My nightly dream begins anew. When I came to, I felt the cold winds of the evening. This time though, it is in greater intensity and strength than before. Tracing my previous experiences, I suppose there's only one place this can be. I run my fingers upon the earth, feeling the tall blades of grass touch my flesh. How long has it been since I revisited this time? That, I do not know. When you're free from the ambitions or instructions of society, you do not count the time that passes. Only the separation of day and night, nothing more. Though if I had to guess, I would have to say that it's been more than two hundred cycles of the moon...

It takes me a few moments to reminisce before I'm ready. Finally, I open my eyes. The time of the day is not what I expect. Rather than facing the moon, it is instead the luminosity of the sun that surrounds me. It feels strange to be this cold during the day. I hold that thought as I get up. Feeling the bare earth on my feet, I look to the horizon. Right now, I'm atop a hill. Overseeing a wide and vast forest, its size is more than enough to put the one in Wilshington to shame. Not only is it superior in size, but even the quantity and quality of life here have a different air to it. As if it were a world separate from the one of man, elf, and civilization, there's a certain sense that it isn't real. That everything that's here is an illusion. But that has no sense to it.

Only a fool believes that a real place can feel fake. With my affirmations behind me, I descend a convenient path to the land below. A road that shifts left then right more than once and is filled to the brim with plants that grab and root you to the ground, it is still far easier than directly jumping down. I realize that while wondering why I'm taking this path. If Mayevil does not care for convenience or hardship, then why she does take the path that requires more time?

In the end, I don't receive my answer. Unable to come to a conclusion, I stop both mind and body. There, before me, in the forest. Towering and penetrating the skies themselves, the woods cast a forlorn shadow that renders all below it in a dim shade of black. Enough for one to see, yet less than what is normally acceptable. To the unprepared, walking in there is nothing short of a death wish. My body moves into the forest. That is the only option given to Mayevil. Expect everything and hope for nothing; I continue with that mantra in mind. In the middle of the forest, where no sight reveals itself, a waft of air blows in my direction.

It smells of iron. Of the layer of red that coats an untempered weapon and of the odor of freshly cooked luiredius seaweed, it can only mean one thing. I spend the next minutes walking, feeling calm all the while. My hope is to reach the source of the scent and snuff out whoever caused it. That's my only wish and desire in this life of mine. To preserve whatever of their integrity that still exists and to destroy all that would harm it.

A familiar shadow appears at the end of my vision. Amidst all the corpses of deformed animals, there is a person. I focus my eyes to gauge their appearance. It's more of tradition than anything else. A ritual I commit too out of familiarity then necessity, the answer to my questions are already engrained in my being.

"How's it going, butcher?"

My own voice rings out from that figure. While different in tone and method of expression, it's unmistakable that it's still me. There is no answer to give. Rather than reply, I simply wait in silence.

"You forgot to kill me last time, remember?"

"I did not forget. I simply was excused."

The shadow stomps on the body under its feet. Splat. An eyeball leaps out of an ape's brain like a salmon would up a stream. At one point in life, it is certainly possible that I would have frozen and stared at it in disappointment. Now, there is nothing. No disgust. No pain. No suffering.

"Anyways, you still haven't told me how things are going for you. Haven't you heard that expressing yourself does the soul wonders?"

"I have. But that advice is not made for the likes of me. Perhaps in time, you will come to understand that not everyone is like yourself."

"Perhaps. Or on the contrary, maybe it is you who will come upon a revelation."

In a single phrase, the dynamic of our relation shifts. From conversation partners to enemies, our battle begins as her body lowers. Like a leaf burdened by the droplets of water, she springs. Just like usual, she takes the initiative. Running, an object flies through the air. One that she had hidden behind her back until now, it flutters. Through the air and straight for my eyes. My right hand grabs the projectile out of the air and holds it behind me. Even so, my position as the superior is still compromised.

To stop her advancement, my right foot reaches out. Thud. It hits its target. The area just above her left knee, it's a kick executed diagonally and used to stop opponents just like her. Her momentum halts. Under the weight of the blow, her body, in the wretched cry of instinct, shifts backward.

I follow up on my assault. Two jabs from my left, each thrown in succession, aim for her face. She puts her arms to defend. In that time, she blocks more than a dozen of my strikes—enough time to distract her. Immediately, I step back. Then, when I'm out of her reach, I attack. In a second, I throw what's in my right hand. The same stick she threw at me earlier now aims for her. In order to mitigate damage, she is forced to either block it with her arms or move out of harm's way. Should the former prove true, then I will simply attack her side. And should the latter option be her choice, then she would be vulnerable all the same. No matter which path she takes, it will all end in ruin.

The time to make her choice arrives. An instant in time where the fight should dictate itself. Then, she opens her arms. Instead of shifting her head or moving her body, she does something else entirely.

Crack. Her mouth opens and shatters the stick into two pieces. Chewing on the wood as a manic dog would.

"Can't say it tastes as good as blood, but it isn't half bad."

She stares my way.

"Maybe you're rubbing off me more than I give you credit for."

Her voice speaks of mockery, with a particular lilt on the mention of 'you're'. Hidden intentions coat what otherwise would have been an average sentence. Not that it matters. In the end, she will die, and that will be all there is to it. A mere lifeless corpse incapable of speech or thought.

"You know, physically, we're pretty much around the same level."

She grins, all while lowering her guard and stance.

"And frankly, all this killing really just ends with me or the other one dying the vast majority of the time." Her shoulders perk up while she opens her palm to the sky. "You know what master used to say, the true definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting something different, right?"

To invoke the words of one of our masters, after all, she has done. It's ironic if anything else. And so, even if I don't feel any resentment toward her, I do have obligations. In the ever so fading light that threatens to cloud our battleground in black, I run.

She spits out what's in her mouth. Splinters of wood fly like bullets. The body which can take on such things does not even stop to defend. Making contact against my skin and eyes, I keep running. My opponent chooses to do the same.

In time, we are both running. Over countless bodies, woods, and upon the very earth itself, we do not stop.

"You know, for someone who's so vastly superior to me, you sure have difficulty catching up!"

There's nothing I can speak in response to that. If she chooses to waste her breath, then so be it.

I'll keep chasing no matter how long it takes.