Gacha System: Reborn In The Hardest World
Chapter 47: A Soul’s Wish

Chapter 47: A Soul’s Wish

As the first key was pressed, humming sweetly, it felt as if the blood was coaxed from his bleeding wound. He dispelled his pain as he bit his lip, clenching his stomach. It didn’t take more than that single note to realize the reality of the situation–

’This is the true nature of that ability of his, isn’t it...? I need to get to him–before I die,’ he realized.

It was an arduous task, seeing as the length of the lavish hall was like that of a marathon for his exhausted body. As he moved one foot in front of the other, taking the first step as the melancholic melody filled the hall, he kept his eyes on the man on the stage.

It was only after a single step that he spat out, feeling his chest tighten as if his heart was being squeezed from within–

"Hrk!" He spat out.

’It’s not just stripping away breathing...I get it now–the more I fixate on him, the faster my body dies. Suffocating, a heart attack...What a lonely power,’ he thought, clutching his chest as his heart thumped in his ears.

He forced himself to continue moving, using the seats as support as he stumbled onward, moving downward towards the stage. As he listened to the recital being played, the hum of the keys, it was as if he was being connected to the very thoughts of the performer–

["My world has been black and white; a meaningless husk of empty words and unfulfilled promises. Yet, whenever my fingers touched the keys, when I became entranced in the sounds I brought forth, it gave my world color."]

–Another step, this time finding his own hand reaching to his throat as if it had a mind of its own. His own fingers wrapped around his neck, squeezing with a vice grip, hastefully attempting to rinse the life out of his body.

He fought his own hand, peeling each finger from his neck before pulling it away from his throat, gasping for air. Quickly wiping the saliva from the corner of his mouth, he kept moving as the melody intensified, filling his ears.

["Everything from before I became a Venator is foggy. That is, I don’t recall why I even began playing. Though, when I play my melody, I feel the presence of another–there was always somebody here when I practiced. Who was it...?"]

As he walked, he felt the melody consuming his mind, drowning in the very soul of the performer. Tears sat at the edges of his eyes, discovering an unusual sorrow building in his heart–

’It’s not just trying to kill me...It’s warping my mind...I can feel my resolve being scraped away–I can’t let it,’ he urged himself. ’No, it’s not anything like that...It’s because I can feel his thoughts, his intentions–it’s making me...hesitate to kill him?’

He shook his head, continuing onward as his heart constricted in his chest and his body fought against him. As he fell to a knee, blood spilled from his wounds, gasping as he clung to the edge of the seat beside him.

’I can’t stand. My legs won’t listen to me...My body is giving in–I can’t...’ He resigned, looking down as his legs trembled.

He was close enough to see the man on the stage, striking the keys with utter passion, though growing paler by the moment as a pool of blood built beneath the performer’s seat. As he clutched the seat, he did his best to command his body, hardly lifting himself–

"C’mon, Master."

Manifesting in front of him, a helping hand came from the warrior, who hardly looked to be more than a passing spirit as he grabbed the ethereal gauntlet. It felt as though he took the reins of a powerful steed, whipping him right up to his feet.

As he stumbled forward, the helpful warrior was dismissed as quickly as she came; a fleeting phantom.

’I can’t just die. This second life, this second chance–I have to make it meaningful. I regret it so much, how I wasted my past life...I miss my parents, my friends...but, that means for them, I have to find happiness here. I can’t let myself die,’ he resolved with rocky breaths.

Blood trickled from his wound as his heart wildly thumped in his chest; each step he took was wobbly and uneven, yet he brought himself closer and closer. Just a few strides before the stage, he took another step and–he missed.

He tripped, finding the velvet floor rapidly approaching–

"Ah! Gotcha, Boss."

A reliable hand pressed against his chest, finding his arm slung around the shoulders of the helpful "Jack of All Trades." He was straightened out, feeling the warm presence of the adventurer before his presence was gone, just as quickly as it came.

As the hopeful melody, of life and its joys, filled the hall, he found himself at the edge of the stage. There were no steps, only a ledge that needed to be ascended. He grabbed onto the edge with his trembling fingers, attempting to lift himself, though his exhausted body hardly listened to him.

"Come on...Just a bit more..." He weakly mumbled to himself.

As the blood dripped from his body, so did the strength as he was stuck partially up the stage, finding it more likely he’d fall before making it over. Right as the meager energy in his fingers were about to give–

"Hrrrrr...!"

A muffled growling sound met his ears, feeling something tugging at the sleeve of his uniform. As he used all of his strength to peek over the ledge, he saw it; the capybara atop, grabbing onto his sleeve with its teeth as it pulled with all of its might.

"...Pucha..."

With the aid of the furry friend, he found himself inching up, sliding his hands over the platform as he hoisted himself over with one final pull from the capybara. He gasped as he landed on his belly, catching his breath.

Picking himself up slowly, with wobbly legs, the capybara was already gone, though he found himself but mere strides from the performer. Even as he stood there, blade in hand, drenched in his own blood and sweat, the man at the piano didn’t stop for a single moment, playing his recital without interruption.

There was something captivating about it; the man that once appeared dejected, completely jaded by life, sat there, striking each of the ivories with unmatched passion. Yet, each was played with a softness and care, as if the piano was a living being.

Still, he couldn’t hesitate.

Only a few steps stood between him and salvation; another day to live and breathe, to experience.

As he took one stride, the tightness in his chest intensified as his heart felt on the brink of exploding. He forced his left foot to follow, nearly keeling over as his lungs constricted. The melody played at its highest tune, driving through his soul as he performed another stride–

He collapsed, only stopping himself from face planting as his palms pressed against the sleek, black flooring. As his eyes ran bloodshot, gasping for air, the very shade of his hair withered.

The color left his hair, turning to a pale white as the excruciating proximity to death gripped his body, down to the very cells. A barrier stood between himself and standing, like an uneasy gravity telling him if he stood, he’d die.

He ignored it, pushing his hands against the ground as he forced himself to his feet as the man at the piano struck the keys as the instrument hummed with the passionate melody.

Only a mere swing away, he held the dagger up, within reach of the Venator, though he did not bring it down. He stood there, staring at the performer as the recital reached its end.

Amadeus slumped over the ivories, holding his bleeding gut as a peaceful smile was fixed on his lips, "...I’m grateful to you, Outlander. What was your name, tell me again...?"

Though he hated the Venator for the animosity they’d shown him, he found himself conflicted as he watched the man bleed out, carefully lowering his weapon, "It’s Gael...What do you mean you’re grateful?"

"Nobody...has ever listened to my recital to its completion. Everyone...dies before I can perform it for them. Thank you, Gael..." Amadeus weakly, yet heartfully relayed the truth.

All at once, the grand stage dispersed like a breath to dandelions, returning the Outlander to the scenery of the crystalline mines. He immediately dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach as he coughed out.

The Venator was left on his back, laying on a puddle of his own blood, yet fondly staring up with a smile that accepted his own fate.

["...I remember now. Somehow, I remember...How could I forget you all this time, Maria? My daughter...I always played songs for you. You’d dance, you’d cheer me on...Ahh...Maria, what kind of father am I, to forget his own daughter? No, these memories...They were hidden from me."]

As the pale man laid there, he wept silently, reaching towards the distant memories just out of his grasp. The pain was taken away, as was he, far away from the troubling mines; Amadeus found himself there, at his piano with a small girl sitting beside him on the bench.

"Aaahh...What was I doing again?" Amadeus wondered.

The young girl kicked her legs, excitedly pointing at the ivories, "You were showing me the keys, papa!"

"Oh, right!" Amadeus recalled with a bright smile, pressing one such part of the instrument. "If you press this one, it makes a great, deep noise."

"Like a snoring bear!" The girl said.

"Yes, like a snoring bear," he laughed. "Tell me..."

–

"...Maria, do you want to learn to play the piano?" The man’s weak voice left his lips in hardly more than a whisper, looking past the stone ceiling of the cave.

Gael watched the dying man’s words as he himself struggled to hold onto life. It was a troubling sight to process, feeling something in his heart be twisted, seeing the man he should loathe display his innermost vulnerability.

"Mr. Gael, you’re still there...yes?" Amadeus spoke hoarsely, as if the very act took all of his strength.

Gael struggled to answer himself, forcing the words out, "--Yeah...still holding on."

"I have learned...a great deal about you in this short time. I know that...you fight with such passion...to live, to keep living," Amadeus struggled, managing to shift himself somewhat onto his side as he faced the Outlander, outstretching his hand. "...Allow me, for once, to aid life...and not death."

"What’re you doing–?" Gael questioned, watching as a particle of darkness left from the man’s fingertip.

It slowly floated over to him before reaching the wound on his stomach, coating it like an ethereal bandage. He laid there, questioning why he was helped, listening to the breaths of the other grow quieter, more infrequent, until–they stopped.

[EXP: +25000]

[Level Up!] [15 -> 18] [1100/12500]

[BODY: +10] [MANA: +10]

[Familiar Capacity: +1]

[PERMANENT SUMMON: +2]

["I learned something. A reality that I didn’t want to admit. The people I hated with all my heart, that I committed to wiping out...They’re human. They’re not soulless monsters, as much as I wanted them to. Why can’t we just understand each other? Is this the way it really has to be?"]