Giuliano plummeted through the void. Not in the metaphorical sense, as one might lament their direction in life—though he'd admit to that sentiment too—but quite literally.
Above him the sky unfurled like a vast canvas, its hues bleeding from the gentle blush of dawn to the fiery kiss of sundown. Below, the abyss of night stretched into eternity. Yet, there was no sun to warm his face, no moon to guide his gaze, only the vast emptiness bisecting day from night.
As the colors swirled around him, a particular shade of bright red caught his eye, momentarily stilling the chaos. It was the red of the clown's nose his mother had painted on him.
‘You'll be the star clown,’ she had said, her voice a soft melody in the harshness of his world, a rare moment of tenderness that he clung to in the years that followed.
"Really?" His heart swelled with a child's simple joy, unaware of the lifelong masquerade that awaited him.
Star clown, huh? Turns out the makeup never comes off, just settles deeper into the lines life carves out.
The images soon faded, devoured by the surroundings, "Falling forever in a dream I can't wake from, or control. Isn't life grand?" he mused aloud, his voice swallowed by the void, meant for no ears but his own.
Time seemed like an irrelevant concept; No matter how long he fell he never drew closer to either the night or the day. It didn’t matter which side he looked at, the wind tousled his hair to whatever direction his back was turned to and stung his eyes until tears were wrenched from them, not that he needed more reasons to cry.
Why does it feel so real? The wind's icy fingers seemed hell-bent on etching this question into his bones. "If I know I'm dreaming, why the hell can't I do anything about it?" he pondered, frustration bleeding into the resignation in his voice.
Memories flickered around him, each one bleeding into the next like the vivid hues that painted his surreal surroundings. These weren't just fragments of color in a dream; they were the very essence of his lived experiences. It made sense, then, that the darkness seemed so profound, so all-consuming.
Once, Giuliano had tried to fill the void by volunteering at a local shelter, thinking maybe warmth could be borrowed from those he helped. He remembered handing out meals, the grateful nods, the smiles. But as he walked home each night, the emptiness crept back.
‘A drop in the ocean,’ he muttered to himself, ‘What difference does it really make?’
He attempted to reach out, to touch the colors that swirled around him, but his hands grasped nothing. The vibrant hues of sunset and the tranquil shades of night remained maddeningly out of reach as if mocking his efforts.
The day he finally finished the marathon, he thought he’d feel something—pride, joy, relief. Crossing the finish line, his legs burning, lungs screaming, he looked around. Everyone else’s elation mocking his hollow victory.
Even as my feet crossed the finish line, my spirit had lagged miles behind, uninterested in catching up.
"Is there a lesson here? It's fucking lost on me," he scoffed. "What's next, a lecture on the futility of resistance?" The dream offered no answers, only the sensation of a ceaseless fall.
Giuliano's mind raced through his life's supposed highlights, each one dissolving into the void around him. Love, charity, achievement—each thought sparkled for a moment in the abyss before fading into obscurity.
Each so-called achievement was just another juggling ball in an act no one watched. Why bother catching them if they’re just going to hit the ground?
"What's the point?" he growled, his voice cracking as the wind whipped around him. Was his life merely a series of unremarkable moments, now replaying in an endless loop of regret?
"Is this how it ends?" Giuliano pondered, resignation weaving through his words. "Stuck in a loop, falling endlessly in a dream from which I can't escape?"
If this is all there is, just falling through old regrets, then I’ve known the punchline all along. Just didn't think it'd be this bland.
Round and round, a merry-go-round with no music, no laughter. Just the wind.
A perfect encore to a lackluster show.
Suddenly, the colors swirled faster, blending into a dizzying whirlwind as his descent seemed to accelerate. His heart pounded, anticipation mixed with dread, bracing for an impact that might finally end this fall.
With a sudden jolt; his breath caught sharply, tearing through the silence like a first gasp after emerging from underwater. His eyes snapped open, darting frantically as he sought direction in the vast nothingness that enveloped him.
The darkness was absolute, a thick blanket that smothered the senses, disorienting him further. Was he still dreaming, or had he awakened to something far worse? His heart continued to race, a loud echo in the oppressive silence that now surrounded him.
"Alive?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, almost afraid to confirm his existence. As the adrenaline ebbed, a tremor ran through him—not from cold, but from the realization that he was lying on solid ground.
Realizing he was no longer in freefall but lying on solid earth beneath a canopy of trees brought both relief and confusion. Even after his eyes adapted to the darkness, the forest remained veiled in mystery, with only faint slivers of moonlight piercing the canopy like hesitant cues in a dimly lit stage.
"Typical," he murmured, a wry smile touching his lips as he dusted himself off, grateful for the firm ground. "Good old ground, always there to catch me."
Standing made the world sway around him, his vision swimming briefly before stabilizing. His eyes were drawn toward an area seemingly clear of trees, bathed in a patch of moonlight—a solitary spotlight in the middle of a darkened theater.
Giuliano searched around, but the darkness spread everywhere, blanketing the world in an enigmatic shroud. "Guess that's it," he sighed. As he walked toward the moonlight, using the soft silhouettes of trees as support, he noticed something odd. Their bark was unusually smooth, causing his hands to slip and nearly sending him tumbling several times.
But eventually, he reached the area bathed in moonlight, which granted minimal visibility to his strained eyes. Stumbling into it, he looked skyward.
The sky was an uncaring void where no starlight existed; the only feature was a dim moon that struggled to shine, flickering like a failing spotlight in an abandoned circus tent, battling against the darkness trying to devour it whole.
Giuliano had never drunk heavily, certainly not enough to blackout or suddenly wake in a strange forest. The trees felt alien, yet he clung to hope—hope that the apocalypse had not arrived, hope that the final curtain had not yet fallen on the world he knew.
"Bitching all day about my life, and even after it's seemingly destroyed, I'm still sad," he muttered, the irony not lost on him. His laugh was a hollow sound that mingled with the whisper of leaves
As understanding dawned on him, suffusing every inch of his body with dreadful acceptance, a screen flickered into existence before his eyes. The sudden apparition caught him off guard, its light cutting through the darkness like a spotlight suddenly focused on a stage actor unprepared for his cue.
System Alert: Weapon of Choice.
In preparation for your forthcoming trial, you are granted the privilege to select a weapon. Be advised: the nature of your chosen weapon will calibrate the challenge's intensity and complexity. Choose wisely, as your selection not only arms you but also shapes the battlefield.
The message glowed with an ethereal light—bright yet intangible, an illusion that played before his eyes and echoed like a drum in his head.
"Great, not only do I get a front-row seat to the end of the world, but I also get to pick how I might die. Very interactive, this apocalyptic show," he remarked dryly.
Weapon Categories
Bladed
Swords, daggers, and axes. Ideal for those who favor precision and agility. Engaging with such tools will sharpen the edge of your encounter, slicing closer to the core of your challenge.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Blunt Force
Hammers, maces, and clubs. Suited for combatants who value strength and impact. Opting for these will weigh heavily on the scale of your trial, grounding your confrontation in the realm of brute force.
Ranged
Bows, crossbows, and slings. For those who strike from the shadows and distance. Selecting from this array will draw back the complexity of your trial, targeting the precision of your resolve.
….
……..
The abrupt message halted his thoughts. "Not now," he muttered, attempting to dismiss the screen—only for it to expand, revealing an endless list of choices, each more specific and bizarre than the last. [Left-Handed Blade on chain], [2.8 cm Diameter Throwing Implement].
Annoyance flared within him as he swatted at the persistent screen, but the list rolled on endlessly until he finally scrolled to the end.
Weaponless
For the adept who finds strength within. This choice hones your martial prowess, adjusting the challenge to match your unarmed combat skills
"Interesting, but leave me alone." With a final swipe, the screen dissipated, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the flickering moonlight.
"Finally," Giuliano exhaled heavily, collapsing onto the ground. He gazed upwards, seeking tranquility in the moon's soft light, which seemed to flicker like a faulty spotlight on the final act of a long-forgotten play.
Fleeting images of the apocalypse that might have unfolded beyond his immediate sight haunted him. The brief glimpses from his confinement in the bus were enough to etch a permanent layer of fear across his psyche.
"Myst, Pounce, Whisker..." His voice trailed off, each name hanging like a heavy curtain in the air, as memories of the morning filtered through the fog of his mind.
The soft dripping of milk onto the wooden board, Pounce's tail moving eagerly from side to side; "I guess future Giuliano has other problems to deal with now."
More images flashed, things he didn't even pay any mind to but now appeared clearly in his mind, like Jack's new uniform, its color was a different shade of blue, or maybe it was simply a trick of the light. Rachel's headphones had a new crack on their side, running down the duct tape that already kept them together.
Memories he wanted buried resurfaced, waking up like a zombie from its cryptid. Late nights, where he waited eagerly for someone who never reciprocated the emotion; the sharp pain of a hand hitting him in his face after he got hurt playing outside. The sudden flood made him involuntarily grind his teeth and clenched his fists, filling them with the strangely sandy ground.
Calm down, she’s not worth it, she’s gone, he reminded himself, yet the image of unnaturally ginger hair flashed through his mind, refusing to be banished to the dark corners of his consciousness.
Thoughts of his workplace surfaced next. He was still an hour away from there, but he hadn't seen any meteorites striking in that direction. Could they have hit after I... Died? He pondered, his gaze sweeping the eerie landscape. Not having achieved much in life, a purposeless afterlife seemed fitting—a cruel joke tailored just for him.
Yet, the insistent pounding behind his eyes and the dread growing inside him, urging him to choose a weapon, made the concept of death less likely. Unless, of course, this was what the afterlife was supposed to be.
"To be fair, no one has seen the afterlife and lived to tell about it," Giuliano mused, allowing the caress of moonlight to close his eyes momentarily. His heart steadied, calming the tremor in his hands, even as a subtle quiver resonated within his chest.
Fighting to clear his head and stave off the tears that threatened to break through, a headache began to pulse behind his eyes. As he bathed in the uncertain glow of the moon, the pain intensified, paralleled by a growing, insistent urgency to make a choice.
The urgency wasn't a mere whisper but a primal instinct; he knew with sinking certainty that any hesitation would only prolong his misery. No time for mourning, I guess.
Wordlessly, he summoned the screen with a mere thought, driven by an instinctual desire to make a choice, to have some semblance of control.
Giuliano unashamedly skimmed the options, having never wielded anything more formidable than a meat cleaver or a dart gun in a fairground game. He understood, however, that his choice would inevitably escalate whatever challenge lay ahead.
His eyes lingered on 'rifles, pistols, energy weapons,' intrigued until their descriptions revealed a reliance on 'Ether'—a resource as alien to him as the concept of wielding these weapons.
The headache intensified, each pulse like the blow of a sledgehammer, driving him to tears not just from pain but from the overwhelming pressure to choose.
Weaponless
For the adept who finds strength within. This choice hones your martial prowess, adjusting the challenge to match your unarmed combat skills
Giuliano's knowledge of fighting was limited to childhood play fights that more often resembled wrestling. If punches were thrown, it meant someone was about to be grounded. A thought broke through his headache with surprising clarity, If the challenge is tailored to my combat skills, and if the System considers my skills lacking, could that make the challenge easier?
"Worth a shot," Giuliano muttered as he made his choice, hoping his logic held some truth.
System Alert: Challenged Issued
Quest: Paws for Reflection
Are you merely a scaredy-cat, or can you claw your way to proving you're not just another toy in the box? It's time to stop pussyfooting around.
Objective: Scratch Behind the Surface
Eliminate your pursuers and prove you're more than just a ball of yarn in their paws.
Foes Vanquished: 0/3
Note: Remember, curiosity didn't kill the cat—complacency did. Will you rise to the occasion, or will you remain a sitting duck in a game of cat and mouse?
As the quest details unfurled, Giuliano's indignation surged, momentarily eclipsing his grief and the throbbing in his head. The playful yet menacing tone of the challenge mocked his predicament, turning his dire situation into a perverse game.
"What's the meaning of this? Am I being mocked?" he snarled, his voice thick with confusion and anger.
Just as curses formed on Giuliano's lips, the shadows around him stirred. They washed over him like dark waves, solidifying at the edge of the moonlit clearing into forms vaguely reminiscent of felines. Obscured by the oppressive darkness, their eyes shimmered with an eerie intelligence and malice.
The shadow that cloaked them peeled away like a second skin, revealing… Before Giuliano could discern their true form, they pounced.
The shadow zipped past him, leaving behind a gash on his uniformed chest and a light graze, not enough to draw blood.
The fuck?
Giuliano didn't have time to think, another shadow jumped. His eyes were barely able to follow them as they landed on the ground and turned, pouncing again at him. For the first time, he silently thanked the heavens for the bulky uniform he'd always detested; it was now the thin barrier between him and a potentially lethal blow.
Just stand still. End this farce, a morbid thought whispered at the edge of his consciousness.
Remember that pact about offing yourself if the apocalypse hits? Looks like you're about to flake, you coward. Yet, defying his fatalistic thoughts, his body surged with a primal, stubborn urge to survive that felt both alien and exhilarating. Look at us, pretending to be the hero of our own horror flick.
There wasn’t a moment to spare as another shadow leaped from the darkness. Dodging became less of a conscious choice and more of an involuntary twitch, his body reacting on instinct—a will to live he hadn’t felt in ages.
Oh, now you decide to wake up? Where was this will to live when I was contemplating jumping off bridges for fun? he thought, narrowly avoiding a swipe that whistled dangerously close. His body was quick to remind him of its limits; pain shot through his spine with every movement, and his knees seemed on the verge of giving out. Every breath was a labored effort, and the accumulating cuts and bruises throbbed intensely.
I've been trying to off us in less dramatic ways, and here you are, putting on a show worthy of an encore, he mused bitterly as a sharp pang of pain momentarily rooted him to the spot. Nice timing.
After a particularly clumsy dodge caused by cramping legs and an uncooperative torso, Giuliano landed hard on the ground. He let out a bitter chuckle, "So, what? I die now?"
But the stubborn spark within him wasn’t ready to give up. It defiantly spurred his body on, regardless of his cynical thoughts. "The worst that can happen is I die," he mused, the irony of his mantra striking a chord within him.
Struggling to his feet, Giuliano made a split-second decision. "Alright then, let's see what this pathetic excuse for a body can do," he declared, desperation tinting the humor in his voice as he realized that simply dodging in the moonlight wasn’t going to cut it.
He darted into the forest, pushing his body beyond its limits in a desperate search for anything that might aid his survival. Each breath seared his lungs, and every step was a jolt of agony through his weary muscles.
Of course, it's a forest chase scene. The forest became a blur of shadow and moonlight, the ground beneath him an unpredictable terrain of roots and rocks.
Giuliano's mind raced with thoughts of survival, of escape, yet there was a detached part of him that observed it all with a disbelieving, almost mocking curiosity. Running for my life, from what? Knee-high nightmares? he scoffed internally, even as he dodged and weaved through the trees. If only that guy had shown this much enthusiasm for living before.
Every labored breath, every heartbeat, was a rebellion against the part of him that had given up long ago. And in this frenzied dash for life, Giuliano found a perverse kind of enlightenment.
"Not ready to die after all? Fancy that," he whispered through gritted teeth.
The shadows pursued with relentless vigor. But as Giuliano plunged into the deeper gloom, a part of him couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of his plight, and the even more absurd response of his body and soul, clinging to life with a ferocity he never knew he possessed.
"I hate you, you know," he whispered, not to the shadows, but to the part of himself that refused to yield. The part that clung to life with such ferocity now seemed alien and yet deeply integral to his being. Hate you for making me fight when all I wanted was to let go.