment will bring me back to my feet. Then, Id just die, of no fault of my own, a victory of sorts against my tormentors, and a reward for enduring more than what any child should ever endure.
Child?New novel chapters are published on
Im no child. Im a grown ass man. A tired, beaten one, who no longer has it in him to hope. So I guess it doesnt change anything, but still. It matters. The truth matters. I am a beaten, tired, thirsty, hungry, helpless man.
Whose life is filled with pain and misery to no end.
Also true.
Why cling to existence and suffering? What reason do I have to continue on? Better to surrender to circumstance and slip peacefully into oblivion.
Except I know oblivion is a lie. The peace of the grave is not true peace, because true peace can only come from within. If I accept death in this life, there will only be another life to live, one in which the shame of failure will follow me. That matters. I will know I gave up, will know I couldnt fight the good fight, and that knowledge will change me for the worse. I will never give up. Never surrender. Where there is life, there is hope. Sweet, painful hope, but hope nonetheless. I hope for death, but I will not embrace it. If the Heavens want me dead, then theyll have to kill me themselves.
I am no quitter. I have people to rely on, and I will struggle to the bitter end.
The boot arrives as it always does, and a new day begins, one full of promised pain and misery, my penance for daring to harbour hopes and dreams. Food and water? None for me, though the other slaves eat and drink a plenty. In my dreams, I was a Warrior, a Talent beyond compare, but here, I am the weakest, lowliest slave of all, one who does not deserve sustenance. To avoid madness and temptation, I stare at my bruised, bloody, body and take stock of my injuries, a litany which can last a lifetime, if Im lucky.
My feet. Oh god, my feet. Theyre still whole, but barely recognizable. Cracked, bloodied, and misshapen, it hurts just to look at them, to think about, and even more to stand, but stand I must even during mealtime lest I be beaten for laziness. My toenails are all gone, ripped away one by one for varying reasons, more reasons than I even have toes, the memories dredged up by a fresh wave of agony as I shift my feet in nervous agitation. My calves are in no better shape, with strips of skin flayed away in alternating layers, so the half-healed scabs burst and break every time I squat to gather stones. My shins are so covered in bruises its hard to tell where one ends and another begins, but those pains are only a dull throb compared to the sharp pangs of torn flesh. Theres a glaring disconnect between my feet and my calves, namely my untouched ankles, spared from torment so I can still walk and work despite my other injuries. My knees are the same, but my ragged tunic hides the worst of my injuries, and my mind rebels when I try to catalogue them.
There are some memories not worth bringing up, some torments best left locked away. The agony remains to remind me, but best not to dwell and move on.
I have six fingers left split between two trembling hands, the stumps still raw and bleeding. These wounds hurt more than anything else, the pain piercing through to the core of my very soul and haunting me with their absence. Every other injury was inflicted upon me, but my four missing fingers? Those, I cut off myself, a decision I made between self-inflicted suffering or having suffering inflicted upon me, and my weakness shames me more than I care to admit. I shouldve refused, shouldve fought back, stabbed my knife into the guards tender thigh and fought until they had no choice but to kill me, but the fear of what might happen if I survive kept me from following through. I am no Warrior, only a slave who dreams of being one, and I can envision a thousand unsettling ways things could go if I ever got it in my head to fight back.
The visions. So realistic and lifelike, as if Id experienced it all myself firsthand, but then I would not have the strength to stand here.
Still, I could fight back in other ways. Like convincing the slaves to join hands.
How? Through the power of eloquent speech? Why would they even listen to a worthless runt like me?
I could sneak away in the darkness of night.
Assuming I can find the strength to stay awake after a long days work, and a spot to escape from, and avoid detection from the patrolling guards, and travel fast and far enough to escape pursuit without leaving a trace behind, where would I even go once free? Who would want me, a beaten, defeated, mutilated slave with no skills or prospects to be had?
No, better to give up and surrender. There is no hope, not for someone like me. I am but a useless, worthless child, one hated by the Heavens and fated to languish in suffering. So much suffering, yet still a lifetime left to endure. Yesterday, I cut off my fourth finger, the maximum any slave can lose, so what will they ask me to cut off next?
Asked and answered, the Heavens reply, as a solid fist clips me in the side of the head.
Ye deaf or sumthin, slave?
The inferno sucks the air from my lungs and steals away my screams, the heat evaporating my tears before ever touching my cheeks. A distant part of my mind notes that some of my pets almost escaped, as their smoking, smouldering bodies collapse and crumble apart. Cool, blessed water washes over me and douses the unnatural flames in an instant, but even as a stream of Healing Energy surges into my body, I feel it cut short as an armoured Demon burst out of Concealment and smashes its fist through Toktas chest. More Demons emerge, all cut from the same cloth, armoured entities of muscle and hatred who overpower my guards through sheer weight of numbers. Ping Ping makes a valiant effort to save me, but the attack caught her off-guard and left her frightened and injured. Her shell peeling and skin blistering from the intense heat, she makes a frantic effort and blows several Demons away with blasts of Water, but then another pillar of flames erupts from the earth and her death scream shatters what remains of my broken heart.
Leaving naught but rage behind.
A futile, impotent rage which serves no purpose as I charge the closest Demon, only to be swatted away like the useless cripple Ive become.
Growth? What growth? Im as worthless as Ive always been, a weak, stupid child who doesnt know how high the heavens truly are.
Striding out of the flames without his signature sneer, Gen-Shi marches over with an almost lazy stride, chin raised and hands clasped behind his back like a nobleman born. Grandeur and dignity ooze from every pore of his body, his cold indifference cementing the reality before me. This is no mere pretender, but Zhen Shi himself, wholly in control of Gens body and here to deal with me once and for all. Behind him stands an unimpressive, dusky man with an enormous glaive and golden helmet plume, as well as an armoured Demon with hate-filled amber eyes. Each holds a severed head in hand belonging to Akanai and Mom respectively, and my mind sets to screaming in abject denial even as I cry in silent despair. Studying me as I would study an unpleasant insect, Zhen-Shi makes no gesture and gives no orders, but the silent and deadly armoured Demons lift me to my feet. Faced with my hated foe, I finally find it in myself to fight and flail, scream and spit, rage and sob, but to no end, for he has taken everything from me, and I have nothing left.
Little Worm dresses in Imperial Armour and calls himself Legate, Zhen Shi begins, his tone dripping with bored disdain, And believes himself powerful. Foolish child. There is no power of any worth besides personal power. This Sovereign thought to ally with you, then later use you, but you are too stubborn and not worth the effort. Might makes right, that is the law of the Heavens, and you, little worm, have been found wanting.
His piece said, Zhen Shi turns away and unleashes another blast of flame, one which kills a handful of soldiers and sends dozens fleeing away. Powerless rage gives way to paralyzed shock, and I can do naught but watch as the Imperial Army is ground to dust beneath Defiled boots. Everywhere I look, Imperial soldiers are cut down by Chosen and Demons alike, the screams of the dying sounding clear as a bell while desperate men and women beg for mercy which they know will not come. The battle turns into a rout, the rout into a slaughter, and when the dust settles, only victorious Defiled and defeated Imperials are left alive, much to the latter groups regret.
Not content to let me wallow in misery, the Demons march me about the defeated army and show me the horrors the Defiled have wrought, familiar faces twisted in pain and horror as they too pray for death. Try as I might to block it all out, there is no ignoring the screams directed towards me, the pleas from unfortunate soldiers begging for salvation or condemning me for my foolish ways. This is my fault, their blood stained on my hands, for I gave the order to march and sealed their ignoble fates.
A few soldiers make a good fight of it, and I see Zian lead the charge, only for his meagre efforts to be swatted down as easily as mine were. Soon, I see where he found the courage to fight, as Jing Feis screams fill the air and are met with cheers and laughter from the Defiled. Other men and women share her suffering, the Defiled none too picky when it comes to sexual preference, and again, I see familiar faces in the crowd despite doing my best not to look too carefully. Worse off are those who continue to fight, like Fung, Seoyoon, Vichear, Tenjin, Tursinai, and so many others, all formed up in a square and surrounded on all sides, but still fighting to sell their lives dearly. Leading them is none other than my sister herself, covered in blood and cuts as she struggles to the last, but then she sees me held captive and reason gives way to rage.
No, I scream, but its already too late, her last, desperate charge dismantled by the Enemys greater numbers. Were it not for me, they couldve held out for longer, or at the very least died a better death, but in their haste to rescue me, my sister and friends have now been captured alive and doomed to suffer a fate far worse than death. The Demons stay and watch, but I cannot bear to open my eyes, my sisters every scream driving daggers deep into my soul. Hearing Alsantset suffer is a thousand times worse than enduring the pain myself, because she was the one who saved me from what should have been my end, the one who found me and brought me to safety, the one who shared her home and hearth despite all the risks it entailed.
And I have brought nothing but suffering into her life, a calamity of sorrow and regret.
This is the Path I have chosen. This is the fate I have wrought. Better if Id died in those mines, before my sister ever found me, a mistake I can never correct.
The tour continues, but I am already broken and defeated, so much so that it barely registers when I hear Dads name in reference to his overwhelming defeat at the hands of someone named Huanhuzi and his fleet of ships. I thought the Enemy might attack by sea, and I put countermeasures into place, but I suppose it wasnt enough in the end. The South fell too, to some General named Yuchun, and again, I lament my insufficient preparations, but despite some small part of me wanting to figure out what went wrong, I dont have it in me to care anymore.
Rather than kill me, the Demons bring me back to Zhen Shi, or rather the Gen being puppeted by him. The monster who took everything from me doesnt even spare me a glance, and instead, the golden-plumed general hands me a scroll and says, This Prince will spare your dog life, Legate of the Empire. Return to your Citadel, and present our terms. They be most generous, and this Prince urges you to accept.
Glancing down at the sealed document, I see the scroll is labelled, Terms of Surrender. The Imperial Army wont accept them, else Id just sign it right here, but I cannot return to my people like this. How can I face Taduk, Husolt, and Charok? How can I tell them everyone they love and hold dear has died? No, better if I died here with them, so I can spare myself the pain of their anger and disappointment, to be cursed at and disowned by the only family I have left. No, I cant face that pain, I cant do this anymore. Ive fought long enough, but this... this is too much.
I still live, but I have no hope.
I cant do this anymore.
Oblivion calls.
And I answer, fleeing for the safety and sanctity of a lie, seeking nihility and non-existence because it is the only escape I have left.
Better if I had never loved, so I would have nothing to lose.
Better if I had never hoped, so nothing would ever disappoint me.
Better if I had never existed, so suffering would never touch me.
I give up.
I surrender.
The world turns to darkness as I retreat to the void, where senseless oblivion awaits.
And here I will remain, forevermore.
Chapter Meme 1
Chapter Meme 2
Chapter Meme 3
Chapter 643Hopes and dreams.Strange how two simple words can mean so much.Pain and misery.More words packed with significance. Im not sure which pair applies more to my life.Life. There was a time when I was drunk on hope and dared to dream of life. Of living. Of going out into the world to find my place within. To find women to love. Family to cherish. Friends to stand by. Pets to spoil. Dreams. Fantasies. Taunting nightmares to soothe my tired soul and make me forget the horror of the waking world, which only serves to make things so much worse when I wake each morning, jolted out of those pleasant dreams by the unyielding boot.Those dreams are little more than a distant memory, remnants of remnants I can barely recollect. Now, I dream of death. Of nonexistence. Of oblivion. The abyss calls to me, the empty darkness of the void, a blissful haven of nihility where no one can hurt me, a place I can finally rest in peace. Peace of the grave, peace of the sword, the peace of surrender and non-existence. A tempting proposition, yet though death seeks to seduce me, I fear the void too much to embrace it. I am not yet ready to die, but why? What do I have to live for? Every day begins with the boot and my pain and misery resumes once again, picking up where we last left off and only growing from there.How long has it been since I woke wholly rested? Night falls, the day ends, and as I lay my weary head down to sleep, the morning dawns and the boot returns.How long has it been since I quenched my thirst or filled my belly? That I can still stand is nothing short of Divine punishment, forcing me to live when I should be dead and gone.That wouldnt be so bad. Dying of thirst or starvation. No, it would be horrible, but better than the alternative, I suppose. Itll happen someday soon, I suppose. Ill just stumble and fall, and no amount of punishment will bring me back to my feet. Then, Id just die, of no fault of my own, a victory of sorts against my tormentors, and a reward for enduring more than what any child should ever endure.Child?New novel chapters are published onIm no child. Im a grown ass man. A tired, beaten one, who no longer has it in him to hope. So I guess it doesnt change anything, but still. It matters. The truth matters. I am a beaten, tired, thirsty, hungry, helpless man.Whose life is filled with pain and misery to no end.Also true.Why cling to existence and suffering? What reason do I have to continue on? Better to surrender to circumstance and slip peacefully into oblivion.Except I know oblivion is a lie. The peace of the grave is not true peace, because true peace can only come from within. If I accept death in this life, there will only be another life to live, one in which the shame of failure will follow me. That matters. I will know I gave up, will know I couldnt fight the good fight, and that knowledge will change me for the worse. I will never give up. Never surrender. Where there is life, there is hope. Sweet, painful hope, but hope nonetheless. I hope for death, but I will not embrace it. If the Heavens want me dead, then theyll have to kill me themselves.I am no quitter. I have people to rely on, and I will struggle to the bitter end.The boot arrives as it always does, and a new day begins, one full of promised pain and misery, my penance for daring to harbour hopes and dreams. Food and water? None for me, though the other slaves eat and drink a plenty. In my dreams, I was a Warrior, a Talent beyond compare, but here, I am the weakest, lowliest slave of all, one who does not deserve sustenance. To avoid madness and temptation, I stare at my bruised, bloody, body and take stock of my injuries, a litany which can last a lifetime, if Im lucky.My feet. Oh god, my feet. Theyre still whole, but barely recognizable. Cracked, bloodied, and misshapen, it hurts just to look at them, to think about, and even more to stand, but stand I must even during mealtime lest I be beaten for laziness. My toenails are all gone, ripped away one by one for varying reasons, more reasons than I even have toes, the memories dredged up by a fresh wave of agony as I shift my feet in nervous agitation. My calves are in no better shape, with strips of skin flayed away in alternating layers, so the half-healed scabs burst and break every time I squat to gather stones. My shins are so covered in bruises its hard to tell where one ends and another begins, but those pains are only a dull throb compared to the sharp pangs of torn flesh. Theres a glaring disconnect between my feet and my calves, namely my untouched ankles, spared from torment so I can still walk and work despite my other injuries. My knees are the same, but my ragged tunic hides the worst of my injuries, and my mind rebels when I try to catalogue them.There are some memories not worth bringing up, some torments best left locked away. The agony remains to remind me, but best not to dwell and move on.I have six fingers left split between two trembling hands, the stumps still raw and bleeding. These wounds hurt more than anything else, the pain piercing through to the core of my very soul and haunting me with their absence. Every other injury was inflicted upon me, but my four missing fingers? Those, I cut off myself, a decision I made between self-inflicted suffering or having suffering inflicted upon me, and my weakness shames me more than I care to admit. I shouldve refused, shouldve fought back, stabbed my knife into the guards tender thigh and fought until they had no choice but to kill me, but the fear of what might happen if I survive kept me from following through. I am no Warrior, only a slave who dreams of being one, and I can envision a thousand unsettling ways things could go if I ever got it in my head to fight back.The visions. So realistic and lifelike, as if Id experienced it all myself firsthand, but then I would not have the strength to stand here.Still, I could fight back in other ways. Like convincing the slaves to join hands.How? Through the power of eloquent speech? Why would they even listen to a worthless runt like me?I could sneak away in the darkness of night.Assuming I can find the strength to stay awake after a long days work, and a spot to escape from, and avoid detection from the patrolling guards, and travel fast and far enough to escape pursuit without leaving a trace behind, where would I even go once free? Who would want me, a beaten, defeated, mutilated slave with no skills or prospects to be had?No, better to give up and surrender. There is no hope, not for someone like me. I am but a useless, worthless child, one hated by the Heavens and fated to languish in suffering. So much suffering, yet still a lifetime left to endure. Yesterday, I cut off my fourth finger, the maximum any slave can lose, so what will they ask me to cut off next?Asked and answered, the Heavens reply, as a solid fist clips me in the side of the head.Ye deaf or sumthin, slave?The inferno sucks the air from my lungs and steals away my screams, the heat evaporating my tears before ever touching my cheeks. A distant part of my mind notes that some of my pets almost escaped, as their smoking, smouldering bodies collapse and crumble apart. Cool, blessed water washes over me and douses the unnatural flames in an instant, but even as a stream of Healing Energy surges into my body, I feel it cut short as an armoured Demon burst out of Concealment and smashes its fist through Toktas chest. More Demons emerge, all cut from the same cloth, armoured entities of muscle and hatred who overpower my guards through sheer weight of numbers. Ping Ping makes a valiant effort to save me, but the attack caught her off-guard and left her frightened and injured. Her shell peeling and skin blistering from the intense heat, she makes a frantic effort and blows several Demons away with blasts of Water, but then another pillar of flames erupts from the earth and her death scream shatters what remains of my broken heart.Leaving naught but rage behind.A futile, impotent rage which serves no purpose as I charge the closest Demon, only to be swatted away like the useless cripple Ive become.Growth? What growth? Im as worthless as Ive always been, a weak, stupid child who doesnt know how high the heavens truly are.Striding out of the flames without his signature sneer, Gen-Shi marches over with an almost lazy stride, chin raised and hands clasped behind his back like a nobleman born. Grandeur and dignity ooze from every pore of his body, his cold indifference cementing the reality before me. This is no mere pretender, but Zhen Shi himself, wholly in control of Gens body and here to deal with me once and for all. Behind him stands an unimpressive, dusky man with an enormous glaive and golden helmet plume, as well as an armoured Demon with hate-filled amber eyes. Each holds a severed head in hand belonging to Akanai and Mom respectively, and my mind sets to screaming in abject denial even as I cry in silent despair. Studying me as I would study an unpleasant insect, Zhen-Shi makes no gesture and gives no orders, but the silent and deadly armoured Demons lift me to my feet. Faced with my hated foe, I finally find it in myself to fight and flail, scream and spit, rage and sob, but to no end, for he has taken everything from me, and I have nothing left.Little Worm dresses in Imperial Armour and calls himself Legate, Zhen Shi begins, his tone dripping with bored disdain, And believes himself powerful. Foolish child. There is no power of any worth besides personal power. This Sovereign thought to ally with you, then later use you, but you are too stubborn and not worth the effort. Might makes right, that is the law of the Heavens, and you, little worm, have been found wanting.His piece said, Zhen Shi turns away and unleashes another blast of flame, one which kills a handful of soldiers and sends dozens fleeing away. Powerless rage gives way to paralyzed shock, and I can do naught but watch as the Imperial Army is ground to dust beneath Defiled boots. Everywhere I look, Imperial soldiers are cut down by Chosen and Demons alike, the screams of the dying sounding clear as a bell while desperate men and women beg for mercy which they know will not come. The battle turns into a rout, the rout into a slaughter, and when the dust settles, only victorious Defiled and defeated Imperials are left alive, much to the latter groups regret.Not content to let me wallow in misery, the Demons march me about the defeated army and show me the horrors the Defiled have wrought, familiar faces twisted in pain and horror as they too pray for death. Try as I might to block it all out, there is no ignoring the screams directed towards me, the pleas from unfortunate soldiers begging for salvation or condemning me for my foolish ways. This is my fault, their blood stained on my hands, for I gave the order to march and sealed their ignoble fates.A few soldiers make a good fight of it, and I see Zian lead the charge, only for his meagre efforts to be swatted down as easily as mine were. Soon, I see where he found the courage to fight, as Jing Feis screams fill the air and are met with cheers and laughter from the Defiled. Other men and women share her suffering, the Defiled none too picky when it comes to sexual preference, and again, I see familiar faces in the crowd despite doing my best not to look too carefully. Worse off are those who continue to fight, like Fung, Seoyoon, Vichear, Tenjin, Tursinai, and so many others, all formed up in a square and surrounded on all sides, but still fighting to sell their lives dearly. Leading them is none other than my sister herself, covered in blood and cuts as she struggles to the last, but then she sees me held captive and reason gives way to rage.No, I scream, but its already too late, her last, desperate charge dismantled by the Enemys greater numbers. Were it not for me, they couldve held out for longer, or at the very least died a better death, but in their haste to rescue me, my sister and friends have now been captured alive and doomed to suffer a fate far worse than death. The Demons stay and watch, but I cannot bear to open my eyes, my sisters every scream driving daggers deep into my soul. Hearing Alsantset suffer is a thousand times worse than enduring the pain myself, because she was the one who saved me from what should have been my end, the one who found me and brought me to safety, the one who shared her home and hearth despite all the risks it entailed.And I have brought nothing but suffering into her life, a calamity of sorrow and regret.This is the Path I have chosen. This is the fate I have wrought. Better if Id died in those mines, before my sister ever found me, a mistake I can never correct.The tour continues, but I am already broken and defeated, so much so that it barely registers when I hear Dads name in reference to his overwhelming defeat at the hands of someone named Huanhuzi and his fleet of ships. I thought the Enemy might attack by sea, and I put countermeasures into place, but I suppose it wasnt enough in the end. The South fell too, to some General named Yuchun, and again, I lament my insufficient preparations, but despite some small part of me wanting to figure out what went wrong, I dont have it in me to care anymore.Rather than kill me, the Demons bring me back to Zhen Shi, or rather the Gen being puppeted by him. The monster who took everything from me doesnt even spare me a glance, and instead, the golden-plumed general hands me a scroll and says, This Prince will spare your dog life, Legate of the Empire. Return to your Citadel, and present our terms. They be most generous, and this Prince urges you to accept.Glancing down at the sealed document, I see the scroll is labelled, Terms of Surrender. The Imperial Army wont accept them, else Id just sign it right here, but I cannot return to my people like this. How can I face Taduk, Husolt, and Charok? How can I tell them everyone they love and hold dear has died? No, better if I died here with them, so I can spare myself the pain of their anger and disappointment, to be cursed at and disowned by the only family I have left. No, I cant face that pain, I cant do this anymore. Ive fought long enough, but this... this is too much.I still live, but I have no hope.I cant do this anymore.Oblivion calls.And I answer, fleeing for the safety and sanctity of a lie, seeking nihility and non-existence because it is the only escape I have left.Better if I had never loved, so I would have nothing to lose.Better if I had never hoped, so nothing would ever disappoint me.Better if I had never existed, so suffering would never touch me.I give up.I surrender.The world turns to darkness as I retreat to the void, where senseless oblivion awaits.And here I will remain, forevermore.Chapter Meme 1Chapter Meme 2Chapter Meme 3
