Chapter Text
Everything is cold.
Exhaustion crept up their bones, every movement making them feel woozy. Player curled up on the carpet, their nails digging into a blanket. The fabric was fraying, the material worn but adequate. It was enough to cover them; it felt full. They clung to the small bits of warmth it could provide, hoping it wouldn’t leave.
In their gut, Player knew they had to do something but they couldn’t find it in themself to get up. Not that they remembered what that something was, they were more than content to just lie there for a while.
It was pathetic, really.
Despite this, they didn’t have an ounce of self-pity. They couldn’t bring themself to care. This was just the way things were. There was nobody to see them here, and if it was something urgent, they would’ve gotten up immediately anyway.
Even if others viewed it as lazy, who are they to comment on how they act? Nobody knows the hell they had to go through. They’ll come out eventually, so there was no harm in just lying on the floor for a bit.
Player squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to fade into unconsciousness. A nap, yeah, they definitely needed that. They rolled around on the ground, shifting the blanket beneath them.
And maybe after 10 minutes of this, they came to the conclusion that they couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe it was because they were lying on the floor? There’s literally a bed right next to them.
No, that couldn’t be it; they’ve passed out on the floor many times.
Player groaned as they curled up, feeling an empty pit in their stomach. Or chest? They couldn’t tell.
They felt wrong.
Maybe it was a result of their laziness when purifying their emotions, because apparently, they thought killing them off was faster. This might be one of the few times where the consequences of their actions came back to bite them in the ass. (They’re not going to do anything about it)
What were they doing? They’re supposed to be a hero, not some good-for-nothing who can’t even muster up the strength to get up from the floor.
A hero, savior, symbol of hope. That’s what they were supposed to be. They weren’t supposed to succumb to weakness, yet all they’ve done is create new problems for themselves.
Instead of relief, maybe even admiration, all people felt was worry for them. Fearful that one day they might not make it out alive. They got rid of what made them weak, replacing them so they weren’t held back anymore.
They should be stronger.
No longer was there a want for anything, nor was there grief for what they lacked. (What did they lack? companionship?) They were better now, so why didn’t the people closest to them understand? They didn’t cower in front of enemies; all they felt was the sheer thrill of fighting.
Passion, ambition, a need to win.
That’s what a hero is supposed to be like, right?
That’s what they thought.
They can't feel anything. No matter how hard they try, they can only feel a hole in their chest. Player couldn’t even be upset about it; there was no sadness to feel anymore.
A hero is supposed to be able to empathize with others, including their pain, their solitude, their anger. If they couldn’t do that anymore, if all they could feel was feeble replacements like exhaustion, could they call themselves a hero?
Were they even a hero in the first place? Everywhere they went, they caused misfortune and death. They weren’t even able to muster up a bit of sympathy for someone who had lost someone dear to them.
The only thing Player could care about were the swords, but isn’t a hero supposed to care about people too?
They were a failure of a hero.