A Survivor

A Survivor

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Commissioned by Althero

Wordcount: 1022

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Everything is gone.

The world is dying.

You are alone.

You’ve swung your blade, you’ve bled, and you’ve been defeated. Nothing you do can stop the darkness that encroaches upon the world.

You’ve died.

So many times.

It is a miracle that you still live, but each miracle came at a cost.

Each time you awoke, there would be less people for you to protect. One by one, each time your eyes closed, one life you cherished would be taken from you. Respite never comes. You are always too weak for the next challenge, yet you cannot simply let it come to pass, or you’ll live while something is taken from you.

You don’t want to experience that pain again.

How many friends have you lost? Seven? A dozen? Twenty? So many people you’ve met on your Yimin… only for them to die as you keep walking. They look at your back as you walk forward. Each time you must face their killer, they scream at you, and you can only draw your blade and attack. Some part of you knows that you must be cautious, that there are some battles that needn’t be fought, but the outcome is the same: you fight, you die, and you awaken to the deaths of others.

It is a curse.

A curse of immortality.

Your entire existence is cursed.

It is pain, suffering, and tragedy combined.

The pain of death.

The suffering of awakening to failure.

The tragedy of burying another friend.

Sometimes, you investigate the sky, and you think that the stars are mocking you. The legends of your people, passed onto you through constellations, bear down upon your back as you dig graves for your friends. A god slayer. You were supposed to aim to be a god slayer. However, what can a god slayer do against a being that stands above all things, which has consumed or killed the others of its kind, while driving all other races into the brink of extinction. 

The stars bear down upon you like dreams you can never reach.

All you can do… is fight and lose.

And, lose.

Lose, lose, and lose.

Even with the gold blade that is your only companion, with which you can hold back hundreds of monsters, you can only lose.

You rise and walk and find another place, face, or people, only for them to die no matter how much time you buy through your deaths.

You… you feel more powerful after each death, but your deaths are giving the monsters power, too.

Their bites are getting stronger, their claws sharper, and their hides tougher.

They are getting mightier faster than yourself with each of your deaths.

But, you cannot stop.

You cannot cease.

You must endure.

All you have left is the Tuzi way, the legends which weigh down upon your shoulders every night, and the memory of the tribe you once had.

Once… once you’d have been able to say that you dreamed of bringing the Tuzi back into the world.

However, that is not a dream.

That is an impossibility.

You know, deep in your bones, that your death is coming.

All you do now is rail against it, as if you’re trying to be a legend by fighting against a force that finds gods trifling.

A legend that no one will hear or remember.

Yes, without a doubt, that is who you are.

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You do not tire anymore.

Hunger rarely touches you.

Sickness doesn’t happen upon you.

Unless injured, your body is pristine.

All the blessings one with immortal life can ask for are yours, yet you are glad for it for another reason now.

It makes it unnecessary to venture towards civilization, even if you still look for a reason to call your own.

However, you know that beyond the horizon, as you walk aimlessly, people are dying cruel, merciless deaths.

Through every desert you cross, the sun runs red, as fires rage in the far horizon.

Through every stormy mountain range you climb, you know if you strain your gaze, you will see a black tide slowly bringing low a great, grand city.

As you fly through hurricanes, over the oceans, you see ships wrecked and teeming with monsters… who then lurch into the sea, searching for more prey.

If you could flee, if you could run to the ends of the universe, you would.

However, if you flee, you’re sure that you’ll no longer be Tuzi.

Indeed, the stars mock you.

Then, you are chased down and killed, before you find yourself able to sharpen your body and spirit.

The cycle begins again and again.

…

The voice comes to without warning.

It is a simple voice, one that comes from mania, but you accept it.

You talk to the voice, you share with it your feelings, and your thoughts.

Time passes.

More time still.

Then, finally, you start to tell it about your fears, worries, and heartache.

You’ve remained smiling, jubilant, and a spark of hope for a long, long time. Hope… it was all you can give to those you meet. You fight for them at their last moment, when the tides can no longer turn, and let them die watching someone fighting for them. You… you like to think that they curse the monsters that kill them. Or, perhaps, they think that you’re incredibly late and they’re the last to die amongst their people.

You bare your soul to the voice, because he is a companion that you can trust, who stays with you even after you die, and allows you speak, instead of being left only to your thoughts.

So, when he asked for a little freedom and to let you rest, by granting him your body… how were you to know that only horrors awaited after such a decision?

You were fooled and tricked into a greater Hell than you’d already suffered.

In your arrogance, you’d thought you were already suffering the most you could possibly suffer.

But, as Lucifer turned men into shields and grew in strength from death and suffering, you knew that you were wrong.