Chapter 813 (Patreon)

Author’s note: Will try for another chapter sunday, but unlikely as it’s father’s day. We shall see.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1UgP0ODLBGP1lZRqgYdp2bprf-vRjmMqR2wswydLUeTA/edit?usp=sharing

Everyone knows what it’s like to feel sad.

There’s no arguing this. That’s just life. You have good days, bad days, and everything else in between, but we’re here to talk about the bad. You wake up and everything feels off for one reason or another. Maybe your head hurts, or you’re homesick, or you just lost someone close to you, but whatever the reason, you don’t feel like leaving bed to face the world just yet. Much as you’d like to call an audible and take the day off, most either can’t or won’t and just have to power through it. They get up, brush their teeth, maybe take a shower and make breakfast, then go about their day in spite of being down in the dumps. It sucks, but needs must, so you keep your head down and your nose to the grindstone until you no longer feel so down. Maybe it’s your coffee that perks you up, or someone cute who smiled at you on the bus, or your friend who texted you a funny meme. Could be your spouse, your kids, your parents, or someone else who puts a spring in your step, or maybe you just figure it out yourself. Either way, it doesn’t matter how you lift yourself out of your funk, but it happens nonetheless, and you feel good about having overcome a dark point in your life.

Which is great. Life is tough, and you should celebrate the little victories. Now, not to disparage how others feel and minimize their accomplishments, but while this is what most people think of when they hear ‘depression’, they couldn’t be more wrong. Sadness and depression are not the same thing, and while everyone has experienced the former, most people don’t know shit when it comes to depression.

Sure, part of it is being sad, which isn’t that big a deal. Like I said, everyone’s been sad before, so just do something that makes you happy and you’re good, right? Wrong. Depression isn’t just sadness, but intense sadness, one that sucks up all the other emotions in your life. You wake up feeling like shit and you stay in bed despite knowing you’ll probably lose your job if you miss another day. You’re still tired even though you slept all night, and you’ll be tired all day too, except when it comes time for bed again, you’ll find yourself unable to fall asleep, which leaves you irritable and upset. So even though you’ve already committed to not leaving bed, sometimes you drag yourself outside instead, maybe meet up with friends and family, but despite being with the people you love and doing things you enjoy, you’d much rather be alone at home so don’t have to pretend you’re having fun.

That’s depression, a heavy weight that clings to you and drags you down at all times, making it an effort to even get up and greet the day, because you’re just dreading the moment when you walk out the door and you see someone you know, they ask you how you are and you say that you’re fine when you’re not really fine, but you just can’t get into it because they would never understand. You’ve heard it all before, all the well-meaning advice and ignorant suggestions, like, “Do something you enjoy”, or, “Just power through it”, or “You have so much going for you, so you should be happy!” Yea, no shit. I know I should be happy, but if being happy was an option, who in their right mind would choose depression? No one, which should be a sign that all is not well when someone does just that, except now you made them feel depressed and ungrateful. Way to go.

Depression is an affliction in every sense of the word, but those who don’t know think they know and don’t understand how difficult it can be, which makes it that much harder to shake off. They make being happy sound so easy, which makes you wonder why in the hell is it so difficult for you, furthering the downward spiral as you add another item to the long list of why you’re fucked in the head. It’s not the sadness that makes depression so difficult to break. It’s the pervasiveness of the sadness, so all-encompassing that it takes the highest of highs and breaks its knees so it lines up with the lowest of lows. Doesn’t matter what you do, because you’re still down in the dumps, and keep this up long enough and the apathy soon kicks in. You’re sad and you feel sad, but you don’t care, because what’s the point in not feeling sad? You’ll just be sad again, so why bother? For that same reason, why clean the house? Why cook a healthy meal? Why go to work, oftentimes the source of said sadness, or go out and see how happy other people are which will only make you feel even sadder in comparison. The depression takes over everything until you become numb to it, paints your life in shades of gloomy grey that all blend together into a dismal, dreary portrait that you can’t bear to look at and don’t bother trying to change because it’s a futile effort.

That’s my take on depression, which I have struggled with for as long as I can remember. There’s more to it that is personal to me and me alone, like survivor’s guilt, not just from my time in the mines or the numerous close calls since then, but also in being here in the world at all. There’s my persistent anxiety, which is just my brain going through all the worst-case scenarios and telling me how everything is doomed from the start, which isn’t helpful, but not entirely wrong either. You also can’t overlook my myriad of personal traumas either, both real and illusory of which there are many, all of which is merely scratching the surface of the topic, “What makes Falling Rain so broken?”.

A lot of shit, really. There’s no one glaring defect, but depression surely stands chief among them.

An unexpected benefit of all this is that being numb to the world protects me from happiness and sadness both. That’s why the Spectres’ lies and Zhen Shi’s illusions were never as effective as they would be on someone else, because I live my life in a pit of despair, from which there is no escape but also nowhere to fall further. This enabled me to take in Zhen Shi’s visions of darkness and despair with a clear mind, and more or less ignore the Spectres since their whispered lies were nowhere near as damaging as the hurtful truths I tell myself all the freaking time. Sure, there were times when I almost fell for those lies, but inoculation to depression doesn’t make you immune to being miserable, just less susceptible to further misery. At some point, you hit rock bottom and any added hardships and anguish have diminishing returns on how much shittier they make you feel, and therefore more capable of enduring them before you break.

And I have been infinitely close to breaking for as long as I can remember, but unwilling to wholly give in just yet. It’s not that I want to live or am afraid of dying, but I’ve just been ambivalent about survival most of the time. Why? Because life is hard and dying too easy, so might as well let fate decide.

So when Zhen Shi stood over my broken and battered body, gloating about victory and the suffering I would soon experience, I could only laugh at his naiveté. The man knows his stuff when it comes to pain and subjugation, for he has spent lifetimes mastering these arts, but he knows nothing of true misery. I could see it in his eyes as he loomed over me, his expression one of triumph yet marred by doubt and disappointment as he noted my defiance even in the face of death, because he didn’t understand why I had yet to succumb to his torment. It unnerved him to see me endure without screaming, laying there without a care in the world as he slowly and methodically broke my bones one by one by one, because in his mind, the battle was already won. What was the source of my courage? How was it possible for me not to give in to despair? The questions were right there on the tip of his tongue, so curious as to how I could still hold onto hope, because greater men and women than I had long since given in to lesser torments.

What a sweet, summer child, to dare think pain was all it would take to break me. If that was the case, I would’ve died two weeks into my transmigration and re-rolled long before becoming the man I am today.

Thus, I feel duty-bound to share what I’d learned in this life and the last, because misery loves company, after all. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t wish my innermost fears and concerns on my greatest enemy, mostly because I believe an attack like that should be outlawed as a war crime, but if Zhen Shi’s gonna try and manipulate my thoughts and emotions, then I should at least let him see what he’s up against so he knows when to throw in the towel.

Now, I don’t know how to weave illusions like he can, or whisper lies that sound like his own thoughts echoing inside his head, nor do I believe a measly Emotional Aura is enough to pierce through his defenses, so I have no choice but to rely on a skill I only vaguely understand how to use: Oration. Words to incite emotions, the premise is simple enough, but as far as I can tell, it only works when I truly feel and believe whatever emotions I’m trying to convey. This means I can’t just reminisce about my lowest lows, but relive them in order to share what I feel with my audience of one. As an added twist, I don’t want to give Zhen Shi time to react and stop my Oration short, so I’m flying by the seat of my pants and doing what I can to condense everything I’m trying to share all into one, simple Sending. Time comes to a standstill as I close my eyes and sink into the Void, where I find Buddy waiting to greet me with a tackle to the shins followed up by a vigorous tail-whipping as he wags uncontrollably about. Sitting down so he can clamber into my lap, I hug him tight here in the Void while my physical form cradles Mama Bun close, but even then, I’m not sure I have enough floofs to keep this jaunt down memory lane from turning into a one-way trip.

Lin-Lin only just saved and forgave me for trying to get myself killed saving Shi Bei, so I can hardly turn around and overdose on depression. What a way to go that’d be, but it’s not a price I’m willing to pay, not even if I can bring Zhen Shi down with me. I just have too much to live for now, not just for Lin-Lin, but for my wives, my family, my friends, and my floofs as well.

Because even though I know they’ll all be better off without me, it’d be selfish to just give up now without at least giving it a go. It’ll hurt when the inevitable finally comes around to bite me in the ass, but like they say, better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, right?

…Probably bullshit too, but whatever.

Steeled and ready to begin my emotional assault on Zhen Shi, I kick-start our journey of emotional trauma by going back to the beginning. Or a beginning at least, one of many I still shudder when I think of. A boot slams into my protruding ribs and drives the air out of my lungs, but I push through the pain and hop to my feet in order to avoid a second kick. “Get on yer feet, you worthless scum.” A casual backhand catches me across the cheek and I taste blood in my mouth, but I go along with the impact and it doesn’t drive me off my feet, which is a blessing to be sure. No better way to catch an early beating than to be caught ‘sleeping in’, which is what they’d accuse me of if I were to fall to the floor. “Feedin’ time for y’all, better’n you deserve.”

The groans and sobs of other slaves sound out in unflattering imitation of my own, for none are spared this casual abuse so long as Gortan is here. Another Bristleboar might be less thorough and meticulous, but those who don’t get the boot, get a slap, and those who dodge the slap get a glare, which I’ve now learned is an unspoken promise of compounded suffering later. Better to take the hit here and now than be singled out for more punishment later, or at least, that’s what I tell myself. Even then, I knew it wasn’t true, that no matter what I did, I would suffer for it, and as I lower my inner walls and willingly immerse myself in the memories for the first time ever, it all comes rushing back to me as if I never left. The shame, the fear, the dread, it’s all coming back to me now, and the only thing that keeps me from kicking and screaming in abject denial is the fact that I am merely a passenger in these memories of mine.

It's been more than ten years since I set foot inside this filthy slave pen, but there are still mornings when I wake up with a start, trying to dodge a phantom kick which will never come. That was the worst part of my time in the mines, not necessarily the torment itself, which was unpleasant to say the least, but the anticipation was so much worse. Every morning, I woke up to abuse and knew there would be more waiting in store, and I would base my every action and decision in hopes that my behaviour would somehow mollify my captors and reduce the severity of my inevitable punishment. Keep my head down and do as I’m told, work hard, but blend into the background, pick up rocks to demonstrate my value, but no matter what I do, the abuse continues to be heaped on day after day after day.

The touch of the whip upon my skin, the jarring disorientation of taking a fist to the chin, the lancing agony of a burning poker, and the all-encompassing pain of an overworked body, mind, and spirit. Not even all these torments combined are wholly unbearable, because pain is temporary, suffering but a fleeting sensation with a beginning, middle, and end. The anticipation of promised pain, however, that can oftentimes be far more effective in breaking a prisoner. Of all the torments I suffered through here in the mines, my fear of the boot has stuck with me the longest. I’ve had my bones broken, skin flayed, hide whipped, and nails pulled, but those are torments I can prepare for, brace for, grit my teeth and bear, or scream and cry until it stops, but the boot? That always came when I was most vulnerable, fast asleep and helpless as a new-born babe. A week in and already I was having trouble sleeping because of it, the fear of this rude awakening keeping me up at night, which in turn led to exhaustion which drove me to an even deeper sleep that left me more rattled than ever when morning finally arrived. The dread of awaiting the inevitable, while frantically doing everything you can to lessen the forthcoming pain despite knowing there is nothing you can do to change things, this is what broke me in the end. The acceptance of pain, because pain eventually stops, but the waiting never ends, never leaves you a moment of respite, for the moment one torment ends is the moment the clock starts anew as you count down the seconds before your next unavoidable punishment.

None of this will be news to Zhen Shi, for he had a hand in crafting this milieu of suffering. His understanding of the human mind is second only to his understanding of the human body, and he wields this knowledge like a surgeon wields his scalpel, with precision and confidence to do exactly what needs to be done in order to further his goal. He knows full well that torture itself is not always the worst part, that angst and apprehension are every bit as formidable as pain and suffering, if not more so. He understands the cause and effect of it all, knows how to induce this mindset and exploit it to create Defiled, Spectres, and Demons, but he doesn’t know what it’s like. He doesn’t understand how it feels to be weak and powerless, has never been in the shoes of someone striving to survive, hence why he does not understand true misery. How could he? He’s Zhen Shi, a disgraced Imperial Scion, so how could he know what it is truly like to be beaten and downtrodden? To have someone systematically dismantle your defences and lay your vulnerabilities bare until your version of happiness is receiving some form of lesser punishment? To celebrate when the guards deny you a meal or beat you with their fists instead of taking up the lash or pliers? That is true misery, when the pain becomes a part of life and you grow numb to despair, because suffering is your new normal and anything less your new bliss, your goal for enduring the trials and tribulations laid out before you.

This is the first blade I prepare for my foe. Not the pain and suffering I endured, but the callous indifference and quiet acceptance of anguish and torment. The cold contempt of rational resignation in the face of overwhelming odds against you, and the harrowing dread and apprehension which comes from awaiting your inevitable fate. A fearsome combination of submission and self-loathing, but as I said before, this is only the beginning.

Another core component of my all-encompassing misery is my crippling anxiety, which manifests itself as unending doubt and lacking self-confidence. I deal with this by planning for the worst, but the sheer volume of uncertainty means I am never not worried, because even when I think I’ve accounted for every possibility that comes to mind, I am also aware of my lacking intelligence and how that could blind me to contingencies which I failed to account for. This isn’t limited to important plans either, as I feel the same need to overthink even simple operations like going out for a stroll through the market. I’ve suffered from this affliction even before I became Number One Talent in the Empire, Minister of Finance, and Legate of the Outer Province, and those lofty titles have only made it worse.

Is today a good day to show myself in public? When was the last time it rained? Can’t be seen traipsing through mud after all, or show up soggy and downtrodden lest I lose face. What about my enemies? Have they been more active of late? Are they gathering their strength for an all out assault the moment I let my guard down? If not, then what are they up to? How about my allies? Are any of them planning behind my back? I should take a gander at the sales record of homes in the market district, just to make sure no one has been buying up property and having assassins move in to hide in plain sight. Or maybe they’re all regular people, but are any of them unhappy with how I’ve been doing things? Am I carrying enough coin to buy everything I’ll need? When was the last time I had the carriage checked for wear and tear? Or sabotage? Should I have the Death Corps start checking before every trip? Can I even trust the Death Corps? Sure, they’ll follow orders to defend my life, but Yang Jixing demonstrated how easy it is to turn them against me, so I should take measures to safeguard against them.

And all this is merely a taste of what it’s like to be alone with my thoughts, an endless stream of questions and concerns which I can never fully allay. At the end of the day, it all boils down to one core question. Not, “Am I safe?”, because I know I am not, but rather, “Is there any danger I’ve failed to account for?”, to which the answer is almost always going to be, “Probably.” It’s impossible to prove a negative, so even if I go over every detail and account for as many possibilities as I can think of, who’s to say there’s nothing I missed? There’s no way a human mind can conceivably enumerate every possible variable, much less plan for them, so it would be arrogant to the extreme to claim to have everything under control.

This is doubly true when other people are involved, because people are not machines and won’t always act in a logical or even self-serving manner. Hence my obsession with planning out all the details, because a problem foreseen is only a problem if you fail to account for it, but even then, I more often than not overlook the simple truth of the matter and find myself unprepared and at a loss. Man proposes, and Heaven disposes. Mortals plan, and gods laugh. My failures to account for the details are merely another way in which I am made vulnerable and exposed, which I loathe and fear with all my heart. I yearn for power and control over my own fate because I’ve seen what happens without it, so I plan and scheme to make sure I am never made helpless again, except I will never be fully in control so long as I live, not really. Shen ZhenWu told me as much, and Zhen Shi reaffirmed it when I told them why I pursue the Dao.

“I pursue strength so I may remain free, free from conflict, free from strife, free from worry, just... free,” I declared, meeting the Legate’s gaze with a confidence I don’t possess, but he asked for the truth. “The Martial Dao is merely a means to an end, so you see why I refuse to trade my freedom for more strength.”

I remember well how Shen ZhenWu looked at me in response, with an expression somewhere between envy and pity. “I almost admire your foolish simplicity, Falling Rain. The freedom you seek does not exist, not for men like you or I. Service to a person, service to a cause, or service to your conscience, in the end, you are bound by circumstances beyond your control. You wish for true freedom, power enough to remain unfettered from all conflict or struggle? Not even the Emperor could grant you this request, for you’ll soon find that the more power you amass, the more fetters you accrue. There will always be a person, a cause, or a principle which you will serve, even if you think it’s of your own volition.”

And no matter how much I wished it were otherwise, Shen ZhenWu was right. No amount of strength can ever secure me the freedom I seek, because even with absolute strength, I would still be shackled by my concerns for the people around me. Killing is so much easier than defending, and I cannot defend all my loved ones at all times. Easy to guard against an open sword, but the hidden dagger much less so, and no matter how smart I become, I can never plan for every eventuality. Life finds a way, and life is suffering, because even if I manage to keep my loved ones safe for a lifetime, I will inevitably lose them to death in the end regardless. This is only compounded by my knowledge of reincarnation, because knowing everyone goes on to live another life after death makes everything I have in this life seem so much less meaningful. Why cherish anything ever if I’m going to lose it all anyways? This is what the Brotherhood means when they say life is suffering, because life is impermanent, and impermanence is suffering. What we have in this life will never translate over to the next, so though I may enjoy a lifetime of happiness with my loved ones here in this world and this life, who is to say I will find them again in the next?

A thought which scares me more than anything, and why I was always so eager to die first. Can’t be responsible for finding anyone in the next life if I’m the first to go, right?

All of which is really just a fancy, in-depth look at my social anxiety. Most of the time, I only really have to worry about stuff like how to respond to casual greetings and ensuring I only make eye contact for an appropriate amount of time, neither too much nor too little, but even that is exhausting enough once you pile on the interactions. I doubt Zhen Shi knows much about this either, for he does not strike me as someone who is timid or uncertain, nor does he appear lacking in courage or confidence. Me? I am the exact opposite, and I know full-well how hefty a burden these intrusive thoughts can be, and I take all my memories and emotions of such events to distill down into the very essence of persistent panic and existential dread so that I can share it with my most hated foe.

I actually feel bad about doing this, but he forced my hand.

This much is far from enough, for this is not the sum total of my misery just yet. There is still my regrets and remorse to go through, of which I have plenty. Survivor’s guilt for one, as noted before, because who am I to deserve to live where so many others have died? What makes me so special that I get to keep my past life’s memories? That’s why I work so hard in spite of my depression, because so long as all this suffering has a purpose, then it means I will not have suffered for nothing. It would give my life meaning, a function to fulfil and a goal to achieve, a reason for my existence, one I would do anything to understand, but more than that, it would do much to ease my conscience regarding the many gifts I have received. I am loved, I am cherished, I am admired, and I am respected, but all of this is built upon a lie.

Because if people knew the full truth of my existence, then they would see me for the charlatan that I have become.

Number One Talent in the Empire. A title meant to denote the most promising young Warrior under twenty-five, one bestowed upon me for my domineering performance in Nan Ping, but little does the Empire know that I am no young talent at all. Even accounting for the fact that I can’t remember anything before my time in the mines, I still have at least forty years of life-experience under my belt, if not more. Sure, it’s only been a decade since I set foot on the Martial Dao, but it is an undeniable fact that my speedy progress and unprecedented success is all due to my past life’s wealth of memories and experiences. Not just the power of memes that I only just discovered today, but the basic knowledge I’ve brought over which has helped me make sense of the world around me.

Take the Forms for example, the cornerstone of the Martial Path. While my past life’s knowledge had no bearing on learning the various Movements, you cannot in good conscience claim that a lifetime of experience is not useful to have when comprehending each use case scenario. You know more, you’ve seen more, and thus it’s easier for you to extrapolate how something can be used, regardless if it’s a technique to fight or cook with. In one-on-one combats, I only rarely win through absolute superiority of skill, strength, speed, or some combination thereof. I usually win because I know how to best pit my strengths against my enemies’ weaknesses, which again, I can only attribute to my additional shares of life experiences. Ninety-nine percent of the time, thinking outside the box comes from having figuratively seen the box from a different angle, which is a direct result of life experience. Leadership and command also benefit from this, which I have similarly been praised for but don’t deserve, because while I stand heads and shoulders above my peers, they’re just a bunch of kids, so it’d be stupid if I didn’t stand out.

Then there’s Panacea, which might well be my most widespread success, but I never would’ve figured it out if I didn’t know adult teeth aren’t supposed to regrow, a seemingly minor tidbit of knowledge with widespread repercussions. My Domain and Natal Palace are also larger than the norm, which can be chalked up to having a more powerful soul because of past life shenanigans. Creating a complex Natal Palace might also be because of all the television and media I’ve consumed, but also due to the fact that I had a soul crushing job in a Call Centre, which means comparatively speaking to the people of the Azure Empire, I trained my soul on max level difficulty before even coming to this world. A textbook definition of unfair advantages, because there is nothing in the world that can match the mindless monotony and emotional discipline required to survive in the world of customer service.

How about my ability to Devour Spectres? It first came about after my disastrous dip into Western Treasures Lake outside of Sanshu which left me broken, bleeding, and dying on the beach shore. The Spectres pestered me without end in an effort to drag me down into the depths of despair, but they failed time and time again. Not because I was strong of will, but because I was so inundated with misery and despair that I’d disassociated myself into two distinct personalities. Whether it was by luck or by instinct, my ‘darker’ personality took control, but since he was the ‘younger brother’ and inferior partner in our relationship, he was unable to wholly surrender to the Spectres because he lacked the authority in the first place. Thus, my ability to Devour was born, because for others, taking in the Spectres meant giving up control, but I’d already taken control away from my alter ego, and thus he became a safe haven for the Spectres to infest.

After which I lucked into finding Blobby, who likely only bonded with me because of my ability to Devour Spectres without losing Balance, since it meant he could just hang out in the safety of my Core and have meals delivered to him on demand.

Suffice it to say that I’ve had more than my fair share of successes which I can only attribute to my dog-shit luck of having a past life to rely on. Hardly something to inspire confidence, like having a big ego just because I was born rich. Sure there are those who feel that way, but I’m self-aware enough to understand that my achievements are not mine alone. For this reason, I am forever stuck out of my depth as I float through life trying to pretend like I know what I’m doing, all the while blundering my way to success as an imposter in plain sight, one lucky enough not to stumble and fall just yet.

Indifference. Inadequacy. Incompetence. Words which describe my plethora of insecurities, but fail to truly convey the depths of my misery, but the words are not important. Emotion is my weapon here, a lifetime of suffering which I would not wish upon my worst enemy, but there is still more buried deep within. Everything I’ve touched upon is merely the result of the defining moment in my life, a life which was never mine to begin with. That’s where most of my issues stem from, the fact that I feel I do not belong here, that I was never supposed to open my eyes on that slave auction stage and breathe my first breath of air here inside the Azure Empire.

Except that’s not true at all.

The memory comes unbidden to me, and I struggle in an effort to reject it, but I cannot win against my own psyche. The truth unfolds before my eyes, a truth I’ve buried deep, but one I can no longer deny in light of recent events. Here I stand beneath the pale, wan sun, peaking out just over the horizon to cast away the shadows and envelop the world is an unearthly glow. Dim though it might be, it still hurts my eyes after so many months immersed in darkness, a yearly occurrence for as long as I can remember. Usually, the stars alone shed light enough to navigate through these frozen wastes, but the days will grow brighter and brighter until it becomes too blinding to go out, before slowly giving way to the darkness once more.

I much prefer the darkness, because when the world is cast in gloom and shadows, I cannot see the face of my enemy and be reminded of what we share, or what we must do now that the sun has risen.

Though he is younger, he stands a head and a half taller and almost twice as wide as my spindly frame. He’s always been bigger than me though, a marked advantage in this battle of life and death, because superior skill can only go so far before sheer muscle overwhelms you, and I lack both. Head shaved and chest bared, he scowls as our eyes meet and I see his hesitation, hesitation which is mirrored in mine because neither of us want this. There is no choice however, because the weak die and the strong survive. That is our way of life, one which has been drilled into our minds and bodies since the day we could walk. There is no room for mercy or compassion in our hearts, no place for friendship or empathy, only the cold, harsh rules of reality which we both must adhere to.

He's always been the stronger one, this much was made clear right from the start. When pitted against one another, he got the lion’s share of the prize, regardless if it be food, shelter, comfort, or anything else. That’s why he’s grown so much taller and bigger, while I remained a bundle of bones and skin with barely any muscle at all, meaning our conflict was more or less decided from the start. I should just give up now, give in to the inevitable and concede defeat, but I can’t bring myself to surrender just yet. Not because I don’t want to die, nor is it because I hope to live, but because I know it’ll be harder for him to kill me if I don’t fight back.

So I fight. I throw myself at my foe, and it catches him off-guard, but he’s strong enough to throw me off with ease. Rolling across the jagged, frozen earth, I recover in time to slip aside from his follow-up kick, one which would’ve caved my head in. Throwing myself at his supporting leg, I drive him back half-a-handspan at most without even affecting his balance, and I feel my feet lifting off the ground as he regains his footing and hurls me away. Should’ve slammed me down instead, because now I have strength enough to roll and recover, landing lightly on both feet just in time to narrowly dodge his charge. Pushing him along in hopes of buying myself some time, I skip backwards and freeze in place as my foe stumbles and falls to one knee, at which point instinct takes over. I leap onto his back and wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing with every scrap of strength I still possess. He bucks and heaves before pushing himself to his feet, but I cling gamely on with my feet perched on his hips. Unable to pull me loose, my opponent predictably tries to fall backwards and slam me against the ground, but I was expecting as much and release my grip just in time to push off his back and avoid being pinned between him and the earth. As his body crashes down, mine hangs in the air for a moment, just long enough for our eyes to meet before I begin my descent anew. Time stops as we bid each other farewell, and it pains me to see no hatred, fear, or even reluctance in his expression, only grudging acceptance and sweet relief.

Time resumes, and he crashes into the ground mere moments before my elbows slam home into his neck. Death is instant, and as I take in my victory, there is no joy in my heart, no pleasure to be had, only a sense of incredulous disbelief at having survived this final trial. This life was not meant to be mine, because I’ve never won against him before in my life, and I would have died a hundred times if not for the fact that our previous fights were only training matches. This was our first real life and death battle, one which no one expected me to survive, but survive I did because my opponent stumbled over a jagged rock and couldn’t recover in time.

Breaking the rock that helped secure my victory, I use it to carve up my prize to bring home as proof. To the victor goes the spoils, and I know I should partake in the strength of my fallen foe. I cannot remember the last time I dined on warm flesh, or even when my belly was full, and I do not have the strength to keep this whole prize to myself, but I am in no mood to eat. A poor exchange, for I know he would have dined upon my flesh if our roles were reversed, but unlike him, I am unworthy.

As expected, most of my prize is stolen before I make my way back home, because with my victory, I am no longer a child protected by custom, but an adult of the village free to grow my hair and beard both. There is no pride in the achievement, for it means I must labour even harder to earn my fair share or be banished, and I suspect I will be dead before the darkness comes again. Carrying the single trophy left to me as proof of my hollow victory, I return to my father’s lair and make my way inside, even though I know I should not be here, and should instead be fighting for a place to carve out my own lair before the other new adults return. There’s something I must do though, something I need to prove to myself first, which is why I came here instead. Cradling my brother’s head in my arms, I take a seat before my mother who has yet to notice my arrival. “I am back,” I declare, and only then does she stop staring off into nothingness to register my presence, before giving my prize a questioning gaze. “He stumbled and fell, so I killed him and won.”

Her brow furrows in surprise and confusion, unable to make sense of what I said. Her amber eyes take in my face, then the face of my brother who is dead and gone, only to come back to my face without any hint of grief, pleasure, or any other emotion besides mild curiosity. “You killed the warrior,” she declares, stating the obvious with a tilt of her head. “Which one are you again? Not the slayer. Not the glutton. Not the dagger or the wretched, the spear or the blooded. I know not your face, only that you are not my little light.”

In her mind, our names were merely labels, but it was all she’d given us, all she had, and she doesn’t even remember our faces. Me least of all, despite being the one who needed her the most, the weakest runt of the litter who was destined for death. Or maybe that’s why she didn’t bother remembering me in the first place, because she assumed my fate was sealed, but I survived in spite of the odds, at the cost of my brother’s life. My little brother Baledagh, the Warrior, the strongest one of all, and the only reason I even made it this far. He fought and won the lion’s share, but he always saved enough for me, because he knew I’d die without it. That’s why we were pitted against one another, because such weakness could not be tolerated, but my little brother protected me to the end.

“I am Amigui,” I reply, amused by how apt my name is. The lifeless. Stillborn yet unable to die, an ill-omen if there ever was one. That’s all there is to say, as my mother’s expression turns to one of disgust and revulsion before turning away so she no longer has to look at me, because I am still dead to her now as the day I came out the womb just minutes ahead of my little brother. Nothing will ever change this, a truth I must now accept, for she only has room for her little light in her heart, her Gerel who she left behind. Leaving with my brother’s head still cradled in my arms, I bring him out to the edge of camp where we can watch the rising sun together, because unlike me, he always loved the light. The others return and are surprised to see me, but I pay them no mind, nor do I care to answer my father when he comes to ask me why I’ve yet to secure my own dwelling. The sun slowly rises as the days pass by, and I continue to keep my brother company, because I never expected to make it this far and have no idea what I’m supposed to do, nor do I care to even try. I eat when I must, because I cannot squander this life that has been gifted to me, and soon enough, all that is left of my brother is a skull and nothing else.

At which point father arrives to tell me I’ve been banished from the village for my failure to contribute. I take the news in stride and leave my brother’s skull behind, because unlike me, he deserves to stay, and I say nothing as father carries me away to a far-off land steeped in colours I’ve never seen. I presume it’s so I can’t make my way back to the village, but then he hands me over to a person I don’t recognize who throws me in a cage. Not that it matters, because this changes nothing, and I simply close my eyes and wish that I had died in birth rather than be born to a world that didn’t want me.

And when I opened my eyes again, Amigui is gone, with Rayne standing in his place, and the rest is history. The torrent of once-suppressed memories surges through me in a maelstrom of grief, guilt, shame and more as I struggle to come to grips with a past I tried so hard to forget made evident once again. This is my life, one I can no longer deny no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. These memories are as much mine as the memories of my past life, and though I am still unsure as to how or why things turned out as they did, I must accept that I am of this world and the last. I don’t know what to make of it all, but I can’t keep hiding from the past, no matter how dark and dismal it might be, and in my anguish, I hold firm to one truth that I pray keeps me sane long enough to finish what I started. This is who I am, and though I wish I could change history, every step taken along my Path is a necessary one, especially the ones I regret most, because without the mistakes and suffering of my past, I would not be the man I am today.

A giant mess of a man with more baggage than a commercial airport, all of which I will now dump onto Zhen Shi because fuck him in particular. All that’s left to do is pick out the right words to express my emotions through Oration, an answer which comes unbidden as the maudlin melody leaves my sombre, smiling lips.

“Hello darkness my old friend…”

Chapter Meme