Lior lay there. Alone in the dark silence, unable to move a muscle. Arms still bled, bones in his ankles shattered.
He gazed upward. The trapdoor sealed shut, not allowing a trace of light to slip through. Darkness—cold and suffocating.
Barely able to see his hand in front of him, he raised it. Painted crimson, bones protruded from the knuckles. The blood had dried, clinging stubbornly to his skin. Pain gripped him with every twitch.
I'm sorry, Fenric.
Fenric's betrayal stung, but it was understandable. Lior would be lying if he claimed not to feel anger in that moment. Still, he couldn't blame the boy. Given the way things unfolded—how he behaved after the memory loss—perhaps he should have seen it coming.
But he hadn't. The doubts about Fenric's long absences had been there, lingering. Yet he'd always brushed them aside.
If I'd paid better attention, maybe...
A sudden sound interrupted his thoughts.
A hiss?
Twisting his neck with difficulty, Lior locked eyes on the source.
His heart skipped a beat.
No, no...
Dozens—no, hundreds—of snake-like entities slithered in the void of darkness. Their matte-black bodies were thick as his arm, their eyes twin red jewels that glowed in the dark. Inky tears slid from their slits. Two pairs of razor-sharp fangs. Tongues the same shade as their skin.
They surged toward him.
Quickly, they encircled him. Each side flooded with the slithering fiends, enclosing him completely.
Not like I can run anyway.
Both ankles were broken. All he could do was lie there and wait to be devoured alive.
Lior stopped resisting.
Some slid down his pants, others crawled through his shirt sleeves.
Then came the first bite.
Ouch.
Fangs sank into his neck.
The second—his cheek.
The third...
In moments, they buried him beneath a writhing, black mountain.
Covered in bite marks. Legs useless. Arms too weak to move. His eyes dimmed, life fading.
Then a voice broke through the void.
"So this is how it ends, cretin?"
"Oh... it's you," Lior croaked, forcing a fragile smile. "At least I'm not alone. Thanks for keeping me company in my final moments."
"How long are you going to keep up this facade?" the voice snapped, unimpressed.
Lior blinked. "What facade?"
"Don't pretend. You know what you are."
He chuckled weakly. "Then tell me—what am I really?"
"You pretend to be human," it said, voice sharp. "When deep down you know you're not."
"Are you saying I'm something beyond humanity? Transcendent, perhaps?"
The voice scoffed. "Hardly. You're worse. A pathetic soul trapped in a cycle of endless resentment."
"Really?"
"Look at yourself. What's the difference between Lior and Lorenzo?"
His faint smile faded.
"...There is no difference."
The voice giggled. "Exactly. No matter the world, your end is always the same. Lonely. Gruesome."
"You have no one to blame but yourself."
"How so?" Lior asked, voice rasping.
"Isn't it obvious? You cling to that last shred of humanity."
"Playing house with that boy—pretending to be a family. Now tell me, what was the Ghost of Solmira meant to do?"
"Deter both armies from the outskirts," Lior replied.
"And why? If strength was your goal, wouldn't more soldiers be a blessing?"
Lior paused.
Why did I do that?
Before he could answer, the voice continued.
"It was for the boy, wasn't it? So he wouldn't face danger outside."
Lior's mouth opened, but no sound came.
"That's right," the voice pressed.
It laughed.
"And what happened to the boy despite your efforts?"
Lior clenched his teeth, silent.
"He died. Gruesomely. Your efforts were meaningless."
Everything it said—true.
"So a poor soul, deems itself to be human, and can't protect one child. What that soul desires is to slay a God... How laughable."
Tears streamed down Lior's face.
"So," he whispered, "what can I do?"
"Simple," the voice replied. "Stop pretending. Accept what you are."
"And what are you?"
"Something to discard."
"And that is?"
"...Doubt."
His tears slowed. Confusion clouded his thoughts.
"Wait—if you're my doubt, why have you appeared just recently?"
"Because until now, killing a god wasn't even a possibility. There was nothing to doubt."
Realization struck.
"When I saw a chance... that's when you appeared."
"Correct," the voice said. "When the opportunity arose, you began to doubt everything—your choices, your killings, your hatred."
Lior fell into silence.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Two options," the voice said. "End this struggle and hope this is your final death. Or keep going. Accept yourself. And destroy me."
He didn't answer right away. There was no rush. Not now.
The void was silent, except for the hissing and biting of snakes.
Finally, Lior spoke.
"Tell me. How do I survive this?"
The voice chuckled.
"So you've chosen. I expected as much. I am you, after all."
Seeing the determination in Lior's eyes, the voice added, "Since we are one of the same,you should already know how."
Lior looked at the snake still biting his neck.
He grabbed it—flesh tearing—and grinned.
"Of course, there's only one way."
"Do it," the voice urged.
So he did.
He bit into the snake's head. Chewed. The skull cracked. Swallowed.
He vomited. Then bit again.
Dizzy, he sat upright. Snakes still clung to his body.
He didn't stop. He couldn't.
Once he devoured the first, the voice said:
"Finally. You've accepted your nature."
Its tone fading.
"Show them. Do anything for power. No doubt. Don't let anything distract you from your goal."
"Your very own dream."
Lior didn't reply. He ate with the hunger of a beast.
The revulsion faded. Only hunger remained.
"With that, I disappear. No one else will wish you luck—but I will."
"On this lonely road, may you end up victorious."
And with that, Doubt vanished from within him.