Disgraced Survivor

Scenes played back in his head. The images weren’t necessarily clear, they never were. But they were always there. Always repeating. Over and over. Neverending like a bad slideshow loop. The images vaguely portrayed his last waking moments before the darkness overtook him. He could see himself. Standing proud yet prepared atop a shimmering green and black beast that strode through the sky as if it owned it. He could vaguely hear the beast roar, and he could even feel the heat on the back of his neck from the sun shining down on him. The image of himself standing atop the beast would have almost been majestic, if it were in focus anyway. However there was one issue with the image. It slowly drifted into focus. However it focused on one aspect only. A small hole situated right over where his heart used to be, or at least that’s how the image made it all out to be. The hole couldn’t have been any bigger than three of his fingers, yet it was large enough and prominent enough to bring him down atop the beast. Looking down at the beast itself as the vision began to fade more and more, he could see the beast itself had a small hole in its head as well. As if the beast had been struck by the same attack he had been hit with. The precision of such a strike was utterly magnificent, however it did not matter to him. Nothing else mattered as the vision faded completely and his world faded to black, and the slideshow began anew.

---

The small village of Baska had been home to quite a few events in it’s long and illustrious history, however no matter what happened the small town retained its homely feel with its down to earth villagers and warm and helpful garrison of soldiers. There were very few issues outside of the occasional rowdy brawl that happened between boisterous individuals on their annual pub run. Things in the village were as pure as they often could be outside of major world events like invading super denizens and civil wars. Luckily for the village itself, it was situated in such a location that it was considered valuable and left untouched by most events even if they were to take place near it. However being near these events also meant that the village would sometimes receive injured or worse killed mages after these events, carried back by their comrades who had watched them fall in battle. It was a heartbreaking affair and understandable by most of the villages population considering most were involved in the military in some fashion. Usually though, most of these issues were resolved quickly. The injured were healed by the villages doctors and mages, the dead were transported on the railway to the deceased home village or buried there in baska if they had no home to return to. But in the very rarest of occasions, one would linger due to the severity of their injuries, forever a reminder of the ordeal they had somehow survived.

It was one of these individuals who drew the attention of the young nurse overseeing him. He had been here for almost a year now, the very last remnant of a very deadly and destructive ordeal. He had been drug in by his fellow guildmates and then when he hadn’t woken up, left for dead by those same guild mates. His guild mark for the very least had not faded completely yet, still prominent for all to see that he belonged to the illustrious, or now infamous guild Fairy Tail. His gray hair however had grown out of its well known mohawk shape into a more common afro, bits of black now peeking through to show the young male’s natural hair color. His dark mocha skin was severely pale, a symptom of being inside for a year. His skin showed signs of wear and tear due to lack of care, marks and wrinkles littered his face, making him appear several years older than he actually was. His clothes were laid out on a chair nearby, leaving his entire body naked for the world to see. His muscles had clearly begun to atrophy, as evidenced by the rather emasculated form he now had. Years of hard work, lost to the grasp of a coma. However of all of these physical features, one stood out the most on his body.

Right over where his heart was sat a green indent. A reminder of his foolishness.

---

For the whoever knew how much time, the scenes replayed for him again. Again he watched in what now could be described as boredom as he was slain. Again he watched as the images faded away from view only to begin again. What was the point of this. Was this hell? An eternal atonement and memorial to the people who lost their lives due to his foolishness? But who was he to determine that only he could have stopped such a man. Sure he was powerful, powerful than most people, but to try and stop such a man by himself was the most idiotic thing he had ever done in what he guessed was his short life. If he was at all honest with himself, this atonement sucked. It lacked any of the meaning and knowledge behind it all. There was no lesson aside from “Hey don’t be a dumbass and jump into a fight by yourself against an unknown enemy”. Those kinds of lessons could be learned in way easier and less painful ways. But considering he was here and now learning it again, well, who was he to doubt the teacher.

Feeling restless, the young man scratched his new injury, bored of the monotony of his new existence. He had lost track of time eons ago and honestly the only reason why he remained was because of the images playing the same scene over and over. He honestly wished he could get out of here. Either let him die, or wake him up. One or the other was truly preferred at this point. He didn’t care if the man had won or loss, he didn’t care how much time had passed, he just wanted out of this long stupid ass dream of his. He wanted to move his body for the first time in what felt like eternity. He wanted to use his voice and make noise and annoy people like he used to. But most of all, he wanted to exist or be remembered. As he was now, who would remember him. A husk, a remnant, forgotten and left behind. Had they at least picked him up off the battlefield after he fell? Did they even care too? Or did they fall as well? Maybe there was no one to pick him up, and that’s why he stay in this forsaken dream. Maybe this was the world after the man and he was the only one left.

Such thoughts had come along before, many times truthfully. No thought was new, no thought was unique. All monotonous in their purpose and presence. They each came and went like the wind through his hair. Nothing was permanent anymore. Well except for these images and he himself. He wished he could sigh, what he would do to get out of here and at least do that again.

---

His body twitched as the young woman washed him for the first time that day. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do so and as such she continued on with her task unhindered. She wondered what could have possibly happened for the young man to be left in such a state. It saddened her to think that potentially no one cared for him any longer. All of his friends and allies had left long ago, and the country no longer needed his report for what happened as it had been given by so many others in his stead. He slowly became just another unneeded body, forgotten in the hospital like all the others. She honestly wondered if anyone would have noticed if he died right there in that bed. Such a shame really, he looked peaceful when he slept.

Dipping the rag back into the basin of water, she resumed her task of rinsing off his arms. She ignored the wound on his chest, fascination with it having been extinguished long before. Now she merely carried out her tasks without much fanfare, no longer phased by his physique at all. As she slowly lowered the rag back onto his arm, a sharp beep alerted her to a change in his condition. Such a noise startled her, causing her to drop the rag to the floor in surprise and immediately began addressing the machine as it slowly began to show different signs of vitals changing due to the young man potentially waking up. Thinking quickly she began to call the doctors. One of the longest staying patients was finally going to be waking up from his year long slumber.

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Disgraced Survivor

The doctors marveled at the young man’s recovery. It had been only days after he awakened from his year long coma and he had already regained enough strength to feed himself. The young man seemed determined to move, as if there were something going on behind those now dulled hazel eyes. His thoughts seemed focused solely on getting him out of that bed as he stared holes into the wall in front of him. He could be seen sometimes reflexively curling his fingers, hand and even arms, as if testing them to see what strength remained inside of them. The doctors could tell the young man most likely was at least physically powerful if not magically powerful in the past. He needed very little attention to regain any of his motor functions, and even less attendance for his day to day movements.

However none of this mattered to the young man. In his mind there were only numbers, dates, names, locations. A relocation of who he was and where he was. A quick inquiry the moment he had been able to sleep had confirmed that at least a year had past since he had arrived here, meaning that he had been trapped within his own his, his own thoughts for a year. It had felt like an eternity truthfully, a never ending nightmare. He wondered where his guildmates and friends were. Surely they had heard by now that he was alive, that he was awake. Maybe they were busy. Maybe they had forgotten about him. Maybe they just didn’t care about someone who clearly hadn’t cared about himself any longer.

His body felt sore. Like one large wound that just kept throbbing. No matter what he rubbed or massaged, it would never go away, always a present reminder of his year long sedentary lifestyle. He couldn’t stand feeling like this, but he wouldn’t take their ‘medicine’. He knew they wanted to test on him, to understand him. He knew he was different because he was a calendar, but they couldn't know that. They couldn’t possibly understand what he was. Well they could, but not to the extent of what had been done to him before he was even born to make him the way he was. And he was no one's test subject, fuck that. He would rather die than to give his body over to another pair of scientist to be toyed with, he had enough of that thank you very much.

It was odd however. His library wasn’t responding to his calls. His weaponry was also missing, as if it hadn’t been brought back with him. He also couldn’t feel Izanagi anywhere near himself. What was going on. Had he taken that much damage that he couldn’t perform magic anymore, or had he been finally relieved of his self imposed mission subconsciously by erasing all ties to the vast vault of weaponry and knowledge. Right now as he was it was almost impossible to figure out, but soon he would get the answers he seeked. All he needed was to regain control over his body, then he would track down everyone involved and find out what really happened.

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Disgraced Survivor

Another day had gone by in the medical wing of the church. His mind had began to dull slightly from the inactivity, but the rest had done him good. All of his hard work had paid off, and with a small bit of effort, he removed himself from the confines of his bed and took his first step into freedom. Progress was slow, and each step was a test of endurance, but he was determined. His life now in shambles, the ideals he had lived with, the knowledge he had gained, all stripped from him during his rest. He had to regain it. He had to get it back. It was his. Everything that he had, was his. And he would do anything to get it back, even turn his back on ideals that had clearly turned their back on him.

Taking another step, he would slowly lift his arms to shield himself from the brilliance of the sun. It always seemed brighter in the morning, as if to say that no matter what it was a new day. A new day to try again, to become something bigger, better than he was before. He couldn’t spend the rest of his days wallowing in the past. That would get nothing done at all. It was just garner him sympathy, pity from those who would do nothing to help him along his quest. He had no time and no patience for that. Did this mean that he would reject their help, become antagonistic to any attempt to get close to him like some jaded individual? Well... not necessarily. Hell if he were to be honest. He knew he would need help. Trying to be a lone wolf maverick is what got him in this situation, but he knew he couldn’t trust those of his guild anymore. They had already proven that he was... expendable. A sick feeling rose from his stomach at that thought but he forced it down to keep moving.

This was the sight that greeted the doctors as they checked up on the young man. His hair had finally began to grow back out after being shaved down again by the doctors in his sleep, but that didn’t stop the natural handsomeness of his face from staring back at them as he acknowledged their presence. A grateful smile grew as he shuffled slowly to turn towards them. It was, interesting to say the least. The young man definitely showed signs of life but for him to be moving, such things were still baffling to them. Truly he was a miracle of modern medicine, if only he would tell them his secrets, but they knew that wouldn’t happen. Regardless, the nurses rushed forward to support the young man as he walked forward. He refused the wheelchair that had been brought in after they had realized he was up and about, but he did accept the crutches, using it to push himself forward. He would knock out two birds with one stone, he would regain his strength, and his mobility, all while getting used to the fact that he no longer had his magic.

His magic... His knowledge. Every time these things were brought to the forefront of his mind they made his hands clench. Sometimes this caused the wood of his crutches to snap, surprising the doctors with the strength displayed. To them it seemed as if he lacked any sort of control over his muscles, but truthfully he was just frustrated with well... everything. And how could he not be? Who was he even anymore? Just a disgrace. A disgrace that lived. His whole life he had been tasked with protecting and stockpiling the Library. And now it was gone. He had to get it back. He had to get out of this place as soon as possible. He had to regain his identity as a person. Or he’d go mad. And who knows what he would do at that point.

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Disgraced Survivor

“Are you sure about this?”

It was a simple question really. The young man before him clearly was distressed beyond medical means and now that he had fully recovered he only seemed adamant about removing all ties that held him captive to a previous life. It was an interesting situation to say the least for the priest, it wasn’t often that members of guilds came to him to ask him to burn away their guild marks. But he knew the question was rather pointless, even as he asked it. The young man seemed to have made up his mind days ago when he had finally finished the last of his physical therapy. Being trapped in one’s own head for a year and then left to their own devices by the very people that he had been promised would never leave his side definitely was enough for the young man who sat before him to break, but perhaps with this new change the young man would finally be able to put himself back together.

With a small nod, the priest got to work, slowly and methodically removing the guild mark from the young man’s shoulder. The pain he felt was numbed by the seething anger he felt towards his old comrades. A patch of disgust and loathing that burned his soul far harsher than the paltry flame that was being used to remove his mark of allegiance. He did not yet know what he would do if he would ever come across one of them in the street somewhere, but he knew that attacking them on sight would be problematic, if only because he needed to keep a low profile for now. The coma had left him weak and vulnerable, and it would take time, and a whole lot of patience to regain it. But he was patient, and he was certain, and he knew that one day he would get back all who had wronged him.

The priest didn’t take very long to remove the mark, the burn mark having faded into the young man’s skin. It almost seemed to be a part of him, but it was clear that something used to be there from the raised and irritated skin. Sighing, the priest would rise from his knelt position, rolling his shoulders as Teiho rubbed ointment over the caustic wound. He’d sigh and smile softly before slipping his shirt back over his shoulders. Thanking the priest for his time, he’d walk out the door, mind going over various future plans. It was time to get started, he had already been waiting all year.

[Exit]

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