Free Web NovelChapter 8: Lesser Evil
Slave 135 was finally taken away, released from his imprisonment inside a foreign body that was not his own, stripped of voice and action.
The Memory Fragment that was closer to a very long dream, or rather, a revelation, had finally come to an end.
Now he was again in the bright, peaceful space.
Yet, the scenes kept playing in his head.
His eyes gleamed. As a warrior himself, he could not help but admire this man.
Even idolizing him was not too much.
’Could I, too, one day do the same?’ Slave 135 asked himself.
’Will there be a day when I come to face countless enemies and stand undefeated?’ He felt his heart race.
The question, or rather, the thought, was too beautiful for someone trapped in a trial designed to destroy him.
But he tried to hold on to the feeling from that time, the sequence, the battle style, and the will.
The greatest battle he had ever witnessed. Maybe the greatest battle he would ever witness in his entire life.
A weak body, yet stronger than anything else.
A man who could receive help, yet chose solitude.
A path Slave 135 did not know if he would ever be qualified to take.
The thought sat heavy in his chest like a stone.
He tried to breathe.
There was no air here, yet his chest still rose and fell.
This space offered him everything needed to think peacefully, soothing his mind.
The light around him did not hurt his eyes. It did not blind him.
It held him.
For the second time in a time he could not measure, nothing threatened him.
It was a long battle. He felt every moment vividly. But as a warrior, he had gained something from it as well.
He felt a movement cutting off his thoughts. He lifted his head to look at the source.
He could not discern what it was at first.
The light itself shifted, bending gently, as if making space for a presence.
A figure came closer.
And then he saw it clearly.
Someone was standing there.
In front of him.
A man.
Everything about him was shrouded in light, or perhaps he was the source.
The source of this space.
It felt wrong to call it bright now, because brightness was not what this was.
This was something no words could describe.
It was a magical sight, far more than the space itself.
The man’s existence gave peace, like something that healed whoever was touched by his light.
Not healing of flesh.
Healing that reached the mind and soul.
A kind of ease Slave 135 had never believed existed.
He had been a war slave his whole life. Peace was not part of his world.
Yet this presence and this space carried it effortlessly.
An immortal.
That was the feeling Slave 135 received from the man.
An immortal god gracing him with his attention.
"Child."
The man’s voice was gentle, but not weak.
Gentle, like a defender’s blade.
"It pains my heart," the man continued, "watching you suffer this unspeakable agony."
The sudden words of comfort struck Slave 135 like a blow to his very core.
His body shivered.
He did not understand why.
He had been torn apart too many times.
He had watched his own flesh return to itself.
He had seen even death reject him, and yet a simple sentence cracked something open inside him.
"We did not wish for you to suffer, or be hurt," the man continued.
Slave 135 swallowed.
The movement felt loud in the silence.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice muffled and thick with the tears he was trying to choke back.
"It is too early for you to know," the man replied.
He did not sound dismissive. He sounded urgent.
As if time itself was a weight pressing down on him.
Slave 135 looked at the obscure figure of light in understanding.
"We wish for you to live," the man explained. "Though your fate was long marked by death."
Slave 135’s breath hitched.
"Wherever you step," the man continued, "death will follow you. Your destiny was to die, and we defied it. Keep surviving, and we will keep supporting you."
Slave 135 found his body shaking; the words did not comfort him. They terrified him.
Because they were not a promise of safety. They were a warning.
Inside the cursed trial or outside, only death follows.
"Your path is yours to choose," the man taught. "But in this world, there are no right choices."
The light around the man did not flicker. It remained steady, like certainty.
"We were born in an evil world," the man announced. "All choices carry evil with them. Those who have the power to decide what is right are also evil."
"You have held well," the man said. "Your mental fortitude will keep growing. So keep moving."
There was not much time.
Slave 135 felt the haste and the slight instability in the space following.
"PLEASE WAIT," he screamed, afraid he would be thrown back into the monsters’ swamp again, afraid of the idea of leaving this space.
"Wait, please, I don’t understand." He tried to gain time, or answers. "I’m not strong like you, or that warrior."
"I’m just a slave. Why me?" His tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. "What did I do to get trapped in this hell?" He tightened his fists and shouted.
The light shook; the man went silent for a moment.
"Child," he said, "we will not abandon you." He could only assure him.
Slave 135’s throat tightened. A reassurance he was not waiting nor desperate for came.
"But some things must be taken by a man’s own hands," the man continued. "There is much we cannot intervene with."
Slave 135’s breathing grew uneven. His tears fell without permission.
The man did not rush nor scold. What must be told would be told.
So his next words were quieter.
"Child, you must reclaim your name."
Slave 135’s face froze, full of tears. He had heard this before.
"Own it." The man’s voice was commanding.
Slave 135 opened his mouth.
No words came. He did not have a name.
He had never been allowed one. Of everything, having a name was his greatest desire. A desire as great as his freedom.
The space suddenly began to turn transparent.
Turning thin, like a veil being lifted.
Like a realm between fiction and reality.
Between gods and mortals.
The frozen battlefield became visible, the swamp.
The goblins and wolves halted mid-motion.
The mud suspended in splashes.
His own body visible below, half torn, eyes wide with madness, teeth sunk into a goblin’s neck.
The moment before death.
Held still like a painting.
Slave 135’s hand moved to his chest, holding it tightly. He was frightened. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ
Of everything, but more so...
Himself.
The way he had become something that now was no different from another monster.
The man’s voice returned, softer now. "I do not have much time left."
Slave 135 turned back toward him, face still wet with tears. He gritted his teeth, knowing very well going back was not an option.
The light around the man was still there, but it felt thinner too.
As if he was part of the fading space.
"Child," the man said, "remember. Unless you have the power to choose, keep choosing the lesser evil."
Slave 135 averted his gaze.
He did not know what the lesser evil was.
He only knew survival.
He turned his head instinctively, as if something had moved.
The eye, malice and hate more evident now.
He could also tell this was not aimed at him alone, but also at the man next to him.
It stared down like a judge who had already decided the sentence.
The same eye that threw him into a place he could never survive.
Slave 135’s body went cold.
The man’s hand landed on Slave 135’s head. "Do not be afraid of anyone or anything." Startling him.
The space collapsed, softly like a breath being released.
"Until we meet again." His voice lingered for a short moment.
The man was gone.
Slave 135 started falling once again.
Right into his own body.
Back into the swamp.
Back into the moment before being ripped apart.
The wolf’s teeth tore through him.
The goblins’ blades followed.
And the mechanical voice he hated rang again inside his head. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
His body was restored. The Trial resumed.
But this time, something new bloomed inside him.
It was neither hope nor despair.
Disgust.
