Myne's voice, a cruel, satisfied purr, echoed in my ears, offering me a choice between two hells. Sleep with him, or sleep with the soldiers. The world narrowed to the sound of his breathing, the rustle of leaves as his men circled, and the frantic, animal beat of my own heart against my ribs.
No.
A sudden, searing wave of defiance, born of the absolute depths of despair, surged through me. Rather than either of those horrors, I would choose oblivion. I would choose the final, desperate act of defiance. If living meant that, then death was the only escape.
My trembling hand shot out, tearing at the thorny branches of the bush. My fingers closed around a sharp, broken twig, jagged and surprisingly sturdy. It wasn't a weapon, not a real one, but it was sharp. Sharp enough. One swift thrust. To the neck. Quick. Final.
I raised the stick, bringing the point towards my throat. My breath hitched. A single, clean act to reclaim the only thing I had left – the right to choose my own end.
Zzzt!
A searing bolt of electricity lanced through my arm, jolting through my entire body. A cry tore from my throat, raw and involuntary. My muscles spasmed, my hand flung outwards, and the sharp stick flew from my grasp, tumbling uselessly into the undergrowth.
[The Heroes may not hold a weapon, aside from their assigned Legendary Weapon, with the intent to fight with it]
The System message appeared at the edge of my vision, cold and clinical, a divine sentence.
Not... even...
The realization crashed down on me, crushing the last vestige of defiance. I couldn't die. Not by my own hand, using anything other than this useless shield. The universe, the System, whatever cruel force had brought me here and tormented me, had even denied me the escape of death. I was trapped. Utterly, completely trapped in this nightmare.
Tears, hot and heavy, streamed down my face. Not tears of pain from the shock, but tears of hopeless, crushing despair. Worse than any physical agony I had endured. To want to die, to grasp for it as the only salvation, and to be denied even that... It was a torture beyond comprehension.
The rustling outside the bush grew louder. Closer. He knew I was there. He knew I couldn't run. He knew I couldn't fight. He knew I couldn't even die.
"Found you!"
Myne's voice, triumphant and cruel, cut through the air. A moment later, the bush was ripped away, torn from the earth with brutal force, exposing me.
I flinched back, huddled on the ground, illuminated by the harsh light of dawn filtering through the trees. Soldiers stood behind Myne, their faces grim, their eyes cold. And Myne... he stood over me, his charming facade twisted into a devilish smile that promised only pain.
My legs screamed at me to run, to crawl, to do anything to get away. I pushed, tried to scramble, but my limbs were useless. Numb. Paralyzed by terror, by exhaustion, by the System's shock. I could only writhe uselessly on the damp earth.
"No... please..." The words were a choked whimper, barely audible.
Myne took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. He knelt, his smile widening, becoming a terrifying rictus of depravity. His hand reached out. Not towards my face, not towards my shield. Towards my chest. His fingers, long and cruel, reaching...
Terror, absolute and consuming, seized me. This was it. The nightmare wasn't ending. It was beginning.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears still streaming, my body trembling uncontrollably. I wished. I wished for oblivion. Wished I had never been summoned. Wished I had died on impact when I jumped from the window. Wished for anything but this.
...
The sound of his breathing, the rustle of his clothes, the beating of my own frantic heart... those were the only sounds.
And then, a new sound. A voice. Clear. Unexpected. Breaking through the haze of my despair.
"Hey, who're you?"
My eyes, squeezed shut in desperate denial, flew open.
Myne's hand was frozen mid-air. His devilish smile was gone, replaced by a look of shock and confusion. And his hand... his reaching hand was grabbed. Held firm in the grasp of another hand.
My gaze, trembling with fear, followed the arm upwards. A green outfit. The same dark, forest green as mine, like the Heroes wore. But the person...
He was looking directly at Myne. A young man. With a fearless smile that seemed to defy the darkness surrounding us. His eyes, sharp and intense, held a cold, unwavering light that was utterly unlike the terror I had known.
"You must've enjoying all this by making her suffer, right?" he said, his voice calm, almost casual, but with an undercurrent of steel that made Myne visibly stiffen.
He wasn't talking to me. He was talking to Myne. As if Myne were the prey, not me.
He turned his head slightly then, his gaze flickering towards me for a fraction of a second before returning to Myne. That fearless smile remained, but it held something else now. An understanding? A grim acknowledgement?
"Well," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, becoming low and dangerous, "I also enjoy very much, that is, by making people like you beg for death."