Chapter Text
“Oh god… What- where am I?”
Wrong. Something is wrong. Eyes won’t open, legs won’t work, chest feels heavy, and that noise- it keeps attacking.
Cold, so cold. The head is stuck to the floor, cheeks absorbing all that frost emanating from the stone. Weak, so so weak. Hands and arms don’t want to move, just barely being able to place palms on the floor, much less lifting him up.
Pain. Pain, pain, pain. Ears feel like they’re going to shatter like glass, and cranium keeps throbbing with each heartbeat, hammering from the inside.
Get up, Alex. Wait, no, Bill. No, moron, it’s Ren. Is it? I thought it was David. Was it?
“H- Help-” Don’t try to talk. Blood comes rushing out of the throat, coughs forcing it out unto the floor. He is now laying between a chilled, unfeeling floor and warm crimson. Get up.
He puts palms to the floor again, and summons all his strength to push himself up. Limbs are almost breaking, muscles are screaming, a ghost itself trying with all his might to exert force upon the physical. Yes, keep going. One foot under him, he shakily props himself upward. He falls into the stone wall. It hurts, of course, but the floor would have hurt more. He limps along the wall, hoping to find somebody to help him. Medicine, a cast, kind words even. Anything.
Limp along, stranger. Limp, and find the truth.
Walk, walk, walk, walk. Stone, stone, stone, stone. Corpse, corpse, corpse, corpse.
The infinite maze keeps stretching. Walk, walk, walk, walk. Cough blood… Walk, walk, walk, walk once more.
Nothing new in this graveyard. Walk, walk, walk, walk a little bit better now. Both legs support the weight of the ghost, keeps coughing, keeps hacking crimson down his hands, leaving a trail on the wall as he walks, walks, walks.
Walk, walk, walk, walk. Stone, stone, stone, stone. Corpse, corpse, corpse, corpse.
The infinite maze keeps stretching. Walk, walk, walk, walk. Stone, stone, stone, stone. Corpse, corpse, corpse, the corpse is moving…. What? Look at it again.
It writhes and turns on the ground, trying to free itself from it’s own skin. He rushes over to aid the corpse, trying to get its attention with words and kindness. “Hey, heyheyhey! I’m here, buddy! Don’t give up!” It keeps writhing and turning, letting out dead moans from its ravaged mouth, missing teeth and bleeding tongue. Could this sickness be what ailed him before? He tries to support the corpse, all sorts of “Hey!” and “Stay with me!”, falling on dead ears. He holds the hand of the corpse as it keeps twitching and turning, until it stops. It lets out a faint last breath, the cold hand grows colder, and its blood keeps spreading. It… It was supposed to live. What happened to it, are there more like it? Get help, before more people suffer this fate.
He hesitates to get up, knees shaking and grip tightening, unable to let go. For the love of god, get up and get help! And ever so slightly, knees straighten out, grip loosens, and it begins again. Walk, walk, walk, walk, leave behind your tears.
The infinite maze keeps stretching. Walk, walk, walk, walk. Stone, stone, stone, stone. Corpse, corpse, corpse, corpse.
Weak, weak, weak, weak legs with each step. Numb, numb, numb, numb arms dangling from his shoulders. Walk, walk, walk- The man stops. He feels as if he carries something. He taps frantically all around his lower body, only feeling cloth, cloth and metal. Metal. He reaches down his right hip, finding a black, metallic artifact. He takes it in his hand, it’s weight becoming more evident. It feels… wrong, in his hands, in a way that almost disgusts him to hold such thing. It fits nicely in his palm, yet he doesn’t want it to. He returns the artifact to his hip, and walks, walks, walks, walks again.
Nothing new in this graveyard. Walk, walk, walk, walk- There is something new in this graveyard. A person, crying to the sky, wails from a shattered soul echoing in the infinite maze. “Hey-” Before the man can get the attention of the faraway wailing soul, it gets swarmed by corpses. They walk and moan, begging the soul for help, they touch and grab the soul’s body, taking it apart and keeping it for themselves. Help, they demand the wailing soul, its cries and screams falling on dead ears, except for two ears. They continue to moan and cry at the soul, until it stops. Unsatisfied, the corpses get up and seek for more help, more arms and legs to keep, more souls to demand help from. They start it again, walk, walk, walk, walk. He should get going too, despite his tears. Walk, walk, walk, walk-
“You! Who are you?!” The knight pointed his lance at the man.
“A knight? You must be the police around here! Please help me, I don’t know how I got here, a-and there are these people that need medical attention, and I think this building is collapsing, I-I just woke up here and don’t know what to do.” His hands shaking, he pleaded with the knight, who still had their his lance at the ready.
The knight raises an eyebrow. “Turn around, look at the wall.”
Eager to please what he thinks is the equivalent of a police officer, he obeys. “Y-yes, of course sir. I will cooperate in any way necessary.” The knight had never seen such clothes before, they were the same shape and followed the same purpose as those of a peasant, but never with such fabric or texture. The knight couldn’t help but wonder the process of creating these clothes. Could he be royalty?
“What’s with the clothes, you some kind high ranking Sanctist?”
“My clothes?” What about his clothes? It’s just a normal shirt and pants, with some nice shoes and a belt to boot. Oh god, what if belts are like, offensive in wherever he finds himself in? Apologize, apologize immediately! “O-Oh, well, I just woke up in these, sir. I’m afraid I couldn’t choose my wardrobe this morning, so I apologize for any trouble I may cause to you.” Also, what is a Sanctist?
What’s with this kid? “Oi, lad. Why do you talk so strangely? You sure you’re not a Sanctist?”
“W-Well, sir, I- *sniff* I was always taught to address authority figures like this where I’m from.” Please stop crying, help has arrived.
“Right.” The knight has made his judgment. “You ain’t royalty, you clearly ain’t a peasant, but you sure are a freak, aren’t ya lad?” The knight raises his lance.
“W-Well, my father always said I was a strange kid.” He shyly looks back, waiting to see a chuckle or even a laugh from the knight, but only sees a lance heading for his back. By instinct, he moves out of the way, clumsily and slowly, not fast enough to dodge unscathed. “Wait!” It slashes his side, marking him with missing flesh and escaping blood.
“Sir, what are you doing?! Do you need medication, is this some sort of episode? I can help, please!” He clutches his side, unable to bend his spine much without causing him more pain.
“Shut it, freak!” The knight goes for another sloppy thrust. The man just barely moves his body out of the way, darting forward and pushing the knight behind him. They both fall, but the man quickly gets up to apologize. “Sorry, I’m sorry! I just- please sir, just put the lance down, I’m afraid that you’re going to hurt me.”
The knight stands up with the lance, points it at the man. “That’s the idea, freak. Stay still!” The man puts his hands forwards, crimson red in color. “No, sir, you’re not well. Maybe you can call your superiors, surely they know what to do in this scenario.”
“My superiors? You mean Lord Louis?” The knight laughed. “I’m doing this to his orders, why else do you think I would be in this filthy, godforsaken cesspool?”
Oh god. The knight can’t be reasoned with, can he? Oh god oh god oh god, please don’t do this. Run away, say you’re sorry a thousand times, or something! Just don’t do this, please. “Sir…” His breath starts to get shaky. “Please don’t come any closer. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The knight almost falls over belly laughing. “You? Hurt me? Not in a million years, lad.”
Don’t do this, for the love of god run away, or just keep dodging, or maybe incapacitate him with those fancy judo moves you saw a long time ago. Whatever that thing on your hip will do, it’s wrong! Stop it! “Not this. Anything but this-”
“Now die!” The knight lunges at the man. Three deafening bangs later, the knight falls over at the man’s feet, a pool of blood tainting his shoes. “Oh god-” He drops the artifact he was holding. It clacks onto the ground, tears start falling into the blood, mixing themselves with the knight’s velvet essence. “I-I’m sorry, please forgive me...”
Dead words for a dead knight. As the knees crumble and the tears try to wash away the guilt, the murderer can’t help but hold the hand of his victim. Tightening the grip, moving the corpse, he refuses to believe his actions, expecting the knight to stand back up. It doesn’t. As the chilled stone floor accepts the new gift, the murderer refuses to move, begging that his guilt will purify him of wielding such an artifact, of the sin of adding another corpse to the infinite maze. But…
Pick it up. Pick up the artifact. He hesitates to even let go of the knight’s hand. If there were one of him, there will be more, pick up the weapon. The murderer has to summon strength greater than when he first awoke to let go of the knight’s hand, fingers locked into place being torn away from their sin. He picks up the artifact, his arm begging to throw it as far as they can, and places it back into his hip. And such it begins again, walk, walk, walk- Stop. Get ready. The tear ridden murderer slowly takes the artifact back into his hand, and points it forwards. Both hands grip the artifact, finger locking over finger, he assumes a pose engraved into his mind. Not of practice, but of admiration. His stance lowers and he places his feet one in front of the other, adhering to a script that no longer applies. And the monster starts again.
Walk, walk, walk, walk. Stone, stone, stone, stone. Corpse, corpse, corpse, corpse.
Murderer, murderer, murderer, murderer.
Every corner that the murderer rounds makes his heart cry. Every step he takes makes his body beg, trying its hardest to keep him awake, to stop the blood from escaping his side. It hurts, and every single movement opens it up more and more. Soon, you will be able to look inside the murderer, and find only darkness. He doesn’t deserve a way out anymore, to escape this graveyard and live, yet he walks. Disgraceful.
As he rounds a corner, the murderer finds… people. Not souls wailing for mercy, not corpses begging for help, nor knights searching for their fallen comrade. No, he finds something much stranger, something new.
There stand a tall, scarlet haired woman. A white clothed, blue haired boy. A silver haired man. These are… different. Have they been trapped here too? Save them, save them! Make it different this time, prove that you aren’t a murderer-
They have weapons. Oh god, they have weapons. The murderer starts breathing heavier, heart’s beating faster. No, stop it! There’s still a chance to make it different. Please, make it different.
“Hands up!” The murderer yells at the group, hands shaking. They turn around in slight hostility, gripping their weapons towards him. Their eyes wide in shock as they see the murderer. Do they recognize him? Oh god, what if they are looking for their fallen comrade?
“Y-You’re-” The blue haired boy tries to speak.
“Don’t move a muscle! Stay right there and get your hands up.” The murderer demands again, as if such people should listen to whatever garbage like him has to say. Yet, they slowly and uneasily, do. The blue haired boy does it first, whispering to his companions to do the same. They reach out to the sky, attempting to appease the murderer.
He stumbles into the wall for a moment, the pain overtaking his body for a second, his mind ever so slightly shattering. “G-get…” He almost can’t get the words out. “Get on your knees, keep your hands up!” Please surrender, please surrender, please surrender.
“Okay.” The blue haired boy speaks, obeying the command. He twists his head, trying to get a different angle on the murderer’s face, desperately trying to recognize him. The scarlet haired woman and the silver haired man follow the blue haired boy to the ground.
The murderer begins his approach. “S-Sorry, but this is for my safety and yours, b-but don’t worry, I’ll get you outta here. You can tell me whatever you wanted to tell me later, alright?”
Blood trails behind his footsteps as he approaches the group, dripping and marking his soles, he fights his own consciousness to stay awake.
“I must ask.” The silver haired man speaks. The murderer points the artifact towards him. “What are you planning to do with that thing, what even is that thing?” His companions look at him in shock. Why is he speaking to the weirdo right now?
“T-This?” The murderer glances upon the artifact. It doesn’t have a name on his mind, only an evil function. Yet, the cursed metal summons a word to the tip of his tongue. “I- I think it’s called a-”
“Stop right there!” A knight spoke from behind the murderer. He turns around to face the knight and- Oh god. He looks just like the other one. Oh god oh god oh god not this again, please don’t do this again.
“Don’t move!” The murderer extends his hand to shield the group. He stumbles in place, the mere extension of his arm almost knocking him out. “Th-These are my prisoners, you will not harm them.”
The knight laughs. “Really? They’re your prisoners now, are they, freak? What’s with the clothes, and that thing in your hands? Are you supposed to be scary?” The knight raises his lance towards the murderer. “This is scary.”
Oh god, he’s just like the other one. Why, why why couldn’t he be different? It’s going to happen again, isn’t it? To let out those deafening bangs across the infinite maze and add another corpse to it? To accept what he is, to delve deeper into degenerate filth? What about the prisoners, would he rather they do it? What will happen if the knight lives? They’ll kill the prisoners, and then there would be more corpses added. No, this is the only way to minimize deaths. The murderer begins to cry, his tears accepting his duty. Pull the trigger, and save these people. Be what you are, murderer.
As he closes his eyes to cowardly save himself the pain of looking into the knight’s eyes, a scarlet streak lunges forward at the knight. The scarlet haired woman now stands over the fallen knight, weapon in hand.
“W-Why did you do that?” The murderer asks, stumbling and falling to his knees. He clutches his side, as it opens up more and more. “I- I was going to…” It grows dark, darker, yet darker. Crimson comes rushing out, hacking out unto the floor. His body starts surrendering itself to the pain, and returns to the chilled stone floor.
“S-Save you…”