It felt like she was returning to the past as the world around her shifted from a blur of sand and muffled sounds into thick mud that seemed heavy, tugging at her feet—until it turned into filthy water reflecting countless moments from her memory.
The pain in her chest didn't come only from the punch Troll had landed, but from the weight of those memories beneath the water. In that place, time seemed to function as it should. As she walked through the shallow, murky water filled with memories, she suddenly sank. She couldn't see—she just kept sinking.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the ground, staring at an unscarred sky covered in heavy clouds over the slums of a forgotten, abandoned city. She was reliving, as a spectator of her own story, the moment when she used to sit in the kitchen watching the peaceful face of Léo, her youngest brother on her mother's side, while their mother worked. Back then, Léo's face was still pale—he hadn't yet known the sunlight.
Both versions of her—eight-year-old Fitty and the present-day spectator—smiled as they watched little Léo sleeping, strapped to their mother's back. Then her other siblings arrived. Maya, her age, and Toby, four years old, burst in noisily, announcing throughout the house that their father was coming home.
— You're going to wake Léo. — Eight-year-old Fitty said.
— Sorry, Mom! Sorry, sis! — they replied in perfect unison, as if they practiced it every day.
When their father stepped through the door, his firm footsteps and wide smile seemed to say everything about the kind of man he was. But that same smile didn't exist on present-day Fitty's face. Her expression showed sadness, and the right corner of her lips trembled like someone trying not to cry as she watched.
— Dad! — Maya
— Daddy! — Toby
They ran to him, attacking him with hugs, and he returned them, laughing as he lifted them in his arms.
Fitty stood farther back, quiet in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, as if waiting her turn.
— What's wrong, Fitty? Aren't you going to hug your old man who just got home?
— I don't want to. — eight-year-old Fitty replied.
— Oh really? Acting tough with your dad? Get over here!
She ran, but he caught her easily, hugging her and ruffling her head full of curls.
— I knew it! You just wanted to mess up my hair, Dad. — she complained, smiling from ear to ear.
— Who do you think you got those beautiful curls from? That gives me the right to mess with them while I play with my daughter.
Both versions of Fitty were smiling at that moment.
— Daddy, when will my hair look like yours and sis's? — Toby asked.
— Hey, you three, come here… You're the little gifts I got in this life, and I love you. Every unique little trait you have makes you special—your straight, rebellious hair, Toby; Maya's light hair; and Fitty's curls. I love you all the same, so I'll mess up all your hair the same too… although yours is already messy enough on its own. Go comb it.
— Okay, Daddy. — Toby said.
— Fitty, you cut your hair short again? Didn't you say you'd let it grow?
— It's easier to take care of… and we don't have that much money for me to spend without thinking about my siblings. — Fitty replied.
— You're a child. You don't need to worry about that. I got some good stuff to sell tomorrow, so don't worry. Let it grow, okay? That smells good—let's see what your mom made for lunch.
Back then, Fitty didn't have the green tips in her hair. She was a normal child, with just a few worries that sometimes made her seem like an adult for a few seconds.
During lunch, everyone ate peacefully while little Léo slept. They laughed and listened to their father's stories—until someone knocked on the door as they were clearing the table.
— Maya, I think I finally figured out how to braid your hair the way you like. Want to try later?
— Yesss! — Maya replied.
— I can already see I'll have to fix everything afterward. — their mother teased.
— Just wait and see, dear. We'll show her, Maya.
— Daddy, someone's knocking. — Toby said.
Whoever stood behind that door was impatient. The closer the footsteps came, the louder the knocking grew. When Ethan opened it—
— Oh, didn't know she was busy.
— What do you mean? — Ethan asked, then immediately stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
— I want to use her services, you know how it is, brother.
— First, I'm not your brother. Second, she doesn't do those "services" anymore.
— Come on, man, what are you? Her pimp? Or some crazy guy who thinks he can keep the good stuff all to himself?
That was when his expression completely changed. You could feel the air shift just from his gaze. Present-day Fitty had never seen that look before—back then, she had been behind the door. So this was her first time witnessing it.
— The good stuff, huh.
She could swear she heard the bones in his forearm crack along with his knuckles just before he threw the punch that started the fight. Present-day Fitty watched everything but couldn't speak or interact with the memory.
Little Fitty ran to the kitchen.
— Mom! Dad's fighting outside!
When the door opened, in the split second Ethan looked back, he was stabbed in the stomach. By reflex, he grabbed the blade before it could reach any organs.
— Maria, get back inside with the kids. Now.
He took a kick to the leg and a punch that slammed him against the wall beside the door, blood pouring from his wound.
— Finally showed up. Been a while. I've got plenty of the money you like so much this time. How about we spend a few hours together?
— Maria… no… — Ethan groaned.
— I'll just kill this annoying client first before we go in.
— Not… here. Just leave him… It's fine… I'll just put my son down. — Maria removed Léo from her back and handed him to Fitty. — Take Léo and your father inside. I'll be back.
After that, Fitty only remembered helping Toby get their father onto the couch. Ethan stitched himself up—four or five stitches—then fell asleep with a fever while they cared for him.
Maria came home late. The next morning, Fitty remembered them arguing.
— You said you'd stop selling yourself, Maria.
— I know, Ethan.
— Then why? Was it because of the money he showed you?
— Y-yes… we need it. But also to save your life.
— Don't do this. You could've worked with me. You didn't need to sell yourself like that. Not in front of our kids.
Water began to rise from the floor—but only around Fitty, as if trying to drown her.
— And what would my kids eat? Even when your work brings more than usual, it's still not enough.
— Your kids?
— Mine, Ethan. The only one who might be yours is Fitty.
— You never told me that… I love those children like they're my blood. Maybe even more.
From that point on, the water covered her ears. She couldn't hear anymore. She only remembered Ethan leaving that day—and returning three weeks later. Even then, he brought money daily without fail.
The memory shifted.
It was 11:11 a.m. when the earth trembled. In the center of the slum, the ground cracked open with a deafening roar, as if reality itself had split apart, bringing war with it. Dozens of houses and people fell into the abyss.
Grotesque creatures the size of tigers emerged—skin dark red like dried blood, bodies radiating heat that bent the air around them. Their teeth layered like sharks'. About ten smaller demonic beasts and one massive one—eight feet tall—with a crown-like symbol on its forehead marked with something resembling the number nine.
Standing atop the largest beast was a demon with no visible eyes, nose, or mouth—only clawed limbs. It tore open the back of its hand, and the wound reshaped itself into lips, teeth, and a bleeding tongue.
— KiLl ThEm AlL.
The massacre began.
Fitty's family ran. Ethan carried Léo and Toby. Maria held Maya's hand.
One beast pursued them.
— Maria, take Toby! — Ethan shouted, feeling his old wound.
The ground shattered beneath him and Léo. Ethan shielded Léo with his body. The child was unharmed. Ethan was not.
— Dad! — Maya cried.
— We're okay!
— Fitty! — Ethan tossed Léo toward her.
The beast leapt, drooling.
Ethan hurled a stone at it.
— Going to waste an easy meal when there's one right in front of you?
Eight-year-old Fitty caught Léo. Present-day Fitty sank again.
She saw her father torn apart while looking at her.
"Let me hear him… please…"
— Protect your siblings for me. — Ethan said, smiling at her one last time.
She saw everything—her mother returning to prostitution, her own ninth birthday on 10/24/91, the day she began training her punches at ten.
— What are you doing? — Toby asked.
— Training to protect you one day, like Dad did.
She saw herself leaving home at sixteen, heading to Kirden.
— Take care. I'll come back for you. Protect them like Dad would… Mom.
The memories carried her to 11/26/2000 — Arena | Troll vs. Fitty.
When the blur cleared, she was on her knees before Troll.
— I understand what you're trying to do. — Fitty said.
"Protect your siblings for me."
— Sorry if I seemed lost… but I'm fine now… Dad. Let's finish this, Troll.
She stood, assuming her fighting stance once more.
— Come on, Fitty. — Troll replied.