Somewhere Someplace

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Sobbing. Relentless and horrid sobbing.

“My baby! No-no-no-no! Not again! Not another one! My baby! Please! Why does this keep happening to me?! Trinity, Gods, please do not do this to me! Why? Why? Why?!” thus, the mother cried in clamor, holding onto her deceased child whose face and figure had been covered by the sheet.

The assistant could not help but tear up into the medical specialist’s shoulders in kind from such a sight. The foreigner, however, simply stood there…watching in flat silence.

Truly, there existed no greater…no worse of such a horrid…mind-piercing noise…than those voice-ripping sobs of a parent who had just lost their child. Each wailing and cramping cry…pierced into her mind as if needles jabbing and stabbing into the very fabrics of her metaphorical soul…which flashed pulsating memories into her eyes and vision…bleeding out from her essence into mind.

Truly, she hated…she despised…these denizen noises…out of all the noises that could be made. Over the past several days, she has had to witness many such…similar cases, all due to that so-locally-called ‘demon-fire’ and the toxic putrid ash it had so left behind—ash and dust which still covered most of that ruined city, never mind lingering crystalline dust that had yet to erode. The past month the alone…she had seen an almost endless train of despoiled corpses and charred bodies…being wagoned out.

Truth be told, she could not help but feel so…irritated and frustrated deep down within, even if it was hard to comprehend.

So much death…so much suffering…so much pain…all caused by one single event… And for what? Abstractions and diverging ideas…which had all been so conjured by the denizens’ very own overflowing imaginations.

Most truly…in all ways…she had nothing but contempt for denizens and their endless sea of abstractions…which always seemed to cause nothing but such relentless suffering and torment…all of it…so utterly pointless.

Indeed…it did not have to be this way. There was…nothing objectively stopping the denizens from just…not being so cruel, so pointlessly violent, and so…so…stupid with one another. There was nothing…objectively prohibiting them from just…stopping and co-existing and playing nicely with one another…and just being…happy.

Made up…all of it was made up. Fictions, abstractions…all of it! They could just abstract in ways utterly opposite…and in ways…so much better.

Yet…they never did. Always…it was always the same…each and every time no matter when nor where.

Truly, to butcher themselves…to be so cruel and callous to one another, to be filled with such meaningless yet vile hatred…to wage such wars and bloodbaths…all for such imaginary delusions…these were all luxuries afforded to those who existed in utter ignorant bliss; to those who did not stare in face of an Adversary which could not even…perceive and differentiate such diversities and diverging abstractions…only seeing every single one as one single whole: a target needing to be killed, prey needing to be hunted; all for sin of mere existence alone…the sin of having been branded and marked with an alignment…neither had ever a choice in making.

Though, such were the differences between her domain and their domain. Denizens were denizens no matter what form, source, or origin…while she was Remnant and always would be…until time’s frigid end.

Indeed…perhaps she could have had done so much more than she had done…when that barraged happened. She could have intervened in full…to put an end to that bombardment before it escalated again, to…put a swift stop to all those fires, to force them all to stop fighting; so many things…she could have perhaps done.

But Remnant engagement protocols and regulations, especially for these sorts of operations, were very strict and clear: it was not her place to intervene and interfere in their affairs; it was not her place to ‘pick a side’ in their ‘politics’ and endless bickering; it was neither her job nor her obligation to prohibit denizens from killing themselves…and to stop them from being denizens; for indeed…they were denizens: these happenings were the expectation.

It was what they always did to each other, and the denizens themselves…never appreciated intruding interventions to stop them; Remnant records were very clear on that, in fact; these regulations existed for a reason…consequences of ancient hubris and arrogance. Indeed, she was not at all a Green-Coat…none of this was her domain.

Yet…nevertheless, she was still here, in the present and now; she was right here…in this place…among them; she was supposed to be…pretending to be one of them. Even within the restrictions of her engagement protocols and regulations…she could still, at least, help them…alleviate the aftermath and…assist those affected…and mitigate their suffering.

Though, truth be told…to witness such utterly pointless suffering and carnage…to hear these most…piercing of sounds…still…so very much…stung and stabbed deep down within.

Deep down within…she just wanted it to stop.

Why could they not just…stop? Why did they…always have to make everything so…needlessly difficult?

She sighed; in the end, she could not truly lament excessively over such affairs. « Uțina echo tuos eșessít paçe aeternalid atque aș síet pro-semper sine tormento, hominette paule, adușque finem de tempore » her voice quietly mumbled out…in a rare moment of genuine affective expression; may their echo be with eternal peace, free from torment, until the end of time.

“Anyway, I will take the leave now…to where I am needed” she said respectfully, the medical specialist…simply nodding in silent acknowledgement.

The foreigner took her leave, quietly exiting the tent…as those piercing sobs continued to echo from behind; she began to make way to that check-in tent…finally attending to where she had been instructed to go prior. Someone was being kept waiting for long enough, after all.

-||-

An old denizen man…a rather old one at that, sat patiently in a chair which was around and near many other such chairs; all of the rest were empty, oddly enough…for such an otherwise busy encampment; it was just him. His breathing was rather raspy and…clearly indicative of unwell things; he had quite the nasty on-and-off cough, but he seemed rather…unaffected.

Finally, at long last, someone—the foreigner—stepped into the tent, and immediately approached a table, grabbing from it…a wooden ‘clipper-board’ thing…of sorts and proceeded to affix a piece of Far Western manufactured paper onto it—an ‘intake’ document specifically, one which had text clearly…made from typer-keys, not hand-written. Likewise, she grabbed a kind of Far Western writing instrument—a rather strange one at that, being a pointed wooden rod of a stick…with what seemed to be some kind of mineral, likely graphite, imbued within; rather the handy thing, far more so than those local feathered ink-pens, even if it required periodic sharpening.

This done with swift haste, the foreigner quickly made way to the old man who had been awaiting patiently for…too long of quite the some time; he simply looked up as she approached, and smiled.

“I give sorry for the wait…” she said with apologies, halting before him…writing instrument in hand and readied for immediate scribing.

The old man chuckled lightly, albeit…somewhat coughingly so; “Haha…not a problem, this ain’t my first…Demon-given cough…I’ve had it before any of this, haha” he replied.

“Well then…name and the purpose?” she inquired.

The old man stated his full name; she promptly wrote it down.

“As for my purpose…well, my own kids, their kids, and their kids’ kids…they all pulled me out hither by cause I’ve been coughing too much… Now-uh, I told them it’ll go away if I just stayed inside but…they insisted haha” he stated…rather humorously, albeit his age gave him…a slightly, but noticeably, different accent than contemporary locals of Coastfield, seemingly. “So here I am… I guess they think I’m too old to handle a little cough…” he said further…before unleashing rather the nasty cough.

The foreigner, having used that clipper-board as a shield against this sudden cough, stared. He was downplaying, clearly, but…his symptoms were evident, and not just from the cough itself. Eyes were more reddish, nose seemed irritated, and his sinuses seemed more inflamed, though such instances were case by case and his were hardly even mild; what was more telling, however, were the anomalous low-fever, apparent fatigue, and…rather labored breathing.

That strange ash and residue…were not only toxic and carcinogenic, causing its own fair share of problems if it gets into the respiratory system, but it also…seemed to trigger an immune response of some kind, and not just against the ash particles themselves…but also against the lungs’ own contaminated cells. This of course, only led to greater inflammation, damage and scarring, and in some cases…internal bleeding—on top of all of the other varied consequencing symptoms.

Though, of course…such was largely her own conclusion from her own deductive observations…of both others and…also her own experiences.

Indeed…admittedly…she herself had not been completely immune to the effects of that toxic ash. For almost a week or two after, she had difficulty with breathing and had quite the cough; of course, her symptoms went away…her lungs more repaired and that ash…eliminated by her essence’s own exotic cells and enzymes, alongside…other things—ultimately coughed out as harmless sparkly processed guck, suffice it to say.

Nevertheless, she had not experienced any of…these additional symptoms, not at all in fact.

Unlike denizens, her essence had a myriad of encoded automated protocols and commands to augment and regulate her adaptive immune system so that it would not kill her due to an antigenic false-flag, and to otherwise mitigate potential autoimmune-related dysfunctions. Hence why…a hyperreaction of the denizens’ immune system was her only best guess as to why these symptoms were developing in them but had not with her.

Though, she was by no means a Pink-Coat or vaguely related, so such was not her domain at all; there could always be other factors at play, for reality was never so simple.

The foreigner ahemed; “Well…to speak of age: how many years?” she respectfully inquired.

“Ninety-one; just turned this year” he answered.

The foreigner…hearing this…tilted her head, genuinely…huh. Oddly, she was somewhat surprised; she was expecting the natural life-expectancy…to be not that high at all, especially for…places such as here which have only barely begun to realize the existence of microbes. Though, now that she thought about it…quite a plenty of those she has observed so far…did seem rather oddly healthy and well-maintained…

“You know…I never thought I’d ever be seeing those Gods-defying flames ever again haha” the old man suddenly remarked, oddly…humorously so; “sorry haha…I don’t…I don’t mean to laugh; it’s not…funny, it’s just what I be doing when…I don’t have any know of how else to say or feel” he clarified, coughing somewhat…though it seemed to be subsiding for now.

The foreigner withdrew from her thoughts, looking at him; she could…immediately tell from his body language and…especially voice. She sighed lightly; “You want to…make the chatter…I can see that; so…do; you may chat your mind” she said, placing the writing instrument down onto the clipper-board…lowering it down in kind, her ears…open for listening.

The old man chuckled; “Haha! Why you sure seem have the know of how to…read an old soul, young lady… Yeah…I guess I’ve do got some whispers in my head wanting to be said…” he replied.

The old man…relaxed his posture somewhat, taking a moment to…sort out his mind. “You know…I’m an old man, as you can see…been around for too long, I’d say…” thus he began to speak…his mind freely.

“I was a…just a…just a small kid, but I do remember…heh, what do they call it now? The…the ‘Last Demon War’…yeah, some eighty-or-so years ago…saw those same sorta flames…take my whole village…my ma, baby bro, and older sis… I remember fleeing with my pa and his pa…only for the town whereto we fled to get burned too…felt like there was no escape at all…”

“And…I remember…yeah, being told that…that we just hadda wait a whole decade or so for the…for the Hero to be found…since they was the only one who could slay the Demon-King…it’s why the Gods…placed the Hero in the world to begin with…it was their destiny…”

The old man leaned back a bit, his thoughts collecting, his raspy throat and lungs…resting; “…o’course, none of that happened” he continued on, “…unlike those times before…when…when the Demon-King had shown up, there were now you Far Western folks that time around…and the Great Tyrant reckoned with you bunch and…your fellas just…swooped in-on-in like a storm…and just about occupied all these lands too…and the whole thing ended way before the Hero could even be found… never to be found…”

“It’s why I think…it’s called the ‘Last’ of all the Demon Wars…since most believe that the…the whole cycle of…Heroes and Demon-Kings was broken…and the Gods’ve been silent since… But I don’t…I don’t got the know of what I believe myself though…” he said onwards.

The foreigner simply listened as he spoke his words, for that was all…she could do.

Yet…he paused momentarily, resting his breaths…his thoughts recollecting. “…and you know…I do remember…heh…during the occupation…” he began to speak again, “I remember being on my pa’s…shoulders…seeing the victory parade and…the marching regiments…that were passing by…and you know, everyone did think…we all did think that we’d never be seeing…those awful flames…ever again…”

“But to…think that…those same who took the very head of the…Lord of Fiends and Evil…looked at those flames…with inspiration…and not the same dread ‘nd terror”—he paused momentarily, jaws…very slightly jittering—“and to think…that they’d…they’d go right back to their homelands and…use their magics and wisdoms to…remake those…Gods’ despoiling flames…and to think they’d…come right on back in…and just use it on us again…eighty-years later…”

Another silent pause ensued.

“You know…back in my pa’s own pa’s time…” he recontinued, “you Far West bunch…weren’t all that so different than us, sure…o’course you had fancier handguns and…boats, but back then…you all still had fancy armor and…used pikes and swords… You bunch were just…fancier peoples from…unknown lands…but still equals…”

“Gods given, even back when I was that kid…we still didn’t think you bunch were any more different, even with the fancier hats and colors…but then o‘course, everyone saw you all just…do what…do what…no…no armies…no realms…no adventurer…no one but the Hero and their companions could ever do…”

He paused again…leaning back some more, recollecting; “And…I remember—now I’m old so it’s all foggy—but…I remember…that day on my pa’s shoulder…watching your regiments parade the Great Tyrant’s head…on a pike…and…and my pa’s pa, I remember…he turned to my pa and he had such…such weird eyes on him…and I saw him…and I asked something like, ‘What’s wrong? It’s over…so aren’tya happy?’ And he just…he looked to me…and said, ‘I am, but…the future just ain’t what it was no more…that’s all’…”

He paused again, his visible affect…becoming more somber; “And…now his words just…linger as whispers in my head…” he remarked; “by cause you know…what? Those…those words…they were absolutely right…both then and double-down so now…the future isn’t what it used it to be…”

Another second of momentary silence ensued.

“I don’t know what happened with you folks…but something just…just…boomed, and you bunch just kept getting stronger and fancier and fancier and then just with one big snap”—he snapped his finger close to her— “and suddenly…it was like the whole world just fell into your hands” he remarked in rising lament.

“And the world just keeps…getting stranger day by day…I’ve got the know that I don’t got much longer to live…but it just feels to me that the world…I’m about to leave…is so alien to the one I was born in…and double-so to the world my pa and my pa’s pa lived in…”

The old man began to tear up…though was by no means crying.

“Now…I just…I just fear…for the youth…and the world they’re about to inherit…and I can’t even start to be imagining…what kinda world they’ll be getting once they’re my age… I just hope to all the Gods across all lands…that…that it’s a better world than the one I’m about to leave…and that none of them ever have to see any of those…flames…” he lamented, tears becoming more evident; “but I know…oh I’ve got the know alright…that the whole world’s just gonna get more alien and…get even more worse…”

The old man then looked straight at the foreigner…eyes staring into her mask-obscured own; “…and you Far West folks, I can tell…just from how those patrolling Company men’ve been looking at things…that you bunch are starting to feel it too… I don’t think you bunch even know…where anything’s going anymore…so much’s been changing so fast…even you bunch can’t keep up…” he remarked, before his eyes detached their focus…looking down…pausing somewhat.

“And…there ain’t gonna be any Hero to save us…from the grey evils of mankind…” he recontinued on…before pausing silent again; “Haha…you know…maybe that’s why the Demon-King…invaded every now and then…just to remind us of what mankind truly was and…still is, after all…the Crown of Smi—” Suddenly, his overworked throat and lungs flared in unrelenting coughing, breaking his chain-of-thought completely.

The foreigner quickly leaned in to provide comfort as best she could, gently padding on his shoulder and back; “I think that is enough” she said with some apparent urgency.

“Yeah…yeah…was trailing away off anyway…but thanks for giving your ears to the rambles of an old…dying man…haha” he replied, rather humorously.

“Yes…always; now, you must…relax, and let us receive you” the foreigner replied, picking up her writing instrument…as she promptly recontinued with this…intake of sorts, asking and writing down.

This old man would not make it the passing days. She attended to him as much as the rest—and there quite the many needing to be attended to, thus it was…not as often. Yet, nonetheless…she was present in his final moments…and hers were the ears to whom he had spoken his final words.

“I haven’t given up hope. I know the Hero is…still out there…waiting to be found” thus were the last words she conveyed verbatim to his weeping family and kin, who thanked her so very graciously…one even…hugging her.

Although, she was simply following the standard procedures she had been instructed to follow in such events; quite frankly…there was nothing even worthy to be thankful for, at least from her point-of-view.