Year: 10XX
Scars scattered all his body. Open wounds that continuously bled. He gasped for air, wincing in pain as every breath he took increased the pain that he felt. He stood up, pulling out the damaged sword that he stuck onto a body. Mountains of bodies, pools of blood, and the smell of death. He spat out a wad of blood that was building up in his mouth as he stared up towards the sky. Bright lights illuminated the sky, diety like figures stared down at the man. The man looked them directly in their faces.
"YOU ARE ALL NEXT! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU! I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING I LOVE," the man planted his feet and his veins on his neck popped, "I WILL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!"
As the man screamed, the dieties begin making their move. Their large palms flew towards the earth, the man's eyes widened. No, he wasn't afraid, fear wasn't an option. His only option? To keep battling!
"RAAAAH!!!!"
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The wet mud stuck to his foot as he walked. He took a deep breath in, then out. The stars illuminated his path through the woods—a bright light in the pitch darkness. His chipped sword swung beside him as he trudged onward. The mud hardening on his boots.
As he stared ahead, he was alarmed by a loud screech. Birds flew frantically in the sky, trying to escape the sound. The young man drew his weapon, his hands shaking from drowsiness. Suddenly, as he blinked, a large figure pounced toward him! The man rolled out of harm's way, standing up to eye his opponent—a large, frenzied, furry creature with red eyes: a Crimson Fox.
He eyed the fox, breathing at a controlled pace as he lifted his blade once more. He closed his eyes. Finding his rhythm, he opened them again. He sheathed his blade as he continued following the illuminated path, leaving behind nothing but a severed head and a limp body.
He went through many more similar encounters that night as he moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually, after hours of walking, he stopped by a large tree that sat in the center of the woods. The area was illuminated by glowing fungi. The man eyed the fruit that lay on the branches. Picking one, he laid down under the tree. He took a bite of the fruit—sweet, like the taste of fresh honey that reminded him of his mother. He smiled, closing his eyes.
"Tylan, Tylan, Tylan!" shouted a woman dressed in a simple but elegant dress. "Wake up! You have to go chop some wood for the night! Your father won't be happy if you drag this out like you did last time!"
The woman ripped the boy's blanket off angrily. She stared at him with a stern look, clearly furious. She raised her paddle, getting ready to punish her son.
Before she could strike, there was a response from the boy. Tylan groggily opened his eyes. He yawned slowly, scratching his head. He looked at his mother.
"…Mmm…" he muttered groggily.
"Gosh! What am I going to do with you? Come on, get up! Go get some firewood!" his mother scolded. "Otherwise, when your father gets home, he'll whoop your butt! He's coming home early tonight for supper!"
Tylan, hearing this, snapped awake. He didn't want to face his father's wrath. His father was a tall man with broad shoulders—usually gentle-natured, but once angry, he was a terrifying figure.
"Yes, Mother…" Tylan mumbled as he uncovered himself from the blanket and got out of bed to get dressed.
"Man, it's too early for this," he muttered quietly as he put on his coat. 'Why do I have to do this… haaaa…' He picked up his axe, waved goodbye to his mother—who was now cooking—and began his task of collecting firewood.
As he closed the door of their small hut, Tylan's face was hit by snow and wind. He shuddered.
"Brrr… Fuck this…"
He picked up his axe and trudged into the woods.
Suddenly, the man opened his eyes. The bright sunlight blinded him, and he winced at the sudden change. He yawned, stood up, and stretched. He picked more fruit, placing them into his bag. He sighed as he began wandering through the forest again.
He was saddened by the dream. Saddened by the fact that, unlike in the dream, he no longer had a place to return to—like he once did.