Bound by Revenge, Torn by Memories. (63)

Once again, the system poured cold water on my hopes with its warning:

[If you choose the wrong side, the result may lead you to death.]

I desperately wanted to ask for some guidance, a clue to help me make the right decision, but it seemed futile. Swallowing hard, I turned my gaze back to the defenders—the giants clad in skins.

They were the defenders, while the tattooed giants served as the attackers. Neither side showed mercy in the face of their enemies, each fiercely defending their respective objectives.

According to the template, the villains should aid the aggressors. But who said villains always targeted children and women?

True, players had to eliminate inhabitants of the Empire, but they were driven by the dire circumstances of their home planets, where millions of lives hung in the balance.

The cloak continued to shimmer, growing increasingly transparent, leaving me with little time to ponder.

Defenders were falling one by one, their numbers dwindling. One of them met his end, impaled by a club in the stomach. Crimson intestines spilled onto the scorching stones with a sickening slap, and he collapsed to the ground with a final grunt, his breath stilled.

"MOM," the young giant's trembling hands clung tightly to his mother's, his lips quivering, and his eyes welling up with transparent tears. "ARE WE REALLY GOING TO DIE?"

From the very first words uttered by the boy, an unbearable pain stabbed my chest, emerging from the depths of my being. And his subsequent question shattered any lingering doubts.

As I waved my tail, the cloak vanished, and I stood grounded, gathering flames within my palm.

"Well, it's time to dance."

[The punished one has chosen an alliance with the tribe of Ra. All characteristics of the "defender" have been transferred.]

I grew to towering heights, my skin turning a bronze hue. An axe dangled from my hip as I prepared for the incoming attack.

One of the Khasa tribe members lunged at me with a battle cry. Swiftly, I drew my axe and managed to deflect the blow at the last moment. Taking a few steps back, I locked eyes with the malevolent gaze of my enemy.

Magic coursed through my veins, and whispering an incantation, I summoned the Dark Threads.

They encased the enemy in a suffocating black cocoon, relentlessly squeezing the massive body until it was nothing but a gruesome heap of flesh and bone. Chunks of their remains splattered onto the scorching stones with sickening wet slaps.

"HARMUT. YOU!" The enraged dark-eyed tattooed warriors glared at me. "DIE."

Three of them charged at me.

I couldn't help but lament the minimal Endurance points remaining. With my physical transformation, the consumption of characteristics had become extraordinary.

The remainder of the battle had to be fought with axe.

---

Another tattooed man fell lifeless as I took a moment to catch my breath, pressing my hand against the wound on my side. I had been struck three times, the deepest gash searing along my flank. The right side of my face burned, evidence of a successful graze.

Spitting out scarlet blood, I surveyed the survivors by my side—only two remained, exhausted and bearing deep injuries all over their bodies. They had upheld their honor, keeping their word amidst the chaos.

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHERS, AND YOUR DEATH WILL BE UNBEARABLY SLOW," bellowed the long-haired warrior of the Khasa tribe, his feral nature intertwined with formidable fighting skills.

He brandished his club menacingly, but I couldn't help but grin as I raised my axe with my right hand, ready to face the impending clash.

Two wounded men joined forces to engage one of the tattooed warriors, while I focused my attention on the leader of the aggressors. The weight of his blow threatened to sink my feet into the rocky ground, but I quickly regrouped and retaliated by delivering a powerful kick to his stomach. With a menacing growl, he pressed on, launching another attack. Despite my attempts to exploit his vulnerabilities, it became evident that wielding an axe was not my forte.

[Until the end of the Punishment:

1 hour and 3 minutes.]

At some point during the intense struggle, I managed to disarm him, seizing an advantageous position. With a surge of determination, I plunged the blade of my axe deep into his chest, exhaling a sigh of relief.

However, a bitter cry pierced the air from behind me. As I glanced around, I noticed tears streaming down the faces of many giantesses. Had I made a mistake? The seed of regret sprouted within me, barely perceptible but growing nonetheless.

Holding my breath, I surveyed the lifeless body of the tattooed warrior and the weakly breathing warriors from the Ra tribe. I shook my head in disbelief. No, not necessarily because of them... Perhaps these tears were shed for their murdered husbands, brothers, or sons.

Someone grabbed my arm, and I turned to the dying leader. His lips downturned, and his eyes blazed with indignation. In a feeble voice, he whispered, "Why?"

The wailing behind me grew louder, drowning my vision in tears. The world around me blurred, its colors tainted by decay. The rush of fresh air ceased, no longer brushing against my face and preventing me from annihilating the Khasa tribe. No, this couldn't be happening. But the system never clarified if I had chosen the right side.

"The punished one has chosen an alliance with the tribe of Ra."

I found myself trapped in an empty, dark void. Had I truly chosen the right side?

[The punished one enters the final stage of the plot.

The punishment commences.]

With those last words, a familiar voice echoed in my head, repeating a single word: "Why? Why? Why?!" The tone started with confusion, radually morphing into anger and rejection. Fragments of phrases intertwined with foreign memories.

"I was chosen as the next leader of the Khasa tribe. I was supposed to be surrounded by my family! But my brothers, my family, and... my father all fell at the hands of the evil Ra tribe!"

The lifeless bodies of the fallen giants lay scattered before the decimated village.

"All the women of my tribe were taken into slavery by those arrogant bastards. My sister, my fiancée—they were all dishonored and then killed! Only a handful of subservient ones became part of the Ra tribe."

Images of a horrific and repugnant past flashed before my eyes. Countless sorrowful cries surged forth like an unstoppable wave. The emotions of others overwhelmed my soul and heart, drowning me in a sea of hatred for the entire world. I yearned for vengeance, to avenge my murdered sisters and brothers.

"I was out hunting on that fateful day and couldn't perish alongside everyone else on the battlefield. I have traveled far, across the sea, through storms and hunger. I have arrived at the doorstep of my enemies."

A singular desire pulsed through my veins: murder. Murder. Murder.

"But... why?"

Yet, in the next moment, I was impaled by my own blade. I collapsed onto the battlefield, where my sole purpose was to defeat and kill all of my enemies.

Black blood tainted by the overflow of emotions spewed from my mouth.

"NOT FAIR!"

"NOT FAIR!"

Our voices resonated simultaneously. I screamed in anguish, my sanity slowly eroding under the corrosive weight of mental agony.

Have you ever experienced a loss so profound, so irreparable, that it instantly and irrevocably devastated you?

I had become so entwined with the soul of another being, so deeply entangled in their biases, losses, and anger that I forgot who I truly was. In the scattered fragments of someone else's memories, I blamed the world for shattering "my" idyllic existence.

Seated in a dark space devoid of light and connection, save for the monotonous echoes of Khasa tribe memories, I felt myself fragmenting into pieces.

Once more, gazing at the fallen giants, I collapsed to my knees before the engulfing flames that devoured my homeland, my heart brimming with righteous fury.

Countless times I had sought out my enemies, only to meet my demise at the hands of my own blade, repeating the cycle endlessly.

Growling, allowing festering revenge to consume me from within, I plunged into a forgotten yet resurrected past.

Tears dripped onto an island teeming with palm trees as my last remaining kin succumbed. The grandeur of the Khasa tribe was erased with my dying breath.

Coughing up blood, the remnants of my stamina resonated with the Silver Pollen within my solar plexus, and a blue flame ignited in the depths of my subconscious, illuminating the flickering embers of my authentic memories.

SURVIVE AT ANY COST.

Upon the wall of a dilapidated room, with a broken window, a shattered wardrobe, and an overturned bed, the words were scrawled:

I'LL BE BACK.

I am not a Khasa, I am not a giant. I forge my own path.

Clutching my fist, I exhaled blue steam, negative emotions corroding me from within. Escaping this trap would come at a great cost.

For a fleeting moment, I regained my composure, only to plunge back into the quagmire of despair and shattered hopes.

The souls of the departed clung to my being with gnarled fingers, dragging me back into a past from which there was no return.

A potest bellator sine occidit animam (a warrior who does not kill a soul), cadet in genua ante magus (will fall to his knees before a sorcerer), et mori in manibus mortuus est (and will die in the hands of the dead).

Crooked claws tightened around my neck, digging deep into my flesh, asphyxiating me. Through a strangled throat, I hastened the incantation.

The words stoked the ire of the deceased, their screams intensifying, assaulting my eardrums. The souls of the Players, forever entombed in the Lands of Punishment, inundated me with their desperate pleas, interfering with my every thought, leading me to Nowhere.

A child's hand grasped my lip, tearing out fangs and touching the elastic tongue. A searing pain surged through my eyes as their fingers clasped onto eyeballs, pulling them out with a wet slurp, severing the optic nerves.

I uttered the full incantation:

"Chorus Defunctorum Animas" (Dance of the Dead Souls).

Deprived of sight, I could no longer perceive the events unfolding around me. However, the restless inhabitants of the island no longer tormented me. The steady rhythm of my heartbeat soothed me with its unbroken melody.

Perhaps I could no longer witness the history of the tribes, perhaps I had appeased the souls, but I no longer immersed myself in their tragic stories.

Sitting cross-legged, I sought to perceive my surroundings through the mental tendrils.