The Forsaken Hero
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath. My fingers were numb and cold, my arm aching where the needle pierced the vein. Something clattered onto the pavement, and I looked down to see the needle. It had slipped out of my hand. Nothingness swirled around me, bringing the first sense of peace I'd felt in my short, miserable life. There was no one to miss me, and no one I would miss. There's always someone else to beat or rape. The regulars would move on quickly. I died. Only...wasn't death supposed to be dark? And since when did 'nothingness' have so many gods? Discord: https://discord.gg/PX3xqJdZMY
Crossroads
A/N: please be sure to read the author's note I left at the end of the chapter.
Following the death of the demon, we set about cleaning up the battlefield. Soltair and Trithe collected the corpses of the dead bandits before stacking them in a pile. The Sun Hero made sure to check each of their pockets first, going on about "looting is the victor's reward," or something of the sort. Fyren regained consciousness several minutes later, looking about in a daze until his gaze locked on to me.
"What happened?" he asked slowly.
I sighed, looking around the clearing. "We won. Barely. A sixth-level demon was far too strong for us."
He looked down at his shredded armor, feeling at the soft, new skin on his chest. "It seems I owe you a debt. I must say, I thought I was-wait, did you say sixth? I was certain it had grown beyond that and reached-"
"Sixth," I pled desperately. "Please."