Chapter LIII: Forsaken

            It’s been awhile since we’ve seen Nash. Let’s see what she’s doing...

 

            She seems to be standing in line for recruitment at The Garrison. A lot of people who volunteered to fight from Quinholm were actually with her, and since she had nothing better to do with her life, she decided, why not join in the front lines?

 

            I mean, she’s a f*cking shape-shifter that can turn into a large snake that breathes magical acid. It’s almost convoluted not to go to war with a power like that. Besides, being rejected despite your high expectations for someone would make you want to charge in headfirst into a swordfight.

 

            I guess she couldn’t really handle it when Credo said he’s in love with someone else.

 

            Back when she kissed him at Quinholm, she immediately followed up a confession. Of course, our Harem King isn’t uninterested towards her, but the guy has other things in mind:

 

            “I can’t do it. I’m sorry but... I love you a whole lot, Nash, but not in the way that you want me to. I... I’m really sorry.”

 

            “Oh... You mean, after all this time, after everything we’ve been through, you’re just gonna p*ssy out like this?”

 

            “No! I mean, I would like that... Very much, actually... But I-“

 

            “It’s her, isn’t it?”

 

            “Well...”

 

            “Answer me!”

 

            “Yes! Okay! It’s Anna, alright? She... She needs someone to look after her and-“

 

            “I knew it. You’re trying to be ‘righteous’ again.”

 

            “No, I’m not!”

 

            “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Salome? You know, you’re a really nice guy, but this little ‘nice person’ act you’re doing doesn’t make you any more sensible... I can’t believe you’re doing this again for the sake of the same idealistic bullsh*t you’re trying to pull.”

 

            “I’m doing this because I love her, you cheeky little...”

 

“[1] JESUS BALLS AND A*S-C**K!”

 

            I’m sorry, what? What the hell is happen- Oh, my Lord! What in the name of The King of Heavens is that?

 

            That looks like something straight out of a horror movie! The guy has a large tumor on his back!

            Oh, wait. That’s not a tumor. It’s just some Orc carrying a large egg sac on his back. Must be one of those [2] Jumping Flame Spiders that the [2] Rendas siblings made. It’s pretty effective in battle since the spider actually follows the target and leaps at its face once deployed.

 

            Nash accidentally bumped into it while she was spacing out as she waited in line. She noticed that lots of other fighters of various shapes and sizes are in line with her, and she felt as though she were one of these freaks. Behind her was a man who looks like he drank an entire bottle of the [3]Murder of Crows vigor, with black feathers encompassing his whole arm and talons protruding from his fingers. To her right was a woman wearing a pair of black greaves and a full helmet... The lewdness intensifies, however, when Nash sees that the only thing the woman has for a top was a bandage covering her chest, and the sheathe at her waist was the only thing covering her bottoms.

 

            As she pondered on how many weirdos she was with, the guy to her left seemed quite normal. He was wearing light armor as if he were a brigand, with a matching skullcap helm and a short sword on his back, but upon closer inspection, his eyes seemed as if they were soulless.

 

            Nash has seen that look before. It’s the eyes of someone warped in bitterness.

            He seems pretty nervous compared to the other would-be recruits in the lines who were eager to kill some Demons. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the guy probably has diarrhea...

 

            Well, whatever the case, Nash’s big-sister-instincts kick in and she involuntarily approaches him with a caring look on her face. This girl has a tendency of sticking her nose in other people’s businesses, but seeing how helpless the guy looks, she couldn’t resist trying to check on him. Actually... no. It’s just the guy looks like Credo. That’s why she’s concerned.

 

            “Are you alright?”, she asks with a caring tone.

 

            No response.

 

            Defeated, she awkwardly walks back in line with a pout- Oh, wait she’s back.

 

            “Excuse me... Um... Sir? Is everything okay?”

 

            This time she tugs on his sleeve after asking, but despite her honest efforts, he instead replies coldly.

 

            “I’m fine.”

 

            Nash backs away with a sad expression on her face.

 

            “I was only trying to help! I swear, guys are such sore losers when they’re weak!”

 

            As she exclaims this in her mind, she slowly let it go and wandered off to her thoughts about Credo while the line starts to move forward.

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            I know it’s kinda late but welcome to the Garrison, dear reader. This great structure serves as the boundary between the Plaguelands and The Lower Kingdom. It stretches up to 51 kilometers along the western edge of the region and connects with the end point of Origami Canyon. Its walls are built with Blast Furnace Cement and reinforced with [4] Melange Steel. Of course I haven’t the slightest clue what the hell those things are but it sounds badass enough to be considerably strong.

 

            Warriors and war-freaks of various shapes and sizes are invited to join in the fight regardless of their background in exchange for a hefty amount of gold coins. All that is asked of them is consent for a harmless little probe to be injected into their bloodstream so that their movements can be tracked during their time of service.

 

            This lax process of admission is due to the fact that Stygians and Acolytes attack the Garrison periodically, averaging about 20 minutes after each wave. As you can imagine, dear reader, not everyone survives the many waves of Demons that attack, and up until now the number of casualties still exceed the number of recruits every month. And so, with the help of Atlanta Corporation, the General of The Lower Kingdom was able to get his hands on a system that tracks and manages all expendable units.

 

            Wanna know the name?

 

            “[5] Bugbait.”

 

            And that’s where the guy Nash was talking to earlier comes in, when he is first brought into the frontlines.

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Si Pilemon

 

I

His mind is young, his thoughts are plagued

The blade in his hand bears no weight

All it takes is a memory, a single scene to remember

His blood will boil; he can’t be saved

 

Pilemon, his name. A ghost of a man

Swore vengeance made with the blood in his hands

A soldier of The Garrison, nameless and expendable

It mattered not how fast or how far he ran

 

As a child, he was loved; a simple boy.

But his joy was because he knew not of his fate

A simple day in his home had a turn for the worse

Such a pain, such a curse, such a pitiable ploy

 

His mother had just made the last meal for the day

But for her, the last meal she’ll ever have

His father stood up with a blade in his hand

Just as they sat together at the table to pray

 

The dark filled the horizon as night approached

The silence, uncanny and too loud to ignore

Not a sound to be heard as the door slowly opened

And it was there they knew what had encroached

 

Sheer terror grips tightly against the man of the house

His small farm barely had profit to spare

So why do these men shimmer with avarice?

What could they possibly want with his son and spouse?

 

“Stay back!” He says with a false sneer

His visitors, unimpressed, pulled out their blades

They were armed to the teeth, these rugged thugs

And slowly, a sharp pain triggers the fear

 

A flood of crimson spills from his breath

His beloved wife screamed, unable to coupe

And as the culling iron rips away from his wake,

He felt her embrace... and the embrace of death

 

Young Pilemon was unable to stay upright.

They take the knife to his mother and do the same.

He stood there, senselessly denying the truth.

It was a pity they let him live that night.

 

II

Now, he takes his sword, weightless as ever,

Unafraid of the fact that he is thrown into hell.

No expression in his eyes as he stood in front.

His brothers-in-arms behind him, trying to be clever.

 

The gates are opened, he rushes head-first.

A fit of rage fans the flames in his eyes.

He cuts down these Demons, relentless, enraged,

Until that well of crimson finally quenches his thirst.

 

What he witnessed, he just can’t erase.

The life he lived can’t be returned.

With each Stygian killed, a drop of blood pours

But there are some things you just can’t replace.

 

His strikes grow dull, his blade weighs more,

His allies fall, their defenses crumble,

Brought to their knees, brutalized and battered,

As their enemies continue to howl and roar.

 

He found himself stumbling, taking a knee.

His rage-filled heart started to quiver.

A river of crimson has flown through his wake,

But the familiar color refused to let him flee.

 

The trumpets are sound, the sound of retreat.

What’s left of his comrades turn tail and run.

Every man for himself, desperate to hide.

Only he faces forward, back on his feet.

 

He rushes blindly, that foolish warrior.

Tearing through the horde, drunk in self-righteousness.

Breathing in blood. Spewing out rage.

Intoxicated, addicted to its flavor.

 

There is no rest, though the beg for respite.

There is no fear, despite the anxious call.

There is no God, even when he begs for mercy.

All he wants is to fight and fight.

 

It’s not over until every Demon is cut down,

Even if they have to choke to death on his skull.

This field shall run red, but it won’t be enough.

Nothing else matters, so long as they all drown.

 

III

 

His face is pale; his vision is blurring.

The scent of steel wafts at his side.

The pain, as cold and unbearable as the winter chill.

But his insides, they feel as if they’re burning.

 

He starts to crumble as the pain begins to spread.

The weight of the world starts to crush his bones.

An agonizing sting breaks his steadfastness.

Somehow he finds he’s half-past dead.

 

A shard of mana from an Acolyte’s hand,

A rusted blade from a Stygian’s arm,

And large sets of teeth tearing off his skin,

With this, he couldn’t possibly stand.

 

He screams, as loud as he did on his parents’ grave.

But these Demons loved the fresh taste of his flesh.

One by one, they hold him down, helpless,

A soul that not even God can save.

 

Pilemon thrashes as they bite through his bones.

Ravenous, these Demons start to pull him apart,

Hungrily tearing up the pieces of meat,

Until all that’s left is a dying man’s groans.

 

Such is the folly of those who frequent passion.

Like lambs to the slaughter, they tread blindly,

Born sick, living unwell, and dying namelessly.

In the end, pity is what’s left from the action.

 

And that’s the end of Pilemon’s life,

Cold, alone, and strangled by the pain,

His innards pulled out like a gutted animal,

A fate far worse than a stab with a knife.

 

If only he’d listened; if only he tried

To make do of his life instead of throwing it away.

If only he’d shown himself some mercy,

He’d never have fought and died.

 

As the sun sets upon his rotting corpse,

And the Demons were satisfied from that last bite,

Pilemon is no more than a nameless soldier

That God had forsaken in this world that warps.

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References:

1. Quoted from Markiplier

2. Scroll item from The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim

3. Vigor from Bioshock Infinite

4. G-Level ore from Monster Hunter Freedom Unite

5. Weapon from Half-Life 2 that lets the player control Antlions

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[❀Subaru_Nyaa!
..]

Wouldn't the word Forsaken be better in place of Abandoned in this line? "
That God had abandoned in this world that warps."