The Flight of a Raven

Araven was limping. And bleeding. From his hands, his shoulders, his legs. He was almost bathed in blood. His own blood. From the innumerable cuts peppering his body. And yet, he could feel no pain.

He turned the door handle, and entered into his own drawing room.

She screamed in ecstasy, her body convulsing in waves of unimaginable pleasure. There she was, on the sofa. Her legs wrapped around her man’s body. He, simply looked on. He just looked at the woman who was his wife. But, he felt nothing.

Her curls of fiery gold were flowing across her slender, glistening face- like rays of sunlight, washing over a lush meadow. No, he wanted to feel nothing. But he did feel something. He felt the abyss inside him grow just a little bit larger. He felt himself lose just a tiny piece of the man called Araven. One, out of so, so many.

They stopped only for a moment. And then, they kept going. And he, started walking. He walked into their bathroom. Undressed. Washed the stink of blood away. Showered. And then, he walked into his allotted bedding space in the basement. And then, he slept. As he had done so, for the last five years.

He woke up early into the next morning. Carried his beaten, broken body into the Dark Pits. Punched his card in. Took his sword. And then he entered. And then he rushed headfirst into a horde of abominations. He hacked. He slashed. Got hit. Got beaten to the ground. Stood up. Rinse, and repeat. And so, he fought. He dodged. Parried. Swerved. Swung. Struggled, against the endless waves of his opponents. Driven, only by his primal instinct to survive. And so he fought. He kept fighting. He kept getting back up, to face the endless hordes of the abyss. The primal, humane instinct of survival keeping him on his toes; and his head on his shoulders- even as a veritable mountain of corpses piled up around him. No, that wasn’t the only thing keeping him going, was it?

Yes, there was something else. Something larger. And so, so much heavier. The weight of, another life. And the chains of duty that sprang forth from it, that bound him, suffocatingly, to this excruciating existence.

And so, he fought. With renewed vigor, he rushed in. Again, and again, and again. He rushed in. He struggled. Not against the chains that bound him, but with them. For them.

“Araven, look at me.”

He looked up. At the bespectacled, and stern face of his handler. Today, her eyebrows were particularly furrowed. Her forehead, particularly lined. She was worried. Araven tried to conjure a smile, but he knew he failed. And she agreed with him. For she took off her glasses, and looked into him directly. “Araven, you need to take tomorrow off.”

“I can’t, Ma’am.” And once again, he tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

For a split second, her gaze softened. Only, for a split second. And then, it reverted back to its usual coldness. “And nothing I say is going to convince you?”

He shook his head. Vigorously.

She sighed. And then looked away. And after a pause which lasted a bit longer than it should have, handed him his card.

And he…. almost had to force himself to take it. But he did take it. He had to. And he would. For as long as it would take….. he would always pick up that card.

And then, with monumental effort, he turned around, and started walking. It was just the wounds covering every inch of his body acting up. Had to be. And yet, it sounded so hollow. So….exhausted. Perhaps, because he was. But, he couldn’t stop. The chains, pulled him forward, as they always did. And so, he walked.

And, there he was. Lying on that spotless, stainless bed. The chains jingled. They rang. Rang, with a melody of their own. It was a rather….heavy melody. But still, Araven tried to smile. He had to.

He grit his teeth, and walked up to his father. The chains jingled. They rang. But they did not pull. They simply, rang. And he simply, walked. With a smile, he walked.

“Thought I’d drop by, Dad.”

There was no answer.

“You look so thin, Dad.” He furrowed his brows in a mock rage, and went on, “Don’t they feed you here? The nerve!” And then, after a pause, he bust out laughing. He laughed loudly, and he laughed until there were tears in his eyes. And then he stopped, and with a grin, picked up a skeletal hand in his own.

The tears, were streaming down his cheek. He could stop them, as he had done countless times before. But for once, he allowed them to fall. With his father’s hand on his forehead, he broke down.

He cried…. for a while. And then he stood up. Wiped away the tears. And smiled. “Don’t worry Dad, I’ll get you out of here in a jiffy. So hold on until then, okay?”

He kissed his skeletal, wrinkled forehead. Hugged him, tightly. Held back the wave of tears that welled up as he did. And then, he let go. Smiled. And turned around. The chains, were pulling him once again.

Araven, lost an infinitesimally small piece of himself as he watched his month’s earnings amount to just 3 more days of medicine. But, he didn’t break down. No, he simply smiled at the receptionist girl, bowed his head in gratitude, picked up his card, and off he was again. In this endless futile march of his, that he was forced to call a life. But he marched on regardless. He had to.

And so, he walked. Through the chill night. His body, battered and bruised. His spirit, slightly less so. He walked, because he had to. He fought, because he had to. He lived, because he had to. He existed, because he had to.

Turning the door handle, he once again stepped into their drawing room. She was sitting on the couch. Alone. Good.

He walked up to his wife, and looked into her eyes. And the words that he uttered next, almost made him vomit. But he said them, anyways. Because he had to. It really was as simple as that. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

She smirked. “Oh, what’s this? A mighty man is asking me for a favor?”

He bowed his head, and almost pushed the words out. “It’s about Dad…. I need your help to cover the-“

She stopped him with a gesture. “We’re already paying for that, aren’t we?”

They only covered the cabin accommodating expenses. But he didn’t remind her of that….. because she knew. She knew it very clearly. “Yes, and I’m grateful for that-“

She stood up. And walked up to him. “Kneel.” She ordered.

He knew what was coming. He knew the futility of it all. But, he obeyed. He had to. He had to try.

She took of her panties. “Open wide.”

He obeyed.

She urinated. He drank. He felt the humiliation wash over him. And he simply accepted it. He had to.

“1800. Do you know what that is?”

He shook his head.

“That’s the number of women that have been raped this year in this very city. By vermin like you.”

Once again, he simply accepted it. With perfect, compliant silence.

“You should be grateful to be even drinking my piss.”

He wordlessly nodded.

And then, she simply left. The discussion was over.

And then, he too stood up. He walked into the bathroom, but he couldn’t walk up to the toilet seat. He vomited way before that. And then he collapsed, in a puddle of his own bile. He didn’t get up.

He woke up alone and covered in the stench of his own vomit. That alone, made him want to puke again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Had a job to do. So, he got up- or, at least, he tried to. But, he failed. His body, simply refused to move. To obey. And so, he just laughed. A hollow, barking laugh. Because it really was very funny, wasn’t it? Even his own body had abandoned him. It was comedic!

And so, he laughed. He laughed until he just couldn’t anymore. And then….. then, he got up. Because, he had to. And so, he did. Even if it was a futile, hopeless march into sheer pointlessness- in the end, he still had to try. He had to get up. And walk.

The chains jingled, and he smiled. Yes, he had a job to do.

And besides, it wasn’t completely futile. He still had one final card to play. His last resort.

And so, with a smile, he cleaned up his own vomit, washed last night’s fit, hung it, took a long and cold shower, put on just the tiniest puff of his only perfume and changed into his Sunday best. After all, it was a Sunday, and he did need to look presentable.

And so, Araven walked out and onwards to the Dark Pits.

It was a beautiful morning, with a breeze that set one’s heart aflutter. And for the first time in a very long time, Araven enjoyed his commute to work. He didn’t really know why.

“Denied.” Was her immediate, and brutal response.

But Araven didn’t flinch. The hub was filled to the brim with handlers and Guards, but he didn’t care. He simply did what he had to do. He lunged at one of her legs, groveled on to it, and yelled, at the top of his lungs, “Ma’am, I have no other choice. I have served this establishment faithfully and diligently. Please do not deny me this request.”

He knew that this was, once again, pointless. Only Sorcerers were allowed to go on Demon hunts. He, clearly, wasn’t one. And so, of course, she would deny this. But still, he had to try. And he would do it. He would do anything. Even lick her feet. He didn’t care. Not anymore. He would do whatever he had to, to keep that frail, feeble heart beating.

She didn’t say anything for a long, long time. And then, she spoke. “Very well. Assistant, send me the clearance form for Subject-9903.”

Her assistant replied instantly (with a hint of…. relief?), “On it.”

And then she touched his shoulders, and gently, pulled him up; standing up with him, as she did. “Very well Araven, I am giving you the holding rights to Subject-9903. That shabby sword of yours isn’t going to cut it for the job. It’s on me,” she chuckled slightly, “I’ve decided that you do need a pay raise. Just, don’t you dare go dying on me, okay?”

He nodded, wordlessly. And tearfully.

And then they looked away. He didn’t thank her, because no word or amount of words could do justice to the gratitude that had welled up inside him. But also because, he had already thanked her. She had seen it, in his eyes.

He didn’t hug her. He simply stood straight, and said, “I will not let you down Ma’am.”

And once again, he was surprised by the look he received. It was one of pride. “I know you won’t. But remember your promise, Araven.”

With a nod, he was off. Perhaps, to his death.

No, with a nervous smile he thought, almost certainly to my death.

But, he did have a promise to keep. And he was not one for breaking promises.

Araven was running through the dark tunnels. Subject-9903 gripped firmly in hand. It was a sword. A cutlass, to be more specific. A relic of the past- when hunters challenged demons with only their wits and their brawns. A useless piece of sanctified metal in this age of sorceries and firearms. A weapon, fit for a meatshield; and nothing more.

But it was a bit more than a useless piece of sanctified metal to him. It was his solitary ray of hope in this dark pit of the abyss. And so, he held fast to it.

He was going to die. He knew it. And yet, he wasn’t the tiniest bit frightened at this certainty. For his life had stopped being his own a long, long time ago. And he had simply…. accepted that fact. And so, the chains jingled. They pulled. And he eagerly answered their pull.

“Araven, you up?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a group of sorcerers engaged in combat 500 meters ahead of you. Judging by their vitals, the engagement commenced a minute ago. So you have to get there, fast.”

Yes, non-sorcerers can participate in Demon hunts. As meatshields that never experience the warm radiance of the sun again. And he, was just as disposable, just as common, as everyone else. Just another soldier, doing his job. The chains jingled again. And his pace sped up automatically.

With a rush of excitement, of….. relief, he surged ahead. After all, he was the prey. And his hunter had waited for far too long.

And there it was. A massive, horned behemoth of muscle and hide. There it was. His hunter.

And abruptly, Araven stopped.

Because there were 4 bodies littering the floor around the behemoth. 4 bodies, sprawled lifelessly. 4 sorcerers. Dead.

Sorcerers, who could hurl fireballs. Call thunderstorms. Disintegrate entire hordes of abominations with a twist of their fingers. And they were dead. All of them.

He had known. From the very start, he had known. The degree of his own powerlessness.

“Araven, change of plans. The sorcerers have been wiped out. Your objectives now are: evasion and evacuation. Do you copy?”

No, “I’m afraid I do not Ma’am.” With a tap, Araven shut the receiver in his ear off- before any objections could be raised from the other end.

Araven, was very tired. And he could no longer hide it, not from himself. And even now, the chains were pulling him. And he answered their call just as eagerly as he had always done. He rushed ahead, sword in hand. Towards his own, inevitable death.

And as he did, he felt a strange sense of freedom wash over him- soothing him to his very core, his very soul. For at that moment, he truly was free. In a long, long time- he was free to do as his heart desired. And so, with a smile, he chose to die as he had lived.

With a smile, he swung his sword, and brought forth his end. The monster growled in pain. It had noticed him. And with glowing eyes, with the pure intent to rend him limb from limb- it swung back; it’s outstretched claws engulfing him into the endless abyss of blissful termination. And yet, that is not what happened.

For the claws, never made contact with their mark, their quarry. For it, he, had swayed back in the last second- narrowly evading the attack.

And once again, Araven stopped. For the chains had stopped pulling him. But they were still moving. Still jingling. As they wrapped themselves around him; tenderly, protectively. They were his burden. But also, his strength. The binding sap that held this shambling mess of a life together. And even now, they were holding this battered, broken man up. Pushing him, gently, onwards through this futile crusade of his. And he was grateful for that. For their company.

And so, he once again, tapped his receiver. “Ma’am, I can hold him.”

Yes, he couldn’t die yet. And he couldn’t exactly run away after coming this far. So, there was really only one correct response in this situation. He was going to fight, till the last drop of his worthless blood bled out. And then, fight some more.

“......Araven, can you hold it back for three more minutes?”

He replied as he dodged another limb-rending swipe, “Affirmative.”

And without giving him a second to breathe, the beast launched another barrage of swipes- instantly encasing his immediate vicinity in a nigh inescapable net of claws. And with the tenacity to match, Araven reacted. He swayed, ducked, dashed away from each and every swipe- weaving his way through the net, by the breadth of a hair.

And then the beast launched another net. And then another. And Araven escaped each by the same narrow breadth. And as he did, a grim realization dawned on him. He couldn’t do this for three minutes. Every single evasion had been, and would continue to be- by a hair’s breadth. A very narrow margin for error. And he knew his limits. And so he knew that, at the current state of affairs, surviving for three minutes was simply beyond the wildest stretches of said limits.

And so, he would have to improvise. Reduce, the number of attacks. Face the net, with a net of his own. It was riskier, but it was his only way forward. His pitiful, futile march forward. And he knew it. And yet, he rushed in, straight into the net of claws, all the same- with a smile. For he wasn’t alone in his solitude. The chains jingled yet again. They pulled, yet again.

And so, Araven danced to his strings. He weaved through the net of claws, carving a net of his own as he did. And on and on he danced. Dodging. Slashing. His blade in one hand, and his life in another. And on and he went. Back and forth. Back and forth. Dodging, and slashing.

And then, they both stopped. Araven, was down on one of his knees. Panting. Covered in cuts. Bleeding. But he was not alone. The monster was also panting. It was also covered in wounds. And, it was scared. He could see it. Feel it. Almost, hear it, in its frantic breaths.

He was almost there. No, he was there. He was at his limit. He was still conscious by some miracle. Standing, was out of the question. And the reinforcements, were nowhere to be seen. He had timed out. This, was where the road ended.

And yet again, the chains jingled. And yet again, they pulled. And yet again, he obeyed.

With every single particle of his being, he pushed himself up one more time. He stood up, and took a single step forward.

And the monster, took a step back.

He took another step forward.

The monster retreated yet a step further.

And then, once again, they stopped. And looked into each other’s eyes. Its eyes burned, with the flames of desperation. Were his eyes also ablaze?

Yet again, they took their stances. And with a sky-wrenching howl, the beast charged forward. And with a smile, he did the same.

And then, quite abruptly, he stopped. For the monster had burst into flames. The reinforcements, had arrived.

Araven stopped only for a few moments. And then, once again, he was off.

“Ma’am, are there any other squads engaged in combat?”

“........The nearest one is 300 metres away, 12 o’clock.”

“Thank you Ma’am.”

“Araven.”

“Yes Ma’am?”

“Don’t forget your promise.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry Ma’am, I won’t.”