"Kind words, though I'm not entirely sure anyone here has the power to decide fates right now, not their own, let alone anyone else's."
A voice came from behind me.
Voice?
No, not quite. A voice like a forgotten chord. A ghost of a melody heard somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.
Unfamiliar voice.
No, not that unfamiliar. Rather too familiar to be unfamiliar. A voice I'd heard somewhere, but not a comrade's. And certainly not an enemy's. At least... not yet.
A strange feeling gripped me. Like... fear? Like I'm afraid?
Fear.
Fear is an emotional state. Anxiety, panic. Instinct, it's... human.
And me? I'm not human, I shouldn't be afraid.
Lie.
"Hey, maybe turn around already?" he said, as if we were discussing something mundane. As if the rain was the main problem here.
"I'm tired of getting wet in this rain, you know, it's so unpleasant seeing the same weather constantly."
He said. An unknown person said.
What if I turn?
What if I keep standing like this, back to the voice, to reality, to what's looming? Why am I still thinking about this? Why am I thinking at all?
The island. No access to powers, no magic. No way to defend.
Defenselessness.
There it is, that word. Like a fist straight to the gut.
I'm defenseless.
I should... I need... I must turn my head.
He's standing behind me, and I... I don't hear his steps anymore. I don't feel his presence at all. As if he dissolved.
As if he was never there.
Unknown person... gone? Maybe, or I am?
With these thoughts, with what could be called will or panic, I slowly, almost reverently, turned.
Turned.
And saw.
And regretted.
Was it worth it? I thought.
The answer obvious. No, definitely no.
He held a shotgun. A shotgun, not a pistol, not a knife.
Shotgun.
He wants to get rid of me? Or just appear dramatic?
"W-who are you?" I asked in a trembling voice.
That voice I'd never heard from my own mouth before.
Fear.
"Golden figure!" he replied with enthusiasm you don't expect from someone holding a weapon.
And immediately — bang! Shot.
Bang.
Thunder.
...
"Hm, I wanted the bullet to go through the head," he lazily reported. "But this weapon seems too powerful and just blew off the right part of his head! Aha-hah-hah!"
Laughter.
Mad? Childish? Too carefree to be sincere, like... toys. He was playing with the head, with the shotgun, with me.
Where am I? I asked myself mentally.
"Ho-ho-ho-ho."
Laughter.
Voice.
Somewhere nearby. Somewhere inside. Somewhere in between.
"Though you're not the one I was waiting for in my abode, I'm glad to welcome you, recently eliminated player!" a girl said, too cheerfully, too lightly. Too... madly.
"Witch of Ryujima island!" Enua replied with malice.
"Like a mad dog!" and laughter again. "Khee-hah-hah-ha."
Mariana. Laughter and a belly about to burst from fun.
"I was just shot and died, where am I now?!"
"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "Think with your recently splattered brains! Hee-hee-hee-hah!"
She knows. Knows I know. And knows I don't know how to live with that knowledge.
Dead.
This place. Not life, but not death. Not that reality.
I'm not a body.
I'm not a thought.
I'm something in between, like a pause between words, like a comma between thoughts.
Emptiness. Absolute emptiness.
Never encountered anything like this before. Not frightening, but unfitting. Not in memory, not in mind, not in being.
"This guy's even more boring than that young man..." the witch said without emotion. As if already regretting the call.
"Anyway, fine, listen carefully, once immortal, now pathetic mortal god. You understand what your presence here means?"
I was silent, silent as if I didn't know. But I knew, of course I knew.
The witch's game.
Her, all her. Scriptwriter, director, producer, executioner.
Hate.
"Hey, rotten witch, start your disgusting move or whatever you want, but faster."
"Huh?" she said. "Why the impatience? Think you can beat me, pathetic mortal? Hee-hee-hee!"
"Watch your little belly doesn't burst, dear witch who doesn't want to lift her ass from the warm chair!"
"What a rude one!" she could sting too. "Watch you don't burst from anger, pathetic fighter against fate!"
We both tuned for victory, a game without draw. I don't lose, I don't know how to lose. I don't even know how the word is spelled.
I was a god. I created divine entities and still lost. Lost to fate, the one that obeyed neither me nor anyone.
Fate.
Word sounding like a sentence. People at the bottom, I at the top, but fate obeyed neither bottom nor top.
Then what is it? Who is it?
Fate not power.
Fate not energy.
Fate... a personality?
"How ridiculous to hear such a statement, especially from someone like you!" the witch burst into laughter. "If you don't stop this nonsense, I'm afraid I'll really worry about my belly bursting from laughter! Agh-hah-ghah-hah-agh-hah!"
She laughed.
Not because funny, but because unbearably serious. Pity as a way to show superiority.
"If fate had flesh, it would spit on such a helpless and pathetic creature!"
Helplessness.
Pity.
Superiority.