Huff. Huff, huff.
A pale young man panted, as he clawed his way up the mountain top, one step at a time. His hair hung around him messily, and blood clung to its very tips, like a crown for a broken soul.
Yet Sunny's eyes stared ever forward, determined, unwavering—the fire in it burning despite the very world it was forced into.
All that remained was one wish.
A desperate hope of survival, of defying all odds.
Throwing his foot forward, he ignored the chill of the snow creeping up his legs—he was used to it by now.
He had to.
Gritting his teeth, he moved again.
And again.
And again.
Yet the temple wasn't any closer. It was still tall, looming, standing proudly at the very top of the mountain, as if it were mocking anyone who passed by with the solace of sanctuary. And only halfway through do they realize the true nature of all this—
Death.
The mountain was freezing—the snow sang to him like a siren's call—sleep, rest, we will always welcome you. The cold gripped every corner of his heart, and he could feel his blood slowing, his thoughts waning. The frost from the sky was falling, onwards and onwards, scraping by the very eyes he used to see.
Anyone who hadn't already died from hypothermia on the route towards the temple, well… they would soon enough.
And he too was the same—forced into a death sentence unwillingly.
At least… At least those who pass by this trail had the luxury of choice, Sunny thought, never stopping the climb. Only fools would choose this route of death.
However, that would imply he was a fool.
No, I wouldn't have come here if not for the Spell! I'm not a fool—
But maybe he was one. After all, he was walking the same route of death they all did.
"Ha! Ha, ha, hahahhhahaha!" He laughed, his eyes widening like those of a madman who had just realised the truth. "Indeed, I am a fool—a fool to believe that I can live!"
By now, his feet were solid cold, blooming with all kinds of colours that shouldn't be seen there—he was practically dead. Besides, the Mountain King was just one step behind—
So why continue?
He was dead—He already was 7 days ago, when he had left his mark atop the tree, the only witness to his miserable life.
Why prolong the agony? Why continue this futile struggle?
Distantly, or perhaps just a few feet away, the Mountain King cried out—perhaps responding to Sunny's laugh—but he didn't regret it, he had tried his best.
For damn's sake, can't I be allowed to be just a little mad?
Right. There was still that.
Right, there was still that—his promise to spite, again, and again, and again. His promise to survive, to live, at the face of the smile Hero had given him. His promise to survive.
The fire in his eyes burned, and his footsteps once again echoed atop the mountain—a testament to his wish.
You know what? Sunny thought, screamed. Fuck you, fate. Fuck you.
As the whispers of the winds blew onwards, the sounds of the Mountain King getting nearer and nearer, he picked up his battered, broken body and took a step forward.
It didn't matter if he wanted to scream, it didn't matter if the blood coursing through him wasn't the warmth it should be, it didn't matter if his gaze became dizzy and he didn't know where he was going.
The temple was still there, still standing proudly at the distant peak.
And for as long as it stood, as long as his legs kept on moving, Sunny would reach it.
Definitely.
Seconds passed, minutes passed, hours passed, and the moon slowly climbed onwards and onwards.
The winter cold grew and grew, yet he wasn't going anywhere—the temple was still far, far away.
But he made progress.
He was just one step closer.
And that was enough.
Distantly, his eyes scraped across bones of broken souls; distantly, even the sound of the wind blowing past him started to fade; distantly, the temple wasn't as far as it was a second before, a minute before.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Finally, perhaps after an eternity of waiting, of spiting—he arrived.
Standing before the grand temple, Sunny felt small, weak, powerless—as if he wasn't already that.
"Found you," He forced out, his voice broken, hoarse. But this time, he didn't hesitate, slinging his foot atop the black, cool marble.
It stung into his feet, almost warm in the face of the snow, and he could almost sigh in relief if there wasn't something else he had to do.
…When will this nightmare end?
Slowly, he forced himself awake, refusing to drown in the comfort of the temple, the warmth it provided, and stepped forward.
Again, and again, just like he had done so mere moments before.
But this time, it was harder, as the solace from the cold weighed upon him like a burden he could never take off; as the sounds of stomp, stomp, stomp, echoed across the hall.
Here, he was comfortable—oh so comfortable!
Shouldn't he… rest?
No. No.
He came so far, the end would be near—
Or would it?
Yes, the altar was right there, right in front of him: he might as well…
Walking forward, Sunny collapsed atop the marble altar, his eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.
It seemed that he was about to die. And he found himself alright with it—after all, he had tried his best. And… a temple was an ironically fitting way to die, for someone such as him.
The runes of his Aspect floated:
[Aspect: Temple Slave.]
[Aspect Description: Slave is a useless wrench with no abilities or skills to mention. A temple slave is slightly rarer, but same regardless.]
Perhaps… Perhaps this would save him—
"I'm a slave in your temple," In a fit of hysteria, Sunny couldn't help but scream, "And I'm here, right at the place of your worship!"
Though who was he joking about, gods don't exist—his life in the outskirts is a testament to the very fact.
And yeah right, who would be so kind? He was a useless wrench, a slave! There was no worth to him! Even the Spell admitted it.
Smash. A sudden noise erupted from the entrance, and his shut eyes once again flickered open. Turning his head, he looked forward—and as he predicted, the Mountain King laid before him, tall, ugly, powerful.
Opening its maw, it rushed forward, right towards… him.
But despite wanting his death to be short, clean, and well, as unhorrible as it possibly could, Sunny couldn't find it in him to close his eyes—if he was going to die, he might as well watch it happen.
What an ugly bastard. He thought, as his mouth twisted into a wide, wide grin. Whatever, no one's waiting for me anyways.
An image of a young girl with dark black hair, and similarly black eyes appeared before his eyes. But she wasn't here anymore.
The last thing he had survived for didn't—
She didn't even know him.
My time's up.
And he was surprised that he was fine with it—more than fine even! After all, his suffering would be over.
No more eating synthesizer anymore. He mused, as a wry smile bloomed atop his face. And at that moment, something overtook him—something as in the feeling of invisible hand clawing at your heart; something as if you look at the sky yet all you can see is black, black, and black; something as in… melancholy.
Lifting his head, he blinked, capturing the view of the mountains. What a beautiful sight. He couldn't help but think.
However, as he waited for the coming of his death, he felt a sudden twist within him, along with an overwhelming wish to cough out loud—
And cough he did, his view turning into a field of crimson, as he convulsed in a fit of tortuous coughing.
Bloody foam fell from his mouth, dripped onto the altar, and—
He heard the spell speak.
[You have offered yourself as a sacrifice to the gods.]
[The gods are dead and cannot hear you.]
[Your soul bears the mark of divinity.]
[You are a temple slave.]
[Shadow god stirs in his eternal slumber.]
[He sends a ble—]
But as sudden as it came, it left.
What… what was happening? Sunny thought, as an uneasy feeling gripped at his heart. The Spell was known for its cruel eloquence, never stopping a proclamation.
The jaws of the Mountain King were close—so, so close. He could practically feel its breath.
And yet, Sunny wasn't focusing on that, but looking with wide eyes at… whatever was happening behind him.
The shadows in the room were different—deeper, ancient, reverent. And perhaps it was just a gut feeling, a silver of hope that there was something else playing in his game, for he could feel it, feel the shadows bowing to something and… there was something hidden deep within here.
Is it shadow god? The Spell did mention him. But… it cut itself off, there's no way— He reasoned. However, he was soon overtaken by something else, a soft humming from beyond.
What sound is that?
He could hear it now, more clearly even—it was a song, a whisper—in a language he did not know.
Sunny never knew his eyes could widen even more than it was. But he supposed it wasn't a bad feeling.
For before him, strings of silver glistened in front of his eyes, dancing and twisting within the darkness of the temple.
All of a sudden, they moved rapidly, entangling the arms and legs of the Mountain King.
A single drop of blood fell onto the fall.
It didn't even have the luxury of a scream.
For in an instant, they pulled back, and crimson filled the air—
The Mountain King was no more.
[You have slain an Awakened Tyrant, Mountain King.]
…But he didn't do anything.
So why was the kill his?