Free Web NovelChapter 227: Waking Up Was A Bitch
The first thing I became aware of was pain.
It wasn’t just one specific pain, either.
Everything hurt.
My back felt like somebody had tried to remove it and then changed their mind halfway through.
My shoulder was screaming like it wanted to rip itself off me and beat me with my own arm.
My leg felt wrong in ways I didn’t particularly want to investigate.
Even breathing seemed determined to contribute to the problem.
Every time I focused on one injury, three others immediately reminded me they existed.
That seemed excessive, even for me.
I tried to take in a deep breath, but the pain told me that that wasn’t a good idea, so I tried to move my hand.
Nothing happened.
I frowned and tried again, which turned out to be a mistake. Pain ripped through my body hard enough to scatter my thoughts before they could properly form. Whatever had happened before I blacked out had clearly involved something large, violent, and deeply disrespectful.
For several seconds, I seriously considered whether I was dead.
The evidence was mixed.
I couldn’t move.
Everything hurt.
On the other hand, I had never heard anyone describe death as this annoying. If this was the afterlife, somebody needed to file a complaint because the service was terrible.
A crash echoed somewhere nearby.
Then another.
Then loud voices followed.
At first, they all blended together into meaningless noise. Somebody was shouting. Something broke. Somebody else shouted back. The sound bounced around inside my skull until I couldn’t tell whether it was happening around me or inside my head.
That alone convinced me I was probably still alive.
Dead people should not have to listen to this much nonsense.
Dear God, please don’t tell me that you hate me enough to make me be reborn for a third time.
Trying to take in a smaller breath this time, the rest of my brain finally started catching up. The sounds around me became easier to separate. The voices stopped blending together. The confusion didn’t disappear completely, but it became manageable.
The first voice I recognized belonged to Commander Li.
I couldn’t make out the words yet, but I knew the voice.
A second voice followed almost immediately afterward.
Meilan.
Well.
That explained why everything sounded irritating.
Then the smell reached me next.
Smoke.
Not fireplace smoke.
Not somebody cooking.
Real smoke.
That got my attention.
My house contained an alarming amount of plant life, and plants generally had strong opinions about being set on fire. If there was smoke in the air, somebody had probably done something stupid.
Considering Meilan was present, that narrowed the list considerably.
I tried to open my eyes but nothing happened. Apparently my eyelids had decided they were no longer participating in this situation.
Wonderful.
A familiar voice cut through the argument and I recognized Chenghai’s voice.
I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying, but I caught enough words to know he was upset about something. Since Chenghai spent most of his time upset about something, that wasn’t particularly useful information.
A second voice followed.
Yuche.
Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t shouting.
Even without opening my eyes, I knew he was nearby. I couldn’t explain how. I just knew. That should have been comforting.
Instead, it worried me.
Yuche only hovered when things were bad.
Really bad.
Something shifted against my shoulder.
The baby vine.
The little menace made a miserable sound near my neck, and that worried me more than the pain.
The baby wasn’t upset often.
Hungry, yes.
Violent, constantly.
Offended, daily.
Upset?
Not often.
The more pieces I gathered, the worse the picture became.
Yuche was nearby.
The baby was upset.
There was smoke in the air.
Commander Li and Meilan were both in my house.
Everything hurt.
Something bad had happened.
I reached for the memory and immediately regretted it.
Teeth.
Blood.
Darkness.
A mouth large enough to swallow a person whole.
The memory vanished as quickly as it arrived, but it left enough behind for me to understand one thing.
I should not be alive.
The thought wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply true.
I remembered enough of that fight to know exactly how badly it should have ended. Instead, I was lying in my living room listening to people argue.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether that counted as an improvement.
Another crash echoed through the room.
Glass shattered.
Something heavy hit the floor.
This time, I recognized the sound immediately.
Furniture.
Somebody had broken a piece of furniture.
The realization cut through the fog in my head faster than the pain ever could. Suddenly, being conscious felt significantly more important. The voices became clearer. The sounds became clearer. The room around me became clearer.
People weren’t just arguing.
They were moving.
Fast.
There were too many footsteps. Too much noise. Too many impacts.
Nobody sounded scared.
Nobody sounded like they were running from zombies.
They sounded like they were fighting.
Inside my house.
That thought took several seconds to fully register because my brain refused to accept it.
People were fighting in my living room.
Not zombies.
Not monsters.
People.
Human beings.
Inside my house.
Another crash sounded.
Somebody shouted.
Somebody else swore.
Then Chenghai’s voice cut through the chaos.
"You cracked the ceiling!"
The room briefly went silent.
My outrage doubled.
The ceiling?
They cracked my ceiling?
That felt personal.
I wasn’t entirely sure why it felt more offensive than the broken furniture, but it did. Furniture could be replaced. A cracked ceiling implied commitment. It meant somebody had looked at my house and decided destruction was a group activity.
Absolutely not.
Something moved.
Not in the room.
Inside me.
The movement was tiny, weak, and barely noticeable, but it was there.
I focused on it immediately.
My hand.
I could finally feel my hand. Then my arm. Then the muscles around my eyes.
Everything still hurt and complained in a loud voice full of pain every time I moves, but I ignored it.
One problem at a time.
The idiots destroying my house were still here. They weren’t going anywhere until I figured out who they were and why they thought this was acceptable behavior.
I took a slow breath and immediately regretted it.
The second breath wasn’t much better.
The third hurt enough that black spots flickered through my vision even though my eyes were still closed.
Apparently breathing had become a competitive sport while I was unconscious.
Fine.
I had survived worse.
Probably.
The smoke smelled stronger now. The shouting was easier to understand. The sounds of fighting were impossible to ignore. Every second that passed confirmed the same thing.
People were still destroying my house.
That alone was enough motivation.
Slowly, painfully, and with far more effort than should have been necessary, I forced my body to cooperate. My eyelids felt heavier than concrete, but eventually they began to respond.
A little.
Then more.
Then enough. frёeωebɳovel.com
I opened my eyes and immediately discovered that the situation was somehow worse than I imagined.
My living room looked like several grown adults had attempted to settle their disagreements through property damage.
And judging by the expressions on everyone’s faces, nobody had won.
"Nobody better fucking move," I hissed, trying to get control. "The next one to so much as breathe wrong is going to die. I am not kidding around."
Apparently, waking up was a bitch... and so was I.
