September 18, 2018
Dusk was engaged in a fierce battle. The entire sky around the combatants was almost completely black. The ground was covered in the scarlet death he had become close companions with. Even with the blanket of darkness enveloping him, he could see his foe clearly, as if he were surrounded by luminescence. He had raggedy brown hair with a bronze scythe that loomed on his back. Was it the grim reaper? No, wrong. He had been this man’s grim reaper. Not content to merely fight him in life, he charged him in his nightmares, once again locking him in combat. After a long battle, Dusk stabbed him through the chest brutally, creating a rain of blood, but the enemy stood tall.
“My entire guild will hunt you down!” the bloodied enemy shouted. “The entire world will hunt you down. You’re even worse than me.”
Like hell I am.
Xyla leered down at Dusk with complete disgust.
“You’re pathetic. You sicken me.”
How could you say that?
Frost's eyes were imbued with utter disappointment.
“Man, I can’t believe you’d kill someone in cold blood.”
I didn't.
Stacy was shaking, unable to contain her rage. She stared down her former best friend with contempt.
“You... bastard!” She stabbed him through the heart with the serpent sword he had been wielding a moment earlier.
Stacy? Why?
“I can’t believe I once called you my friend! A murderer like you, your hands will forever be stained with blood. You’re the lowest piece of shit in existence. Now, die!”
Stop!
Menos, Xyla, Frost, and Stacy—they were all glaring at Dusk as if he were the vilest of creatures, a mere insect they would crush beneath their heel without a passing thought. No, to them, he was even lower than that. They all spoke in unison.
“Murderer, die!”
Stop!
“Murdering filth, do this world a favor and die.”
Stop!
“Die, die, die, die, die!”
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, fucking stop it already!
“Stop!” Dusk sprung upward from his bed like a frightened Roe deer who had just been shot at, screeching in torment. He looked around frantically for enemies, but there were none. He was in his inn room, alone. No Menos, no Xyla, no Frost, no Stacy; only the frosty moonlight, half draped by the curtain of clouds, shining down upon his bed to keep him company. Cold rivulets of sweat were running all over his body. He brought up the menu to check the time as he desperately attempted to recover what little composure he had left in him. 12:02 AM. His SP was at 900; sleep would elude him on this night.
He left the safety of his inn room, his personal sanctuary of suffering, to go outside into the dark cold night. Right now he needed a drink to warm that frigid chill. He took a carriage to the nearest bar, called Shadow’s Edge. The bar was packed to the brim with adventurers, all oblivious that they were now in the presence of death. Loud music assaulted his eardrums as soon as he walked in the door. Even over the blaring guitars and booming drums, he could hear the intermittent chatter of players and billiard balls smashing into one another. The scent of alcohol and smoke loitered in the joint. The entire experience was stifling. He felt cramped, trapped on all sides.
I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Lots of people probably want to drown themselves in alcohol rather than face this reality. I’m one of them.
He weaved and nudged through a sea of adventurers, taking a seat at the one open barstool, raising his hand to hail the bartender over. He was a chunky half bald man with sandy locks combed over his visible head. He was wearing narrow glasses that were resting securely on his nose.
“Hey, barkeep. What do you have?”
“One moment, sir.” He picked up a menu from one of the shelves below and placed it on the counter before Dusk.
There was a list of over one hundred beers, wines, and liquors. Every one of them tasted like piss. Dusk could never understand those who claimed to drink alcohol for the taste. To him, he drank for one reason and one reason alone—the feeling. The euphoria of being able to temporarily throw your stresses to the wind and float up on clouds of high, even if just for one night. He browsed through the menu, carefully picking his poison. “I’ll take a Budmiser.”
The bartender quickly poured a beer for the suffering Phantom. The foam was frothing over the cup.
“That’ll be ten crylla.”
Dusk quickly handed over the ten crylla, a small price to pay for his intoxicating lifeline. He snatched the beer, chugging its contents down; wanting to drown his suffering as soon as possible. Just as he finished, a redheaded woman leaned over, placing her hand on his shoulder as she leaned in front of him. Her deep blue eyes glistened under the lamplights even as her luscious pink lips curled into a provocative smirk. She was a beauty to behold, and she knew it.
“Hey, baby, buy me a drink?”
Dusk paid this no mind, as he couldn’t care less about the pleasures of womanly company right now.
“Sorry, maybe another time.”
Astonished that the dark clad Phantom was able to resist her charms, the redhead let go of him and walked away, grumbling to herself.
“Cheapskate.”
More—Dusk needed more alcohol right away, this wasn’t enough.
“Another, barkeep.”
Yet another beer. As far as Dusk was concerned, this was liquid salvation right now. He pounded down beer after beer until 3:00 AM, when the bar closed down. By this time, he had fourteen beers in his system. His head was hanging down like a lifeless puppet; even lifting his head made him sick.
The barkeep looked at the drunken Phantom, shaking his head in disgust.
“All right, son, it’s closing time. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Mother... fucker... I’ll kill you.... I’m a killer... you know that right?” Dusk laughed as his words came out in a slurred mess.
The barkeep silently glanced at the bouncer and then back at Dusk. The bouncer picked up on the nonverbal cue, grabbing him by the coat and then dragging him to the door, pushing him outside. Dusk stumbled back at first, and then fell onto the ground in a drunken heap.
“Damn drunkard,” the bouncer muttered to himself.
Normally Dusk would’ve had some choice words for the bouncer who thought he could grab him and toss him out like he was a bag of garbage. Yet right now, as he looked up, all he could see was a blurry haze of a dark sky, a perfect reflection of his mind’s current state.
This isn’t so bad. At least when I’m this drunk, nothing matters. Not the fact that I killed a man. Not Frost, not Stacy. Not this world or the real world. Nothing... matters.
Nothing.
The inebriated Phantom could think no longer, much less get up and walk. He disgracefully blacked out right there outside the bar on the sidewalk.
At roughly 7:00 AM, four hours later, he awoke from his drunken stupor. The city of Bermia had started its day, but Dusk hadn’t. His head was throbbing—countless piercing pulsations that rippled through his temple in an unbearable agony. Even opening his eyes hurt. The first sensation he felt in his gut was a wave of uncontrollable nausea, causing him to throw up immediately. He just wanted to pass out again. Being unconscious would be better than being awake with this kind of sickening feeling. He heard a feminine voice from above.
“I knew you were depressed, but Drake...”
He couldn’t even think enough to pity himself for what he had done the previous day. The sensation of a jackhammer in his head drowned out all thought except for instinct. He used one hand to get off the ground, clutching his pounding head with the other. He opened his eyes ever so slightly, ever so reluctantly, so that he could verify the avatar that was associated with the admonishing voice. It was the person he least wanted to see him like this.
“Ugh, Stacy... what are you doing here?”
Stacy put her hands on her hips, mortified. What could she even say to him to make h
im stop this downward spiral?
“I was checking on you of course. I noticed from my friends list that you were in the Entertainment District, so I tried sending you a party invite and messaging you, but you wouldn’t respond. I figured maybe you were ignoring me, so I looked all over to be sure; you being in the state you’re in and all. Good thing I checked up on you. This is really where you’re at, Drake... really?”
“Why do you even care about me? I’m a cold blooded killer.”
Stacy frowned. She really wished he wouldn’t beat himself up over this so hard. Then again, she never killed someone, so she couldn’t know what it’s like. She knew it wasn’t an easy burden to carry, but she couldn’t let him do this to himself. She had to turn this around somehow. This wasn’t the Drake she knew.
“I hate to agree with Xyla, but stop this pity party already.”
Dusk simply remained silent. What the hell does she know?
“I can’t leave you alone with yourself right now, Drake.”
“What, are you kidding me? That’s not your call. I’m a fucking adult.”
“You call this being an adult? No, you’re acting like a child.”
“I just wanted to get drunk, okay?”
“Drunk enough to collapse on the road in front of the bar? I’ve known you to get drunk many times, but this takes the cake. How many beers did you have?”
Dusk paused for a moment, ashamed to admit the truth.
“I don’t know, fourteen maybe?”
Those words made Stacy tumble backward from the impact slightly, as if she had just been tackled. Her mouth hung wide open as if her lips had been sutured to her skin.
“Jesus, Drake. We need to sober you up, c’mon.”
Stacy took her ailing friend back to the inn. There was a restaurant on the ground floor. They took a seat at one of the wooden tables. A waiter came to serve them, notepad in hand.
“Are you folks ready to order?”
They nodded their heads affirmatively. The waiter turned to look at Stacy indicating he was ready to take her order.
“I’ll have French toast and sausage.”
“And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the usual.”
The waiter finished scribbling their cuisine choices into the paper, extending an open hand before saying “very well, I’ll take your menus. Thanks.”
Stacy twiddled her thumbs nervously on the table; unsure of how to deal with this new, depressed, sorry excuse of a man before her. She wanted to embrace him tightly—she hoped against all hope that if she hugged him tight enough she could squeeze out all of his burdens and sorrow like a toothpaste tube.
“So, are you feeling any better today, emotionally?”
“I’d be lying if I said I did,” Dusk stated regretfully, still clutching his head.
“So you plan to stay in your room all day?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You know your actions affect others too, right? You’re not just hurting yourself. You’re hurting Frost, and you’re hurting me.”
Dusk pounded his fist on the table, shaking the dishes and condiments which were placed upon it. He couldn’t listen to this right now.
“I never asked either of you to care about me! This is my life. If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t be meddling in your personal affairs like this. I really don’t want to hurt either of you, so don’t be hurt by my actions.”
Stacy gripped the table with both hands and leaned forward in frustration, meeting Dusk’s heated challenge head on.
“You’re asking the impossible, I care about you!”
“Then I’m sorry, but I can’t just be a ray of sunshine right after I killed a man for the first time! Why don’t you try killing someone, huh, see how you deal with it? See if you’re all hunky dory afterwards.”
Dusk noticed he was attracting the looks of everyone in the restaurant. “Shit,” he whispered to himself in a hushed fury as he plopped back down on the chair. Last thing I need is to broadcast that I’m a killer to everyone. The bounty board will do that soon enough.
“I’m not asking for you to be a ray of sunshine. Just...”
“Enough. Either let me eat in peace, or leave.”
Not wanting to push Dusk away any further, Stacy stopped speaking. The entire meal was eaten in the thickness of an awkward silence.
Dusk got up wordlessly, walking to the stairwell.
Stacy, looking for any sort of compromise she could get with this haunted spirit, made her plea.
“Just promise me one thing, Drake.”
He turned his back to face her while leaning on the stairwell railing.
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t get drunk anymore. Please.”
“I can’t promise that. Sorry.” Don't get drunk? Alcohol was his only release. To hell with that.
With that, Dusk vanished up the stairs. With each step, Stacy felt him retreating even deeper into the darkness, thousands of miles of distance being traversed with every step.
She drug her feet over to the table where they ate breakfast, plopping down into the chair, defeated. Her heart sank into the wooden floor as the realm of sorrow took her. Countless thoughts were swimming through her head, like fizzing bubbles in a pop bottle.
What did I do wrong? Why won’t he accept my help? Should I really just leave him alone like he says? But look what happened when I did leave him alone... he ended up passed out in the street drunk. If I leave him alone another night, who knows what he’ll do? Would it actually help if I punched him in the face like Xyla did? Am I being too nice to him, is that the problem?
Dusk slammed his room door behind him, bundling himself under his bed covers, draping himself in despair as per his usual routine.
Why does she give a damn anyways? Why does she care so much about me? I never understood that. I’ve never tried to intervene in other people’s lives, no matter how close they were to me; if they wanna fuck up their own life, that’s their choice. I’d have no right to interfere. Yet here Stacy is, trying to run my life. Fuck that. She’s right about one thing though.
Dusk put his arm over his forehead and closed his eyes as the dizzying pain of a hangover pierced his skull. Waves of wild nausea were cresting inside him. Was it the hangover? Or was it the disgusting guilt that had afflicted him for days? Was this going to be his new life, feeling like this every day? Alive but not living. Not living. He was a walking corpse, devoid of reason. Living like a beast, no dreams, only the primal instinct to survive. What kind of a life was that?
I’m not getting that drunk again. I don’t care how fucked up I am mentally. It’s not worth this damn hangover. Might have a few beers though, it’s the only thing that seems to be working for drowning my sorrows. Maybe it’d be a blessing if a Hand of Blood member finds me and kills me. Maybe that would be my way of atonement.
I took a life. Menos... he had hopes, dreams, goals, friends... and I took all of that away from him. How can I ever make amends for that? Why do I deserve any happiness when I took away someone else’s, as well as every emotion that he possessed?
September 25, 2018
A week passed in solitude and sorrow. The broken Phantom found no relief in the endless ocean of blood—even in his nightmares. He was forced to relive the terrible event time and time again. Waking up soaked in cold sweat—this night was no different. Dusk’s heart was pounding in his skull, the rage throbbing in his brain. It was enough. No more. The frightened warrior steeled his nerves and breathed outward in a great gale, throwing his worries to the wayside for the briefest of moments.
Enough of this. What am I doing? I’ve really hit rock bottom. He tightened his fist, hoping to tighten his resolve with it. I refuse to let every day of my life be a living hell. I refuse to wallow in despair anymore. I’m letting myself be controlled by my fear and self-loathing. This is so weak. I won’t let my emotions control me anymore. I won’t let this game beat me. This ends now!
That week
had given him ample time to reflect upon his actions—to reflect upon what he might do to escape this labyrinth of despair.
Thump, thump, thump.
A relentless hammering in his brain that went on without end. Were these thoughts really plaguing him that much? No, that wasn’t his thought process. Someone was knocking at his door.
“Drake, are you in there?”
A voice that swam through his ears countless times before—his personal Cleric and best friend was breaking down the walls he had erected to confine himself from the world.
Thump, thump, thump.
“Drake, I know you’re in there, open this door!”
The door wailed open with a slow creak as Stacy got a look at the disheveled Phantom before her.
“Jesus, Drake, you look like hell.”
Dusk remained unmoved from his friend’s brazen comment. What did she expect exactly?
“What do you want, Stacy?”
“I wanted to know how you were doing. I came to check up on you.”
A bitter chuckle rang hollow through the night—a single gesture expressing everything.
“How do you think I’m doing?”
Stacy convulsed in disgust. She had just about enough of his attitude.
“Okay, Drake. Mike and I have waited on you long enough. It’s time to stop shutting yourself out from the world. Stop this pity party and move on with your life.”
“Pretty easy for you to say, your hands aren’t soaked in blood.”
“No, they’re not... but I’ve had enough of watching you beat yourself up.” Stacy inched forward towards him—so close he could feel her breath on his face—so close he lost himself within those deep blue eyes. Those azure eyes had hardened into sapphires.
“Listen, Drake, I respected your privacy and your need to be alone. I’ve watched you get drunk and shut yourself out from everyone, literally... for the past week. It’s time you got out and had some fun. Didn’t you want to beat this game? Didn’t you want to save everyone? Do you think you’re gonna do that sitting here in this room feeling sorry for yourself?”
Dusk’s heart plummeted into a nosedive—Stacy’s words struck true. Hadn’t he just vowed to himself that he wouldn’t let this game best him? He had talked the talk, but could he now walk the walk? It’s not like he was the only person who had ever killed someone. Soldiers had to deal with this reality, and many of them found a way out, a way to step forward. With certainty, his current path would only send him down into the depths of despair. It was time to change things. He gnashed his teeth as he resurrected all the willpower that had lain dormant for the past week.
The Virtual Realm (War Of The Elements Book 1) Page 13
