Pain.
Torturous slow pain.
Excruciating agony beyond what he had ever felt.
Fuck.
He decided to fuck it.
Li Tanrin, known to this world as Ewan Sorrenswal, Archmage of Moros Tyr and the fifth-ever Dragonlord, crawled slowly towards his staff. Every single drag on that marble floor was another grain of salt in his wounds.
He could hear their murmured discussion, a few steps away but sounding like miles off -his friends. Hah. Friends. What great friends they were.
The five of them, Thomas, Alice, Herman, Enrico, and Kiyoko. The lot of them. Yeah. He remembered them now. For sure.
The ones who had journeyed to this world together with him, the only people who understood him for the past ten years as they warred, travelled, and feasted alongside each other -changing the maps of Iverssorn and slaying beasts and conquering spires wherever they marched.
Had they ever understood him? His yearning to go home? He was sure they did. Back then. When they'd talked about the world back home. Now, not so much.
"Stop struggling." Alice crouched over him, wearing the most disgustingly neutral expression, as if she had nothing to do with him bleeding out on the floor.
Yeah, two lacerations on the leg and chest, a hole through the gut and a crushed arm. Suffocatingly painful each one of them.
Li Tanrin spat a clot of blood at the French girl's perfect face.
"Fuck... fuck you." He smiled weakly and gave her the finger.
She scrunched her nose and calmly wiped the blood from her face.
"Spare yourself some pain, motherfucker. It's over."
The others came round now.
They were inside the White Tower. A very black and macabre place really, whatwith the hanging corpses draping the black vaulting walls and the muffled screams coming from the iron wicker cages that hung from chains in the overarching cathedral-like ceiling.
The White Tower was where the Last Titan, Sicelboros, Perisher of Light, the guy who frigging goddamn darkened the sun.
The guy whom God brought them over to fight and get it over with.
They could've won, easy. Each one of them Worldwalkers were op as fuck and had a ton of experience doing stuff like this.
Ten years.
Ten years it took, to get here to the Crimson Sands.
Ten years and now -they suddenly stabbed him in the back.
Thomas grabbed his cheeks now in his gloved hand. "You see, Tanrin, we didn't want this to happen. But you just had to keep pestering us to go back. What's so good back home? Infinitely inflating prices and Covid? We're gods here. Pestilence can hardly touch us and the economy is what we say it is. But we could tell you weren't one to listen, so -sorry but not sorry- goodbye. You're too powerful to keep around as you might go ahead and kill ol' Sicelboros over there for us, and God might just send us home. That's not something we're willing to risk."
A great shadow came down from the throne in the far center of the room now, an oppressive force that could be felt weighty on the skin.
Sicelboros towered over him now, a tall robed figure reminding him of Cthulhu from Lovecraft's works.
"So... you're that one Worldwalker who rejects the power of the gods?" He hissed. He cocked his head as if listening to something.
He suddenly swiveled to Thomas. "What are the rest of you Worldwalkers waiting for? Kill him. His sorcery is not to be underestimated."
Fuck. Li Tanrin'd almost grasped his staff. His fingers were but inches away now.
Away from the others Kiyoko stood apart, her face turned away as if too ashamed to even talk to him.
Yeah, that's right, bitch.
Li Tanrin remembered her most of all. He even saved your goddamn life. Nevermind that then, what's that to those heartless motherfuckers? If only he had a cig right now, he'd just go in peace. Ah. Sweet succour from this blinding pain. Too bad God didn't give him cigs when he crossed over.
Herman sighed. "Stop playing with him, Thomas. Just end it. It's no time for your personal feud."
Oh, now they're being righteous?
"Yeah, yeah, what what." Thomas rolled his eyes and drew a common iron dagger. Hah. Of course. Even the weakest weapon rarity can penetrate the glass cannon body of a mage. Humiliation to the end. Classic Thomas.
The knife drew close now, and his breath quickened. Though there'd been a myriad of trials and hurt along the journey -he'd yet to be exposed to such torturous slow movements. Why couldn't he move faster? Every second was like an eternity as his heart threatened to burst from the strain.
It touched him. Cold.
He felt every inch that the razor-sharp blade drew cross his neck, slowly deepening. Why was he so lucid? He wish he could've fainted now.
Pain.
Torturous slow, slow pain.
Soon the blood trickled warm, and he could feel sleep coming around behind his eyes now. So pleasant. Warm. If only he could rage once more... He wanted to shout something... anything...
-------------------
He opened his eyes.
He was standing once more on a cloud, just like when he'd first came to Iverssorn, when he'd first met God.
God was there now, a white figure so bright he could hardly see even when squinting his eyes out.
Li Tanrin walked over to the figure, indignant.
"What was that, God? Did you send me to this fucking world just to toil for ten years and then suffer such humiliation at the hands of the other Worldwalkers? Why the fuck did you even pick these guys who didn't even want to kill Sicelboros?"
God stayed unmoving and silent.
"Hah," Li Tanrin smiled self-mockingly, "I don't even care now. I just want to go home by this point. Send me back as you said, upon my failure."
God spoke. "Sure thing. You failed. Sicelboros yet lives. Your friends will continue to do whatever they wish in Iverssorn. But you can go home now, as you are a Failed Hero. Goodbye," God paused, as if thinking something else, "and thank you for trying."
Li Tanrin spat onto the ground now. "I hope your world dies. Adieux."
The God said nothing and pointed to a far distance in the clouds, a doorway had appeared.
Li Tanrin headed over there, and all went white.
He woke up for the second time in a span of what felt like a few minutes. His alarm clock beeped 7 am. He was in his own dorm, just above Beijing University where he'd been studying before he'd been torn away from this life, so eerily familiar, yet foreign.
April 2nd.
He sighed. No time had passed, just as the God said.
Good.
The skies outside his window were grey and lifeless, and rain poured heavy.
He went back to sleep.