I was... walking.
The cruel rays of the sun blinded me, the coarse sand beneath my feet slowly burning them and raising blisters with each step. The dry air stung my throat, every breath scraping like sandpaper.
As I trudged through the concrete jungle, I noticed my wound tearing open again, warm blood trickling down my side.
I guess getting stabbed by a halberd would do that to you.
I pulled a piece of fabric from my bag and carefully wrapped it, not bothering to disinfect it with anything. The smell of rust and old cloth filled my nose as I tied it off.
When I was finished, I pressed on toward home.
Two hours later I finally reached my little hut. It wasn't much, but it was home.
I stepped inside and dropped my things on the floor. They landed with a heavy thud, spilling out across the dirt.
My medicine, spare food... and the head of the warlord.
Blood spread across the floorboards, staining them dark. I sighed and bent to lift the scum's head off the ground.
But as I tried to pick it up, my wound split wider. Pain shot through me, sharp and hot, and I staggered, teeth clenched.
My breathing quickened.
Still, I ignored it. With shaking hands, I raised the head and carried it to the back of my home.
There my garden waited — rows of green and pale blossoms I had nurtured for years. The faint smell of herbs and soil greeted me, a small island of life in this barren world. I was proud of it. It had taken years to gather enough viable seeds to grow something that could keep me alive.
I walked on for a few minutes until I reached it.
The cemetery.
I stepped inside, passing gravestones weathered smooth, their names lost to time.
At last I came to my destination: six graves. One for each person I had lost.
My mother, who cared for me.
My father, who protected me.
My sister, who annoyed me.
My master, who trained me.
My girlfriend, who loved me.
My friend, who stuck with me.
These graves held the last remains of my only family in this desolate world.
I drove a long stick into the ground in front of them and fixed the head of the man who killed them onto it. The flies gathered almost instantly.
"Hey guys, I did it... I got him..." I said with a forced smile, my voice breaking.
It had taken me ten years just to find him, and another ten to end him.
But now that I finally had my revenge, I felt... hollow.
I should have been happy that my mission was finally over, that I had brought justice to them.
But revenge... didn't bring that satisfaction.
Pain surged from the wound and I collapsed to my knees. I clutched my stomach, fingers slick with blood, and cried out.
"Mom... Dad... I'm sorry... I'm sorry."
Tears blurred my vision as the blood kept flowing.
I didn't have to fight anymore. My work was done. It was time to rest.
I let go of the wound and crawled forward, slowly, until I reached the graves of my mother and father. I lay between them, the earth cool against my cheek.
Memories surfaced — their voices, their warmth, the way they comforted me as a child.
As I lay there, an odd feeling spread through me. Hard to name... but if I had to, I would call it peace.
My eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Darkness closed in, gentle this time.
I guess I should have dug a seventh grave.