“ Deaf, Dumb and Blind: Acedia.”

We walk up the last flight of stairs, standing before the door.

We all place our hands out onto the surface, nothing left to say our hearts haven’t already said.

We push the door open—A gust of wind rushing through, leaving our hair blown.

We step forward, and the moment our feet touch the floor—The door behind us slams shut with another gust of wind, so powerful we stumble forward.

And ahead, sitting on a broken throne, barely intact is a man, bound to his seat by overgrown vines, curling around his limbs.

To say his hair is long is an understatement, concealing his eyes, stretching across the room like a vast white sea, the brittle, split ends the foam. His beard is almost just as long. On his head is a rusted crown, missing gems and pieces of itself, his hands, lying limp on the armrest of his throne, have nails so long they almost reach his feet. His royal attire, no doubt shaded darker with dirt from when he first donned it, is loose on his frail, aged body.

He’s completely stagnant, not even a twitch, it’s like gazing at a still portrait of a man who's let himself go, centuries ago.

And his room reflects the same thing, tattered flags covered in old blood, glass, broken chairs, shattered windows, dirty tiles. The air is thick and heavy with a suffocating filth that seeps into my soul and makes it sting. The weight of the atmosphere feels as if it’s actually pressing down on me, my knees aching and my legs straining just to stand.

“Acedia.”

Maelis shouts, both hands on their staff.

“Do you know who I am? I am Maelis Irvine, and thanks to you, my bloodline will end with me.” they spit, stepping forth.

“Do you know, who we are? “

Jorvain asks, stepping forward with a deep breath as he draws his blade. A ginormous flat sword, silver with green accents, a sun engraved in the center.

“We’re the Sol Viridis, and we’ve come to slay you.”

He says, his eyes sharp, his brows furrowed.

We all grip our weapons, I draw my sword, and place my hand on my heart.

“Hah”.

It’s quiet at first, hard to hear.

But not for long.

“Aha..ahahah!”

Acedia cackles, a horrid off-key note.

“Hahahaha.”

He goes on, laughing till he’s toppling over, wiping tears from his eyes beneath his veil of hair.

Maelis’ face twists with disgust.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had any visitors, took you all long enough, you must be slower than a sloth.”

He laughs.

“You get it?”

He says with a cough.

My brows furrow.

“You’ve told me who you are, but not what. Me? I am not a who, I am a what, but do you know what I am? I am the filthy thing inside you that feels rotten, the cord that strings when you sit and watch instead of stand and do, when you do the wrong thing knowing you could do the right thing, when you choose to look away from the problem instead of solving it. I am the easy way out, more than just fatigue, more than sluggish slumber, I am what makes you deaf, dumb, and blind, I am a mold that strips your soul of its morals and puts your heart to eternal rest. I am Acedia, the 7th Demon Prince and Sin—Sloth!”

He exclaims, spit flying from his wrinkled mouth. His words hit with an indescribable weight, invoking a crushing pressure, i’m not sure I can persevere through it. And yet I must.

“If it’s my core you seek, then come, try to slay sloth.”

He challenges, standing to his feet, the vines that once kept him bound to his throne tear—a variety of arms unfold from behind his back, hunched over by the weight—they shoot straight for us.

“Spread out! One hit is all it takes and he’ll die, his core is between his eyes!”

Jorvain hollers, shooting forward at full speed, he slices a soaring hand into two sides, splitting before him with a spew of brown blood.

“Got it!”

Maelis shouts their hair fanning out as their Ardor manifests—they shoot out their arms—vines flying from the sleeves of their robes, ceasing the arms before they reach them and snapping them in two with a crack.

Dain trudges through the commotion, rotating his axe at a rapid speed, a crimson red aura circling his arms as he seamlessly severs each arm that swings his way, blood splashing against his helmet and dripping down his armor.

Emrys weaves and twirls—quick on her feet, taking one step after another, she strings her bow at an instantaneous rhythm, sending a barrage of arrows piercing through the arms.

I rush to my left—narrowly avoiding an arm shooting at me from the right—followed by a duck to avoid the swinging one shooting forward above me, slamming into the structure of the room with an echo. I sever both arms before they retract.

But with each severed arm, another emerges from his flesh dripping with blood. He stands still, at his throne, swaying with the swift movements of his arms, his head hung low.

“Jorvain! Cut his head off!”

Maelis shouts as they command a series of vines to Sloth—sending his body slamming back into his throne—he lets out a deafening roar, the weight of the room only increasing crushingly.

All of Sloth's arms began to retreat to his body to protect him—but Jorvain’s already booking for him

“On it!”

Jorvain exclaimed, blitzing forward, the sun overhead beaming brilliantly through the broken ceiling—he pulls his arm back, swinging his sword with all his might—

Right before it connects, several arms grab a fistful of his cape—yanking him back sending him flying all the way across the room—his back slamming into the door which gives out, falling to the ground with a ginormous thud.

“Jorvain!”

We all cry.

Blood expels from his mouth, rushing down his chin

“I-I’m okay!”

He coughs

“F-focus don’t let him—

Acedia breaks free—shooting his arm out, an influx of arms rips through the flesh of his back, emerging from his being, a pool of blood forming where he stands as he grunts with pain, commanding his arms—they swarm us.

The hands balling up into fists—Dain rushes forward wrapping his arms around Emrys and Maelis, pulling them close to his body to block the barrage and take the hits.

Maelis’ staff is sent flying out of their hands, both Emrys and their hat blowing off their heads and flying across the room. With each hit Dain takes, he cries out in pain, his armor denting and pressing inward.

“D-Dain!”

Jorvain grunts, struggling to his feet, holding his back in pain, his face furrowed with agony.

“D-Dain! Dain, I’m coming!”

I shout, rushing forward. But with each step it becomes apparent to me—the arms aren’t shooting for me, and I’m not weaving them—because they can’t see me, Acedia can’t see me, and that’s because my Ardor..it’s not there.

My pace slows and I fall to the floor as a hand flies past me.

Acedia won’t go for me. In this battle, in this battle that matters most, I cannot be of any use? I can’t help—

I can’t be a hero.

And there were those two words again: I’m useless. Even now, especially now. It isn’t fair, I felt my Ardor just a moment ago so what good is it if it won’t even work?!

I hyperventilate, as I raise my shaky hand to my heart.

“Come on! I need your help so work already!”

I shout, tears shooting down my face as I slam my fist against my chest, against my heart.

I do it again and again and again as Jorvain reaches Dain, slicing through the barrage of arms, trying to match the speed they shoot out at him. Dain cripples over, blood pooling from his armor, Emrys tries to hold him, help him up but he can’t even stand to his feet. Maelis tries to reach for their staff, when they can’t they hold out their shaky arms to manifest their ardor, but it comes out in crackling sparks as they sob, their knees slamming to the ground.

My face furrows with desperation and agony, the taste of blood tingling in my mouth the harder I hit my chest.

“COME ON!”

I cry, my voice cracking, as I sob, slumping over.

“R-Roba!”

Jorvain grunts, panting with exhaustion, sweat flinging from his forehead, his hair swaying with every desperate swing of his blade. Through the commotion, through the pain, through the aching in my chest and heart—His gaze meets mine, blurry with tears.

“Look at me Roba.”

He says softly.

“I can’t Jorvain! I can’t! Even now..i’m—

“It’s a hero I love you know, not a damsel,”

He says with a small chuckle, smiling even now.

“So get up and do something heroic.

It’s sudden, but it feels like everything stops.

And it comes to me.

“You can’t be a hero, you don’t have the heart.”

Those were the first and last words my father said after my mother died as he handed me his sword.

Before she died, he was kind, happy, proud. Of his family, his town, of me…

He’s the one who taught me how to fight and wield a sword. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t tell him he was wrong, or cruel. Instead, I took his sword, and I tried to save our town like he used to, to help others, like he used to, to be someone, like he once was before he became a selfish shell of a man.

He wasn’t the only one who lost my mother, he lost his wife, I lost my mom and I’d never get her back, but he lost his son too, when he decided to abandon me, leaving me to mourn him while he was alive, it was he who was death, dumb and blinded by his own self-pity. But I proved him wrong didn’t I?

Even when I failed to slay the slime king, I proved him wrong, because still, I was a hero—

I am a hero.

I stand to my feet—shooting off the ground, I draw my sword—

I don’t need ardor, I don’t need approval, I don’t need praise, I don’t need pity, I don’t need to be perfect, I don’t need to prove myself. All I need is this heart of mine, beating in my chest with love no matter how much it's been hurt by hate, my own and others'.

As long as I’ve got a heros heart, I don’t need anything else—

I dash through the flying arms, aimlessly failing through the air, they can’t see me, neither can Acedia, and that’s exactly how I’ll slay Sloth—I push forward, pointing my blade

I’ll stab him—right between the eyes.

The blade pierces his flesh with a squelch, his breath hitching in his throat as his arms go limp—as my blade meets the core, I feel a jolt shoot through my bones—

“JORVAIN!”

Emrys screeches, the sound ringing through my ears, as the cracked core falls to the floor with a clank, and my heart sinks.

End.