Re:of life
Chapter 55: Survival Means a Lot

Chapter 55: Survival Means a Lot

Calm down... Deep breaths...

"Fuck!"

My head’s spinning. My heart’s racing faster and faster. My vision’s still blurry as hell, and there’s this distant ringing in my ears that won’t go away.

Come on. Can it even get any worse?

Please—calm the fuck down. Let me breathe. Let my thoughts slow down. Control yourself.

...

Magic’s out of the question. I can feel my mana getting drained—probably from that poison earlier.

Alright. Just gotta calm down... Slice these pieces of shit down—before they slice me down.

If I can survive... there has to be a village nearby.

Nusks stick close to food. To people.

If they’re here... I’m close. I have to be.

"As long as I can survive..."

I’m sure I’ll find safety soon.

"Aghhhh—!"

A shrill cry rips through the air as one of the Nusks charges in, screaming. I steady myself, blade ready to pierce straight through its heart.

Nusks aren’t smart... but they’re not exactly dumb either. He shouldn’t know where I’m aiming.

He closes in. One step into range—I thrust my blade forward. It sinks into his chest. Whether it hits his heart or not, I don’t care.

I raise my arm, lifting his body into the air like a stuck pig on a skewer, then slam him down.

He slides off the blade and crashes into the dirt—Dead.

Blood splatters across my sword. A few drops hit my cheek. Disgusting.

One down.

More are coming. Fast. Screaming in a frenzy.

Some with swords way too big for them to carry, others completely unarmed. A few are wearing broken scraps of armor that slow them down more than anything.

One after another—they attack.

My vision’s heavy, my limbs feel slow... but I keep swinging.

One slash. Another. And another.

But they’re landing hits, too.

My clothes are getting shredded, torn from stabbing blades and clawed hands.

One of them stabs me—right through the leg. Not deep. But deep enough to slow me down. Enough to screw me over.

The ones without weapons? They pounce. Clawing, biting, scratching at me like rabid dogs.

It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

Am I killing them? Or are they killing me?

I can’t tell anymore.

My dagger rips through flesh, through bone.

Their screams cut off, one by one.

How many are there? How many more?

Will this stop?

How many have I killed?

The noise starts to fade.

Fewer screams. Fewer feet stomping.

I keep going.

I kill them. I slay them.

Blood everywhere—on the dirt, on my sword, on me.

Nusk blood. My blood.

All of it mixing.

I can still hear something...

Should I run?

I can’t.

My legs don’t even feel like they belong to me anymore.

My arms are numb—but I keep fighting.

If I stop...

I’ll die.

Three more. Maybe four?

One charges at me with a small, jagged knife—aimed straight for my gut.I

swing—miss.

It flies onto my leg, stabbing deep—It bites, claws—sinks in like it wants to live inside my skin.

FUCK!

I scream.

Grab my hilt tight.

Thrust my dagger down—

Right through its skull.

It drops, twitching.

Dead.

But the knife—it’s still stuck in me.

I yank it out with a groan.

The last Nusk is dead.

...Those "three" I saw?

Just my eyes playing tricks.

I can barely see anymore. My vision’s about to collapse.

Hell, I’m about to collapse.

Village...

There has to be a village close by.

I need to move. Staying here... is death.

One step at a time.

Every step feels like a gamble. Like my body could give out at any second.

I lean against trees now and then, catching short breaths.

And then—The rain starts.

Quick. Heavy.

The skies go gray. The wind howls.

I keep walking.

Don’t bother caring anymore.

Don’t have the energy to.

I feel... dead.

Rain pours down my face, soaking my black hair.

My blood-soaked clothes stick to my skin.

Is this it?

Is this really where it ends for me?

And then—Something small stands in my path.

A little furball.

Soaked in the rain. Shivering. But staring up at me with those wide, weirdly knowing eyes.

He’s got something in his mouth.

He blocks my path, looks up, and holds it out.

I squint. My eyes barely work. I reach out anyway.

A fish.

A raw, dead fish.

"...Food."

"Thank you so much." I whisper gratefully.

I hesitate.

But I eat it.

The cold meat slides into my mouth—bones and all.

I don’t taste it. Can’t even tell what it feels like.

It’s disgusting.

But I don’t care.

Not right now.

I devour the whole thing.

***

I walk.

And I walk.

And I keep walking.

The little furball follows.

Then... finally.

When I thought hope was gone.

When I felt like I died ten times already.

I hear voices.

Human voices.

Warm light flickers through the trees up ahead.

"...Finally."

Step by step, I push forward.

Closer...

And closer...

I feel heavier with every step.

But I made it.

I really found it.

The village lights blind me.

But I don’t even care.

I’m not looking for people.

I’m not looking for help.

I’m looking for somewhere to crash.

Somewhere I can fall over and die—peacefully.

My eyes lock onto a bench.

"...A bench."

I stumble toward it.

And collapse.

No hesitation.

No thought.

Just fall.

Like a corpse dumped in the middle of town.

Dead inside—

Almost.