𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗔𝗚𝗘

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 - NOBODY

I often question the worlds patterns. Sometimes existence will do you good and you're greeted with greatness and positivity but other times you're filled with guilt and dejection to the point you're too tired to hold yourself up.

I wonder why I was given a chance. What good was supposed to come from me as a human. I was born into a prodigious family, I wasn't anything extraordinary. I was just like most people, boring and probably useless. I was never going to be mentioned in history or talked about as an inspiration. I was just like most of humanity; only living and that only.

Sometimes I ponder what it would've been like if I hadn't been born. I exist only to die, and only for a small time. Why was there a point in my being? Life takes more than it gives and all we're stuck with is hazy memories that ache hearts and fill the mind to the brim with misery and grief. I didn't understand why life went through the struggle to put others in scenarios like that. It trapped me in walls of shame and boarded up the windows with difficult grief. My only way out would be to break those walls down myself — and with what? Confidence? Acceptance? I definitely didn't have the pride to stand my ground anymore — fear stricken and hurt. And I still couldn't accept the fact that I had to be part of this world because of my own trepidation. Those walls were made of concrete and I was too weak.

I was dubious and fate got a kick out of my pain. My sorrow and dejection was sucked up by life like a delicious beverage, cooled by sadness and disbelief instead of ice cubes. The burn soda left when swallowed filled in my throat in frustrating bubbles — much like the harsh dryness of my throat that burned from fear. The same fright I felt at this very moment in time where I was stuck face to face with a terrifying special grade that towered sinisterly over me.

A quiver took over my lip, trembles desperately telling me to act but raving thoughts unable to get in line and form a plan. I wasn't going to survive this — there isn't any way. I can't even blame it on my irresolute thoughts because this is the truest answer I have. It's the most believable, death doesn't lie it's blunt — just like my broken sword that still remained in my hand.

What was I still holding it for? Was I still going to fight? I have no chance of survival so why should I try? I guess it's just a natural and subconscious response for the human body — strive to survive, I'm not dead yet.

I took a deep breath before planting my foot into the ground. There's a power with memories, something maybe I can use for my benefit.

The spirit held much more power than me, strength and agility it overpowered me in every possible way. I didn't have a chance to win unless it were mentally — like tricks or games. Unfortunately, I don't have a good brain for that, but I could always just borrow systems and plans and out them in my own scenario.

I leaned back as soon as an attack came my way doubt slightly fading as I managed to escape certain attacks. It was trying to be precise with the hits, aiming for fatal points — that was a small pattern I could catch onto. Avoid getting hit in the worst possible spots.

The moment a small sense of confidence finally came to me I had backed away further catching eye of a path I could run down. Surely it would be fine if I went to get someone else for help, I'm not certified in the slightest to take on a mission like this, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I wasn't going to flee, I was just getting assistance. That's alright, right?

I furrowed my brows and clenched my jaw, lifting the broken sword to counter a strict attack aligned on the center of my chest. Splinters cracked from wood and concreted crumbled in dusty shards, the spirit had control over different structures of matter, and after it had destroyed the wall it went and used that against me. Metal pipes clanked against one in another in sharp hollow echoes that scraped against each form the spirit could think and create. It was interesting how quick thinking this thing was — and even more so terrifying, the spirits reflexes were abnormal and just as unique as it's ability and strength.

The more fear I had the more studious I became — I wanted to live, more than anything, so all my observations were done subconsciously out of panic. They weren't very clear and I was barely able to connect the dots set out for me to line.

I prepared myself for an escape, keeping the spirit occupied with different dodges, I hadn't fought back really. I just kept backing further and further away, creating a space between us until I had something thought out nicely. My mind was still in scribbled meaningless circles, and I was acting impulsively, but I still thought maybe I had a chance — I wanted that chance, at least. Even without having a meaning I was still very scared of death and what would come with it.

I glanced to the side only briefly, which I'd find was a mistake right after, the spirit instantly catching sight of my loss of attention on it and taking advantage of that, sending a collected and scrapped metal form towards me. I was quick enough to block the hit with the small amount of sword I had, a sense of relief washed over me when I caught the attack — something good came from the hours of training that normally would leave me on the ground at another loss.

Practice makes perfect, I had been proud to think, until a burning ache was sent thorough my body.

Shock filled my eyes with white and my breathing paused, terror had returned and I felt another loss being sent my way. My arm weakened and it eventually fell back — as well as my entire body. Tumbling to the ground, I collided harshly with a gasp, a race in my heart told me this was worse than what I could've expected.

A dark scarlet colour seeped from my side, something that immediately made my mind flurry in panic. Blood absconded form a deep penetration in my skin, the colour of my skin painted with fatal hues that made me shake with every glance towards the gaping hole in my side. Pain shattered my sanity and made me seethe out a few cries as I struggled to gain a composure other than complete terror on the hard, dusty floor. I tried not to let the bile up my throat, a thick lump built up that tasted incredibly salty and stung my esophagus. I winced with every breath drawn from my pained lungs, I lost my breath a few times but hiccuped it back into my respiratory— though still unable to think straight.

Everything hurt, aches and burns scratching at my side where it bled shamelessly onto the grey floor, staining it an agonizing crimson.

I need help. I seriously need help.

One of the moving pipes shot forward and I weakly wine to turn my body away, the spirit mumbling something incoherent — I wasn't even sure it was speaking a known language. Gurgles and grumbles emit from the creature before, pleasantly preying on my downfall it stood over me with strength I couldn't imagine anyone could compare to. I coughed a few times sliding as far back as I could before I collided with a firm wall, it shattering on impact — it was also under the control of this spirit.

I cursed mentally as the pieces of the wall grabbed at me, sinking it's sharpness into my skin and forcing bruises to surface. Pressing against my wound I bit back a cry and instead breathed heavily — speeding up my heart and panic but stopping my shouts. I felt like I was being suffocated, crushing arms pulled me down and added pressure to my body, worsening the wound and creating more. I lost my breath and the ability to think straight the moment pain interacted with my body. Cuts and bruises littered my skin like stray marks on a paper.

I can't do anything but there has to be something — I don't want to die. I just need to be saved again, this can be the last time, I swear. I just need help.

So much help.