An Anon's Journey: Remnant Act 1

True Ending: Dead Hope's Hand

Why?

This question had tormented Hope for as long as he could remember. Why did his father disappear? Why did his first girlfriend, who had always been such an airheaded sweetheart, betrayed him and cheated on him? Why did his mother fall ill with an unknown, deathly illness? Why did he say those things to his best friend, knowing full well how emotionally and mentally fragile she was?

Why, Why, Why?

All of these questions... haven't mattered for a while now.

Ever since he came to Remnant, his mind stopped asking those questions. It reminded him nearly constantly of what happened, but it stopped asking why. And even as he layed there, bleeding, his mind still didn't asked him why. Because he already knew why he did the things he did.

He did it because he now had people depending on him. Who needed him.

Without him, things would've been so much worse. But as much as they needed him, he needed them as well. Without them, he wouldn't have changed his ways. He would have remained this pathetic, self-loathing, bitter loser with a broken heart. He owed them so much...

He just wished he could've paid them back, before the call of Gehenna came.

Unfortunately, where there should be the smell of ash and fire, was the scent of putrefaction and rotting corpses. The Wyvern's cold tongue wormed around his throat tightly, like a neck clasp meant to be as uncomfortable as possible. He should be choking, his throat restricted. But... Something warm held his throat, protecting him from asphyxiation.

Something unseen, something that should not be in this realm.

As soon as he acknowledged the unlikely warmth, a deafening shot cracked through the air, freeing him from the cold stench of the abominable Jabberwock. He landed in a heap at the feet of the monster, his tortured lungs emptied of air. He laid flat on the floor, his eyes flickering open. His sight set most hopeful upon falling on four vengeful, beautiful angels framed in the light of that Red Sun. The first angel, clad in a red cloak, arrived first on wings of rose petals.

"Cavalry's here..." he exhaled, his limp body almost unresponsive.

The red-clad angel, wearing a visage of a loving maiden scorned, uttered with venom a definite command as her eyes glowed a fierce silver.

"Get. Away. From. Him."

Hope scoffed out a chuckle, his throat hurting slightly.

Deja-vue.

The dark Beast growled lowly, it's omnicidal disgust and rage tempered by ancient knowledge of that holiest of silver light. As it did, the remaining three angels arrived, flanking their leader with equally wrathful expressions. They each uncheated their weapons, their deathly purpose imminent. The Jabberwock flinched, their anger and indignation, normally so nourishing felt toxic to the tongue. The monster made a strategic move by taking hold of the maimed seer between its vicious claws. The red angel's rage grew and she readied her weapon, fully intent on slaying the beast and freeing her love but the beast was far more cunning than its kin. The Jabberwock silently threatened her to stay still, squeezing Hope between its toes and clawing his sides and back. The pressure made his stump squirt out more precious blood than he could afford to lose. His pallor grew and his mind slipped into white.

The warmth that protected his throat earlier shifted from his neck to his head, softly tapping it to keep him awake.

He spat, a mix of blood, spit and air exiting his mouth. With his free arm, he gripped his stump roughly, both bringing great pain and restraining the blood flow. The agonizing ache kept him awake, a painful sign that his nervous system hadn't run out of steam yet. Although strong, the call of Gehenna couldn't be answered yet.