Guts goes limp. I whip my head to the side seconds too late. The image of him slumped over a crimson mouthed Borg remains in my mind with absurdly sharp clarity even when my eyes have squeezed shut. I grip my thighs, the dull throb of nails digging into flesh, staunching the gagging noise that rise up my throat.

“Kuh…”

Not entirely successful, but I’ll take what I can get. It’s still better that then what I was about to do, which going by the churn of my stomach, would be to puke.

The visceral scene replays in my head – Borg’s head snapping forward, the gaping hole in Guts’ pale throat, the endless dribbling of blood down his slender neck.

Jin Ma loved slasher flicks and made me watch them when he got the chance. I would beg out of those if I could, but I was never able to escape the family nights with him and Auntie Bao, rare as they were, where he would inevitably showcase his love for gore by putting on shows featuring gratuitous death and blood.

I can stomach intense action and violence. It’s just that after a certain point, moments of intense terror and savagery, manufactured or not, have a way of sticking with the mind. I feel that in my lowest moments, they’ll come back to haunt me like vengeful ghosts. The helplessness of watching something happen, without the chance to do anything about it… I hate it.

It is messed up, but if Guts had to die, why didn’t it at least happened when I wasn’t looking?

“Gege,” Goblin A complains. The affronted sound drags me back to the present.

I don’t know how, but I ended up leaning entirely on the goblin. Not wanting to smother it, I try to move my body. Unfortunately, I lack energy and willpower. My limbs remain unresponsive, so I’m left with no other choice than to continue leaning on the poor creature.

“Gegege,” Goblin A calls again.   

“Shut up and give me a minute,” I whisper. I concentrate on the sound of my own breathing as the air fills with sharp, crackling sounds drifting over from Borg’s location. Those sounds are soon overlapped by loud and raucous gagging. It sounds like one of the men, Rye, maybe. Scar didn’t seem that weak willed.

“Ugh,” Leon grunts. “I’m not cleaning up this mess. Let’s hope he manages to finish what he’s started, eh?” A rustle of grass as he shifts his weight. “Sheesh, you’re paler than a noble’s tit. I can hold you if you’d like.”

“I’m fine…” Fae sounds as if she’s either going to burst into tears or collapse in a dead faint. I can feel the ghostly warmth of her body as her shadow on the grass sways side to side. “Remember what mother said,” Fae’s mutter is so inaudible I don’t think anyone without enhanced hearing can hear it. “D-Don’t ever look at Borg in the middle of his meal.”

Shit. I can’t believe a kid had to watch that happen. I drag myself out of my self-pity for a moment. This isn’t the time to feel sorry for myself, I can cry myself into a ball later.

I dredge up whatever strength I can feel under the numbness. To my relief, some feeling has returned to my arms. My legs are still a wobbling mess, but that’s fine. I’m snug where I am. With what I just witnessed, getting caught if I decide to run would be ten times worse than enduring this.

I maneuver my ungloved hand to grasp Goblin A’s shoulder. I push myself upright, or as upright as I can get while staying hunched over. It’s too risky when my stomach continues to churn a rabid washing machine. If I open my mouth, unmentionables are bound to go flying.

I tilt my head to look at Fae. As her name implies, the girl has a wispy figure, tiny and almost fairy-like. Her size is on par with mine, making it easy to observe her closely without subjecting myself to a sore neck. Contrary to how she looked when she saved me from the Serpent Glade, like a paladin angel descended from the heavens, Fae now looks small. Frail. That’s not mentioning her outfit, which upon a closer inspection, is a little… mismatched.

A tattered long-sleeved shirt covers her upper body, patches of dark stains standing out against what must once have been a bright, cheerful shade of blue. On top of that is a breastplate, barely held in place by weathered straps encircling her underarms.

Ill-fitting and thin, it doesn’t look as if it could stand against a single strike even from a half-dead goblin. Her knee high boots don’t fare better. They’re dirty and look several sizes too big. Bits of cloth circling the area below her knee keep them from flapping.

Two things that look starkly out of place are her vambraces, which is rich dark brown colour, and the metal choker worn low near the base of her neck. The latter looks more an accessory than a piece of armour, due to the emblazoned crest in its center.

Fae’s status window said she was a noble. Coupled with what the men gossiped about earlier, I think I can guess how she ended up with this bunch. It’s enough to make someone wince.

The daughter of an imprisoned noble, barely into her teens, surrounded by enemies in her ragtag armour with a small hand axe and magic as her only defense.

Man, what a terrible set of cards to be dealt. I take in Fae’s side profile. Her hands are clenched, shoulders tightly bunched. It’s probably because of the awful crunching sounds Borg has started making… or the exertion of staying weary of those men.

Before I know it, I reach out to touch her shoulder.

Fae swivels her head to look at me. We lock gazes. I make my grip firm and try to give her a sympathetic a look as possible. A challenge, considering I can’t know what I look like. Likely constipated.

I don’t trust myself to say any comforting words since I don’t know how she’ll react, but I hope what I’m doing distracts her enough to get her mind off things. For her not lose their collective shit after what happened to Guts is worthy of a thousand praises. If Amaz*n existed in this world, I’d offer to buy her whatever she damn wanted.

Fae returns my unblinking stare, looking baffled as seconds tick by. Her jaw gradually unclenches. The air about her softens, just a tad. Is my care stare working? Hopefully, I’m not imagining this.

“Filthy– get your hands off her!” Leon rips my hand off her shoulder. “You alright, Fae girl? Did this divine forsaken creature hurt you?”

The soft, vulnerable look in her eyes is instantly replaced by a hard edge. “It wouldn’t have,” she says.

“Don’t be naïve. You haven’t seen their true natures. The beasts they turn into during mating season is more terrifying than Nightmares who sink their teeth into prey.” Leon’s glare drills into me. “It’s not safe for you to be getting this close to a goblin. Especially this one. I doubt it’s female. It looks too creepy for that.”

“Ge!” Shut up, I don’t want to hear that from you. And how can he tell? For all he knows, this body could be male. But that’s a concern I can leave for later.

He flings my hand away, which I should be the one doing. His blatant hypocrisy could be as infectious as his hormones. From what I observe, the goblins here don’t deserve to be despised like the ones in G*blin Slayer. What did they ever do to him?

I’ve been holding back from making snap judgements about Leon, but wow, he’s making it easy to hate him.

Fae starts. “That is–”

“Good taste.” Borg’s booming voice immediately makes Fae and Leon return to their previous stances. They stiffly turn to face him, and I do the same. “Borg feels better now that he is less hungry.”

Scar asks, “Was the Orc to your liking, General Borg?” He uses a tone that borders on simpering. It becomes kind of hilarious when I turn and see Scar wearing a bland, almost bored expression. The man’s an actor.

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“Guts have tiny bit of slimy Slugg taste. His meat is quite good, but his bones… Orc bones not tasty. Crunch too many and teeth hurt. Borg prefer the horns from Mossy Goats. More flavour.”

I lift my gloved hand as Borg remains preoccupied with licking whatever’s left of Guts off his hands. I stare at him through the webbing.

Borg the Maneater

Ravager

LVL 22

Status Effect: -

Borg plucks a lone, awkwardly bent orc finger off the ground. He tosses it into his mouth. An abominable crunch fill the air. Rye starts to choke, and Scar gives him a couple of firm pats on the back.  

“Humans, don’t forget.” Borg bares his teeth in a beastly grin. “Master Asura likes you, but he likes Borg many times more. Orcs not safe, humans even less. Next time you slow again… my next meal be you!”

Hearing him rips a memory from the depths of mind–

I watch incredulously as my character’s HP drains to zero the moment his purple spiked weapon makes contact. The screen shakes as my character collapses onto the ground whilst their eyes remain affixed on the towering Orc enemy.

“What!?” I yell at the screen. “This is complete bullshit!”

Borg the Maneater’s booming laugh floats through the headset.

“Stupid human, my next meal be you!”

The Orc laughs joyously, bending down with his jaws wide open as the screen fades to black. I nearly throw the mouse across the room when a white, bolded text pops up saying – YOU HAVE DIED.

Back in the present, Borg laughs joyously. The nearby orcs quickly join in and the air reverberates with a chorus of nasally voices.

I can’t believe this. It’s really him. Borg the Maneater. The enemy NPC from my best friend brother’s game stands before me in the flesh.

One of the first boss level monsters players of Ascendance will encounter should they choose to liberate a castle in the Dark Zone. It was a side quest, unpopular due to the strict condition of being under a certain level in order to access it.

Borg’s name isn’t the only thing that’s identical to his counterpart in the game. His pauldron, that unfathomable hunger of which not even his allies are exempt, as I once read in his flavour text.

I didn’t simply die. I’ve either found my way into the video game or am in a world based off of it. I’m more inclined to take the latter as the real explanation, because the first is… well, it’s freaking impossible.

I lived as Han Mei Ling. Died as her. I’m not a bunch of code programmed with her memories, I was her. Still am. My body might have changed but I am fundamentally the same twenty year old moron who got murdered in the name of vengeance.

I take a deep, calming breath. Let’s not forget the biggest and most glaring difference. Fae, Leon, Scar and Rye… I know for a fact I have never seen them in Ascendance. Though that theory might not hold water, they could’ve been background cannon fodder for all I know, it’s more believable than the idea I’m stuck in a game.

“The game interface… I need to find out more about it,” I mutter. “There has got to be a proper explanation for this madness.” I seal my lips when Fae glances over her shoulder. She blinks, momentary confusion crossing her face, before she turns back to Borg.

“Duly noted, General,” Rye says, pale-faced.

“Good listening. Now that meal is finished, it is time we go back. We have enough of what we come for.” Borg retraces his previous path, gliding over the grass through the parted sea of orcs. With his back to us, I can finally see the cartoonishly large weapon hanging off his back.

A fur covered wooden handle, a circular head of metal tipped with poisonous looking, purple spikes half the size of an adult finger. Borg’s mace is exactly how I remember it. This gnarly piece of junk has killed my character more times than I can bear. That level cap was seriously the stupidest idea ever. How can anyone under level 20 beat this orc?

“Where are the items we brought back?” Leon asks when Scar and Rye joins him. Fae stares after Borg, not looking bothered to mingle. Luckily, they’re standing close enough for me to eavesdrop despite Fae’s presence putting some distance between us.

“Handed off to the orcs,” Scar replies. “Relax, I already grabbed whatever gold I could find.”

Rye nods. “Yeah, so did I.” He takes out a small satchel and hands it to Leon. It bulges with something, and I catch a flash of sparkly silver peeking from the mouth of the satchel. “Not only that, though. Inside is all of the good stuff I dug up from the sacks we took from those goblins.”

Leon undoes the strap and peeks inside. “Goodd enough.” He looks at Scar. “And where’s my share from yours?” When Scar doesn’t move, Leon’s mouth smile turns into a sneer. “We don’t have all day. Anytime now would be good, old man.”

“Hah. You’re going to receive it with your face?”

“Fuck.” Leon thrusts his hand out. He immediately checks the satchel Scar hands over to him. “Only gold? This shit ain’t worth the ore it’s stamped on.”

Scar snorts. “The sacks I carried didn’t have any realm stones. Rye probably gave you everything he found. Both he and I have none, so you ought to get over yourself, youngster.”  

“We’re not doing this.” Rye immediately interjects when Leon takes threatening step forward. “Are both of you deaf, or was I the only person who heard the General’s warning?”

“Lighten up, Rye. I was just gonna make Scar to show me his bounty,” Leon says.  

At this, Scar grunts out a laugh and lifts his hand off the handle of his sword. “Right, you only had good intentions.” Rye shoots Scar a scathing glare. “I’ll be just fine without them.”

Leon continues, “And stop calling that sadistic beast a general. All these bastards make me want to hurl. Bunch of monsters parading around on borrowed power. Lord Asura is the only one we’ve got to respect. Everything else under him are nothing more than mere pets.”

I shake my head as the three start arguing. That Rye guy really has my pity. He seems used to defusing arguments. He’s resigned to his fate, perhaps. Considering Borg threatened to cannibalize them, he has good reason to step in before Scar and Leon start throwing fists. Three humans against a horde of Orcs can only have one outcome.

Fae brushes past me, slinking away from the men and moving slightly further up front. I quietly follow, dragging Goblin A along with me. It lets itself get tugged along without the typical “Gegege,” of disapproval.

Borg stands on the raised platform stands below the imposing stone arch. In the shadow of the ruins around us, it makes him look far more dangerous. Sunlight glints off the object in his hand, outlining a squareish piece of crystal with numerous jagged edges.

Borg lifts his hand. Over the buzzing hubbub of the orcs, his low timbred chant drifts toward us with the wind.

“Tral ight orhear,” the crystal becomes a pinprick of blinding white light, dazzling. “Cre cha ith ere apleny.”

“Tral ight orhear, cre cha ith ere apleny,” Fae repeats the strange sentences under her breath, almost as if possessed. “Tral ight orhear, cre cha ith ere apleny.” Fae’s shoulders rise as she breathes. “Once more, I will carve it in my memory.”

The empty space between the stone arch ripples. The air begins to shimmer, a light spreading outwards from the center like a spiderweb of cracks. Soon, the entire space spills with a blinding light, enough to make me wince. Still, I wonder where it leads.

“Nexus…” The word rolls off my tongue without my noticing. Weird. “Where did that come from?” I press my fingers against my temple. “I really need a nap to get rid of this stress.”

Witnessing another feat of magic, and by an Orc no less, drives away some of my exhaustion. Does this mean humans are not the only ones capable of casting spells? More importantly, does it mean I’ll be able to learn how to shoot lightning from my fingertips?

I guess there are minor differences between this world and the game, after all. I don’t recall any creatures from Ascendance being capable of this kind of magic.

Scar strides past me and comes up beside the Fae. “Watching Borg use that Relic again? I can understand your obsession. It’s truly a sight to behold.”

“Imagine if the heroes could find a way to do this,” she says.

Scars immediately places a hand on her shoulder. “Quiet.” He casts a glance around them. “What are you thinking? If they hear you… if Leon hears you…” There is a faint growl to his voice. “As long as I’m around, he won’t try anything too bad. Just make sure to avoid being alone with ‘em.”

“I know,” Fae says quietly. She looks up at him. “Thank you, Sir Scar.”

“This is all I can do. Don’t expect anything else.”

“I understand.” Fae slips him a tiny satchel she retrieves from her somewhere on her person. “Here. As we agreed on.”

“Good. You keep your end of the bargain and give me whatever realm stones you find, and I’ll do my best to make your life easier.” Scar shakes his head. “If I were a better man, I’d hate myself for moochin’ off a kid,” he gripes. “But I’m here, working with orcs and goblins. Might as well go all the way.”

“You’re here because the Demon Lord promised you something you could not bear to turn away,” Fae says. “If I was offered the chance, I would take it. Especially if it meant me and mother would be allowed to return to the kingdom.”

“You best forget about Helia.” Scar turns his head to the side, allowing me a glimpse of his face. His expression is pitying, perhaps even gloomy. “You will never see that place again.”

A cacophony of shouts drag my attention off the two and towards the stone arch. Orcs march through the shimmering veil of silver light. Some carry chests on their shoulders, others bulging sacks.

An orc standing off to the side waves impatiently at us. “Borg already through. Master’s humans, go quick!”

I feel a presence behind me before I find myself dragged  by the arm. The culprit, Rye, pulls me and Goblin A by the shoulder, moving with such speed and ferocity that my arm feels like it’s about to pop out of its socket. Great, I’m about to become damaged goods.

“Finally,” Rye exclaims. “Back to the Dark Zone we go.” The silver veil grows closer until we’re mere inches from it. There’s no point in trying to escape his hold, which grips me tighter than a python’s death squeeze. “Alright. Stress relief, here I come!”

Before I can protest, we plunge into the silver light.