It’s almost funny in a way. How we as humans let such inconsequential and abstract concepts such as the weather affect the equally abstract ideas of the mind to such a significant extent. We all have memories, almost a sort of collective past, where we all hated rain, it’s cold, it’s wet, it’s unpleasant, unenjoyable in so many ways. For many of us, it still carries with it nothing but that, a mild inconvenience that only serves to dampen our often already sour moods. For Orochalcus, it was in many ways still the same. Rain wets the sheet he drapes over himself, drenches his hair, turning both into a soaked, unpleasant mess. Yet with it, there was to him some hope, some happiness, if it could even be called that. Rain rinses the blood from horrific battlegrounds, it’s pure water can wash blood from wounds, indeed, it has something of a soothing property to it, washing away the past, letting it be forgotten.

But Orochalcus could not. His past was too violent, too raw to be left behind, he could never escape it, not while the raw wounds of it were still fresh on his back. The mark of Thanatos. A specific, uniquely raw wound inflicted upon those in this world who had seen unspeakable horrors, endured unimaginable agonies, it was the manifestation of their hatred, their overwhelming desire for vengeance, their pure, unhinged wrath. Two deep, raw gashes, forming the shape of a T, covering near the entirety of his back, that was all it would appear as to those who did not yet understand it’s significance, but to those who did, and even more so to those whom had it themselves, it was far more than that.

The gashes of Thanatos were a curse just as much as it was a blessing, at least to Orochalcus. They meant he could never find peace, no peace could ever again befall someone so utterly crippled by their past, yet they were notable for one reason above all else. Sacha could not kill him so long as he possessed the mark. Orochalcus was the only thing in his way, the only person who remembered what he did, the only person who held any hatred towards him. Hatred is a uniquely human emotion, Orochalcus’s hatred dragged Sacha down back to the realm of humanity, without it, he would be free to do as he wished.

That was why Orochalcus had to hate. To fuel that fire within him, to keep the primal, abdominal wrath burning until the death of either him or Sacha, whichever came first, though to be frank, the latter was most definitely preferable. That was the only thing he could do, and so he had no choice but to do it. It was one of the small, insignificant ways that held far more weight in his mind than in the world that he fought back against Sacha, for it was the only way he knew how. But soon, that would no longer be the case, soon he would meet Sacha yet again, and this time, he would kill him, right then and there, and end what had started all those years ago. He was strong enough now, yes, surely he was. He had sacrificed his arm in place of a small cannon, spent the better part of two months relentlessly tracking him down, he had to be capable of defeating him, surely, there was no other possibility for how this would play out.

Orochalcus smirked to himself as he flowed back towards the town, the scene playing out over and over in his head. Just as he had all those many years ago, he would swing his oversized sword straight into Sacha, but this time, he wouldn’t stop, no, he would plunge it deep into him, sever his head from his neck, cease his disgusting, abhorrent existence, purge this earth of his evil.

But alas, now was not the time. Orochalcus would have to wait for the day to come, would it be tomorrow, in a week? Two weeks? He couldn’t be sure, he could never be sure, but he knew it would be soon, the pathetic group that now called themselves the November army would come to this insignificant town soon enough, and Sacha would be leading them, that was his chance, not now, not here, in the middle of nowhere, on the border of some expansive, dense woodlands that he had just spent weeks trekking through.

He had more pressing concerns, he always did, when he didn’t, he would give himself them. He always had to have something to do, be that feeding himself, or fighting something, or anything in between, he always needed something to do. At that exact moment, it was the former, he needed to get back to the town and find something, anything to quench his hunger before he passed out. He had gotten dangerously close to starving himself before, he was hardly a stranger to the viciously unpleasant feeling that came with it, but never this close, especially considering how easy it was at that moment to just go and satisfy not his desires, but his basic needs. He felt almost angry at himself that he hadn’t already, to be frank.

”Goddamn it…”

He continued to head back at his usual pace, somewhere between walking and running, the fact that so much of his form was concealed making it hard to tell which of the two he was doing, or any of them, for that matter.

“So Hungry…”

His stomach growled furiously at him, screaming at him to eat something, anything. He clutched at a small bag beneath his cloak, one containing enough money to last a man a year, how he had acquired that was only to be guessed by those who were not him, though given his appearance, and the reputation most Ambazians have outside of their home region, one would be predicted to assume it was through less than legal means.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He eventually found himself back at the town entrance, flowing down the path that was now more or less familiar to him in order to reach that marketplace he was so irritated by his need to be in. Why did everything have to involve other people? Why couldn’t he just spend all his days in peace, alone? Yes, that was what he sought after, to be without others, so why was it so difficult?

It didn’t take him long to find a small meal to eat. Nothing but a decent helping of stew and some bread, that was all he needed after all, filling and edible were about the only requirements something needed to enter his stomach, which, while certainly not ideal, had served him well enough thus far.

After eating, he tossed a few coins at the owner of the place he had just eaten at, he knew he had paid over the price, but he didn’t particularly care, just as he didn’t really care about what he had just shoved into himself, that man could’ve served him piss for all he cared, so long as it filled him up, he was happy. Orochalcus simply got up and left, deciding to head back to where he was staying and find something to do, maybe he should shave? No, what a pointless idea, what harm did a little stubble ever do? Besides, in his eyes, he was already far from appealing, so he wasn’t particularly bothered about looking good, or even looking remotely kept, for that matter, as if his messy, dry hair and his almost brutalist sense of fashion didn’t already indicate.

Despite his efforts to blend into the crowd, which were, in all fairness, rather fruitless, given how much a six foot seven former mercenary draped in all black stands out in a crowd of ordinary people, he found himself yet again being called upon. Why were the merchants in this town so damn persistent? Why couldn’t they just leave him be for once, and mind their own damn business?

”Hey, you there! Big guy in the black!”

Orochalcus glanced over in the direction he had heard the noise from, this time, it was a rather large man, still smaller than him, though, standing in an equally large stall, compared to the rest of them, to the point where it was more akin to a proper store than a stall. Reluctantly, he approached, fully expecting for it to not actually be anything of value.

”You look like you could use some smithing, am I right?”

Oh, a blacksmith, it had been a good while since Orochalcus had visited one, for once, someone in this town was actually offering something to him that could be of use. He sped up a little, arriving quickly at his destination now that he had an actual reason to.

“Do you do repairs?”

Orochalcus said in his same, blunt tone, clearly wanting nothing but a straight answer from the man.

”Yeah, I’ll take it you’re in the market for one? Got a sword you need fixing or something?”

The blacksmith replied, smiling slightly, Orochalcus needed to remember that, at the end of the day, this man was just a merchant, and that meant he was only trying to sell him a service, it didn’t matter if it was actually useful to him or not.

Orochalcus pulled out his colossal blade, holding it with it’s edge on the ground, clutching the handle, which, due to the glorified slab of metal’s immense size, stood above even his own head.

”Christ on a bike…”

The blacksmith uttered, staring up at the immense weapon.

”You trying to join the November army or something? You could cut a damn horse in half with that thing!”

Orochalcus grunted, shaking his head slightly.

”Nah, like I’d ever join up with that lot.”

The Blacksmith sighed, motioning over to what appeared to be his work station.

“I hate to be a pain, but you’ll need to put that over there yourself, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to carry that thing.”

Orochalcus nodded, dragging it over to the area, and laying it down rather roughly.

”Why wouldn’t you want to join, anyways?”

The blacksmith asked, seemingly trying to make conversation, something a Orochalcus wasn’t exactly fond of.

”The November army, I mean, they’re good guys, Aren’t they? Defending us against heaven’s regency and all that?”

Orochalcus felt himself laugh a little, the man’s answer was so blinded oh optimistic it caught him off guard. Did people genuinely believe that? It was almost saddening to imagine, though then again, not at all surprising, unfortunately.

“Nah, you got that whole thing wrong.”

Orochalcus grunted, sitting himself down nearby, watching the blacksmith cautiously, as he did with almost everyone.

”They’re with the heaven’s regency, hell, their leader’s the damn regent himself, this is just one of those scumbag’s shitty tactics, offer some poor town defence as a mercenary group, just to make it easier when Heaven’s regency invades.”

Orochalcus grinned slightly, seemingly taking some sort of twisted enjoyment from letting this truth out. As if he was some sort of madman, which he, admittedly, to some extent was.

“You’d do well to get out of here while you still can, old man, the regency ain’t exactly a nice regime to be living under.”

The blacksmith looked down, somewhat dejectedly, as if he had known this the whole time, but just had that cruel belief reinforced, fastened into his mind.

”How do you even-?”

Orochalcus interrupted in his usual, blunt tone, his expression returning to one of raw disinterest as he did, not letting him finish his question, he already knew what it was going to be, after all.

”Because I used to be one of ‘em, now hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

With that, the blacksmith sighed and nodded, getting to work on repairing the giant sword.

”Nice blade you’ve got there, by the way…”