The Great Hero Dust

Once upon a time there was a great hero. Strong and brave and loved by all the world’s people. That great hero, Holy Sword in hand, set off on a quest to slay the Demon King and bring peace to the land once more. The world would be saved.

Yet now here I am, the great hero Dust, defeated in battle without being able to fight back. The Demon King is strong. The Demon King was far too strong. Whether with sword or magic there was nothing we could do. Not a single thing could hurt him. He was a true monster. And I had to kill such a monster. If I really do have the Hero’s Blessing, it must have been wasted on somebody like me. I failed to be a hero. I couldn’t become a hero. And now this world will come to an end.

The place I now lay is the great canyon encircling the Demon King’s castle. I was tossed here mere moments after I was defeated. Surrounding me are mounds and mounds of corpses, some still rotting, some nothing more than cracked bones. I hadn’t fallen into any of the mounds. Rather, with the way the cliffsides are faced, it would be nearly impossible to land on the mounds at their base, underneath the small overhangs. Instead I had fallen on the cold, wet stone. And somehow I had not died.

In spite of everything, I try and fail to move once more. There isn’t much for me to move now anyway. One arm was torn out from the shoulder’s socket, the other cut away just below it. Parts of my sides have been gouged out and my stomach has been ripped open. One foot has been cut off above the ankle, the other leg cut halfway up the shin. And my right eye has been slashed.

I’m in pieces.

I’m broken.

And all that’s left for me to do now is stare up at the moon with my single eye and bleed out. I’m dying. I’ll die. If nothing else, I can take one small victory in dying among people, in this graveyard of martyrs. I’ll become just another body soon.

And perhaps the next hero will be more suitable. And perhaps there will still be a world left to save.

Though I don’t like dying so far from home.

My hometown is a tiny farming village a day’s travel from the coast. Few people would ever know about it. We aren’t significant in the slightest, except for the hero having been born there. It’s on the other side of the continent. I was born there and I should have died there, that’s what would have been right. I should never have become a hero. I should never have died so far from her.

I’m sorry, Alice.

I’m sorry I couldn’t become a hero.

I’m sorry I couldn’t become a proper man.

If I could see you again, I would tell you everything.

I won’t be a coward anymore. So please forgive me.

I want to see you, Alice. Even though I’m a failure of a hero, if I could have one last selfish wish granted, I would like to see you again.

I want to hold your hand.

Though it’s too late now. My body is broken and dying. I’m sorry I’ll die before you, so please don’t cry for somebody like me, Alice.

I hear something skulking nearby. Even if I can’t move the rest of my body, I can crane my neck just enough to look towards the sound. There’s a black-furred beast atop the mounds of corpses, a body larger than a person’s, but only slightly. It’s cat-like, with large eyes and a small nose, though the sclera of its eyes are black, the same color as its fur. It begins tearing the rotting flesh from the bones of the corpses, then begins to crunch its way through the bones, swallowing them.

It’s a corpse eater, one of the many demons that serve the demon king’s will. Even though they don’t need to eat, they appear where battles have been fought and eat the bodies of people. They were always a horrible sight to come across. They aren’t very strong, though. They don’t hunt anything. It would only take a properly trained group of ordinary soldiers to clear them out of a destroyed village.

That sort of thing doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter how strong it is. Even if I’m the great hero destined to save the world, there isn’t anything more I can do. I can’t move. I can’t fight. I thought I would bleed out, but it seems more likely that I will be eaten alive and added to the mounds of corpses that way. It seems I might be a living corpse.

The corpse eater skulks near me, examining my body, as if it were fearful I might still be able to kill it. It takes a couple long minutes to decide that I’m no threat. And it begins to chew on the stump of my leg, the foot cut off just above the ankle.

It hurts. I’m sure it must hurt. But I can hardly care anymore. The only thing that matters is her. I don’t want to leave her behind. I don’t want to be alone.

Alice, I want to hold your hand.

There’s a loud rattling all around us. The corpse eater stops biting into my leg as it begins to look around frantically. As though they’ve come alive once more, the bodies of the people begin to shake in their mounds. The bones and flesh flow towards us, and begin to gather around me. The bones melt together as they approach my missing limbs and shattered body. And so new bones are made, attached to my body as if they were always mine. The flesh wraps around the bones, and so I recover. I return to my full strength. Once more I become the great hero Dust.

I rip the corpse eater in half, and its body turns to shadow and disappears. And so I begin to walk once more. I’m still alive, so I’ll walk once more.

Alice, I’m sure you’re still alive. I’m sure we’re still looking up at this same moon. I can feel it. I can feel it so strongly I could die.

So nothing is over yet.

So I’ll come back home. I’ll come back to you.

So please hold my hand again.

I want to hold your hand.