Final Part - 02 | Greyrat

It's impossible to see out of the forest. The place is blanketed in an inky darkness too thick for the naked eye to pierce through. What was once a lush green canopy swaying in wintry winds becomes a still black void, decorated meticulously by sheens of snow.

You stare up and strain to peer at the leaves above. Leaves that, for what it's worth, shouldn't even be clutching to their frozen branches still. It's winter, most trees you've seen lack their foliage, but a steady flow of mana denies this forest its cycle of nature. And that's why no one else has dared accept commissions that would send them here to this desolate place. You must be a fool. A fool with a deathwish. But fortune favors the bold, and you're as bold as they come.

You look down at the object in your hand — if an organ can even be called such. It thumps and beats as any heart would, the organ you've torn from the chest of a predatory werewolf moments prior.

You're silent, not bothered in the slightest by the way the thing wriggles and pulses on a steady heartbeat, though it has been detached ruthlessly from its living, breathing vessel. All in a day's work, right? If no one else wanted to step up for the town you now call home, you had that golden opportunity all to yourself. And it's no surprise that you breezed through it. You've breezed through a lot for the past few weeks now.

Anything in your line of sight labeled as a threat has been promptly eliminated with minimal effort. Every living obstacle has succumb to a quick and painful death at your hands — the one who has nothing left to lose.

"You'll get me a nice sum of money," you say to the beating heart. "Or whatever."

You've been doing that a lot lately as well. Talking to things that cannot talk back. Yesterday, you woke up in bed and said hello to the ceiling in a dead voice. Last week, you asked the door to your room how do I look today — two days in a row — before leaving to tackle some more commissions.

Not sure why.

You haven't gone insane. Right? You only mercilessly kill monsters without breaking a sweat or making any subtle facial expressions because you're skilled. You only talk to things that have no voice because you want to practice your speech. You only cry yourself to sleep every night because it feels natural and it helps you fall sleep faster.

...

You squeeze the heart in your hand and start walking. You know you're not insane. And you're not lonely, you just have a lot on your plate.

As you walk toward the exit of the forest, you can't help but contemplate your life. So many questions left unanswered. Too many regrets weighing you down. It's a riveting existence. Hell on earth. A puzzle that was never once fulfilled, yet seems to have lost more of its pieces, leaving it unsatisfied and further incomplete...

You close your eyes.

Why do I feel like...

... something's missing?

Something snaps loudly behind you. A branch? A rock? You open your eyes and are preparing to turn around to find out what it is, but it's already too late. You face the consequence of letting your guard down by taking the razor-sharp, bladelike leg of a massive arachnid beast into your shoulder. It impales you on sight, stabbing clear through to the other side of your body and pinning you to the ground.

You let out a bloodcurdling scream, faced with a pain greater than anything you've ever felt. And then you can't even move. You're utterly stuck — the monster's leg wedged through muscle and bone, an overgrown stake meant to incapacitate.

"Argh!" You blink through the tears in your eyes, looking up at the beast which now looms entirely over you. A plump dark body fills your view, eight gargantuan legs keeping the thing upright, and probably a million shimmering eyes all robotically latched onto your face.

It has a mouth.

The overgrown arachnid foams from a writhing orifice in its face. A mouth that can barely be called a mouth at all. Beyond the rim of this black hole, small, ugly jagged rows of wet teeth.

The hell is this thing?! It wasn't on the commission board!

You open your hand to cast some magic but nothing comes out. Somehow, your mana is spent even though you weren't finished spending it through the day. Then it clicks. This... thing... is actively sapping your energy. All of it. Everything from the traces of your manaflow to the sugar in your blood and your life altogether. It's all slipping from your hands. Your impaled shoulder feels numb, rendered senseless, as it is repurposed for becoming the part of your body that the beast sucks life from.

So that's it. This is how you die.

Somehow, you're not even afraid. Not even disappointed. After all, you have had nothing left to lose ever since you lost Pursena and Linia. Yes, now you remember what's been missing from your life because their faces are forced vividly into your memory under the influence of encroaching death.

You haven't seen them for weeks now. You could hardly remember what they looked like until now. Of course, your sweetest memories are incapable of becoming null and void, washed out by emotion. Whether it be despair, depression, or something far worse, you could never truly forget the Doldia girls.

You smile.

You shut your eyes.

If this is fate, you accept it.

If it's not, you still accept it regardless; there's nothing left to fight for, not even for yourself. And so you'll die without regretting that you've yet to rid yourself of regrets.

. . .

Just as you are about to cross over to the other side, the massive spider suddenly yanks its leg out of your shoulder and releases a horrible howl. You can barely see why it would change its mind so abruptly, right when it had you at the brink of death. All you're able to make out is a bright orange light blazing through the air, and what you feel are flakes of ember falling on your cheeks from above.

"God...? Is that you...?"

"Sure, you could call me that, I guess?"

Someone actually responds to you. You weren't expecting to meet your maker. Especially not like this. You're embarrassed. Teetering on the edge of life and demise right before a God's eyes? How humiliating.

There's a loud reverberating noise, an explosion that rocks the snow from the treetop canopies, and suddenly you're unable to make out the silhouette of the spider. You blink, thinking it'll reappear but it's really gone.

"Sorry, God," you struggle to speak. "Guess I didn't go out fighting, huh?"

"Alright, alright, enough with the God thing."

Someone kneels next to you and places a hand atop your wounded shoulder. A faint green light comes alive in the air, some kind of rejuvenating energy surging through your limbs, and just like that, the pain in your body subsides. The gaping hole in your arm is restored by flesh and bone like nothing had ever happened. The person, whose figure is gradually becoming easier for your blurry eyes to grasp, manages a smile down at your miserable self.

"You're lucky I found you in time," they say. "That thing was seriously about to slurp you up."

You blink your eyes again. When they open, this time you can see who you're talking to. A young boy with brown hair and light green eyes is kneeling beside you. Donning mage's robes, he appears much more mature than his soft, youthful face lets on. And from the way he speaks, he is no child, perhaps hardly even a teenager. He both speaks and presents himself like someone who knows his way around a cruel world.

"You saved me," you say. Your eyes dart over to the trees surrounding you. Some of them are scorched. Others have been defiled by pieces of what can only be described as sickly spider guts — bloody chunks of pink intestines and black flesh. "You saved my life."

"Don't mention it," says the boy. "I asked around at the local guild for the most taxing commission and they informed me someone was already on their way to this forest. Said there was no way in hell you were coming out alive."

The boy shrugs, his green eyes sparkling even in the dark. "I had to make sure you proved them wrong."

"And not a moment too soon," you sigh. "I was... I was gonna be a goner. Holy shit. Just... thank you, uhh..." You look into his eyes, curious.

"Rudeus," he states. "Rudeus Greyrat."

. . .