The battlefield was eerily quiet, a haunting stillness settling over the scene where, moments ago, the roar of battle and the shrieks of the dying had filled the air with a cacophony of violence. Now, the only sound was the faint whisper of the wind, carrying with it the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of charred flesh. The ground was littered with bodies, both friend and foe, their twisted forms stark against the dark earth, now soaked in a sickening blend of blood and mud. Each step I took squelched in the muck, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence. The sheer weight of it pressed down on me, an invisible force that seemed to choke the very air, reminding me that death had claimed more than just the fallen.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, my hand trembling as I stared at the carnage. The sweat, cold and clammy, felt alien on my skin, as though my body hadn’t quite accepted the reality of what had just transpired. Disbelief gnawed at the edges of my mind, a cold unease curling in my gut, spreading like ice through my veins. It had been shockingly easy—too easy. My heart pounded against my ribcage, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, each thud a reminder of how close we all were to the abyss. The sight of the countless warriors still standing, forming a small army in their own right, should have been reassuring. But instead of solace, I felt only dread. The defensive structures—pristine, untouched, and unused—loomed like ominous sentinels, their presence a silent mockery of the battle we had just survived.
“So, how long do we have to keep this guy alive for?” I asked, my voice barely masking the dread that crept into my thoughts like a cold fog, seeping into every corner of my mind.
“One more week,” came the reply, as casual as if discussing the weather. The nonchalance of it sent a shiver down my spine, a chill that no amount of warmth could chase away. "Until the Tundra horde comes to call."
My face fell, the words sinking in like a stone, heavy and unyielding. A week? What in the name of Penance? The absurdity of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn’t even been dead that long. The thought of enduring another week in this hellish place sent me over the edge. Ain't nobody got time for that.
“So, what are we going to do until that time is up? Are there even rooms here? Can we loot things? Seems like a lot of wasted time,” I asked, the frustration bubbling up inside me, hot and fierce, threatening to spill over.
“We keep Elric alive. Most runs don’t even make it to night six,” came the reply, calm and unbothered, as though the carnage around us was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
I frowned, the frustration now boiling over, bubbling to the surface like magma ready to erupt. This felt like an absurd amount of work for no real payoff. What was the point of all this if the end was practically guaranteed? The thought gnawed at me, sharp and insistent, refusing to let go like a persistent thorn lodged deep in my side.
[I know what we can do!] Malice’s voice jolted me from my spiraling thoughts, snapping me back to the present with a start.
Under my breath, I muttered, “Going on a killing spree is not a valid solution,” the words laced with a bitterness that tasted sour on my tongue.
[No fun! No fun! I just meant, if you want loot, you can always steal it from other penitents. It’s not like killing them gets you anything anyway.]
The thought of trudging through the camp, looting swords, weapons, and armor sets as if it were my birthright, filled me with a deep unease, a churning in my stomach that wouldn’t settle. The idea felt wrong, a violation of some unspoken code, but more than that, it unsettled me to my core. What would I even do with all of the loot? The image of myself burdened with thousands of weapons, dragging them behind me like a twisted miser, sent a shiver down my spine. I shook my head, dismissing the thought, and turned my attention back to Malice.
“You’ve been quieter than normal lately. You only cheered blood once during the whole battle. You didn’t even react when I decapitated that Spider thing,” I said, my voice tinged with suspicion, my eyes narrowing as I studied the crystal.
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[I'm glad that you care about me, but I was simply basking in the blood of our enemies. It was joy enough for me.]
I squinted, studying Malice’s response. Was he being serious, or just an idiot? His usual exuberance was replaced with something I couldn’t quite place—something off, like a dissonant note in a familiar song. The uncertainty gnawed at me, just like everything else in this forsaken place.
The silence of the battlefield pressed in around me, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the empty camp. We were survivors, for now. But the seventh horde loomed on the horizon, a dark cloud of uncertainty, and with it came the knowledge that we had a week of waiting, guarding, and doubting ahead of us.
As I trudged back into camp, weariness dragging at my every step, the next attack came without warning. The two traitors, who had been lying in wait, set off a bomb that detonated the tent where Elric would have been sleeping. The explosion tore through the night, a deafening roar that shattered the fragile peace, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. One particularly jagged piece found its mark, tearing through Elric’s plate armor and sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. I ran to his side frantically applying pressure to the wood as wet blood sickened my useless hands.
“Jamie…” Elric’s voice was weak, each word a struggle as he gasped for breath. The sound of it was like a knife to my heart, each rasping syllable a reminder of the gravity of the situation. “You must… protect them… no matter the cost.”
I knelt beside him, my hands hovering uselessly over his wound, trembling with the weight of my failure. “Elric, hold on. You can’t die here, not like this. We need you,” I pleaded, my voice breaking, the desperation bleeding through every word.
His eyes, once fierce and full of purpose, were now clouded with pain and resignation. “You’re stronger than you think… but strength isn’t always enough. Remember that,” he whispered, his words a final, painful truth that cut deeper than any blade. "It hurts... so much... Pereveore, forgive me."
[Jamie. Listen to me.] Malice’s voice slid into my thoughts, cold and calculating, a serpent’s whisper that coiled around my mind. [If you kill Elric, you win. You move on. No wasted week. No boredom. And I’ll be nicer. I promise.]
I stared upwards, incredulous at the crystal’s suggestion. He honestly expected me to do this? To betray everything for a shortcut? But a nagging thought wormed its way into my mind, insidious and persistent. How is this any worse than what I’ve already done?
I looked down into the bichromatic eyes of my dying ancestor, his gaze filled with pain and resignation, a mirror of my own turmoil. The anguish on his face was so real, so human, that it tugged at something deep within me, something fragile and broken. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a painful reminder of my failure, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable.
In the distance, I could hear Michael racing forward, his footsteps pounding against the earth, but it was as if time had slowed, stretching each moment into an eternity. Before I knew it, the sword was in my hand, its weight heavy with the burden of choice, ready to cleave down into the soft flesh of my charge. This was the moment. I was always failing upward into success, so why should now be any different?
“No! Don’t!” Michael’s voice shattered the moment, filled with fear and frustration as he closed the distance between us, but his words barely registered. The world had narrowed down to the sword in my hand and the dying man before me.
{Kill for me, my pretty,} a voice whispered in my ear, soft and seductive, wrapping around my mind like a comforting blanket. It was a voice I could trust, a voice that understood what needed to be done. My grip tightened on the hilt, and with a swift, merciless motion, my blade pierced through the flesh, cutting deep into Elric’s neck. He gurgled his dying breath, eyes wide in shock and betrayal, as everything around us shifted.
[Congratulations. You have slain the floor boss, Elric The Benevolent. For dealing the killing blow, you have been awarded a floor key.]
The crystal’s voice hummed with satisfaction, but all I could feel was the cold steel in my hand and the life that had drained away beneath it. The world around me was different now, but the weight of what I had done hung heavy on my soul, a burden that no amount of victory could lift.
The shouts started up immediately, voices raised in anger and fear, cutting through the night like blades. Someone had told me the run would end when he died, but it wasn’t over. Instead, I was now enemy number one in a camp full of hundreds of well-armed soldiers. I gulped, my throat tight with dread. I was doomed.