A/N: The contents of this chapter may not be suitable for all audiences. Please read at your own discretion. (trauma flashback)
"There's something I don't understand," Alesha said after the fight, following a trail of magical, floating arrow markings to the colosseum's waiting area. There, she'd probably find other Participants, so she wanted to ask this before running into anyone.
"Why didn't the Gluttony skill activate when I killed him? Battle Foresight worked just fine, which means the Boon from last time definitely carried over, but Gluttony didn't do anything."
She knew very well that the little combat training she'd undergone would have been insufficient for her to take down even a normal man with such ease. Sure, this Story granted proficiency with a spear and that helped a lot, but without Battle Foresight, she'd have taken at least twice as long to finish him off. It gave her hope that she had a chance to win this Story, even with how hopeless she naturally was at fighting.
That didn't change how strange it felt, though, to see and instinctively understand overlapping images of what someone was about to do in a fight. She felt very grateful that it wasn't active at all times, just during combat.
[Hmm,] Rogork responded with a simple hum. [I'm not sure. The Boon belonged to the last Story, are you still able to view its details?]
"No, I tried that already," she lamented. "I remember which skills I got, though. Battle Foresight, Troll's Regeneration, Mistress's Monstrous Reproduction, Gluttony, and Phase Shift. One nice thing about being bored to death for part of that Story is I actually studied what skills I ended up with, so even though I can't view them now, I pretty much know what they do."
[Good girl!] Rogork cooed. [Sounds like your random draw gave you some pretty lucky ones!]
"For real," Alesha chuckled. For once, her luck hadn't been completely abysmal. Still, the fact that Gluttony was malfunctioning was disappointing. In terms of power, it was absolutely broken -- the ability to limitlessly absorb the status values of living beings she killed, even if it was at random, was insane. Had it been nerfed for this Story, like Rogork had been at times during the Games?
[That's possible,] Rogork mused, [But I think it's unlikely. I don't sense his energy oppressing us in any way right now.]
"Great," she grumbled. "Then it's malfunctioning for some other reason?"
As she spoke the second half of this question, Alesha rounded a corner and found herself in a large stone room filled with wooden tables. Electric lights (which felt very out of place in the otherwise primitive medieval setting) lit everything evenly. A couple dozen people occupied the area, some eating and drinking, some waiting in line for food, others standing off by themselves or conversing in groups.
Near where she had walked in, a man with stunning white-silver hair and red eyes happened to be walking in her direction, holding a tray of food -- raw steak and a glass full of crimson liquid. He sat down at a table where a few others were seated, then glanced up and met Alesha's gaze.
He closed his eyes and waved with a friendly smile, exposing pointed canines.
A vampire.
"Oh damn, please no," Alesha muttered, eyes widening and heart beginning to race. Adrenaline and anxiety filled her, flashes of memories resurfaced, and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. A flash of nausea accompanied a spike in her body temperature. She screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to cut off both the trauma trigger and the memories, but it was too late.
Red meat.
Dripping blood.
Red meat that had been so slyly laid out, as bait.
A compelling pair of eyes that demanded submission.
Red eyes.
Physical pain in embarrassing places, emotional scarring from when she'd regained her senses.
Red marks all over her body.
The shame of having been violated, taken advantage of, deceived by a friendly face.
Red eyes, irritated by tears.
Raw, crippling emotional pain.
Red-hot, burning, all-consuming distress.
Before she realized it, she had dropped her spear and crumpled to the ground in the fetal position, screaming in terror, yelling desperately "Stop! Stop! Please no, go away, get away from me!" as tears ran down her face.
[This again?] Rogork asked in dissatisfaction. [I can make it stop if you give it to me. You've done it before, you know it works.]
"No, no! I don't trust you! You took everything from me!" She screamed, voice cracking.
[Tsk, you don't even know what's good for you. Just let me devour this trauma like I did with those blind, torture-filled months and it'll all go away…]
Most of her attention was preoccupied by the traumatic memories, but a distant part of her dimly noted what Rogork had said. So that's what that gap in my memories was filled with? The King was worse than I thought.
By this point, several people had gathered nearby. A few looked on in derision, but most were some level of concerned. One of them gasped in recognition.
"Alesha?" She called, pushing others aside and coming up to her.
Hearing her name, Alesha opened her eyes and glanced to where the voice came from. Through her tears, she could see that a short woman with mid-toned skin and long, wavy black hair was the one who greeted her. Somehow, she looked familiar.
That thin layer of familiarity, coupled with a faint sense that this person was someone she could trust, was enough. Alesha's hand snatched the black-haired woman's and she whispered, "Please stay," before closing her eyes again and trying to get her breathing under control.
"Alright, dear," she replied softly, patting her hand to a gentle, steady beat. After that, she looked up at everyone around and glared daggers at them. In a crisp, accented voice she hissed at the others, "What are you doing? Shoo! Give the little girl some space!"
The crowd dispersed and the two of them sat there for some time while Alesha calmed down.
After several minutes had passed, Alesha sat up, sniffling and wiping her nose with the inside of her shirt. "Thank you."
"Of course," the woman's accented voice replied.
Even her accent sounded familiar! Yet she couldn't place it.
"I think we've met before, I'm embarrassed but do you remember where?" Alesha asked in a somewhat nasally voice.
"Yes, we have! I looked a bit younger then, haha. I'm Veronica. We met on Werewolf Island."
It clicked. "Oh, that's right! You told us that the Story made you younger."
"Yes! Though, it seems like you're still human?" She asked, sounding confused.
For a moment, Alesha didn't understand her confusion. Then she remembered. "Right! I explained about not being human before the Story. It's kind of a long story, but I'm temporarily human for now, again, haha."
A faint trace of suspicion in Veronica's eyes nearly broke Alesha's heart, and she caved immediately. "Well, during the Hero Summoning story the King turned me into a sword using magic that alters the soul. My guess is Zorhellian made me human for this so that I wouldn't automatically win just for being a possibly indestructible inanimate object. Though I don't actually know how indestructible, or not, my sword self is."
"Is that what happened?" She asked, the traces of suspicion in her eyes evaporated, replaced with pity. "Everyone was told you were unfit for battle and sent to live in the countryside, but I guess that was just to hide what he really did. You poor dear."
"Yeah," Alesha sighed, looking down at her hands. Talking with Veronica like this, she felt truly safe for the first time in a long while. It made her want to keep talking. She wanted to tell Veronica about everything -- the System, how she had to kill in order to evolve and reclaim an autonomous body permanently, what she'd been through and how she missed her family.
[Don't.]
I know, she thought. I'm not an idiot. I know you'd stop me before I could say anything about you, and in this Story, even this wonderfully kind woman is my enemy.
What a stupidly cruel situation.
A friend she'd made in the very first Story was now someone she might be forced to kill with her own hands in the last?
It made her angry.
At that moment, Veronica wrapped Alesha in a hug. She stiffened against the embrace at first before allowing herself to relax.
Well, if we have to kill each other later, I guess I'll deal with that then. For now, this feels nice.
It was almost like she was getting a hug from her mother, a million or more kilometers away, who might even already be dead.
She didn't have the heart to disrupt the moment.
Even if it was just a momentary reprieve, even if this gentle comfort was born partially of her own delusion, it was something that she desperately needed.