Chapter 31: Don't Wake Me Up
Then—Zandagar loomed over the broken man, his monstrous frame blotting out the dim, flickering light like a living eclipse. Shadows twisted and danced around him as if they, too, recoiled in fear. The air was thick—choking on the iron sting of fresh blood. His talons, dripping crimson, twitched with anticipation, still warm from the slaughter.
He stood motionless for a moment, savoring the carnage, the silence, the pathetic twitch of life still clinging to the mangled heap beneath him.
Then he laughed.
A slow, guttural sound, bubbling up from deep within his chest. Not amusement. Contempt.
"What a disgrace," he sneered, his voice like gravel dragged through rusted metal. "This is what dared to face me?"
He crouched, his grotesque features pushing into view—sickly skin pulled tight over a twisted skull, with jagged teeth protruding from a sneer carved by cruelty. His breath, rank with decay and dried blood, rolled over the barely breathing man in thick, foul waves.
"Tell me, impudent little worm…" Zandagar's voice dropped into a dangerous hush. "Did you think crawling in here with your toy blade made you brave?"
No answer. Only the wheeze of broken lungs.
The man's body trembled with each shallow breath. Bones cracked where ribs had given in, and blood bubbled at the corner of his lips. His fingers twitched as if still reaching for his dagger, but there was no strength left to grasp.
"You don't even flinch. No fear? No scream? Not even the dignity to beg?" Zandagar's obsidian fingers curled inward, drawing blood with every tremble of steel. "You're not brave. You're empty."
His dull orange eyes gleamed.
"I've squashed bugs with more spirit than you. What a disappointment," he muttered, lazily cracking his neck. "All that trembling, all that effort… for what?"
He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a mocking smirk. "I told myself maybe—just maybe—this one would give me a challenge. I was wrong." His voice turned mocking, venomous. "Human, even your death isn't worth remembering."
"Stand up," he said—not as a plea, but as a demand laced with disdain. "Show me even a flicker of resistance. Or will you die groveling?"
Nothing.
The man didn't move.
Zandagar snorted. "Tch. I figured as much."
Zandagar tilted his head, as if curious, then seized the man's chin between two blood-slick claws and yanked it upward.
"You humans always speak of spirit, of resilience. You boast, you howl, and then you break. Like brittle bones underfoot."
A pause.
"You said I've been blind to see human strength." His voice dripped with scorn. "Well, where is that strength now?"
He mocked.
"Gone?"
Another nudge. Still nothing.
"Impudent little worm," he muttered, the insult now filled with venomous finality. "You were nothing from the start."
And then—
Zandagar shifted, drawing back his left hand while still holding the man's chin with his right, almost gently now—as if he were handling something already dead.
The monster exhaled sharply, as though the entire encounter had become tedious.
The man's eyes were half-lidded, rimmed with fatigue. Shadows of pain and defeat haunted them. Blood clung to his skin—thick, dark, half-dried. Every breath was a battle. Every heartbeat felt borrowed.
"What is he saying…?I can't hear them."
His thoughts came in flashes—distant, cold. Detached. Like they no longer belonged to him. Then his gaze shifted. Leon. The others. Still lying there.
"I should say something… Why can't I move?
I'm still here… I came to help them."
A flicker—a twitch of muscle beneath the skin. But not defiance. Just instinct. The body refusing to quit, even when the will was already gone.
"I failed. Forgive me. I couldn't protect any of you. Maybe I never could. I knew I couldn't beat him so easily. So I provoked him. Hoped he'd lose control. Do something stupid."
His breathing shallowed.
"But that… that wasn't what I expected. What do you do when strength like his doesn't break? When it doesn't slip? When it doesn't even feel like magic?"
Then—
Zandagar moved.
No words. No gesture of pity. No mercy.
His hand thrust forward—not with brute force, but cruel purpose. His fingers pierced flesh. The sound was wet. Sickening. His arm burrowed into the man's chest, slow and deliberate. Like a beast enjoying the kill.
The man gasped—eyes wide—before the scream tore from his throat.
"AGHHHHHH—!"
He didn't want to scream. He wanted to die quietly. Dignified. But the pain… it didn't let him.
Agony exploded through his nerves like wildfire. Something inside tore—something vital. His spine arched involuntarily. His legs kicked weakly against the floor. His mouth, soaked in red, opened in a soundless plea he didn't even know he had.
And his mind—
His mind wasn't silent. "My heart… it's not beating. I can't feel it. Then why—why am I still breathing?"
His breath came too fast. Each inhale was sharp and shallow, rasping like broken glass dragged through a crushed throat.
His vision swam. Darkness crept in at the edges, the world dissolving into a blur of pain and silence. Thought splintered. Time unraveled.
He was slipping.
The pain dulled. Cold haze wrapped around him like a shroud, numbing everything. His eyes, heavy and unfocused, began to close.
The world faded.
Then—
Something.
A whisper. A flicker.
Faint. Distant. But real.
His mind, teetering at the edge of unconsciousness, caught it. A spark in the void.
A memory.
---
"When I become big… I'm going to marry you!" A child's voice—bright, proud, trembling with innocence.
He blinked. Barely. The darkness swam. But that voice... it stayed. It echoed.
"No, you can't marry me," a soft laugh replied. Gentle. Teasing. Familiar.
"But why not?" The child's voice cracked. "I want to be your knight! I'll protect you from everything! I'll become strong—so strong—that no one can ever hurt you. And then... you'll be mine! Right? You'll stay with me?"
There was silence. Long enough to ache.
Then—
"If you really want to be with me forever…" Her voice quieted, turning into something softer than air. "You don't have to marry me."
"Then how will I keep you with me?"
"Because… I'll always be with you. No matter what."
"No… no, no, no!" The boy cried, choking on his words. "I want to marry you! I want to marry you! I WANT TO MARRY YOU!"
"Okay. Okay, don't cry." A whisper. Almost teasing again. "When you grow up… we'll marry, alright?"
"Promise me. You have to promise!"
A pause. A breath.
"...I promise."
---
His lips trembled. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue, bitter and warm. But none of it mattered. That voice… That voice was louder than Zandagar's scorn. Louder than the ringing in his ears. Louder than death.
He didn't know why it came now. Why that memory clawed its way out of the void.
Maybe because this was the end.
"What a stupid memory…" he thought, blinking against the haze. "Why now? Of all things… why this?"
He let out a bitter laugh, more like a ragged breath. "I was such a fool. Back then I didn't even know what love meant… what marriage really was. I was just a stupid kid making promises he couldn't keep…"
But then—
He felt it.
Her hand. On his head.
Her warmth. That impossible warmth.
Her smile—burning through the dark.
Her voice.
Her tears.
Her screaming his name.
The monster had broken his body. Shattered his heart. But something deeper had cracked long before any wound tore him open.
Zandagar pulled back, his hand slick with blood—and something darker. It clung to his skin, thick and silent, as if the shadows themselves had bled.
With a sharp motion, he flung the man against the wall. The body struck with a heavy, wet crack, then slid down, folding awkwardly at the base. His legs sprawled limp, one boot twisted at an unnatural angle. His back slumped, head tilted to the side, chin drooped low.
Five deep slashes carved across his torso. The skin hung open, split like torn cloth. The wounds were clear—five ragged holes punched clean through his chest. Blood seeped from each, slow and steady, gathering at his waist in dark pools.
Strands of jet-black hair hung messily across his pale face, veiling his eyes. Once fierce crimson, they had dulled—glassy now, distant, fixed on nothing. The light was already gone. Blood filled his mouth, dark streaks staining his lips.
His body twitched. A shudder rolled through him. A wet, rattling cough broke the silence.
Beneath him, the blood spread outward—slow, deliberate—blooming like some grotesque flower, the kind no world was meant to grow. His fingers gave one last, feeble twitch. His breath came in short, broken gasps.
"Is this it?" The thought drifted in his mind like smoke. "Is this where it ends for me? Just like that?"
His vision blurred at the edges, a slow fade to gray. His body felt far away—like it wasn't his anymore. His lips didn't move, but the words echoed in the hollow of his skull.
"I thought I'd fight till the end. I really did… But it's funny… It's not the pain that's too much. It's the silence. The weight. Like something is slipping through my hands and I can't hold on anymore."
A cough. Wet. Heavy.
"I wonder, what really happens when someone dies?" he wondered, eyes low, voice dead and fading. "Is there… anything after this? Or just… nothing? Is it like sleep? Or worse—like falling forever?"
He let his head droop.
"Will it be dark?"
A breath.
"Will I still remember her face?"
His throat tightened.
"If I die now… will our vow still matter? Or will it vanish like I will? You remember it, don't you... Kael?"
His mouth moved now. Barely.
"You remember what we swore, right? What we said we'd become… what we'd change. Not just for me… for us. Don't let it disappear."
He paused. His voice cracked the still air.
"Can you… carry it for me? That vow. Our vow. Everything we burned for. Everything we bled for. Can you take it and finish it? Even if I'm not there to see it happen?"
A single tear slipped from his pale, dimmed eyes — silent and slow.
"I always thought I'd be the one to make it real… But I can't. Not like this. I failed. I'm sorry."
He coughed again. He tasted metal.
"I'm just… so tired."
His eyes turned upward, not toward the heavens, not toward anything divine—just the ceiling. The cold stone above.
"If I die… will I see her again?" he asked no one. "Or is that just wishful thinking? Maybe I won't. Maybe I shouldn't."
His voice was barely breath.
"She deserved light. Peace. Someone whole. I… I don't even deserve a place in the dust."
A long silence.
"I wish I could've said sorry. Just once."
Zandagar watched. Silent. Still. Like a statue waiting to break. Then—without hesitation—he raised his hand. With a flick, the man's right arm was severed. Blood sprayed across the stone wall like a grotesque signature.
The body crumpled, lifeless. A doll with its strings cut.
"Tsk." Zandagar sneered, voice soaked in mockery. "You talk like you matter. But in the end, you're just an insect. Weak. Worthless."
There was no reply. Just a faint whisper that barely rose beyond a breath, as if it came not from lips, but from what remained of a soul.
"So… this is dying…?"
His eyes were open, unfocused. Not seeing the ceiling, or the blood. Just... stillness. A strange stillness. Not the kind that unnerves. The kind that... accepts.
"It feels so empty. So silent."
He tried to breathe, but the effort felt unnecessary now.
"No regret."
"No rage."
"No fear."
"Just… nothing."
"Nothing like this shitty world. Not loud. Not cruel. Just… still."
A faint flicker crossed his face—between a smirk and a sigh.
"I thought death would come with screams. Fire. Pain. Some kind of final judgment. But this...?"
He closed his eyes for a moment. Let the cold take a little more of him.
"Why does it feel like I'm escaping? Like I'm walking out of something that held me too long. This… feels more like freedom than punishment."
A cough shuddered through his body—wet, weak. He didn't even flinch.
"People talk about dying like it's the end of everything."
"But it doesn't feel like an end."
"More like letting go of weight I never knew I was carrying."
"No more running."
"No more pretending I'm okay."
"No more fighting. No more names. No more keeping promises I was never strong enough to fulfill."
His voice—if it could be called that—dropped even lower. More thought than sound.
"It's peaceful."
"Peace. Is that the word?"
"I never had that. Not really. Not since her."
"If this is what peace feels like…"
"Then maybe dying isn't so bad."
He shifted slightly, head rolling to the side. The cold floor pressed against his cheek. He welcomed it.
"No more masks."
"No more pretending to be strong when everything inside is broken."
"No more blood on my hands."
"No more night terrors."
"No more voices."
"No more people to lose."
His breath hitched again.
Slower. Quieter.
"Just silence."
"And in this silence… I feel more like myself than I ever did alive. Isn't that funny?"
A small laugh slipped through cracked lips. Barely audible. More air than sound.
"I wonder if this is what she felt. When she let go. Did she find this same peace?"
He didn't expect an answer. There was no one left to answer anyway.
"I wish I could stay here."
"Like this."
"Forever."
A beat.
"Ahh... It feels so peaceful."
The blood around him was still spreading, but slower now. Thicker. Cooling.
He blinked once.
And then—
"Kael…"
A final whisper. Tired. Fading. Steady.
"Don't wake me up."
---
(Chapter Ended)
To be continued...