Cyrn is sitting at his desk, punching his keyboard with a face twisted into violent rage. Keys are flying everywhere, keys he knows he'll have to quickly pick up before he respawns in the fountain.
"Heh You know, dude, it's a miracle that thing has survived the onslaught of abuse you give it. That keyboard is built like a tank."
Over the mic, Cyrn hears his best friend Silas, his friend for way too many years now, chuckle in amusement at Cyrn's overwhelming rage.
Cyrn picks up the microphone and responds to his friend, "It's not my fault the balance team doesn't know how to nerf a champ that is the best in-slot pick for 3 entire lanes now. I mean, who was cracked out enough to think this would be fair in any capacity? Fuck ass game."
Silas laughs in response, "Haha, yeah, you're right about that, but yet here you are still playing it after all these years, maybe we should find a new game?"
Cyrn laughs, something cynical, like he's been defeated. "Heh, yeah, right. This game is like heroin; the first two weeks are great, then you can never put it down, no matter how much you hate it. I've simply resigned myself to this sad addiction of mine."
Silas laughs even more. He's heard that line so many times now, he could've predicted his response before Cyrn even spoke, "Uh huh, yeah, I've definitely heard those words before. Well, allow me to free you from today's dosage, you poor addict. I want to work on my webnovel you so adamantly refuse to read."
Cyrn smiles to himself, "I've told you before, Silas, I don't consume that fantasy hero slop you love so much. I'd rather read and follow a WikiHow on how to be normal than read that shit hehe". Cyrn laughs at his own joke, very pleased with his little quip.
Silas responds, "Hmph, whatever dude, go read your WikiHow's while I go consume and create CULTURE, you swine."
Cyrn belly laughs a little in response, glad his best friend doesn't take his jokes too personally. Soon though, the call falls silent, and a tad bit of awkwardness fills the air for both of them. Cyrn knows what's about to come, and Silas is just prepping the mood.
"Hey dude, I know today's the anniversary, just…try not to think about it too much. Eat something nice and get some sleep, and know that I'm here if you need it. I love you, bro." Silas says. He is soft with the delivery, like he doesn't want to spook Cyrn too much by bringing this up.
Cyrn flinches a little when he hears mention of it. He was trying to forget about it today, but that plan is out the window. He takes a breath and responds, his tone light and uplifting, "Bahhh, don't even sweat it, man." he waves his hand back and forth, even though no one can see it
"That's ancient history, and trust me, I've long learned how to cope with these feelings. The one who needs worrying is you, dude! You sleep way less now, addicted to writing this novel of yours. I even heard you mumble about it in our Phil 251 class! Stuff about story loops and repetitions or whatever. I swear if it wasn't for me, you'd look like a mad scientist by now".
Cyrn responds, making light of the situation and trying to move the spotlight.
Silas strains a smile to his face in response, not expecting Cyrn to bring up his recently more disheveled state, "Yeah…loops and stuff. It's whatever, dude, just really dedicated to my novel is all, you'd get it if you applied yourself to something that wasn't this 'addiction' of yours. Or maybe no,t since you're still bronze after all, hehe" Silas snickers.
Cyrn dismisses him quickly, "I don't know what you're talking about, my teammates all get lobotomies before they queue, I'm just cursed to suffer the consequences. Either way, I'm getting tired. I'm going to bed, Silas. I'll see you tomorrow, goodnight…Silas?"
Silas doesn't respond for a while, Cyrn can't see his face, assuming that maybe his mic is just lagging.
Soon, Silas responds, though his voice is shaky, "Y-yeah, goodnight Cyrn, I'll see you tomorrow".
He leaves the call quickly, worrying Cyrn, but not enough to sweat over it. "Weirdo, whatever, I'm going to bed". Cyrn walks over to his bed and crashes face-first into it.
However, it takes a while for sleep to claim him; thoughts of what today means to him surface against his will. His guilt, regret at his inaction, and the consequences thereof.
"Fuck, god do I hate today". He mumbles into the pillow. He'd promised himself he wouldn't remember what he didn't do last year. Or the year before that. Yet after some tossing and turning, sleep claims him regardless of the thoughts in his head.
POV: Silas
He left the call about 30 min ago. He's sweating profusely, nose bleeding, and a pounding headache slamming against his skull.
His eyes strain against the faint light of his computer screen, seemingly in a physical and mental struggle to continue to type on what appears to be a storyboard for his next chapter.
Guilt is pounding against his heart for what he's about to do, feeling like it's tearing the very fibers that make it beat. Maybe it actually is.
He keeps typing, word after word, guilt and resolve growing in tandem with one another. As he types, he says out loud to himself, "I'm so sorry, Cyrn, it'll be hard, and what I'm doing is selfish, but you're the only one I trust enough to do this. Please…" his voice is breathy and weak now, seemingly held together by sheer conviction.
He continues to type onto the page, 'From the ashes of battle, what was never supposed to exist came to be, and his name was…'
POV: Cyrn
His body feels like it just got run over by a train, and his bed is uneven and harder than last night
Wait, why do I feel a breeze? he thinks
Cyrn's eyes shoot open, and he tries, and fails, to spring to his feet, falling face-first into mud and something else.
What the fuck, what's going on? He thinks. He tries to stand again, this time aware of the pain behind his knees. It's sharp and wet, tendons severed, making him unable to move.
He props himself on his hands and knees as he finally takes a look around, and what he sees overloads his brain.
A battlefield, full of knights in armor, dead. Corpses litter the area like sand on a beach, with so many bodies concentrated in some spaces that they make entire mounds.
Cyrn sees this and feels the bile crawl out from his stomach. The smell, the scene. It all hits him at once until his stomach finally releases its contents onto the floor beneath him.
"What's happening—oh god, what the fuck is happening?" Cyrn's breath hitches. His eyes scan the field of bodies. Blood. Armor. Mounds of them. Why the fuck am I here? Why am I hurt?
Deep breaths, Cyrn, take a deep breath, try to assess what's going on. He forces a calmness to descend into his mind. He starts to take an inventory of his body, and the calmness evaporates again.
FUCK WHERE IS MY FOOT! Cyrn looks down at himself to see that he is missing an entire foot, starting just above the ankle. The pain registrars. He starts to scream, something agonizing, raw, so hard it scrapes the back of his throat.
Soon, he feels a heartbeat. An arrhythmia in his pulse. Blood thickens, and something profound begins to happen.
His entire body descends into agony on a cellular level. Cell membranes are being destroyed, and his Chromosomes, his very DNA is being altered and rewritten into something that never did nor should have existed.
He tries to scream louder as this happens, but soon his throat goes hoarse and silent. All he can do is lie in the puddle of mud and blood and think to himself What the fuck is happening and why. Please stop the pain.
His canines grow sharper, and his eye color changes. He feels a vigor and stamina flood his body, like he could compete in the Olympics now. He feels his tendons reconnecting, a burn behind his knees. Then something else, another pain floods his body, something just as bad as the missing foot.
He looks down and sees the clean cut just above his foot begin to bubble up, then wriggle and writhe like worms are under his skin. The flesh bubbles and knits, skin stretching over raw bone like meat pulled too tight. Veins snake upward through the muscle. He watches, nauseated, as a toenail pushes its way out of the forming skin. Then it registers, his foot is GROWING back, and god does it hurt.
By this point, the pain doesn't even register in his mind anymore, and all he can think is Why the fuck haven't I fainted yet.
The regeneration takes a full minute, and finally, Cyrn stands and succeeds this time.
Though his skin, originally tanned because of his half-Filipino descent, is now a pale, almost translucent white, he can feel something pressing against the back of his lips.
Are these…fucking fangs?? he thinks as he touches the point with his tongue. Sharp, he confirms.
And for the first time in years, he felt something worse than pain. He felt like someone else.