LET ME TEAR YOUR GUTS OUT.
The flying creature floats smoothly above me, even in its injured state. Blood drips from the sky, subtly staining the ground beneath in deep, dark red.
Clouds slowly gather overhead.
Looks like rain's coming.
…Maybe that can work in my favor.
Though I'll have to wait for it to really pick up—if it even does.
…
I keep running, slowing down step by step, trying to catch my breath. Surrounded by cliffs and jagged rocks, the bird has almost no way to reach me here. At the very least, I've earned a moment to breathe.
Let's think.
How the hell do I kill this fat fuck?
It's just a bird—can't be that hard… right?
No. It's bigger. Faster. Stronger than me.
But it's stupid.
It doesn't think like a human.
No real consciousness—just instinct.
A hunter's instinct.
It doesn't care about me unless I'm a threat. Right now, it's hunting me for meat. For food.
So what do I do?
If I run, it'll just tear me apart piece by piece.
But if it doesn't see me as dangerous… then it'll go after my blood.
I could use that.
For sure.
But… how?
To get out of this mess, I'd rip off a finger or two to distract it.
I would.
I don't care about my fingers. Or a hand. Hell, who gives a shit if I lose an arm?
I'd die either way.
If I don't act, I will die.
I stare the hunter down, grip my dagger tight, steadying my hand.
One quick motion.
A sharp, broken cry tears out of my throat.
A finger drops to the ground—wet earth beneath it.
Rain begins to fall. Light at first. Soft rays slipping through the clouds.
Even through the pain, I move.
I grab the severed finger, slick with blood. Strangely, I barely register the pain where it once was—though my body screams for me to collapse, to crawl into the dirt.
But I don't.
I run toward the opening—away from the cliffs, away from where the creature couldn't reach.
I stop near a cliff wall and look up at it.
The bird struggles more than before. The rain seems to bother it—or maybe it's the fact that I've been hiding where it can't reach me.
Either way, that won't last.
Before it dives, I throw my blood-soaked finger out into the open.
A bad throw.
But it works.
Just as I expected, the bird goes for it.
The moment it lands and starts consuming my flesh, I rush out. Dagger in my right hand, my left gripping the handle's base, ready to drive it in.
I charge from the side, shifting my stance mid-run, lining up its chest.
If I'm going to win, I only get one chance.
Thinking there's more would be stupid.
It notices me—finger still in its mouth.
Too late.
I leap forward, driving the blade into its chest. The tip punches through thick flesh as I shove with everything I have.
Please… let this be right.
A piercing scream rips through the air, sharp enough to make my ears ring.
Then—silence.
A massive thud shakes the wet ground.
Rain soaks my hair. Blood drips from my wounds… and from where my finger used to be.
I feel lighter.
Relieved.
Even though I probably shouldn't.
Did I kill it?
Did I…?
I don't know.
My vision blurs. My body moves on its own, like it's finishing the job without asking me—whether out of determination, stupidity, anger… or maybe greed.
Maybe I just want revenge.
I hear flesh tearing. Wet, disgusting sounds as I rip into the bird, tearing its heart free.
The last thing I feel is one final thrust—my dagger piercing the heart again.
A finishing blow.
I collapse to the ground.
The rain finally pours.
Blood and metal mix with the scent of rain.
…
..
.
Spacing off, I hear someone speak. How much time has passed? I don't know.
It's a man's voice. "So he didn't meet death? Unexpected. Well… better get going, I suppose." His voice feels recognizable, I think—but in my condition, I can't put a face to it. My thoughts won't let me linger on it for long…
***
Warmth. I open my eyes, finally waking up from what I'd just been through. I'm not outside, lying on the ground anymore—I'm inside. A house. Warm, actually pretty comfortable… I still feel like shit and my body hurts like crazy, but it seems some of my wounds have been patched up.
How and why?
…Whatever. It's better than lying out there bleeding to death. I guess I should just be grateful.
Wait—what's that? Lying on my stomach is a bag. A sack of coins, by the feel of it. I never turned in the quest… huh?
Who brought me here?
"Thank you," I mutter, to whoever it was.
But… I actually beat that thing?
I got the money?
And I'm alive?
I can finally continue. Get away from this place and head toward Sandory?
…Should I go to Sandory? I'm not sure yet.
"UGHH—" I vomit. "FUCK." I feel sick. I need to get up—bathroom.
As I push myself out of the bed, dizziness hits instantly, like I'm about to collapse right where I stand. The world spins as I try to walk straight, my head pounding and my vision blurring.
I feel like shit.
"Ugh…" I gag, almost puking again.
I open the dorm room door and stagger through the building, trying to find a bathroom. A few people walk by in the corridors—it looks like I'm in an inn.
"Hey, are you okay?" I hear a voice. I look to my right, where a tall man with brown hair stands, watching me with concern.
"Uh…" I feel sick. "I'm, uh… fine."
Not true.
"Ugh—" Shit, I need to puke. "Can you tell me where the toilets are?" I ask, covering my mouth as my vision spins.
"Yeah, uh, that way," he says, pointing down the corridor. "Then to your right. You should see it."
I try to smile and raise my left hand—the one missing a finger—and give him a shaky thumbs-up before stumbling in the direction he pointed.
I crash into one wall, then another, moving too fast for my legs and body to keep up with.
Wait… is that it?
Uh.
Shit.
Fuck.
AGH—wait—handle—
Grab—
Yes—open—
FUCK. I slam the door straight into my forehead. It takes a moment before the pain even registers. I clutch my head as I practically fall into the bathroom, landing on my knees.
I push myself up, unsteady, grab the door, and slam it shut before collapsing over the toilet. A warmth spreads through my mouth as green-yellow bile floods out—the kind you puke when you haven't eaten in way too long. The stench is disgusting, thick and sour, making my stomach churn even more as I retch.
"Fucking hell!" I slam my fist into the wall as saliva drips from my mouth. It hurts—damn, it hurts.
Agh… I blank out for a moment, zoning out in pure pain and disgust.
With a twisted, grossed-out expression, I look up, searching for a mirror. There—on my left. I push myself up, letting the wall support my weight, and stagger toward it.
I look into the mirror.
…I look fucked up.
Drool still clings to my mouth. I notice it and wipe it away with my hand. "There."
My hair's dried—no longer soaked from the rain. Still messy, but at least not dripping wet anymore. It's longer than I remember. Didn't even notice when that happened.
My eyes… yeah. Completely drained. You could probably call them dead.
For a second, it doesn't even feel like I'm looking at myself.
What stands out the most, though, is my clothes. Torn. Scratched. Stained with dried and fresh blood. They don't look anything like they did before. Honestly, they look like they might fall apart at any moment.
Eh. I'll get new ones soon.
With the money I got, I should be able to. Not gonna spend much on it though. Still… a change would be nice. Not complaining.
I take a deep breath, fighting the gag rising in my throat, then stare at my reflection in silence.
What now?
I'm alive. That much is true. I still need to find the others—at least know if they're alive. I've got no clue where to go, no clue where they are. Sandory's probably my best bet…
But I almost died just getting here.
I won't survive shit like this again.
"UGHH—" FUCK.
I grab the toilet in a panic, my thoughts cutting off as I bend over again. My left hand slips off the edge—feels wrong. Too hard. Too empty.
A missing finger.
The realization hits late. Pain pulses where it once was, dull and unsettling. I jerk my hand back and grab the edge again, more carefully this time.
Vomit surges up—violent and burning—like my guts are about to spill out. My vision swims as I retch, the world tilting, and for a moment I'm almost dragged back into unconsciousness.