The scent of the spirit's call, drawn from beyond the ultimate horizon line, brought Him to find Himself upon a torrential current above the Great Ocean beneath the blossoms. His body, eroded by time, was yet swiftly returned in short order.
The arrow that struck His body left no mark, no shaft lodged within. He felt no pain, but the coldness that now consumed Him was a torment too great to wish to acknowledge.
The waves of the ocean were violent, the sound of the storm roaring, meeting a churning cyclone like a gigantic war erupting in the midst of the cold, perplexing sea. An atrocity born of the spirits' very nature. Aquatic beasts from beneath the deep blue expanse rose, swimming. Golden-yellow eyes stared up at Him as He drifted aimlessly, His naked body tossed by the colossal, merciless currents. It slammed His form against obstructions until His flesh was pulverized, His brain being gnawed by blight, every part of His body devoured by stingrays shaped like sharks.
But even then, He did not die. He would never tremble, even when His body was utterly bereft of flesh.
"Where… am I?" No sound pierced the tempest. He could not speak, but the spirit, fragments of its broken memory, compelled Him to wonder what He was doing in this insane place.
"We are in a realm that may not be spoken of to mortals." A multitude of voices echoed in His mind. He could not distinguish them, or perhaps had never known what it was to separate oneself into an individual. He covered His ears as His body reconstituted.
He struggled to recover His own body, which was reacting to the incomprehension within His mind, and to this land, which was so perverse to the spirit it threatened to tear everything asunder. He restored His body by gazing about Himself. He sensed the salty tang of the water. The blue light He saw was a host of souls being translated into mana. His feet touched nothing. He did not know who He was, but this time, at least, His body did not feel stained with sticky blood.
"Go that way." The voice in His head was soft this time. "That way is better." But at times it would return startlingly loud. "Don't run yet." And often it fell silent. "Why so much thinking, I can't swim anyway." It was so irritating He wanted to smash His own head against a barnacle-crusted rock.
Thud…
The sound of a skull, floating by, striking the conch shell of a colossal creature upon the shore that jutted from the ocean. Thunder struck instantly when His blood dripped onto the water that was in the act of returning. He clasped His hand over the spot where the blood would not cease. He was in pain all over, yet showed no expression. He did not cry out in agony, but merely wore a puzzled look when His feet touched the sand of the vanished beach—the ground beneath Him loose and soaked upon the rank-smelling shoreline, the stench of a whale carcass the size of a cruise ship.
He rose upon legs devoid of the strength to walk. His naked body was still wet with sea-spray, not to be dried out anytime soon. "Oh, God, Heaven favors greatly. The little chick, the soulless one who is true to himself, has been sent into the realm of return. Oh, I feel exceedingly elated." The voice of a woman sounded in His head. A deep voice, not gentle, but full of power, which continued to chant words to the Lord.
"Look clearly, little chick. Do you see your clear space yet?" The woman continued to speak profusely. The more she spoke, the closer she seemed to draw. He lifted His head to stare straight ahead. His feet, rough as un-replaced paddles, trod forward, following the woman's beckoning call—a voice sometimes too distant to hear, sometimes so near it stung His ears.
"We cannot follow her," His thoughts clashed like a sea war. "But it cannot be helped, can't you see!" A voice yelled loudly in His head, yet He kept walking, heedless of any sound. He simply went straight, indifferent to the destination. The sight He beheld: lightning flashed, striking the sharp rock amidst the meadow, which was interspersed with countless rusty sword blades. They were thrust into the earth, bearing carved names as if to signify a cemetery—the names of many heroes He would never know. He pulled out one of the swords, which was stabbed into a skeleton near the path He was traversing.
"Oh, please leave it, please, little—" Fwip… He swung the sword toward the sound of the woman's voice, and instantly, everything fell silent as a graveyard. Even though the area where the sword was wielded was devoid of any living thing, He simply continued to walk, walking thus, with no end to His progress. He walked until He encountered familiar spirits. He saw people who had died. Many souls pulled at His legs, but He simply grabbed them directly and devoured them with sharp fangs. A rock outcrop emerged amidst the tall grass, bearing faint blue glowing runes. He looked upon the letters of a language He did not understand. He heard a bell chime. He saw a triangular light at the end of the path, but the triangle was inverted. He was thousands of steps away from it, yet every stride was never exhausting for Him.
In stark contrast, on the other side of the fading light, monsters, demons, and giants dared to fight the maddened warriors. When they entered the battlefield, they would never stop. They would kill; they had to kill. They would hunt; they had to hunt. "Viongue! I'm going to shoot them in the face, get out of the way!" The body of the large archer, Helm, was soaked with blood, pus, and the carcasses of grotesque, misshapen monsters.
The face of the beast was broad like an elephant's, but without tusks or trunk, its mouth like a crocodile's but much shorter, with eyes nestled in its mane, emerging between orange fur. Its hideous condition made them only want to kill it more. "Stop it, that's my prey!" The Silver-Blood Woman transformed into a red eagle, larger than when she had flown across the ocean. Her body was drenched in blood, true to her epithet. She laughed as she tore off their heads to suck their blood.
She transformed back into the young woman, gripping the sword in its sheath, and split it in two. Her eyes were wholly submerged in a scarlet red. Her sleek black armor bore patches of red that had not been washed away. Upon her lithe body, there was only death. Her fangs had grown longer than a hunter's. Her skin was so pale that dark veins were visible, and she was covered in scars from battle. Every part of their bodies was grievously wounded, but they paid it no mind.
Clang! Clang!
"Warriors, this is not your place! Leave!" A gigantic shadow obscured the thousand moons shining in the sky like stars. The sound of heavy breathing, along with a smell more repulsive than a corpse rotting for a hundred thousand years. It was a Giant, one of the races residing in the demon realm. They were huge and corpulent. Their hands were the size of a ship's sail, their legs as long as pine trees. It roared, using the weapon in its hand, which was another Giant that had died and become a carcass. It dragged the body of its own kind across the land to trample every prey it would eat.
"What place? Why utter such foolishness for me to hear? You claim this is not our place, huh? Who cares? This is why the legends told it: the Giant's brain is smaller than its body. Not only does it eat the corpses of its own kind, but it drags them around too. Manners, do you understand? Demons like you will forever be brainless!" Helm retorted sharply at the Giant. It became instantly enraged and maddened upon hearing the words of this tall being, who, compared to its size, was like an ant insulting it.
"You have the audac—" It was about to speak, but its body toppled over, scattering dirt and stones everywhere. A multitude of monsters rushed toward them. The Giant tried to rise, but the female warrior, in her woman's form, stabbed a sword into its soft abdomen and ran, dragging the pierced sword, slicing it into mere shreds of flesh. "Stop! It hurts!" Blood and flesh were torn and eaten by the Blood Woman. She mutilated it until it was pulverized. Its long, sticky dewlap neck was severed by her sharp sword, followed by a sound of maniacal laughter. "I need more! Come on!"
"Ooh… you're quite a psycho, you bloodsucker." Helm followed her blade by repeatedly shooting the twitching shreds of flesh on the ground. Because when this Giant was chopped into small pieces, its organs became like separate bodies. It screamed as his arrows struck the remnants that retained only heat. The two warriors tore it to shreds. Several monsters began to retreat. The aura of vengeful spirits within the bodies of those who had died made them so terrified they soiled themselves.
"Don't you dare think of running away!" Time passed, heedless of months or suns. The unstoppable madness only served to amuse them. They loved to fight. They were slaughter. They had to kill. These were the warriors people feared and dared not speak of in war. Naming them on the battlefield was no different from speaking of ghosts—no matter how many times they died, they would never truly perish.
A distorted world. A non-congruent land. Bodies not their own. This world was such a world. The war they thought they would never contemplate was the place, the only thing, that made them still feel alive.
"Th-They… still won't stop…" The sounds of multiple Giants that rushed in afterward began to flee, but as they ran, they were kicked by her claws, followed by arrows that flew, delivering the power of vengeful spirits, tearing their bodies until the surrounding mana trembled. Whispers from the past returned with their memories. They… began to stand still.
"Viongue… stay still," Helm warned softly. But… when he closed his eyes with her… all their memories from before they were warriors… "Helm… this place is…"
It all rushed back instantly. They ceased their frenzy. They ceased their killing. Everything stood still. Only the two warriors remained, who became aware of the superimposed memories. They… were divided once more.