Ari was splayed out like a starfish, his arms and legs stretched taut against thick, unyielding bands.
“Ari?” Cedar rose to her feet, unsheathing her dagger with the intent to cut his restraints.
“And so we meet again,” Satan’s voice rumbled from his throne, positioned only a stone’s throw from Cedar.
Ignoring him, Cedar advanced toward Ari. For the first time, she saw him openly sobbing.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Satan warned. “If you cut his bindings, Ari will end up with far more holes than he currently contends with.”
Cedar froze, scanning for traps. Sure enough, a set of spring-loaded spikes was concealed behind the wooden plank pressed against Ari’s back.
“You see how nice I can be?” Satan sneered. “I didn’t have to warn you, but I did. I’m a kinder god than you believe.”
“That throne makes you look tiny,” she shot back.
Satan’s throne was absurdly oversized, resembling those novelty chairs found at amusement parks—comically large, designed for whimsical photos.
“You’ve made it further than most,” Satan conceded with a slippery tone. “And for that, you’ve earned my respect. There’s a way we can be mutually beneficial, you and I.”
“Listen to him, Cedar,” Ari pleaded through his tears. “It’s too late for me, but you can still get out. I messed up . . . I thought I was summoning a dungeon, not . . . this.” He shook his head. “I accidentally invited hell itself.”
“You’re telling me to literally make a deal with the devil? When is that ever a good idea?”
“Do you honestly think you can fight your way out of this?” Ari responded, sounding desperate.
Cedar’s eyes flicked to Satan’s legion of personal security—hulking grunts arrayed in tight rows near the throne.
“I would never do this to you. You know that,” Ari confessed. “I’d never knowingly bring you here.”
The vast numbers of demons surrounding the throne were staggering. It seemed as though the entirety of hell had gathered to witness this spectacle.
He’s right. Ari wouldn’t do this. He’d never.
If this were just a dungeon, Ari would be waiting for her outside, perhaps even expecting her to fail. But Cedar had been taught never to surrender, to believe there was always a choice, a way forward. Yet, as she stared at Satan, enthroned in formidable majesty, a flicker of doubt shadowed her beliefs.
The situation seemed dire. Was this some cruel lesson in relinquishing control, in trusting the unknown?
Surely, she was overlooking something crucial. There had to be a way to defeat the guy.
There’s always a choice, she reminded herself. This conviction was a cornerstone of her beliefs, drilled into her since day one. But clarity eluded her. Fear muddied her thoughts, obscuring any potential path forward.
Satan waited, his expectation hanging heavy in the air.
“What do you have in mind?” Cedar finally asked.
“You can simply leave. The door to the outside world is behind me.”
“Or?”
“Or, we can play a game.”
“What sort of game?”
“Tsk tsk.” Satan waved his index finger from side to side. “First, you must decide: will you stay and play, or leave and live?”
Are those my only options? she wondered.
Cedar’s ego pushed her toward the challenge—the allure of besting Satan himself—even though she lacked the clarity to anticipate the repercussions of such a decision.
“I need a minute to think,” she stated.
Ego, always fear-driven, often masquerades as the lesser option, craving dominion and influence. Yet the decision to leave, to ensure her survival, seemed equally tinged with fear—a flight response rather than braving the unknown. Both paths, she realized, were dictated by ego, leading her to a pivotal realization: no choice is devoid of ego. Whatever path she chose would be the one she had to live with—the one that would ultimately define her.
Is my pride worth more than my life? No, I’m missing something. There must be a choice that doesn’t involve ego.
Ego is fear. She knew that much. Anger harbors the energy necessary to rise above fear, but Ari had always cautioned against relying on it.
I have to get out of my own way.
A spark of insight from her last dungeon experience ignited into clarity; the missing piece she’d been searching for surfaced. Understanding oneself—knowing precisely who you are—allows for control over any situation through self-mastery. She would be able to control any situation by first controlling herself.
To lose control, I gain control. Fear is a battle against myself. When I stop battling myself, I gain control. But who am I? Who remains once the fear is gone?
Despite all her recent journaling, Cedar had yet to unravel that mystery. Through a process of elimination, she understood who she was not. She also knew what she wanted.
She was here to conquer the dungeon. That was her goal, and she knew she was no coward.
The right choice became clear.
“I choose to play.”
The earth trembled beneath her feet as a massive iron gate crashed down behind Satan’s throne, sealing the exit.
“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” Satan sighed, his lips curling around a long, forked tongue.
“Get on with it, then. What’s the game?”
“It’s simple.”
A henchman handed Cedar a pitchfork as Satan outlined the terms.
“This pitchfork holds the power to defeat me,” he snarled.
“You’re making this too easy,” Cedar remarked, accepting the hefty weapon.
“You only have one chance to strike me,” Satan cautioned, raising a finger. “If you miss, then it’s my turn.”
“I only need one shot,” she replied.
“But don’t worry—I won’t kill you,” Satan continued. “As you may have figured out, there are fates worse than death. No, I’ll toy with you until I tire, and then you’ll be tossed aside into the pit.”
Suddenly, the ground beneath Cedar shifted. She leaped back just in time, narrowly avoiding a trapdoor. Her toes teetered on the edge as she flailed her arms, fighting to regain her balance. A long, rectangular opening now lay between her and Satan, offering no easy path across.
Doubt crept in as she assessed the pit. Throwing the heavy pitchfork across it, aiming to impale Satan, seemed nearly impossible. And even with a perfect throw, what was to stop Satan from deflecting it?
Inside the pit, Cedar saw countless wispy apparitions wailing in pain. Their cries reverberated in the cavernous space, a haunting reminder of what failure would mean.
“Your soul will be torn asunder and reassembled in a never-ending cycle of agony,” Satan laughed.
“Couldn’t you think of something a little more original?” Cedar quipped.
“You have two seconds to make your move. Starting . . .” The devil looked at his bare wrist. “Now.”
Two seconds, two seconds.
The pit was too large to circumvent. All Cedar could do was throw the pitchfork and pray. She hurled it with all her strength.
The pitchfork landed squarely in Ari’s chest. A bubbling gasp of blood and defeat spilled from his trembling lips as his wide, pleading eyes locked on hers. With his final, deflated breath, Ari collapsed, lifeless.
“Interesting choice,” Satan remarked.
Without hesitation, Cedar plunged her dagger into her own throat.
“Damn,” Satan muttered, sitting back in his throne. “It’s no fun when they kill themselves.”
Cedar fell to her knees, drowning in her own blood as she gasped for air.
“Toss her in,” Satan commanded with a flick of his hand.
The henchman who had handed her the pitchfork delivered a savage backhand across her face before kicking her in the ribs. He hoisted her up by her belt and flung her limp body into the pit. The ground rumbled as the opening sealed itself shut.
“Pointless,” Satan muttered. He scanned the room, his attention flitting between the other demons. “What are all of you standing around for?”
With a deep inhale, Satan exhaled a torrent of fire onto the crowd of onlookers, setting them ablaze. It hardly mattered—they were already made of ash.
As the demons scattered, Satan sat drumming his fingers thoughtfully against his chin. His gaze drifted to Ari’s lifeless body. Ari’s eyes remained open but vacant.
“Why would she—” Satan began, absently stroking his goatee.
A searing pain exploded at the back of his neck, cutting his thought short. His eyes widened in shock. Reflexively, Satan’s body ignited in blue flames. He spun around, but his attacker had already vanished, leaving behind a sword embedded in his neck.
He wrenched the blade free and staggered to his feet, but it was already too late.
Cedar stood before him, wielding his very own pitchfork. With a fierce cry, she drove its tines deep into his chest.
“Not today, Satan.”
“No!” he roared. His body erupted in a nexus of explosions, blue light radiating from the gaping wounds. The inferno obliterated everything nearby.
The pitchfork’s handle grew white-hot, scalding Cedar’s palms and forcing her to release it. She stumbled back, shielding her eyes from the blinding light. The ground beneath her crumbled, consumed by the firestorm.
Curling into a tight ball, Cedar wrapped herself in her cloak, shielding her head and feet from the relentless blasts. Within the safety of the fabric, she felt a strange, impenetrable calm, even as hell itself seemed to collapse around her.
“You’re coming with me everywhere from now on,” she whispered to the cloak, her new favorite armor.
When the cacophony of explosions subsided, Cedar let her head rest in the crook of her elbow. Enveloped in the safety of her cloak, she felt herself relax for the first time in what felt like ages.
“Did I just dream all that?”
She listened intently.
“Did I just . . . kill Satan?”
The silence pressed in, but she could hear no approaching footsteps, no hiss of a demonic threat. With a jolt, she lifted the edge of her cloak and peered out, bracing for an attack.
Safe.
Around her, nothing remained but charred embers drifting through the heavy, somber smog. The demons nearby looked flash-fried, frozen in their final poses before the blaze. Cedar’s gaze fell upon Ari, whose blackened form still bore traces of his formerly affable face.
Then her eyes settled on Satan—or rather, what was left of him. His body had been decimated, along with his treasured pitchfork. Fragments of his remains littered the ground. His horns, much smaller than she expected, were still attached to the upper portion of his skull. Cedar picked them up, only to drop them, wincing and blowing on her singed fingers.
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The intense heat of the pitchfork had wreaked havoc on her hands, fusing the material of her gloves into her skin. The result was a flotsam collage of burnt flesh woven into leather.
Silence reigned in hell, an eerie calm. Not even a single bat broke the stillness. She was alone.
“Now, how the hell do I get out of . . . hell?”
Cedar toyed with the idea that this might actually be the real hell. If she’d slain the real Satan, what a monumental achievement that would be. But she knew better. The true hell—if it existed—would be far larger, perhaps the size of a planet, not just a little patch of intradimensional space that Ari had tucked away in his pocket.
Out of the corner of her eye, something sparkled. Drawn to the shimmering light, she spotted a garish ring on a still-smoldering hand amidst the rubble. It was Satan’s hand.
Cedar nudged it with her foot, unsure of how to handle it without burning herself further.
“My sword!”
During the mayhem, she had forgotten all about her sword. She began to sift through the ash, sweeping it aside with her boot until she uncovered its burnished blade. Gingerly, she reattached it to her belt before turning her attention back to the cooling hand. By now, it had cooled enough to be picked up.
She managed to slide the vulgar ring off his charred finger, holding it up to the light. The ruby was immense and mesmerizing, unlike any she’d seen before.
She slipped it onto her crispy thumb, half-expecting it to grant her some fantastical benefit.
At first, the ring dangled loosely. Then it adjusted itself, spinning upright and tightening around her digit. As it locked into place, the oppressive heat of hell began to subside. Cedar watched in astonishment as her burns started to heal. Her skin regenerated, and the unbearable heat no longer seemed to affect her.
“Kick ass,” she uttered, admiring the ring on her clenched fist.
Despite her newfound powers, her appearance suffered—eyebrows singed away, her armor torn to shreds, and her hair weighed heavy—full of dead jellies and ash.
Now to find the exit.
It didn’t take long. Behind Satan’s diminished throne, Cedar found the blocked passage. A shallow, circular indent on its surface hinted at a keyhole. She placed the ruby ring in the center of the indent and sure enough, the gears creaked to life, rolling the bolder out of the way.
Before making her departure, she glanced back at the carnage. A keepsake caught her eye. With a smirk, she snatched it up—just in case Ari needed proof that she’d defeated Satan on her first try.
----------------------------------------
As dawn approached the horizon, Ari, true to form, was napping in his hammock just beyond the dungeon’s threshold. Cedar’s eyes, hardened by the night’s ordeals, swung Satan’s heavy skull as though it were a harbinger of retribution, its trajectory an unspoken narrative of pent-up rage and desperation. The skull landed brutally on Ari’s groin.
A pained groan escaped his lips as he winced sharply. Fortunately for him, the skull’s horns pointed upward and away, sparing him a worse fate.
“What the . . .?” Ari held the skull up by a horn as he sat up in the swaying hammock. “Cedar? What happened?”
“What does it look like?” Cedar crossed her arms and jutted her hip.
Ari’s eyes widened as he looked from Cedar to the skull. “But . . . how?”
“So, it’s true then?” Cedar huffed. “You expected me to die in there? In that hellhole?”
“I, uh, well, I didn’t expect you’d live,” he admitted, laughing nervously.
“Why would you do that to me? That’s evil of you. Pure evil.”
“I can explain. I will explain. But first—how did you do it? I’m sorry, I’m just in shock. That was your first attempt?” He glanced down at his bottomless backpack lying next to the hammock. “Or . . . did you die and respawn while I was asleep?”
Cedar began her story from the start, deliberately omitting the ending to enjoy Ari’s growing confusion.
“But the boss fight—how did you beat him?” he asked, glancing at the skull. “You did beat him, right?”
“Satan gave me a choice,” she said. “He told me I could either stay and play or leave and live.”
“Yeah, I knew about that,” Ari said, nodding. “He said the same thing to me when I ran the dungeon. Did you leave?” He stared at the skull again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You couldn’t have . . . ”
“I stayed.”
Ari nearly toppled from the hammock as he leaned forward. “How did you possibly come back from that? Alive?”
“I had to kill you,” Cedar said, lifting her chin.
Ari nodded slowly as he pieced the story together. “That gave you an extra life . . . but it still doesn’t explain how you survived.”
“Satan gave me two seconds to kill him. So, instead of targeting him with the pitchfork, I threw it at you. I didn’t have a plan, per se, but it felt like the right thing to do.”
“It felt right to kill me?”
“It felt right to do the opposite of what he was expecting. I remembered what you told me before I went in—that he would use my own fears against me.” Cedar shook her head. “So, I caused my worst fear to happen on purpose. After I killed you, I stabbed myself in the throat and they threw me into the pit.”
“Oh god, the pit.” Ari looked as though he’d just bitten into a lemon. “What was that like? I’ve never been in there.”
Cedar shot him an irritated look, crossing her arms again. Her frustration bubbled up—how could he not have thoroughly explored the dungeon before throwing her to the wolves?
“It was a nightmare,” she said. “I felt my body disintegrating, as if I were in a vat of acid—or like I was on acid. I didn’t think I’d make it out—it felt permanent.” She shivered, rubbing her elbows. “My arms and legs were gone; I was nothing but a helpless floating head. Not even a head. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“The next thing I knew, I had my body back. Well, not my body—it was an apparition, not physical. Your energy sphere brought me back as a ghost,” she clarified. “I flew up out of the pit, got into position behind Satan, and waited until I had my physical body again.”
“And then what? You slit his throat?”
“I jammed my sword into the back of his neck, then raced to retrieve the pitchfork that was stuck in you and I used it to finish him off,” Cedar said, illustrating the actions with subtle gestures. “I don’t think my sword could’ve killed him.”
“You’re right about that,” Ari agreed. “Only the pitchfork could do that.”
Cedar fixed him with a smoldering glare, her anger reigniting. Another crucial detail he’d conveniently failed to mention.
“I would have been stuck in that pit forever—I’m sure of it,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I felt like I was in there for hours. How could you let that happen to me?”
“You would’ve made it out. You would’ve respawned right here outside. I was here the whole time, waiting.”
The word waiting only fueled Cedar’s fury.
“Waiting for what? Waiting for me to die? Expecting me to fail so you could step in, take charge, and comfort me?”
Cedar was done playing games. She wanted answers. This whole time, she had let Ari control the narrative—telling her what to do, what was necessary, and what came next. Not anymore. She was taking the lead now, demanding clarity, demanding the truth.
Ari raised his palms in a placating gesture.
“You’re the one with the god complex.” Cedar unclipped her sword from her belt. Ari jumped to his feet, the horned skull slipping from his lap.
“I see you’re upset,” he said quickly. “Let’s talk about this. I underestimated you. I didn’t think you’d defeat him on your first try. You’re more amazing than I give you credit for. But dying in that dungeon isn’t a big deal. We dust you off and send you back in. That’s all.”
“Not a big deal?” Cedar repeated, taking a step back as she bit her bottom lip. Her voice rose. “Not a big deal?”
How could he dare dismiss what she’d been through? He hadn’t faced the hell pit himself, yet he had the audacity to make light of it? She had survived hell. She had conquered it. Was that also not a big deal?
Cedar swung her back leg behind her, gathering force before snapping it up. Her kick connected with Ari’s crotch.
Ari barely flinched, turning his head to the side as his face flushed crimson.
“Those are two very big deals,” Ari gasped, holding his breath.
“You’re the evil one. This whole time, it was you.” Cedar pointed her sword at his chest. “And who was that in there? If it wasn’t you, then who? An NPC?”
“Yes, an NPC,” Ari admitted. “He’s part of the dungeon.”
The words infuriated Cedar even more, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. The idea that Ari could summon a version of himself as an NPC felt like a violation of some unspoken trust.
“How do I know this is really you, then?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Can you summon my parents as NPCs too? Would they not have souls?”
The thought shattered her, sending a sharp pain through her chest.
Any of us could be an NPC. The realization hit her like a blow. Soulless, meaningless NPCs . . . and not even know it. And we can kill them. Nobody would know. Nobody would care.
“Who are you, really? Who the hell are you?” She jabbed the sword at his chest.
“I knew this was coming.”
“Knew what was coming?” Tears streaked through the soot on her face, leaving trails of clean skin.
“This.” He gestured toward her. “The realization.”
“What am I realizing?”
“The truth is a heavy burden. It takes time to absorb, but once it does—”
Before he could finish, Cedar’s fear and confusion overwhelmed her. Her shoulders shook as she drove the sword into Ari’s chest.
Ari gasped but remained standing. After the initial shock, he calmly grasped the blade and pulled it free, bloodless.
“It’s okay,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s okay.”
“What are we? Are we dead?”
“No, we’re not dead. I promise you that.”
“What then?” She let her hand fall from the sword as Ari embraced her. “What’s happening?”
“When I first learned the truth, I’d already ascended. It was hard for me. It must be a hell of a lot harder for you. The human mind has its limits.”
He patted her back reassuringly. “I’m you, Seed. I haven’t lied about that. I haven’t lied about anything.”
Cedar’s knees felt weak, her mind racing to make sense of his words. “What truth?” she asked.
“The truth is . . . ” Ari paused, meeting her eyes. “There is no truth.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means that we don’t know what’s real. Reality is subjective—a matter of perspective. Consciousness has the power to conceive the infinite, and because of that, the infinite exists along with Infinite possibilities. Infinite heavens and infinite hells.”
Cedar’s brow furrowed as she tried to keep up, her mind reeling.
“The afterlife isn’t just about visiting spiritual worlds and having fun,” Ari continued. “A soul can become lost if they have no one to pull them out of their gravity pit. Before the invention of the interface, souls were pulled—”
“I want to go back to the cabin,” Cedar interrupted. “I need to be alone.”
“Understandable,” he said with a nod. “I really am sorry for not believing you’d make it out on your first try. I keep forgetting how awesome we are.”
Cedar didn’t smile as she distanced herself, signaling for Clyde, her horse.
“Perhaps a clean-up at the retreat would do you good,” Ari suggested.
“No,” Cedar replied curtly. “I want to be alone.”
Clyde approached, nudging Cedar’s shoulder affectionately. She gave him a gentle pat.
“I suppose Clyde has no soul, then?”
“Cedar, it’s not what you think. NPCs are nothing like us. We can talk about this later, once you’re feeling better, okay?” Ari tried to reassure her, but Cedar was already mounting Clyde.
“Remember how much trouble you used to have with that?” Ari teased as Cedar swung into the saddle with ease.
“I’ll see you later,” was all Cedar said before she and Clyde headed home.
----------------------------------------
Cedar shut the cabin door and leaned against it. She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to wander through the labyrinth of recent events.
That was when Clucky, the rooster, shattered her reverie.
Damn rooster.
Clucky’s crow stirred something deep within her, evoking warm but distant memories: early mornings at the dojo with Bryce, the rhythm of martial arts practice bleeding into meditative calm, and the serene joy of tea afternoons shared with Ari and Alma. She recalled watching Ari’s son grow, the passage of time woven into those tender scenes.
Her time there hadn’t been unpleasant, but the chasm within her had only begun to awaken. Now, a darker presence loomed—a shadow of Satan himself, his threat a constant specter lurking just beyond her awareness. His minions felt close, ready to breach her fragile sanctuary. The absence of a lock on the cabin door struck her as both a bitter irony and a glaring oversight.
She closed the curtains, slipped off her cumbersome boots, and crawled into bed—still fully armored, except for the boots which sat on the floor marinating in their own odious lacquer. She dipped her head under the blanket and began to tremble.
Clucky crowed again.
Don’t stop crowing, Clucky. Please, don’t stop.
His trumpeting shielded her from the harrowing visions clawing at the edges of her mind—visions steeped in blood, snarling beasts, winged serpents with gnashing teeth, and Satan’s piercing gaze. This was no victory. She had claimed no prize. Her efforts had yielded nothing but trauma, a disgusting trophy she never sought.
Sweat soaked her armor, born of panic she couldn’t quell. She dared not move. Movement, she feared, would draw his gaze, his attention. He’d hear her.
As the adrenaline from the day ebbed, her grip on sanity frayed. Her body remained locked in a tense statue of fear, while her mind churned in a tempest of disjointed thoughts. She craved distraction—music, a voice, anything to drown out the silence that would come when Clucky’s morning announcements ceased.
Paralyzed, she lay curled in bed as the hours bled from daylight to darkness, then back into morning. At last, she found the courage to leave the bed, abandoning her bedsheets—a cavas of miasmic rot.
“Bonjour, Madame! How are we feeling today?” Alma’s cheerful voice met Cedar’s ears as she made her way to the main house, but Cedar didn’t respond. Alma’s warmth brushed past her unnoticed.
Without touching the door to the main house, Cedar passed through it as if she were a specter entering a realm of life, stepping into the heart of Ari’s familial sanctuary.
Little Ari darted across the kitchen, weaving through the delicate choreography of his mother preparing breakfast. Big Ari sat at the table, coffee in hand, his brow furrowed as he read the news on the refrigerator’s display.
“Oh, honey, did you see this?” he asked.
“What?” she replied, distracted.
“China’s launching another quantum computer to the moon. They practically own the sky already, and now they’re aiming to own the whole goddamn moon too.”
“Who cares?” she said with a shrug.
“Who cares?” Big Ari repeated. “Waking up to neon ads in the middle of the night didn’t bother you?”
“Of course it bothered me,” she replied. “But who cares about the moon? And besides, those ads were taken down years ago. It wasn’t just China; a bunch of countries were guilty of that—ours included.”
Casper, the family hound, stationed himself optimistically near Ari’s wife’s slippered feet, his eyes tracking every movement in the kitchen with the unwavering hope of a culinary mishap.
“You should care about the moon,” Ari continued, his tone insistent. “It’s the only place where we can safely run those computers. If we start fighting over moon space, the whole thing’s going to blow up—just like what happened with those satellites.”
“Uh-huh . . . ” Ari’s wife replied absently.
Cedar drifted into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as a children’s cartoon flickered on the TV. She longed to crank up the volume, to drown out the debate in the kitchen. But, trapped in a memory, she remained an observer, unable to interact with her surroundings.
How do I not fall through these cushions when I can pass through everything else? she wondered. The cushions were unyielding, as hard as steel beneath her.
“You’ll miss the moon when it’s gone,” Ari continued. “When the Earth starts spinning out of control and we’re flung out of orbit. You just wait.”
Cedar’s mind conjured a dystopian vision: the Earth pirouetting wildly, its axis unraveling. Days and nights blurring together in a frenetic dance, centuries unfolding within hours.
It could happen, she thought. Ari says it can.
Her ever-present anxiety refused to loosen its grip. She had sought refuge in this house, yearning for a sense of normalcy. But even here, where the echoes of familial warmth should have soothed her, the weight of her experiences lingered.
“The moon’s not going anywhere,” Ari’s wife said, her voice a soothing balm. “And stop reading the fridge news in the morning when you’re half-asleep—it’s a bad way to start the day.” She turned her attention to their son, who clambered onto a chair before a plate of eggs. “Eat up, you two. If you want to save the world, you need breakfast first.”
Cedar shifted on the stagnant couch, unable to find comfort in the uneven contours. She wreaked of dungeon and realized for the first time that she was sitting in her own filth. Exhaustion pulled at her bones, but the sanctuary of sleep remained an impossible dream.
She wanted out. She was ready to go home—her real home.
“Menu!”
At her command, the glorious menu of delights shimmered into existence before her like a beacon of salvation.
“Thank God.”
What Cedar really wanted was to throw up—to purge the darkness and filth she felt consuming her. Somehow, it seemed like vomiting might cleanse her, freeing her from the weight of everything she had endured.
Nozomi might have something for this, she thought, recalling the restorative tonic Nozomi had given her after completing the level-two dungeon.
She selected “Attendants” from the menu, her fingers hovering briefly before choosing Nozomi Kagawa. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button.
Instantly, the world around her shifted in a dizzying blur of momentum and light.
When the sensation subsided, Cedar opened her eyes to find Nozomi’s radiant face before her.
“I need you,” Cedar confessed, feeling like the walking dead—an embodiment of contradictions. She was hungry, but wanted to purge, she felt tired, but couldn’t sleep. She wanted to be alone, but craved the presence of another soul.
but yearning to purge, exhausted yet unable to rest, desperate to be alone but craving the solace of another soul.
“I can help.”