— Good words, though, not entirely sure that anyone now possesses the power to rule fate, not even their own, let alone anyone else's.
A voice sounded behind me.
A voice? No. Not quite. A voice, like a forgotten chord. A ghost of a melody you heard somewhere between sleep and the unconscious.
An unfamiliar voice.
No, not like that, not that unfamiliar. Rather, too familiar to be unfamiliar. A voice I had already heard somewhere, but it was not at all the voice of a comrade. And even less the voice of an enemy. That is... not an enemy yet.
A strange feeling gripped me. As if... fear? As if I'm afraid?
Fear. Fear is an emotional state. It is anxiety, it is panic. It is instinct, it is... human.
And I? I am not human. I should not be afraid.
A lie.
— Hey, maybe you'll turn around now? — he said, as if we were discussing something mundane. As if the rain was the main problem in this situation.
— I'm already tired of getting wet in the rain, you know, how unpleasant it is to constantly see the same weather.
He said. He said, the person unknown to me.
What will happen if I turn around?
What will happen if I continue to stand like this, with my back to the voice, to reality, to what has already loomed? Why do I keep thinking about it?Why am I still thinking?
The island. Without access to powers, without magic. Without the ability to defend myself.
Defenselessness. There it is, that word. Like a fist flying right into the stomach.
I am defenseless.
I should... I need to...
I must turn my head.
He is standing behind me. And I... I don't hear his footsteps, I don't feel his presence at all anymore. As if he dissolved.
As if he wasn't there.
The unknown person... disappeared?
Maybe. Or did I disappear?
With these thoughts, with what could be called will, or perhaps panic, I slowly, almost reverently, turned around.
Turned around.
And saw.
And regretted.
Was it worth it? — I thought.
The answer was obvious. No, definitely not.
He was holding a shotgun. A shotgun, not even a pistol, not even a knife. A shotgun. Does he want to get rid of me? Or just to be dramatic?
— W-who are you? — I asked with a trembling voice. The very voice I had never heard before from my own lips.
Fear.
— Golden Figure! — he answered, with an enthusiasm you don't expect from a person with a weapon in his hands.
And immediately — bang! A shot.
Bang.
Thunder.
Without lightning.
…
— Hm, I wanted the bullet to go through the head, — he lazily informed. — But this weapon, it seems, is too powerful, and simply pierced the right part of his head! Aha-hah-hah!
Laughter. Mad? Childish? Too carefree to be sincere.
As if... toys. He was playing, with a head, with a shotgun. With me.
Where am I? — I asked myself mentally.
— Ho-ho-ho-ho.
Laughter, a voice.
Somewhere nearby. Somewhere inside, somewhere between.
— Although you are not the one I was waiting for in my abode, I am glad to welcome you, freshly eliminated player! — said the girl. Too cheerfully, too lightly. Too... madly.
— Witch of Ryujima Island! — Enua answered with malice.
— Just like a rabid dog! — and again laughter. Khi-hah-hah-ha.
Mariana. Laughter. And a belly that is about to burst from laughter.
— I was just shot and I died, where am I now?!
— Isn't it obvious? — she said. — Think with your recently smashed-to-pieces brains!Ehe-he-he-hah!
She knows. Knows that I know. And knows that I don't know how to live with this knowledge.
Dead. A fact. But not gone.
Physically dead.
Spiritually... unclear.
This place. It is not life, but not death either.
Not that reality, not my world.
I am not a body. I am not a thought.
I am something intermediate. Like a pause between words, like a comma between thoughts.
Emptiness. Absolute emptiness.
Never encountered such a thing before. It's not what frightens. It's what doesn't fit. Not into memory. Not into mind. Not into being.
— This guy is even more boring than that youth… said the witch.
Without emotions. As if she already regretted inviting.
— However, alright, listen carefully, once immortal, and now a pathetic mortal god. You do understand what your presence in this place means?
I was silent, I was silent, as if I didn't know.
But I knew. Of course, I knew.
The witch's game.
She, it's all her. Screenwriter, director, producer, executioner.
I hate.
— Hey, rotten witch, start your filthy move or whatever you want to do, but just faster.
— Huh? — she said. — Why such impatience? Don't tell me you think you can defeat me, pathetic mortal? Ehe-he-he!
— Watch out not to tear your little belly, dear witch who doesn't want to lift her ass from the warm chair!
— What a boor! — she knew how to sting too. — Watch out not to burst from anger, pathetic fighter against fate!
We are both set on winning. On a game without a draw.
I don't lose, I don't know how to lose. I don't even know how that word is spelled.
I was a god. I created divine entities.
And still lost, lost to fate. The very one that didn't obey even me.
Fate.
A word that sounds like a verdict. People at the very bottom. I was at the top, but fate did not submit to either the bottom or the top.
Then what is it? Who is it?
Fate is not a force.
Fate is not energy.
Fate is... a person?
— How ridiculous it is to hear such a statement, especially from someone like you! — the witch burst into laughter. — If you don't stop spouting this nonsense, I'm afraid I really should start worrying about the state of my belly, for it will not withstand and will burst from laughter! Agh-hah-ghhah-hah-agh-hah!
She… she was laughing.
Not because it's funny. But because it's unbearably serious. A manifestation of pity, as a way to show her superiority.
— If fate were an embodiment of flesh, it would spit on such a helpless and pathetic creature!
Helplessness.
Pity.
But not compassion.
Superiority.