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It's over. It's finally over. You've collected the orbs. Defeated Vallamir. Freed the land. In a beautiful world, you and Lazarus could finally be put to rest. Be free to live as you please.
In the world you're stuck in you've lost count of all the sequels. Legendaria's launch date was a smash hit. Everything you dreaded came true. The more fans the games garner, the more of your sanity (and clothing) you seem to lose. You can't remember the last time you felt genuinely happy.
You're way too old for this.
The devs seem to agree. But they've got a perfect solution.
~
"So, have you thought about settling down yet?"
"..What?"
The shopkeeper's abrupt question takes you by surprise. You've been coming here for ages now, buying his wares whenever you're on your last limb. He's been here through all the sequels and reruns, and his age is starting to catch up to him.
..Maybe you should've learned his name after all this time.
"You two are getting kinda old, y'know. You can't keep fighting and adventuring forever."
"I think we're doing just fine, actually.", Lazarus says, not looking away from the potions on sale.
"Suit yourself. Just know you're gonna have to retire soon, doesn't matter if you want to or not."
You and Lazarus share a look.
"That sounds.. vaguely threatening.", Lazarus states, steelfaced.
"It's true. Y'know, word on the street is that they're gonna replace you two soon."
You scoff.
"Replace us? With who?"
His lazy eyes meet yours as if he's about to drop the punchline.
"Your kid."
"..My kid."
He shrugs.
"That's all I know."
You find yourself laughing at the thought.
"Me having a kid, can you imagine?!"
When your eyes find Lazarus', you notice that he looks unusually pale. Your laugh slowly comes to a halt when it hits you.
Your voice comes out meeker than intended: "He's.. not joking?"
Lazarus shakes his head.
Your throat feels tight. Has the shop always felt this cold?
Your hand finds the counter as you will your knees not to give out.
"Oh."
Your vision is shaky. Someone grabs onto your shoulders and takes you along. You feel warm air hitting your skin and the sun burning your eyes, but you can't find it in yourself to care. As quickly as the warmth hit your skin and eyes, it leaves, and you feel grass beneath you and a wall behind you.
"Breathe, Chandrelle, breathe!", you hear a shaky voice say, but you can't seem to place it. Whoever this is is stirring up very mixed feelings. You try your best not to throw up. A warm hand is rubbing circles on your back. Your lungs hurt like hell. Your hair is being pulled out.
"Chandrelle, please!"
Oh, right. Lazarus is trying his best to disentangle your hands from your hair, murmuring soft comforts through gritted teeth. Tense muscles slowly start to loosen as you let him take your hands down and hold them between his own. You lean back against the wall and attempt to catch your breath.
"..Are you alright?"
"Alright?!", you pant out, "Lazarus, we're fucked, we're so fucked, we're SO fu-"
He shushes you and looks at you pleadingly.
"Don't.. PLEASE don't send yourself over the edge again."
"..Lazarus, I don't want this. None of this should be happening!"
You squeeze his hand as you feel tears start to form in your eyes again. "I love you, but I can't do that!" Your wide eyes meet his. "This is SO fucked..!"
"W..Well!", he blurts out, sporting a nervous look on his face, "Look on the bright side! Maybe this will finally be the end of our.. reruns."
"Shut the fuck UP!"
He looks at you like a kicked kobold. Sighing, he squeezes your shaking hands.
"I.. I know this is bad. But there's nothing we can do, is there?"
"What..?"
"Maybe we should take this as a gift, Chandrelle. I know it sounds bad, but.. Squarrel is right. We ARE getting old. Atleast, I am. I can't keep doing this forever."
Looking at him like this, it hits you all at once. His rusty, dented and chipped armor. His tired eyes, scarred face, graying hair. The compression of his usual sprites does a lot to cover it up, but there's only so much you can hide.
God, he really is getting too old for this.
You can't help the tears rolling down your face.
~
Well, here you are. In your skimpy white ballgown. You think it's supposed to resemble a wedding dress, a very fanservicey one. Your hair is up in a bun and your hands are occupied with a bouquet of flowers. Across from you is Lazarus, in what looks like some strange hybrid of a tuxedo and a suit of armor. You two can't seem to meet each other's eyes. Near you stands the Great Sage, reading aloud from a book you can't identify. The static in your brain drowns out the words. None of this was supposed to happen.
Thinking of the future makes you nauseous. You're too afraid to look down, so you look up instead.
If you were to remove the scene around you, you'd think Lazarus was attending a funeral. His usually already sad face droops even further, dripping in despair and desperation. Seeing him like this makes your blood run cold.
It can't end like this. Not for you. Not for him.
The sage's speech stops.
"Lazarus, do you take Chandrelle to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I-"
"Cut the bullshit."
Lazarus meets your eyes and sighs.
"Chandrelle, please.."
"I'm NOT doing this! None of this is real!"
You toss your bouquet at his feet, much to his frustration.
He looks up at you with disappointment written all over his face. He's too tired to say anything.
The Great Sage springs into action again.
"Lazarus, do you take Chandrelle to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
He stares into your eyes with almost a disciplining look.
"I do."
"And you, Chandrelle, do you take Lazarus to be your lawfully wedded hus-"
A knife to the neck seems to do the trick of shutting him up. You back off and begin to ramble before Lazarus can even process what you've done.
"We don't have to do this, Laz. We could get away from here! Be happy!"
He furrows his brows.
"Please.. stop making this difficult for us both."
"JUST LISTEN TO ME! I'll do anything you want! Just.. we need to get away from here!"
The Great Sage, despite the bleeding neck wound, whirrs to life.
"And you, Chandrelle, do you take Lazarus to be your lawfully wedded hus-"
"NO!"
Lazarus looks on the verge of breaking down, his eyes bulging: "JUST SAY YES!"
Your knife finds its way to the Sage's neck again, spraying blood onto you.
"I WON'T!"
"WHY NOT?!"
"I DON'T WANT THIS LIFE!"
You stab the Sage before he can speak again, but this time, your knife gets stuck. It hurts your eyes to look at the glitching mess that is becoming of the Sage.
"Ã̷̱̝N̴̛̤D̷͙̈͘ ̶̠̥̪̅̒͂Y̴̬̤̗͑̃O̴̢͉͉͋̍Ȕ̶̮,̸̳̯͐͋̈ ̵̭̓͑Ć̷̻̙̄ͅḩ̶͈͖̃á̵̼̓̉n̶̪̝̪͌̊̌d̴̢̡͇̀ȑ̴͇ē̵̖̦̥l̵͕̲͇̚l̵̢̦̏ȩ̸̯̯̌͠,̵̱̜͎͒ ̶̙̙͉̐͌D̴͔́O̶̞̞͇̎̉͌ ̵͈͖̜̏̐̓Y̷̨͓͚͂Ö̶̠͕U̷͔̓̃ ̸̪̅͗̕͜ͅT̸̠͇͐Ä̸͙͆K̶̟̰̬̈́͒̆E̴̛͔̲ͅ-̷̙͌T̵̹͓́͛A̸̡̍Ḳ̸̈́́̿Ě̷̩-̷̌̌͜T̶̳͒̋̀Ả̴͜Ķ̷̮̬̽E̴̯̒̂ ̷͍̮͖̔L̸̳̇͐̇a̵͚̅̈́ẑ̶͜a̵̧̬̒r̸͔͈̐̋ú̷͔̓s̴̫̯̔̕ ̶̝̔̇͌T̵̢̧̐͋Õ̶͎̻͆͜ ̴͙̺̭͂B̵̼̯̹͘Ȅ̵͔̦̈́̃ͅ ̷̫̗̠̄Y̴̭̩̔̕͜Ǒ̸̞̚͠Ǔ̵̡̯R̶̡̬̀͗͠ ̶̪͒̑̕ͅL̷͙̠͖͂͐̏A̵̝͚̲͋́̐W̵̥̰̙̚F̷̗̦̚U̴̢͇͛̉Ḻ̵̛͕͝L̶̩̿Y̸̨̙̟͌̔ ̸̳͕̙̀Ẅ̸͍̝E̵̺̖̥̓D̴̞̖̏̾D̵̹̪̰̎̀Ě̴̦D̶̰͂̕̚ ̵̞̜̓H̶̥͐̂Ų̶͂͗͝S̵̳̄B̶̩̯̂-̷̢̊Ẉ̷̨͖͊̊̌Į̷͕͌͝F̵͇̅͆̿Ȩ̶̬̪͝?̶̻̈́͗"
His voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
"LISTEN, HEY!" You grip onto his hand like a lifeline, squeezing so hard you might break it, "LISTEN TO ME! PLEASE, LAZARUS!"
"Ā̴̡͍̻̦̓̏͋͒N̶͓̼̖̟̘͐̇̈́̈͑D̶̛̻̍̎̀-̴̢̰̣͍̐̿̂̕͝A̶̤̘̮̰͔͗͆̈̽N̷̺̩̑̌̉̚͝Ḑ̴̨͕̹̤̒͂̀-̶̼͙̌͝Ȧ̴̱͖͔͋́̓͠N̶̨͙̺̥͌̿̈͝͠D̶̠̩͆̑̽̿̃ ̶̣̱̈́̂̓̏̅Ý̶̳̭̹̌̚͜͝Ơ̷̹͕̦Ů̵̝̟͍̍ͅ,̶̭̯̒͂̍ ̶̡̼̥̀́̏̈́̎C̸͉͎̟̣̈́̔͑̍͆h̵̫̩̖̺̏͝ͅa̵̡͙͖̦͗n̷̗̻̞̄̈́̉́D̸͎̞̊R̵͙̪̿E̴̺̮͑͊̍̈̕L̷͙͈̯̤̙̆L̴̯͙͎̾̃̊͗Ę̷̨͉̗̝͑̇̓͋,̴̻̘͈̹̆̒̎̔̕ ̶̠̬̼̠͔̓̐D̷̡̬̯̐̋͘Ö̷̙̹̮̤́͆̊̇͝ ̵̞͈͕̹̻͒́̏Y̸̨̖̍͒͜Ő̴̲Ȗ̵͖̐̕ ̶͕̗̎̚T̵̜͠A̵͇͂K̶̩͇̆́̉̀̄ͅE̵̤͆̽͘ ̸̮̞̠͓͎͗̄Ḻ̴̨̡̱͈̌̽̍͘̕a̸̢̝͝z̶̨͍̎̐a̷̖͙̅̉r̵̜̖͋̊̈́͝u̷̘̹̣̜̳͌̆̇s̴̟̤͌̾̽ ̶̧̤͂T̴̘̜͖̼̹͆͒̃Ò̶̭͋ ̶̖͝B̴͓͓̗̫̲̂͋̃Ę̸̡̼̫̝͊̌ ̴̻̦̂́͊̇ỹ̴͍̏̌͊͝ớ̷̱̦͗̓ų̶̰̗̙̞͐̈́̄ŕ̸̞̼̫͜͜ ̷̢̜̙̬̕L̵̩̼̯͙͊Å̴̧̤͉̲̩W̷̤̺̼̒̐̊̋F̷̖͙̽͒͝U̴̜̘͙͋͂̅L̵̞͐̾͒̔̊L̸̝̀Y̶̳̎͗̒̚ ̷̝̥̀̿̄̕W̶̡̭͉̳͋̇̿͘͝É̶̛͙͘D̸̼̞̓D̶̹̳̲̓̀È̶̳̩̯̑̆͝D̶̹̠̎̾͝Ḣ̶͍̒͐̿U̴̲̘͉̮̒S̷̤̰̃̕B̷̧͆͌̏̐A̵͚̅̍͑̉N̴̮̘̉́̄͋D̶̘̘͋̾̑?̶͕̗̓"
"I'm.. I'm LISTENING!"
"IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!"
"LET ME REST, CHANDRELLE!"
"̶̧̻̙̄̀̓͐̎̃͒͊͝A̴̬͇͎̘̜̔͒̽͋̒̉̄̒Ń̴̺̣̺͚̭̺̺̘̻̅̑́̽͌Ḑ̶̭͉̝̣͉̜̮̏̆̍͗͑̓̓̊ ̷͉͋̎̊̅̄͋̔̉͝y̷͖̩̅̉̀̓̃̚͝ǫ̸̧̘͚̆̈͒̽͐̄͆̽͜u̶̧͔̲͉͖̔͐̏̔̀͜͠,̷̬͈̖̫͑̾̀̄̈́͊̈͘ ̵͖̲̦̭̆̊̇̍͘L̵̼̩̫̯̜̞͔͔̥͑͒̌͒̑̕ȃ̶͖͍z̷̖̈͌̉͛͒͛́̕a̴͖̫͈̭̘̗̿́͌̈͠r̶̨̡̳̳̣͔͉̝̈́ͅư̵̳̘͈̻̜̥̓̓͆͛̈̿͝s̵̜͔̭̘̿͂̌͜,̷̖̫̜̦̰͓̲͉͊̾̏̈́̏̊̈́ ̵͚̮͗̕͘̚̕͜d̵̨̛̛͇̫̻͊̚o̷͚͈̓̋̓̉̈̋̀ ̷̬͐Y̶̡̟̬̜͓͎͔̱͑̋̐̋̉̔̀Ỏ̴̤̼͑́̏̋͐̍̕Ǔ̶̡̪̣͠ ̴̨̗̲̘̆͋̀̒͗̅̚Ṭ̶̡̻̗̔͝Ą̸̢̮̙̺͈̦̒͗͂̋͠K̸͉̣̭͍̙̻̘̩̅̽Ė̵̛̛̗͋͂̊̌̒ ̵̲̗̺̥̻̼̰̖́̀C̸̖̈́̄̅̾̽͝͝͝ḩ̵͈̖̐̾͛̚a̷̧̛̻͖͖͖̗̬̯͑̂̄̇̃̎̉͝ͅn̸͓͓͎̳͍͌̔̑̅̚͜-̴̳̽C̶̺̼̀̋̂͐̆̄́̔̾h̷͉̖̉̕͠ȧ̴̧̦͔̰͈̹̩̣̾n̶͚̍̿͋̓͋̈͊͂̅-̴̧͔͔̳̜͎͓̞̖̈́̉͘͠C̷̜̳̥̪͖͎̿̊h̸̢̹̯̤̹̹̗́̕͠ā̵͈̱͌̐̎̕n̷͕̮͈͖̿D̵͚̬͚̝̺̟̂͂Ŗ̷̛̱̮̍͊͂͑̎̇̈́͘E̵͎̲̯̿͛̑͋̒͐L̴̛͍̟̝̰̏̆͐͋́̕͘͠ͅĻ̵̘̜͉͍̣̝̗͆͐͗͝Ȩ̴̠͕͙̲̙͛̌́͗̚ ̴͈̦̐̔ť̶̢̼̩̦̺̠o̸̡̮̫̺̫̯̹̩̘̐̃̋͘̚͝ ̸͎̲̒͐͌̆͘b̶̨̧̘͎̗͙̘̹͆̃̈͌̾̄͘͝ͅe̶̹͓͈̬̼͌ ̶̯͔̜̀̔̅̒̇̇̎̆Y̵̭̠͍̬̬͇̒̈́̓̐̈́Ṑ̵̺̤̙̠̈́̍̀̇͋͘͝Û̴͚̫̳̂͋̀̍̅̾R̷̯̞̰̗̠̦̳̊͆̉͊Ŗ̶̪́̃́͘"
Lazarus is nearly doubled over from the pain of the Great Sage's glitchy screeching.
You take off running as fast as your legs can carry you.
Lazarus' desperate shouts for you quickly fade away.
You could keep running forever.
Leave all of this behind.
No sequels.
No Gameworks.
No wedding.
No children.
You keep running forever.
…
And then it stops.
Like you've hit a wall.
Black.
It's all black here.
Everywhere you look.
The silence is deafening.
You look down and see right through yourself.
You're standing on a bit of text.
"unfinished, fix later - carla"
You feel someone running into you.
You meet the ground.
And find yourself back at the altar.
~
You sit in your desolate room.
You don't recognize yourself in the mirror anymore. Your first name is mom. Your last name got changed. A smile is etched across your face, but there's nothing behind it. Lazarus is next to you at the breakfast table, speaking to a kid. Your kid.
It's going off on an adventure. Its backpack is bigger than them, but its smile flashes brightly regardless. It makes you sick to your stomach. This was never supposed to happen. You fiddle with the ring on your finger to distract yourself from the tears forming in your eyes.
"Mom? What's wrong?", the kid asks.
Lazarus looks your way. He doesn't even have to ask.
"Ah", you manage to spit out, "I'm just so sad you're going."
The kid hugs you, "I'll be ok, mom!", it shouts in your ear.
You've never sobbed this hard in your life.