Chapter 19: Self Reflection

It takes a few moments for the two guards, Linder and Michael, to notice the collapsed Diegi. Not through any fault of their own— they’re simply too busy doing their job. To repel monster attacks and protect civilians, the purpose they’ve given to themselves. The responsibility they hold. And so, even against entirely insurmountable odds, against a swarm of tutorial monsters numerous enough to overwhelm even the most powerful of the guards, to pressure even the most skilled and experienced and talented of the present adventurers, they refuse to stop fighting.

After a bit of a pause, however, the guard supposedly called Linder notes Diegi’s grave change in demeanor. So, long black hair becoming increasingly more disheveled and sodden as he fights, the guard decides to fire off another round of questioning in between spear thrusts.

“Kid, what’s wrong? Don’t you have an idea? Don’t you know what to do? That’s why you told us about the marks, didn’t you? What do those wounds on the monsters’ shins mean?”

“...”

Diegi, kneeling and looking down at his uselessly dangling hands, does not respond.

The guards knock back another group of monsters. Teeth gritted, sword and spear tracing elaborate trails in the air as the two guards demonstrate their prowess, they continue to fight. But the monsters don’t stop coming.

“Kid, I’m serious! What’re you trying to tell us? Come on, you can trust old Linderton here. You have some idea, right? Don’t be afraid to tell us! We need an idea, now!”

“...”

Diegi, with the smallest, least perceptible smile still slapped on his face, does not respond.

The guards knock back another group of monsters. Linder— Linderton, rather— is seriously flagging. The cuts are accumulating on his body much faster than they are on Michael’s. He can hardly hold on the gold spear up, relying moreso on momentum than applied force to continue swinging.

Linderton, facing his left, banks off of the force of a previous swing and deftly flips his spear so that the point slices into the head of a monster approaching from the right. In this way, he protects himself from an attack in his blind spot— but kills his aggressor, and so prompts more tutorial monsters to be born. Against an enemy that clones itself upon death, even victories are quickly turned into defeats: One newly spawned beast scores a direct raking swipe against Linderton’s torso, ravaging his already decimated armor.

Linderton calls out one last time.

“Kid, don’t just sit there!? What do you know? TELL US SOMETHING! SAY SOMETHING, PLEASE!”

Diegi— does not respond. Not directly, anyway.

A small laugh escapes from Diegi’s curved lips as he surveys the insurmountable odds. Does he have an idea? What does he know? What can he say?

Nothing. He’s got nothing. All he had was a clue, and all he was clinging to was the hope that someone else would be able to figure out something for him.

The hope: that he would be able to sit back and delegate all his problems to a competent team of artificial allies, just like how it was when he was sitting behind a computer.

> Who do I know here? Who can help me? There’s Vivian, Equo… Gloria… can they help me? No, they can’t. None of them can. Right now, I’m on my own.

The desire: that just because of him existing, the situation would sort itself out and an answer would come screaming from the heavens.

> Incompetents. I’m surrounded by incompetents. NPCs only exist for the good of the player, don’t they? To elevate my experience? So if they can’t even do that… how many times has a person in this damn world inconvenienced themself to help me? Reached out to me, to help? Lent their shoulder when I was sad? Shaped their lives around me, tended to my needs, carried me through the game… Called me by my name…? Isn’t that their job? To help me… to help ME! To support ME! ME!

The expectation: that the world would structure itself around him and his needs, because he was the chosen.

> Screw them. I can do it on my own. How do I get out of this? How do I get OUT of this? They can’t kill ME… not ME not ME not ME not again not again not…

The understanding: that all he had to do was ask nicely, even beg if necessary, and the unthinking NPCs would provide.

Were the guards still trying to talk to him? Had they been yelling at him, begging him for a clue? Had they admonished him, for being useless? Had they tried to comfort him, even while they were being worn down to their last legs?

Does it really matter what they’re saying? They’re not Diegi. And because they’re not Diegi, he’ll never know what they’re thinking, why they might leave him, why they might treat him like he doesn’t exist, like he’s not enough, like waste to be discarded.

The certainty: that as long as he pretended it was alright, if he made enough jokes if he told enough gags if he gave enough sly grins, everything would be.

…

Gone is the cool, suave, wisecracking Diegi. Or at least the image of him that existed in Diegi’s mind. In its place sits a simple frightened boy, up to his things in long bloodied grass. Nothing to show for himself, not even the borrowed clothes on his back. Unable to do anything but watch a tragedy play out before his eyes, he sits shuddering on his rear in the grass. Sheltered. Protected. But not really protected at all. It’s only a matter of time before the guards fall. From the wild look in his eyes and the veritable waterfall of sweat pouring off of him, Diegi’s distress is clear to see. And yet, trembling as it is, that small grin refuses to be wiped off his face. He’s still smiling. Why is he still smiling? Even in the face of such odds? Even as he’s likely about to be killed?

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

Really now…

Just who could Diegi blame for this series of misfortunes?

> Did I make the wrong choice? Should I have stuck with Equo and the others? No, it’s obvious— anyone would have chosen to abandon the adventurers there! Hell, they deserved it for kidnapping me!

He’s acting as if he’s too stunned to move. All he can do is shakily breathe, and reflect, and reflect, and reflect.

> Should I have told the Guild the truth about not being able to fight? But I had to, I had to, I had to make them think I mattered, or they wouldn’t have let me in!

No, perhaps that’s inaccurate. It’s not that he’s choosing not to move. He can’t.

> Should I have decided to actually help the adventurers from the start instead of stalling them?

> Should I have made an effort to stick with Gloria?

> Should I have tried harder to let the townspeople know that the monster attack was real?

> Should I have taken a more direct route to the Guild Hall instead of planning an escape?

> Should I have listened to Gloria when she warned me about the original monster?

> Should I have asked her about why she’s so scared of monsters?

> Why she’s always so anxious? Asked about anything for the sake of it, instead of for satisfying my own curiosity and making myself look good?

> Should I have… cared?

> No. No, no— they aren’t my responsibility. It should be the other way around, that’s how games work. I have to focus on myself. Myself. Right, myself…

> Should I have tried harder to level up my attributes? To train my avatar? Judging by how fast Agility increased, it shouldn’t have been too hard. Why didn’t I think of doing that? But— I thought it was going to be okay… I mean, it’s MYTH, it’s my world! How many hours have I spent in this game, dominating it, shaping it, to the point that whole internet communities were built around discussion about me? It wasn’t hard then. Felt like I’d find a new exploit every day without even trying to. So why should I have to put in effort now? Why should I… why didn’t I?

> Forget others… Why didn’t I even take care of myself…?

That quality of being unable to move. It’s not a matter of his body. He’s in perfectly good health, aside from being a little tired.

> If I die here… if these monsters kill me…

It’s a paralysis of the mind, the first grasping attempts of a self-absorbed consciousness to understand the gravity of his surroundings.

> If I have to do it all again… and again... and again...

And as he, for what might as well be the first time in his life, like a chick hatching from an egg, probes the surface of his own psyche…

> How many times? My sanity... Just what would happen to me?

…he prepares to dive in, to take a good hard look at reality.

This entire time, he’s been treating this world like a game. There weren’t any real consequences, he could do whatever he wanted. Even when he’d died, he’d been pretty depressed about it, but the reality of his reincarnation still hadn’t really set in. But now he’s had some time in the world, has had his confidence chipped at by an unprecedented streak of failures, now he can’t even fall back on his humor as a cushion.

> I shouldn’t die. It isn’t my fault! Why should I die? None of this— it ISN’T MY FAULT!

None of the events can be linked back to him, none of the events that lead to him being here, sniveling on the grass, faced with the prospect of imminent death, faced with the prospect of only his own imminent death, no matter the others, no matter the others, because honestly?

It doesn’t make sense. How could any of this, any of this, possibly be his fault? He’s always gotten away with it before, online, in school, among friends. A provocation, a snide remark, a tiny white lie— if you don’t get caught, then it isn’t your fault. If you don’t have to fix it, then it isn’t your problem.

He shouldn’t be punished, because none of this was his fault. He’s tried his best! He’s really, really tried. Even if, by some strange coincidence, this situation is his fault— which it isn’t— then no one could blame him, because he’s tried his best. So really, he should have nothing to feel bad about.

Just a small grin isn’t enough. Diegi makes his lips curl into that same cocky smile he knows so well. Slowly, slowly, they form that familiar sneer. He’s confident. He’s in control. He’s the Trolegi— an infamous internet legend, not some pathetic kid. It’s alright. He can get out of this. So he opens his mouth, and even as the battle continues around him, he prepares one of his finest jokes yet. One sure to turn his view of the world on its head, to give him a burst of confidence. And with it, he’ll find a new Key. Something or someone will come screaming out of the sky to save him.

It’s as if something is caught in his throat. Diegi works to part his smirking lips— are they really even smirking anymore?

Or have they been hanging slightly agape all along, listening to Diegi’s subconscious rather than his surface thoughts?

Maybe Diegi’s body had accepted reality before his brain.

He can’t even tell anymore. And so, what comes from deep inside, making Diegi feel like he’s ripping his throat apart with the sheer volume of the cry:

“AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!”

He can’t do it. Raging at the world. Raging, raging, raging, Diegi can only feel rage. It isn’t fair. Automod wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Failure after failure after failure, ever since he got to this crazy world. He can try and hide it, but they're eating away at him inside. It’s as if everything is out to drive him insane, as if the world itself is doing everything it can to punish him. Like the world was making it its job to ruin his experience for its own humor and pleasure. For no other reason except that it could. That it had chosen him as its own personal plaything.

The crowd of monsters only continues to grow— how many, he can’t even begin to estimate anymore. Throwing out 2,000 as a guess would seem like a bad joke. 5,000? 10,000? It’s as if every single monster on the battlefield had converged on this one specific point near the Paxdom gates. Probably because they had.

Through vision blurred with the beginning of tears, Diegi watches himself make the motion to open the Main Menu. He can’t scream anymore— he feels like the walls of his throat are rubbed raw. So all he can do is watch himself act. He watches himself navigate to the Inventory. The screen blips open in front of him, displaying rows and rows of icons representing his stored items. Most of them are bits of seemingly useless black monster goo. But not all. Diegi watches himself violently shove his fist into one of the relatively few icons that resemble a rock, thrusting with what feels like enough force to shatter glass— but not the intangible screens. Instead, the Inventory screen disappears with a pleasant chime, and he feels the weight of a stone appear in his hand. Just one stone. But that’s enough.

“Heh heh heh.”

He’s laughing at this point. A hoarse, terribly quiet noise. But he’s not laughing out of mirth, or joy, or even the sadistic pleasure he gets from making others angry, from being the center of attention, for forcing others to acknowledge his existence. Not even the deep belly laugh he gets from the joys of being a troll.

It’s a laugh of pure, unbridled, raw, unfiltered, surging, unfettered, roaring, unrestrained, anger.

Anger at the world, at the NPCs, at Automod, at everyone and everything. And deep down, even at himself. Because no matter how many mental hoops he jumps through, he knows the truth. No amount of coping, denying, or raging will change the truth. He knows he can't change the past. He knows that better than anyone. He has experience. Both as a troll and as a person. He knows it all too well.

He knows in his heart of hearts, that this monster attack… it’s his fault. His fault more than anyone else’s, at least.

It's not like Diegi doesn't have any experience with anger. As an infamous troll, he's seen plenty of it. In most online arguments, it doesn't matter who's right or wrong, because by the end both sides are so angry that they won't listen to the other out of pure spite. Anger is the last resort of the fool who's lost sight of reason. The trick to being a good troll is to kill anger, to kill your emotion of anger, taking every development with a smirk and an easygoing chuckle. Playing others like a fiddle, morality and veracity aside, pitting their fiery feelings up against one another, letting all the bottled anger inside him flow out and into others through the screen. That's how Diegi got to where he did, an infamous... no, the most infamous MYTH troll. If only he could remember that mindset now.

As anger courses through his veins, puppeteering his limbs like electricity does a machine, Diegi can hardly hold himself up from all the shaking. It's just him and one stone, against a horde of tutorial monsters. His guards are unconscious. As far as he can see, the guards and adventurers are being overwhelmed. In just a few moments, they'll be upon him. So, what does he do?

He balances the stone in his hand. He lifts his arm, positioning his hand slightly behind his head. He tenses his muscles. He whips his arm forward. A musical tone rings in his head, but he can hardly process—

*whiff*

The result of all that rage, that he’s desperately seeking to express, is nothing more than the whistle of a lone thrown stone as it flies through the air.