Hope in the Dark

The forest felt intimidating even with the fire light, now he was rushing through it all without seeing what lay ahead.

Had Elara managed to defeat the monster? Or would he see it chasing after him, slowly closing the distance before crushing him where he stood? He couldn’t turn around, he wouldn’t be able to keep running if Martel was there…

“No.” He calmed himself. “Don’t think like that. Elara will be fine.”

She had to be, he didn’t know what he would do if she wasn’t. Too busy worrying about her, he missed the tree ahead and slammed into it - wincing as it knocked out a tooth and splattered blood, but still continuing to run. Ferula’s death guaranteed Mayumi was in trouble. Agnar and Skotta were dead and Martel was currently fighting Elara… There was only one other participant that could have killed Ferula, only one that would now be targeting Mayumi.

Arata remembered Saxon, remembered the writer that created him. Originally, Saxon was supposed to just be a bit part character, a simple run-of-the-mill grunt for the protagonist to defeat on their path to glory. But, life changed it all. The writer had seen his marriage fall apart as his wife left him for another man. Deep in depression and heavily intoxicated he considered taking a knife to their apartment and ending their new fantasy. Lucky for them he had more sense for that. Instead, Saxon was given a mystic blade - The Bleeder. A knife with an anticoagulant curse, any who felt it pierce their skin would die bleeding - hopelessly trying to bandage a wound that refused to close.

Now that sadist was loose in this world, and was likely face to face with Mayumi. He clutched his heart, then tripped over a root. He couldn’t stay prone for long, with great determination he stood again. “I’m coming, Mayumi.”

*-*-*

A few minutes more off the ticking clock and he saw the forest opening up. This was the heart, the last stand for those that wished to return home. He hadn’t seen her as he leapt from the brush, covered in dirt and broken branches - doubled over collecting his thoughts and his breath.

“A… Arata?!” She was leaning on the throne, cuts all over her body - leaking black like his ink army.

“Mayumi!” He yelled as he rushed over to her, offering an arm to help her stand. Her bow was split at the string and no arrows remained in her quiver.

She pushed him away, much to his surprise - she knew the danger he was in. “Get out of here, now! It’s not safe!” She ordered. Soon after she noticed the missing third, scanning behind Arata. “Where’s Elara?”

“It’s okay. I left her to come here, but the Hammer can barely stand. We just-”

“Idiot!” She screamed, the strain stretched out the wound and she grimaced as she almost dropped to the floor. “Run, you aren’t safe here!” This wasn’t the same Mayumi, she’d seen the threat… she couldn’t handle it and he could see it.

“I’ll get you out.” He stuttered, pulling her close but again she pushed him back.

“Forget about me! RUN!”

Arata recoiled back, and in the background the light reflected. She could see the blade coming and kicked Arata away. The knife clipped his hairs, just seconds from digging out an eye.

The exertion once again brought more pain, pain she couldn’t withstand without screaming. The knife dug itself into the ground near the bushes, and Arata quickly took a defensive position - watching the dark where the knife had been thrown from.

“You can’t take him, Arata.” Mayumi muttered under the pained exhales.

“I know.” Arata replied sharply, drawing his pen and drawing a unit of five ink soldiers at light speed. “Shadows are his solace, but he has no weapon.”

Four of the soldiers rushed off into the brush in each cardinal direction. The last was bulkier than the others, staying back as a guard.

One by one they were destroyed like running water through cotton. The first revealed his location, yet each of the other three fell in completely different parts of the area. Before Arata could react, his own guard dropped dead behind him, and as he turned to face the faceless one… the knife stopped just short of his throat.

“So… I’ll take it, you are the Bow?” He grinned, smugness emanating from him. Arata’s teeth chattered, his whole body shook, but he calmed himself - looking this new threat in the eye.

“Good to see you, Saxon.”

“Hoh? No shaking? No pleading or tears? I’m impressed, usually someone of your… standing… would be babbling like a child at this point.” Saxon mocked, slowly stalking - waltzing around but not really moving anywhere.

“You want the truth? I’m pissing myself.” Arata replied, and Saxon burst out laughing - so much so he’d doubled over, holding his stomach.

“Well… can’t say I blame you” he replied as he wiped away the tear from his eye. “You’ve got an interesting ability. Ink becomes soldiers, controlled by you. Not very strong of course but, I suppose that’s not the intention.”

Arata’s eyes drifted for a moment. The chalice was still on its side, more and more blood pouring out of it - he had to hide the fear then. A little further across was the body, Ferula. Just as he remembered her when he read her story, too young to die out here…

“That your doing?” Arata asked, his voice strained.

“Hm? Oh that?” Saxon nodded. “Tragic. Being stuck in this place with no power to save yourself. It almost hurt, killing her.”

“So why did you do it!?” Mayumi growled, holding her stomach as the black spurted out. “No one said you had to kill each other. Survive until the end, then leave when the portal opens. That was the game, but monsters like you and that hammer freak think you can justify murder!”

He looked completely different. No playful swagger, no murderous glare… it looked as if she’d asked him for directions - like his words were a universal truth. “The weak fall to the strong. The right defeats the wrong. People like that are doomed to die in darkness. Surely you know this, you are a warrior, correct?”

“So it’s completely fine for you to kill someone lesser than you? You honestly don’t see anything wrong with that?”

He was so confused he blinked about five times, utterly discombobulated. “You define what is right or wrong through history. If a man stabs another man is he right, or is he wrong?”

“Wrong.” Arata responds.

“And if you learned the man that died had assaulted his murderer’s wife the night before?”

That caught them off guard for a moment. “Still wrong.” Arata again answered. “Justice comes from law. No matter how bad the crime is it’s not up to you to punish them.”

“Hah.” Saxon smirked. “What laws other than that of the strong lives here? She, like the Sword, like the Axe… like all the rest of us, fought for freedom, and lost. That’s it. Now you’re on your back, bleeding - and you, you unfortunately have no chance.”

“Arata.” Mayumi whispered. “If you stay here any longer you’ll end up like me. I’ll hold him off, somehow. Take the grail, find Elara and run until the end.”

He so desperately wanted to ignore her. To summon forth a warrior strong enough to defeat Saxon, to heal her and for both of them - Elara included to escape together. But no character lived in his arsenal strong enough to challenge Saxon, and he had no way of stopping the bleeding. Reluctantly he nodded as she struggled to her feet, looking like he was ready to cry.

Mayumi chuckled through the jolt of pain. “Stop looking so dumb. With your power, I’ll see you again.”

Saxon realised their plan, smirked, and retreated into the darkness. Arata quickly drew a replacement bow for her - the only chance she had to fight this threat.

“This is going to be fun.” Saxon murmured in the distance.

*-*-*

Martel’s grip tightened around her, she was voiceless as her bones creaked.

He lifted her from her feet, slowly bringing her lifeless form towards himself. It was like he was playing with a toy, smirking at her.

She saw herself in the reflection in his eye. Broken and dead eyed. Lifeless. “Fight Ela!” It was useless, those words meant nothing to her now. “You are strong! You are too content with fighting yourself!” The fight was dead, much like her in a few more moments.

She didn’t recognise the person reflected back to her. All those years training, loving, living… and now she had none of it. She was a husk. Tears rolled down her face and onto the torn flesh of Martel, raining down on the bloodstained floor - a drop in an ocean of worthless effort.

“I hate you” she told herself. “Blame Elysian… blame Dolos… you know who killed him. It was you. Your weakness. You didn’t see his crimes, didn’t care to ask. Now he’s gone forever.”

The wind silenced, an eerie silence befell them. She had given in… yet she still clung to her spear - refusing to let it go.

It was all she had left. The thought of it gone, like everything else… finally, now she felt fear, knew what it was. The last lifeline left… and she would not let go.

Martel just felt searing pain, like a bolt of lightning tearing through his eye - and he dropped her.

She collected herself, hobbling back to her feet and using the spear, now dripping red, as support.

“All I have left is the emptiness.” She muttered.

The next she heard was his voice, distant yet right beside her. “The Emptiness Defines Us.”

With all her strength, she pushed off the ground… and sliced through the monster.