Chapter 1204 (1/2)

It was like the knowledge had always been present, only hidden behind a veil. Yet suddenly that veil was gone in an eerie gust of wind. Heiffal felt the realization about his own existence ripple through him. Although he had maintained himself during the retreat, he could instantly empathize with those that lost their willingness to continue when they abruptly realized this sick truth hanging over them.

That they were imitations of the original. That they all had originally died at this very same place, bitterly defending against the Nether assault thousands of years ago. That they had been consumed by a shadowy figure who took their deaths and feasted on them to grow fat with power. And now that same swirling darkness remained above the battlefield.

It seemed to mock them. As though its shadowy presence whispered, you thought you would have a second chance to live peacefully? Too naive.

And on the right flank, that same pattern from the past repeated itself. Even with the rocky outcropping largely blocking off his view, Heiffal’s vantage from inside Lady Iellaya’s fort was enough for him to see the edges of the brutal battle occurring on the far flank. And to clearly see the very familiar darkness drifting upward off of the cooling bodies to join a terrible whirlwind of energy that was forming above them...

“I’ve already died,” Heiffal said to the air, tasting the words. They tasted true. His parents were dead, likely just from the passage of time. That cute girl from the flower shop where Heiffal grew up who covered her mouth when she laughed had probably moved on from their small dalliance and then later died of that same old age. He didn’t have any siblings or children, so his name was probably completely forgotten.

Everything he had known had passed on to the next life. He was a vestige of a bygone era. A fossil. A relic.

Heiffal turned away from the battlefield and looked back down toward the courtyard behind him. The reason that he had chosen this spot was that he could still hear Salazar’s voice from his current position, but he wasn’t overwhelmed by it. Plus, almost five hundred people were tightly packed into the said courtyard, straining to hear Salazar’s voice.

Because for whatever reason, listening to the story he told was grounding. It helped push away the frantic sense of futility that knowledge of their existence granted them. It helped them forget that they had already died and this current experience was about as substantial as a dream. Who knew when they would wake up and once more experience that terrible cold, the draining of everything vital, the gradual oblivion that-

Heiffal pressed his eyes closed. It was a conscious choice to stand where he was, near the edges of Salazar’s influence. The effect of the reassurance waned here. There were times that the existential dread broke through the lulling static of Salazar’s voice, reminding him of what he was. What he could never be again.

The knowledge was torture. Yet, to simply ignore the truth and huddle near Salazar-

Heiffal quickly turned back to look at the battlefield. Lady Iellaya, their commander, was being slowly pushed back by the four Nether Heralds working in tandem. Yet she was managing pretty well, all things considered. One possessed a serious wound already inflicted by her and another had been struck with a minor inconvenience created by the other woman how had stalled the reinforcements.

Yet there was now also hesitation in their formation, as another force was charging directly out from Aether headquarters to attack the center of the Nether forces. The troop passed swiftly through the infighting among the Nether Beasts, as the chaos fed more energy into that swirling darkness hanging above them. So the Nether Herald’s fighting Lady Iellaya couldn’t decide whether they should retreat and assist or stay and continue to wound this foe. After all, she had decidedly been a thorn in their side. To retreat now felt like a loss.

Especially because her image was reeling from all the accumulated damage it took. Yet the raven-winged serpent somehow seemed to become all the more dangerous as its blood continually poured out onto the ground; the closer it was to death, the more brightly the crimson patterns on its scales gleamed.

Fighting started between two powerful Nether figures that moved forward to defend the Great Rift and the Aether force that marched steadily forward. Instantly, the powerful reverberations filled the sky.

And suddenly Heiffal realized that someone was standing next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he examined the new arrival, and then had to press his mouth shut to cover up a gasp; it was Randidly Ghosthound himself.

He looked so, so tired. The stark line of his profile seemed lonely, standing up here on the battlements and considering the surrounding chaos. His dark hair was matted to his head from sweat. His breathing was labored, and he was leaning against his lance which was even curled protectively around his shoulders. His left arm was covered in a strange, carbon looking armor that seemed to be a part of him. His shirt and pants were cheap looking and ripped, and his feet were bare.

But it was Randidly Ghosthound. Everyone had seen him somehow freezing the sky to buy more time for lady Iellaya, and then witnessed him personally come back to help their forces retreat within the fortress. It was clear that Lady Iellaya was more powerful than the Ghosthound, but everyone knew that it was the Ghosthound that bled to keep them safe.

Heiffal licked his lips. How long had the Ghosthound been here? Had he heard him say ‘I’ve already died’ earlier?

While Heiffal was still scrambling to figure out what he was feeling, the Ghosthound took the initiative to speak to him. “You… of all the people affected by… whatever changed suddenly, you are the only one that isn’t either immediately apathetic or hurrying toward Salazar. I… was hoping you could give me some clarity on the matter. Tell me what you are experiencing.”

For a second, Heiffal’s mind was blank from the Ghosthound’s careful tone. Then, slowly, he began to see how things would appear from their perspective. Unfamiliar reinforcements appearing, then very suddenly losing all their will to move or speak? Suddenly the fort around them shifted in Heiffal’s eyes. For whatever reason, he couldn’t control his breathing. The darkness in the air was so thick. Every breath was laced with it.

Did this man not bring us in for protection… Heiffal’s glazed eyes slid sideways to all the bodies packed into the courtyard around Salazar. The terrible memory of death, that horrible dream, that reality that Heiffal had already experienced, seemed to throb in his mind. But rather… to keep us contained? In case we were traitors? So they could-

Yet Heiffal stopped those thoughts with a great effort of will. Instead, he looked back at Randidly Ghosthound. Really looked at him.

And what Heiffal saw… was someone young with very, very tired emerald eyes.