FINAL CORE - Chapter 141 (Patreon)

It was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?

I thought so.

For a while, it was really scary. There were so many moments when I thought we’d die, so many moments when I thought that this was it. This is the end.

But then… those moments ended one after the other, and somehow we were all still there each and every time, and now, looking back, I’m not sure exactly what exactly I was ever really worried about. That’s why I think it’s fun now, and the truth is, I think that even back then, when I was shaking and crying and pissing myself in terror, I was still having fun.

I guess I just didn’t want to admit it to myself back then because it didn’t feel like fun was the right emotion to have been feeling at those times. After all, my life and those of my friends were all in danger.

But… I think the truth is that this is, for some of us, the natural state of existence that we crave. I was just indoctrinated with a false worldview back then. So many people want to live in quiet, calm peace, and I think that’s perfectly admirable. I was raised to be one of those people.

However, the truth of the matter is that there are just some of us who want people to die. It’s what my innate, inner soul wants. I don’t want peace. I want anarchy. I was made for violence and screaming, but I live in a world of pacifists who tell me that these things are undesirable because they make them sad.

When villages were burned to the ground and everyone inside was slaughtered, when my face was caked in blood and my hands blistered raw from holding my sword for days on end as we walked over mountains of corpses on our hunts of the wild things that offered a real challenge, those were the days I was the happiest.

The peaceful people will claim this world as their own and force their lifestyles upon us through the tyranny of their cowardly majority.

But I know the truth.

I know who this world really belongs to, and I’m not delusional enough to pretend it’s any different.

The world belongs to the person who will kill everyone else who lays claim to it.

Gods I love being alive.

~ Jinali Gormillion, Retired S-Rank adventurer, specialized in wild-lands combat outside of dungeons

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Gregorian

Human, Male, Hunter

Location: The Far Shore

Gregorian watches from afar, his heart heavy with grief as the preciously bountiful island of Isaiah crumbles and falls into the depths of the sea piece by piece. He clings tightly to his family, his wife and daughter, their bodies pressed together in a tight knot of fear and uncertainty as they watch their home vanish into the brink. The magical construction, once so grand and majestic, is now reduced to a crumbling ruin, with the massive tower on it starting to break apart, sending chunks of rock and precious, golden metal plummeting into the ocean below where its luster is lost from sunlight forevermore. The ground shakes violently beneath their feet, and the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning, despite the lack of fire.

 All of it now lost, destroyed in a single catastrophic event.

As he watches the destruction from afar, a cold feeling of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. He knows that they must move quickly, before the devastation catches up with them. They must leave this place, this shattered reminder of what once was, and start anew in a world that is now unfamiliar and dangerous. Life was good here, but now that life here is over, they must need to live elsewhere. He’ll need to take his family from here, somehow. Maybe they’ll head to the east or the west and live there.

He isn’t sure.

Everything feels unsafe right now.

With a heavy heart, Gregorian turns to his family. "We must leave this place," he says firmly. "We cannot stay here any longer."

His wife nods in agreement, her eyes filled with tears and fear. They know that the road ahead will not be easy, but they also know that they have each other, and that together they can overcome any obstacle.

— In theory.

Of course, such poetic nonsense means nothing for the truth of the world, which is violence. However, two people are far more capable of violence than one and, when it comes down to survival, violence is key.

They turn away from the destruction behind them, facing their backs to the island and the tower before it has even been lowered into its grave.

Faith and such things are important, yes. But they will not keep his family warm and fed within the hour or within the weeks to come. They’ll have to start moving now because the roads are long and there are a lot of desperate, fearful people here on the shore who are still too shocked by what’s going on to make any decisions.

He thinks that it’s best to leave here before they do.

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Khalifi

Human, Female, Fencer

Location: The Far Shore

The adventuring party stands on the shoreline, watching as the island they had once called home sinks slowly beneath the waves. The tower that had been their source of income, their livelihood, and their home was now nothing more than a memory, a relic of a time that has now come and gone.

The good times always seem to go, don’t they?

The party members huddle together. They had fought so hard to finally beat the tower, to press their way through all manner of monsters and enemies. They had risked their lives time and time again, always pushing forward and striving to emerge victorious. And now, it was all for naught.

Sure, they got some level ups and a sack full of obols — they’ll survive. However, something about it feels… hollow. Maybe it’s because they had built a house there, or maybe it’s because they’ve lived there for half a year now and have gotten somewhat attached, or maybe it’s just because, now that the island is gone, it means that the world has to go back to what it was like before.

— They have to go back to what it was like before.

The silence between them is heavy, only broken by the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Each member of the party is lost in their own thoughts, their minds filled with memories of the tower and the adventures they had shared within its walls. But even as they grieve for what they have lost, they know that they must move on. They must find a new source of income, a new purpose, and a new home. They must continue their work.

Time doesn’t stop for adventurers, and they get hungry every day.

As the island sinks further into the ocean, the party members turn away, their steps heavy with sorrow and regret. But even as they leave the island behind, they know that they will carry its memory with them always, that it will serve as a reminder of the adventures they shared and the bonds they forged in the face of adversity, and so they set off into the unknown, their hearts heavy but their spirits unbroken — as light as a white, snowfallen feather.

“So what the hell was up with that warlock?” asks the party tank. “This is what we get for charity.”

“Just some psycho,” says Kalifi, tapping her hand against the hilt of her rapier and shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

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Sister Faloe

Dark Elf, Female, Warrior Priestess

Location: The Far Shore

The priestess kneels in the mud of the shoreline, her head bowed in solemn prayer. The great crisis that had threatened the world has finally come to an end, but the cost has been great.

The island that had been home to so many now sinks beneath the waves, leaving only memories in its wake.

Thousands of people have come to their end, one way or another.

Homes, livelihoods, and souls will never be the same again after this.

This crisis, while limited in its immediate ramifications compared to some others that the world has gone through, will have incredibly long lasting and devastating effects on the world as a whole — on its spirit and sense of peace. Things will be very tense from here on out, as this entire situation, while self-contained, has lit many wicks all around the globe that are yet to burn to their ends.

As she watches the island disappear beneath the water, Sister Faroe prays for the souls of those who were lost, for their families and loved ones left behind, and for the world that must now move forward in the wake of such devastation.

Her hands are clasped tightly together, her fingers digging into the wet soil beneath her. Her eyes are closed, her lips moving silently as she sends her prayers out into the world. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is the only noise around her, as the priestess continues her prayers for the fallen and the survivors. She prays for strength and resilience in the face of tragedy, for hope and healing to take root in the hearts of those who have suffered.

The mud clings to her robes, weighing her down, but she remains steadfast in her prayer. For she knows that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope, always a chance for redemption and renewal.

As the last of the island disappears beneath the waves, burying with it the promise of the false prophet Isaiah and the wretched Witch Perchta, the priestess rises slowly to her feet, her heart heavy but her spirit unbroken. For she knows that there is still work to be done, still souls to be saved, and that the power of prayer can bring comfort and healing in even the darkest of times.

The gods have shown that they are here with the people of this world, ever ready to keep it free from such petulance.

This coming decade will be a very trying time for those who now remain – 

The innocent.