Dead winds blow all around myself, billowing my cape up high past my shoulder as I hold my lance out towards him. Towards the man who I hold in such contempt. They don’t know what to do. The blood has left their faces, leaving them all cold and pale and empty like mine. Like mine. Like mine. They hadn’t expected me. They hadn’t expected my eyes to stare at them from up here, from up on high atop the apex of the world. With disgust, with contempt, with A TWINKLE I look down at the hero-party below myself and they look back up to me. Good.

Now. Let it be now. Let it be now.

He twitches, his hand reaching for his sword.

  The dungeon screams as I leap, launching down from the spire atop the windmill, my arm arched back as I fly towards the eyes of the hero that shine so vividly, as they look into mine. As I fly towards the hero-party whose eyes glow with such radiance as they look into mine. Mine. Mine. MINE.

  Screams ring out aloud as I spiral down towards him. The lance flies forward and the crack of thunder makes itself heard, as the hero draws his sword just in the nick of time. Screams ring out. Screams. Screams. My eyes go wide as the metal of my lance slides along his blade, as sparks fly out like jubilant stars that shine in the night, as the magical energies of the force of our bodies collide.

Everything is silent for just the blink of an eye, and then, the screams stop as the magical shockwave erupts.

Convex energies burst around us, surrounding us in an instant as the violent force of our strikes explodes outward, lashing out like a crack of a whip, arcing in a wide violently spreading bubble.

I hate him. I hate the idea of these so-called 'heroes'. I hate them. I hate them. How can you call yourself a hero?!

My skull cracks as my body slides down low, as my head turns upward to the side to face his own contempt filled downward looking gaze.

How can someone who is blessed by the divine be called a hero?!

I press myself upward, launching with my boot as my shoulder rams towards his gut. His free hand catches me and we fly back from the force of my kick-off.

How can a man carry the title of a hero, if he has no struggle to overcome?!

He raises his hand, lifting his sword up on high and my free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist as we fly backwards and I press my head up to his. Look into my eyes. Look into my eyes.

  “WHAT DO YOU SEE?!” I ask him in so many words. Dungeon magic collects all around us and I lurch back as a knee finds its way into my own gut. My grip breaks and he kicks me off, sending me flying back, my cape swirling around myself as I crash over the red ground, as I smear over the meat, tumbling head over shoulder. The blade of my lance stabs into the dirt and I tear backwards from the force, the dungeon screams as I cut a gash five men long into it to slow myself. Wet froth propels out in all directions, spraying like water from a red fountain.

How can a man be called a hero if he has nothing to overcome?! I push myself up, my arms limp, broken from the force hanging loose at my side, yet still holding on to the lance. My fingers are shattered, but I won’t let go. My shoulders are fractured, but I won’t let go.

  A wave of energy pulsates through me, as my head snaps back upright, as the strings of fate holding me tight pull themselves together once more as my broken neck lifts up again to see the hero charging towards me with a fury in his eyes. With a scream in his heart. Good. Good! Look at me. Look at me!

Struggle. Struggle. Struggle is what makes a true hero.

  I lift my lance and leap, charging forward towards him as my cape flies on behind myself. The energy flowing through the cloth is proof, proof of my conviction. The energy flying through my eyes is proof of my CONVICTION. The tip of my lance shines alight as the bounding energy releasing from my eyes radiates off of it.

A hero is defined by his struggle. A hero is someone who is titled such because they overcome a grand adversity. If you don’t have weaknesses -

Our blades meet again and the dungeon shakes, the meat below us rippling. A thousand eyes set into the red shaking from the force of the wave that barrels away from the intensity of our impact.

- If you don’t have any weaknesses, if you’re perfect from the start -

I raise my free fist and so does he and we both swing out at the same time.

- If you’re blessed by the gods and you didn’t work a day in your life -

My bones snap as his gauntlet smashes against my skull.

Something wet cracks as my fist presses against his jaw and our eyes meet again as we stand there, locked in place by time.

- Then what good is it?!

I spin back, flung sidewards from the force of his strike.

  - What good is the title of a hero if you didn’t earn it?! What good is rising up a mountain if you’re carried?! If you’re granted divine power, but are already too late to save everybody. If -

The dungeon screams again as I ram my lance down into it, carving a new gash twice as long as the next one to catch myself.

My bones crack as I rise up anew. I’m not going to stop. I’m never going to stop.

My neck snaps back into place as I look up to the hero. Why bother moving towards the apex of the world if you had nothing to lose?! If you have nothing to sacrifice?! What good is it?! What’s the point if you’re already the best?!

I scream, ethereal vapors rising from my maw, magical energies leaving my body as I leap, pressing myself forward once again. Reaching for the hero once again. I’m never going to stop climbing.

I look into his eyes and I hate them. I hate them. So I’m never going to stop reaching for them.

Metal meets metal and the world shakes once again.

What good is it?! What good is it if you don’t feel THIS. THIS SHINING IN YOUR SOUL.

My boots plant themselves into the meat and I lean forward against him once more.

THIS TWINKLE IN MY EYES.

I scream a wordless scream at him as the energies between us release, raising both of our capes up high into the air.

THIS CONVICTION OF MY CHARACTER.

  Our weapons leave each other as we slide back and circle around another. All the while the dungeon shakes, the dungeon screams as it gives a violent, bloody birth to the thing that rests beneath the meat. THE SEAL IS BROKEN. IT’S BROKEN. Screams ring out around us as his party hides behind the barrier of the priestess, which she barely manages to keep in place to shelter themselves from the radiance of our battle.

I LOVE FIGHTING.

THIS IS IT. THIS IS IT.

THIS IS WHY I DO IT.

I launch forward towards him again, the tip of my lance reaching forward towards his heart.

THIS IS EVERYTHING I HAVE TO BELIEVE IN.

His sword swipes out, knocking my lance off trajectory and my body out of alignment. I lift my left leg as I start to spiral and with everything I have, kick my boot against his face. His stupid, perfect, hero face. I hate it. I hate it.

Something cracks as we both fly back.

I land and look up to him. To the hero, who looks down to the side, whose eyes leave me for the first time, as he holds his cheek. Looking down to the ground, he spits out a mouthful of blood and looks back up to me. To me. To me.

That’s right. That’s right! You look at me! I’m going to make you! I’m going to make you LOOK AT ME!

I stand back up-right and ready myself for another charge. This is everything I have. This fight. This fight is everything I ever had.

I don’t have any friends to protect.

I don’t have anyone who cares for me, the real me.

  The lance lowers itself down as the energies of the dungeon come to collect themselves around myself. Dead-winds surge and spiral as the souls of a thousand dead creep along the muck below. As something hallow fills the air. As the dungeon gives me everything. It gives me everything. All of its energy. All of its heart. All of its conviction. It’s giving me everything for one purpose and one purpose. It’s giving me everything as that sound rings out, do you hear it? Can you hear it too? The sound of those crystal bells shining out in the night. The only sound breaking the darkness.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

It’s doing it to get rid of me.

My lance shines bright as the energy collects and condenses around the blade.

Even the dungeon that I love so much, what I held to be my only true home, it wants to get rid of me. It hates me. It hates me like the hero does.

The hero lifts his sword as the energies of the heavens so far above collect themselves around the blade.

I don’t have anything but this. Everyone I cherish hates me, everything I cherish hates me. But I’m still going to do it. Because I have nothing else. All I have is this, this struggle. This climb. This reaching.

  The world shakes as the magical energies of both above and below collect themselves around our weapons. Out of the corner of my eye I see his party screaming and running away to gain as much distance as they can before they are swallowed by the torrent. Good. Good. This isn’t about you.

  My eyes lock back forward as the bell strikes nine and I lift my arm back, holding the lance up on high. All I have is the desire to fight. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a home. I don’t have anything but this empty purpose. There’s no-one here but me. No-one here but me. No one here but this hollow spirit locked into a hollow suit of armor. It's empty. I'm empty.

The world buzzes with electricity.

Ding.

My boot presses itself down into the red. So I’m going to pour everything I have into fighting. If I can’t have the things my soul yearns for. If I can’t have anything that makes life worth living.

Ding

Then I’m going to follow the only path left to me. I’m going to fight and destroy everything that stands in my way, I’m going to rip and tear my way out of this shit-hole if it means ripping my way out of the womb with my own two hands.

Ding

The crystal bell strikes midnight and we both jolt forward. The hero’s true strike lashing out as I release my own. As I pour everything I have in me into the attack. Everything in my heart, everything in my soul, everything in my eyes. It’s all I have, It’s all I can do. That's all I want to do.

I’ve got to believe in something. There has to be something.

Anything.