Chapter 45: A Kid’s Catharsis

The sky began to bleed.

As the blood rain bounced off his head and joined the thick coat of red he wore, Peace stayed still...

’Haven’t I suffered enough?’

He tilted his head toward the sky, letting the corrosive pellets pelt his face. The stinging pain barely fazed him.

’...’

Peace didn’t think. He couldn’t think.

He wasn’t even mad.

He was simply...

Done.

The mounting weight of despair on his shoulders had finally driven out the pesky, nagging idyllic dreams Peace had clung to so tightly.

He didn’t know exactly what he wanted anymore...

He’d love to reunite with his sister... but not here.

Not in this godsforsaken world.

If he were to live this situation, he’d undoubtedly continue his quest of searching for her on the off chance she was called here as well.

But...

He’d finally been made aware of his selfishness.

That he’d been hoping she was here for his own sake. Not hers.

It was now made ever-apparent to Peace: this accursed world was much too bleak for her radiance. If there was anything Peace should wish for, it was for his sister to be dead for real...

Even if that meant never seeing her again.

Quiet tears began to fall from his eyes, displacing the blood.

A kid...

Pax Garnier was merely a kid who’d grown up in the suburbs of Quebec and liked to play video games with his sister. A kid who’d moved frequently as his mother chased work, only settling in Portland after the diagnosis.

He didn’t belong in this bloody mess of a world.

’What did I do wrong...?’

Surely there was a reason he’d been cast into this world — turned into a monster?

If not, then simply...

Simply...

’Why?’

Peace’s body folded forward, his head pressing into the bony ground before he slumped to the side. Punching into the bones, he screamed:

"Why, damn it?!"

Blood flew off his body with every move as he continued thrashing and punching wildly, throwing bones all over the place.

He’d been taken away from his mom, leaving her back in Portland with a mountain of debt...

’And for what?!’

For what reason had Peace celebrated the possibility that his sister might have been reborn into this hell?! That he had left his mother to suffer alone?!

For some reason, his mind slipped to the book that had saved his life. The diary of Ixion — perhaps the only man more pitiful than himself.

’What... what in the world motivated you?!’

Ixion had no Serene, nothing driving him to sacrifice himself. Yet still he chose his path, despite knowing where it led.

Suddenly, Peace froze.

’Ah, that’s right...’

All Ixion wanted; all he wished for...

’Was for his name to be remembered... to be loathed.’

And...

’Peace.’

Not Pax’s nickname, but true peace.

Peace hadn’t recalled much of anything about the diary, but something within it, burning deep within his psyche, stoked the waning flame of ambition hiding inside his fearful heart.

’Ixion hadn’t endured because he had something left to love...’

Feeding off every breath, every inhale, Peace’s breaking resolve found an odd suture.

A suture formed from memories he didn’t hold.

A vendetta...

A vow of revenge against someone — something — that had wronged him. Yet he recognized neither the culprit nor the offense.

But somehow, that was enough.

Pushing off the ground, Peace took a few deep breaths.

’Ixion endured because he had something to hate.’

There was one thing that trumped love when it came to motivating an action... hate.

And, from Ixion’s writings, it was clear there was nobody Ixion hated more than himself.

Peace wasn’t fettered by such a depressing, self-deprecating motive; however, he had learned just how much of the tank hate could fill.

And his unknown target of spite fueled that meter to the max.

His despair hadn’t disappeared. Neither had his fear. He’d simply found something strong enough to stand beside them; combining his newfound hate with his perennial love, Peace felt that there was nobody more motivated to survive and seek their proper end than himself.

’...’

He’d screamed the words he needed to scream. Cried the tears he needed to cry. Acknowledged that he was still a kid who didn’t deserve to shoulder such hefty burdens.

But he’d also acknowledged that he’d been saddled with those burdens nonetheless.

Who was he to complain about fairness or equity? To speak of despair or ruin? Right or wrong?

He was merely one of many...

One of many who’d been wronged by fate.

Turning, Peace watched clusters of bones float by.

’I don’t have much of a choice...’

Seeing that the spawning zone extended to the other side of the River of Blood, the only way forward was to continue his rafting journey.

Wiping the tears from his eyes and the blood from his cheeks, Peace marched through the blood rain back into the churning river.

Working as fast as he could — not that fast given his left arm was out of commission — he knotted bones together and made a raft for one. He didn’t waste any more time resting after his vessel was constructed.

Throwing his backpack on, he nudged the raft into the blood and slid atop it.

As the current began to take him, a sudden air of dread pressed on him from straight ahead.

The telltale sign of being targeted by the Skeletal Stalker.

’So...’

A moment ago, Dita had either escaped...

’Or perished.’

The possibility made Peace flinch, but he quickly rationalized he wasn’t in any position to worry about her, slapping himself in the cheek.

He had no weapon, the Bone Sword having been stripped away in the fight, and his only way out of the quadrant was going towards the Stalker.

To put it mildly, the odds were stacked against him.

He had a few options...

The fastest way to escape would be staying the course. Letting the River of Blood carry him to the Convergence Zone.

That would also lead towards the quickest confrontation.

The next option would be staying on the river until he was past the Diver’s Graveyard, then beaching and running at an angle from there in the hope he’d win that race.

Sadly, Pythagoras heavily disagreed with that option.

The last option was... nothing.

To have stayed still in a wild hope it wouldn’t reach him in time. That the dungeon would spit him out before then.

But...

’Fortune favors the bold.’

Peace stared straight ahead.