Tell me, Gods. Who controls time? I've always wanted the answer. I've always wanted someone to blame.
"Augh!"
The boy was sent tumbling a couple of feet. But when he sat up, he was unharmed. His hands and feet had healed, and the scratches on his arm and chest scarred over.
A curse, maybe? But aren't curses supposed to hurt you?
The clash between Jackson and the orc made his head turn, but his body wouldn't move. In his mind, he wanted to help, but he knew he would only be in the way.
I'm too weak. I can hardly keep up with their movements, and that's only because Jackson is injured.
Large fingers fell to the ground as Jackson sliced the orc's hand. A roar rang out from the beast as it stumbled and grabbed where it had been cut.
This moment of weakness was enough for Jackson to gain the upper hand. One slice and the right leg was gone. A second later, the head was rolling on the ground.
Jackson turned to Flio and limped over as he held his ribcage where he had been hit.
As he lifted his shirt, he revealed a large, black bruise that covered most of his side. He draped the shirt back down over his side. It was torn and tattered elsewhere from the brawl.
Milo walked back to Flio and met with Jackson.
"W- Will he die?" Milo asked.
Jackson knelt as he patted Flio on the face. No response. Jackson's hand took hold of the arrowhead and quickly snapped it off. Blood drew from his palm, but he didn't react.
He flipped Flio over and slowly pulled the arrow from his backside. Flio groaned in pain.
"What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to leave arrows like that inside?"
Black elixir was dumped from a small, round bottle and onto the wound. Jackson tossed Flio over his shoulder and turned to the boy.
"He's not so weak that a small arrow would kill him. His body is tougher than you think."
Jackson smiled.
"Plus, I just gave him a medium-grade health potion. He should be good in a couple of hours."
Milo sighed as a smile formed on his face.
"Thank Vespus," he whispered.
Jackson stared at the corner where the goblin lay. He looked at the boy, who was idle in thought, and shivered.
"You sure did a number on that one."
Milo flinched.
"I..."
"It's okay," Jackson said quietly, "I understand."
The smiles faded from both of their faces. Milo looked at his hands once again to see the wet blood still on them. He wiped them across his clothes and raised his head.
They nodded to one another and turned to the long, dark hallway in front of them.
As they made their way down the long stretch, Milo turned to Jackson.
"What do you know about dungeons?"
"Dungeons? A lot. Mimic dungeons? Not so much."
Mimic dungeons.
The response made Milo look down into his satchel.
He gasped.
The mimic was gone.
He twisted, turned, and looked all around his feet. Streaks of brown goo had disappeared from his clothing and arms where he held the creature.
"Shit!"
"What?!" Jackson shouted.
He saw Milo's frantic response and unsheathed his sword, ready for a fight.
"The mimic, it's gone!"
Jackson sighed.
"Relax. Mimics don't always persist once their conditions are met. If it's gone, it's gone."
"Oh..." Milo said, beginning to calm down.
Eventually, they made it to the end of the hallway and found themselves at a large door. It was similar to the partifold doors, but this time, it was all black.
"Interesting," Jackson whispered as he felt the door's texture.
Iron trim reinforced the door's exterior, and a strange substance made up the whole of it.
The two shot a look at each other and nodded. Jackson pushed the doors open and dashed backwards to stand ready with Milo.
On the other side, a large room appeared—red walls, ceiling, and floor.
As the two walked around, they looked for anything of use.
Milo cast his hand across the wall.
Seamless. Strange.
The texture was unique. Warm.
There was a single table on the far side of the room, placed in front of a door. Jackson set Flio down in the center of the room as he investigated.
Only, the table wasn't red—a normal brown wood that seemed expertly hand-crafted. On the side was a singular drawer. Jackson tugged on the handle, but it didn't budge.
Again, he pulled with all of his strength. Still nothing.
Propping his foot against the table, he leaned back to leverage his weight.
"Humpf!"
Veins popped from his head as he pulled with every ounce of strength.
Nothing.
He gave up and looked around, seeing if there was any instruction on how to open it up.
"Tsk. I don't get it," he threw his hands up.
Milo followed the wall to its corners, where he noticed something strange.
Seamless. How is that possible? It's like this place wasn't built, but...
"...Grown," he whispered.
He turned to Flio and saw his body being engulfed by the floor.
"Jackson!"
Jackson turned around, sword in hand.
"Shit," he whispered.
"I think it's alive!" Milo said.
"What?!"
Milo ran over to Flio, but Jackson had beaten him there.
It was like running through honey. Their feet sank deeper and deeper. Jackson struggled to pull Flio from the oozing floor. Milo was stuck a couple of meters from the center as he thrashed to get his legs unstuck.
Each step required him to lift his legs higher and higher to escape the viscous substance. Finally, he reached the center and tried to help Flio out of the ground. As he slid his hands under his body, his torso began to sink.
Milo looked to Jackson.
"WHAT DO WE D-"
Milo's eyes widened as he looked to see Jackson's eyes sink under the floor.
Milo thrashed around and pushed the red slime away, but the more he moved, the faster he sank.
Soon, his face was sinking into the floor.
As he let out a muffled scream, the thick substance crawled its way into his lungs.
I want to scream, but I feel like I have no mouth.
The floor engulfed the three of them.
Black.
The red room returned to a serene state.
Milo could feel his body. He tried moving, but it felt like the weight of something heavy was holding him down.
The sound of a large explosion made him flinch. He tried to scream for Jackson, but no words came out.
It's lighter.
Some of the weight was being lifted off him. Light began to pierce through as small fingers reached under and lifted something off of him.
Finally, a large wooden plank was thrown aside. Milo felt weightless, but still couldn't move, and one of his eyes was completely black.
He turned to see who helped him.
W- What?... H- How?...
Milo looked up at a small boy.
Himself.
His ears were bloodied, and his body was covered in dust.
I recognize this place...
The boy's face twisted and turned. Tears began to well. He looked on in horror as he stared at Milo.
The small boy began to mutter as he fell back.
"Amy, Paul, Garrison, Leena, Mikey, Lee, Julia, Leo-"
No! No! No! NO! NO! NO!
Milo's body surged with pain. He felt his jaw being twisted. He felt his eye being gouged out of his skull. His face being crushed.
AUGH! AUGH! AUGHHH!
He wanted to scream, but had no mouth to do so.
Black.
Milo opened his eyes.
There was furniture around. He turned to see a kitchen in the corner of the room. All of it felt familiar.
What is this?
The top of the dining room table escaped his view.
I'm shorter. Why?
He opened his mouth, but didn't know how to speak. It was almost as if his brain had forgotten the common words he knew so well.
Other boys and girls played in the larger living quarters.
He quickly ran and gave one of the girls a hug.
A- Amy!
He felt himself smile, but his mind wanted to cry. His body acted against him. Like predetermined movements guided him.
And Paul, and Garrison, and Leena, and-
Why?...
The door opened. Milo turned to see who entered.
"I'm hooo-ome!"
"Come in!" The other kids shouted in unison.
The others giggled as Milo saw himself enter through the front door.
Me, again?
The boy at the door turned to Milo and smiled.
"Leo!"
Before he could take another step into the house, the roof collapsed. A loud bang sent the children screaming as they cried out in pain.
AUGH!
Milo felt his arm partially rip from his body. Excruciating pain radiated all around as the crushing pressure of the rubble made every second worse than the last.
What is this?! Why is this happening?!
He started crying, but the sounds weren't him. They were Leo's.
Another bang, and the rest of the building fell. His body was crushed under the pressure as his organs turned to mush.
AUGHH!
Black.
"I'm hooo-ome!"
"Come in!"
"I'm hooo-ome!"
"Come in!"
Again and again. The same scene. The same ending.
First, it was the deaconess, then Leo, then Amy, then Garrison, then Leena, and then he lost count.
"I'm hooo-ome!"
"Come in!"
Black.
Milo opened his eyes, but he didn't look around or interact with anyone in the orphanage. Instinctively, he reached for his waistband.
His knife was there.
Slowly, he pulled it out.
"I'm hooo-ome!"
"Come in!"
What is it that I'm supposed to do?! This?! Is this what you want?!
He closed his eyes and thrust the knife at his throat.
He felt it connect, but there was no pain. As he looked down, he saw the knife had been stopped by something—an invisible force.
W- What?
The children stopped playing. Everything was frozen in place.
A voice.
Different from the others he had heard time and time before.
"..lo"
"...ilo!"
"Milo!"
He gasped as his eyes jolted open. He turned to see a man hovering over him.
"Jackson..." he whispered.
To his horror, Milo realized what stopped the knife.