Another crimson bath basked my body.
My breath shallow, and my stomach caved. Dark bile and guts spew out with every sob I leave lingering behindwithin this vast graveyard of bodies.
My body, laying on what was formerly the village hall of my childhood town.
Around me; friends, family and citizens.
Formerly; friends, family and citizens, as they are no more than skewered flesh, and charred meat.
Barely able to look around me, I let out a sobbing howl of existential agony.
Hick..
My blood clogs my cries.
HICK!
A torrential downpour of crimson forces me to stop my tears, and further dyes my already stained tunic.
"Huh, what's this..?"
The action of craning my neck towards the voice sent jolts of zapping nerves throughout the painfully destroyed vessels of my body.
A shadow looms over me.
I sense it smirking towards me in bewilderment.
"This... You. This mortal is still alive after all this?
You, what is your name?"
My head drops. I have nothing within me that can force out an answer.
"Oh..?"
I feel a hand ontop of my burnt and bloodied hair.
"Yushen, is it? To think the son of a mortal farmer can survive a battlefield of gods."
He chuckles.
Why... Why does it matter anymore? Why did this happen?
"This is just a natural course of progression--- violent for you, it is none the more than a course of destiny within everyday existence.
You and your village town were bound to be destroyed by our battles.
You are simply unlucky to have been born in such an era. In a battle of Gods, this Earth was simply a battlefield.
This will only repeat itself in the future."
My thoughts halting. I still do not understand. I have no more within me to care.
I hear a stifled laugh.
"Pfft, haha! I do not doubt that a mere son of a farmer can understand.
The world is vast, and you are weak.
I see your destiny, O'Son of Belial. You, who lives a life meagre to insects.
You who is destined to die, and amount to little. A cursed soul.
You will not understand me."
Hick.. Hick...
With tear, of which painfully drop, I now seem to understand what is become of me.
With a hunched back, my head drops.
The hand retreats from my head.
Stillness. Agony. Dread.
What is after this? I have so many regrets.
There were so many things I could have tried better on. Worked better.
I could have tried doing something, become something. But in the end, it always seemed like something stopped me from being what I wish.
My senses have long stopped working.
The scent of grass tickles my last working sense, but I only feel it and not smell it.
With dread, I the son of a farmer, breathe my last and die with regrets.
The scent of grass that long enveloped me all my life, I follow the rest to eternity.