Instantly upon appearing again, he opened his mouth and touched his face. He tried to scream — but nothing came out. He began touching all over his body with trembling hands.
Then he stopped.
Tears filled his eyes, and he emptied his bladder.
And then he started screaming.
He tried to get up. Only then did he realize he was on top of a tree.
But it was too late.
He fell.
He used his arms to lessen the impact, but it was useless. When he landed, he felt his shoulder go out of place. He did not stop screaming for a single second. He yelled while covering his ears, but it was of no use — a deafening ringing jammed his hearing nonstop.
He lay in a pool of his own urine and tears.
When he tried to stand, he failed and fell again. Then he began crawling across the ground with one hand, since the other arm was dislocated.
He crawled away frantically, screaming at the top of his lungs and crying. Suddenly he felt the urge to throw up, but his stomach was empty, so he vomited only gastric fluids and saliva. The taste in his mouth was bitter. A piercing pain throbbed in his shoulder.
He did not understand what was happening.
He was supposed to be dead.
He should be dead.
He had died.
He saw Salas die.
Where was he?
What was happening?
The fear of the past events was still engraved in his soul, and he did not understand a thing. So he kept crawling through the forest. He would have kept screaming if his throat had not given up.
For now:
Keep crawling.
Keep crawling.
Keep crawling.
It was the only thought in his mind.
The pain helped him avoid thinking about what had happened earlier. He felt that if he did think about it, he would go insane.
After a dozen minutes of crawling and crying until his eyes were dry, he stumbled upon a hollow inside a tree.
Even though the forest was bright and lively under the daylight, inside that hollow it was completely dark.
Something was wrong.
Just as the uneasiness growing in his heart was about to force him away, he heard a stick snap behind him.
A footstep.
Something was wrong. Why was this tree so dark? Why was he so uneasy?
Dante—
Behind me...
Look...
I don't want to...
Someone help me...
Please.
Just look...
Am I going crazy?
Help...
I—
Just look.
He slowly turned.
Thump.
A violent pain exploded in the middle of his chest. A hog-like creature with eyes scattered throughout its body and multiple mouths headbutted him, sending him flying. His lungs gave out instantly. His body flooded with adrenaline.
When he landed on the ground, he could not move.
He could not breathe.
He could not cry.
He was completely powerless.
He couldn't even lift his head to properly see the creature as it slowly approached him.
Once again, his mind filled with fear, desperation, and powerlessness.
Was he going to die again?
Was he that useless?
He couldn't accept such an outcome — but he could do nothing about it.
The pain in his chest was immense, and the fear was even greater. The beast slowly reached him.
Then he saw it.
That atrocious being began opening each one of its massive mouths, leaning closer.
He was going to be eaten alive — just after being burned alive.
How comical.
He was done once again.
When he finally managed to catch a breath, he laughed.
At this point, he might as well have gone completely insane. He used the little oxygen he managed to grasp just to laugh.
But just as that atrocity of nature was about to reach him, he heard footsteps and metal clashing loudly.
Suddenly, a white-haired old man in refined medieval attire appeared and kicked the creature away.
It might have been exhaustion or overload, but Dante could not keep up anymore.
He passed out.
The last thing he saw was the old man's face.
It even reminded him of Salas.
How undesirable.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The burning smell of vomit and urine was gone.
The pain was gone.
His mind felt… calmer?
But he did not want to be calm.
He did not want to think.
Thinking made him remember.
The moment he thought of that, his vision blurred again and he clutched his chest. He felt the urge to throw up but forced it down.
"Salas…"
He murmured as tears filled his eyes once more.
He felt like he should be reacting more wildly, but he was strangely calm — if this could even be called calm.
His breathing was irregular. Even thinking about what had happened made him physically sick. Still, he had to use this moment of clarity to understand his situation.
The floor beneath him was hard.
And shaking.
It was completely dark. He could hear boxes shifting whenever the movement became abrupt.
A faint masculine voice came from outside. It was deep, refined.
"Young lord, we shouldn't take that man with us. What if he's dangerous?"
Another voice responded — lighter, younger, more reckless.
"Dangerous? Don't make me laugh. He had piss all over himself and was laughing about to die. He's just a pathetic kid who went insane. What could he possibly do? And the holy firewood incense should calm him down. If he's still tweaking even with that, we can just kill him."
The older man replied, sounding annoyed.
"Me killing him in that case, right? You always leave your messes for me to clean up. Geez."
Silence followed.
Dante understood then that he hadn't dreamed.
All of this was real.
Even so, part of him still wasn't fully convinced. But he knew one thing:
This was his new reality.
And if he didn't adapt, he would die again.
But when he tried to settle his thoughts, he remembered the incident.
Instantly, shivers ran down his body.
He was in a moving carriage.
He remembered exactly what had happened the last time he was transported like this.
An irrational fear of moving vehicles struck him again.
He tried to calm himself.
It didn't work.
Not even the holy firewood incense helped.
He was absolutely terrorized.
So much so that he passed out again.