Fate Can't Be Changed

***

Content Warning:This chapter contains explicit descriptions of violence, strong language, and emotionally intense scenes. Reader discretion is advised.

***

"RHAAA!"

An enraged scream echoed through the dilapidated room.

Elliot, confused, unable to see what the thing in front of him was, stepped back slowly.

'An animal? No, it was strange... A monster! Yes, a monster!'

Elliot couldn't think logically anymore, the last two weeks had been rough and the chase through the forest had scarred him. The wound on his head still throbbed, so he clung to the first crazy thought as an absolute truth. Cursing his bad luck, tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision even more. If he could barely make out shapes in the darkness before, now there were only fuzzy blobs.

In a trembling voice, Elliot shouted:

"FUCKING MONSTER! SHIT! BASTARD, BACK OFF OR ELSE…!"

His voice immediately grew weaker and dissolved into sobs, talking to himself, spiraling little by little into panic.

"Or else... Or else... Shit, what do I do... I, I... I'm talking to a monster that wants to eat me! I really would've preferred the assassin..."

"Hey... you little crybaby! Hic! Did your parents drop you on your head too much or what... Bahahaha!? Look at you... this clown! Hic! Me... a monster, ME?! That's a first... REALLY! Hey... kid... I'm not kidding, get outta here!"

Elliot's sobs stopped abruptly. He quickly wiped his tears away, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He didn't even notice that the man in front of him was drunk. Just the fact he wasn't alone anymore was like lighting a match in a haystack, setting his hope ablaze.

'A squatter? Maybe... maybe my luck finally turned?'

"Help me please, I'm being chased! By...! By... BY AN ASSASSIN!"

"Chased? An assassin? Bahahaha! Hic! We ain't in a movie, kid... Hic! You know what...?"

'Is he drunk?'

Confused, Elliot couldn't grasp what was happening; the squatter hadn't even finished his sentence, leaving him hanging. He heard strange noises, as if the man was looking for something.

"Scratch! Scrounch!"

"Not here, hmm no... not there either..."

"Scratch, scratch!"

"Ah! Found it, hehe! Hic! You know what...?"

"Clac, chk-cht!"

Suddenly, Elliot saw the flash of a lighter igniting an oil lamp. For the first time, he could clearly see the squatter: a fat bald guy with a scruffy beard, wearing dirty clothes. Well, Elliot's own clothes weren't much better, but at least he had a good excuse, right? Honestly, this guy really didn't look like someone you could trust. He was the living stereotype of the fat loser society had spit out. It had only been a few months since alcohol had been legalized again, and just look at him!

'Elliot, don't judge... Don't judge...'

"What? You gonna help me or not?"

Despite trying not to judge, Elliot's voice came out more contemptuous this time.

The squatter held the lamp in his left hand and the lighter in his right. Elliot watched him stuff the lighter into the waistband of his pants and set the lamp down. Meanwhile, Elliot used the opportunity to slip his own lighter back into his pocket. The visibility in the room was now decent.

The fat guy bent over and picked up a glass bottle, his back hunched.

"Hey! What... what are you doing?!" Elliot asked nervously.

Once standing, the squatter suddenly smashed the bottle against the wall behind him. A sharp sound rang out and shards of glass flew everywhere. Glittering fragments fell to the floor, surrounding the squatter, now armed with a jagged bottle.

'What? What's he doing? Is he insane?! What an idiot I am, why the hell didn't I buy a gun, huh?!'

The squatter's previously mocking voice turned dark and menacing.

"Bahahaha! You know what...? We're gonna play... a little game... Hey, nerd! Hic! I'm gonna be the one chasing you, bahaha! Hic! Come here, I'm gonna stick ya!"

As if to crush Elliot's last shred of hope, the squatter advanced with clumsy but confident steps. Panicking, Elliot staggered back and nearly fell.

Suddenly overwhelmed by rage at his situation, Elliot lashed out at his new aggressor.

"You filthy parasite! You're such a loser you could be mistaken for a rat! There's not even a damn difference between you two anyway! Come here you filthy bum, you're gonna die pissing yourself!"

There was no more hope for Elliot — even if by some miracle he beat this asshole, he still had that fucking assassin coming for him afterward. Had the assassin planned all this? Was his goal to have him killed by some random scum nobody would miss?

'So that's it... Fuck, what a shame!'

"Pahahaha! Hehehehe!"

Hand to his face, it was hard not to laugh at how absurd it all was. Who would have thought? The assassin had probably just herded him here...

'Actually, he wasn't playing with me... No, I was just too weak... Why would he dirty his hands killing me, when he could just drive me crazy and toss me against crazier maniac'

Elliot had heard stories about driving someone insane just by setting up a repetitive, bizarre situation. Like, imagine: everywhere you go, there's a pumpkin. One on your doorstep. One on your car. Then over a few weeks, you find that shit again and again… And finally, one's sitting on your bed. That'd be terrifying enough. Pretty soon, you'd develop a full-blown fear of pumpkins — ridiculous. Elliot's situation was similar... but much more direct.

In a dilapidated room that seemed like a bedroom, the air was heavy with the smell of rot and humidity. Yellowed papers, along with empty and shattered bottles, littered the floor. It was there, amidst the decay, that two men faced off. A fight was inevitable.

"RAHAHAHA!"

With a smile stretched across his face and his eyes rolling back, the squatter charged at Elliot. Dodging to the side at the last second, Elliot sprinted toward the desk without looking back, but he stepped on a bottle and stumbled. Reaching the desk, he heard a loud thud behind him.

"BAANNG!!!"

'What?'

Turning around, Elliot saw the squatter face-first on the floor, struggling to get up. It was the perfect chance. He climbed onto the desk and launched himself at his attacker, thrusting his right leg down on the back of the squatter's head. The squatter slammed face-first into the ground again. Unfortunately, Elliot wasn't a stuntman — he botched his landing and crashed into a heap of trash. His fall wasn't as bad as the squatter's, but it cost him the advantage he'd just gained.

By the time he got up, the squatter was already in front of him. He had lost his bottle during his first fall and hadn't thought about picking it back up when Elliot attacked so impressively. Blood ran down his bald head and his nose was broken. With a look of madness and rage, he struck Elliot in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him for a short moment.

"ARGHH!" Elliot cried out in pain.

"Hic! I'm gonna KILL YOU! BAHAHAH! DIEEEE!!!"

Grabbing Elliot by the collar, the squatter hurled him against the desk. As soon as Elliot hit the desk, his vision blurred even more. The squatter was already charging at him again.

'Come on, Elliot, pull yourself together, it can't end like this!'

"AHAHAHA! COME HERE, BRAT!!!"

Unable to get up properly, Elliot grabbed the office chair for support, barely getting to his feet as the squatter closed in.

'Think, Elliot, THINK! This guy's too strong, he outweighs me by a ton... Thank God he's drunk.'

Now just a few steps apart, Elliot didn't hesitate — he gripped the chair and, with what little strength he had left, swung it upwards at the squatter's face.

The leg of the chair hit the squatter straight in the eye.

"ARGHH!!!"

But Elliot wasn't stopping there. He used the chair like a battering ram, charging at the squatter like an enraged bull. The impact was enough to topple anyone. They both fell to the ground. Elliot landed on top of him.

"Huff! Huff!"

They both breathed heavily.

Elliot struggled to hold him down, but it wasn't easy. The squatter, now half-blind, was still stronger, and Elliot's advantage was slipping fast.

Then he saw it — something he had forgotten:

The broken bottle was right next to them.

'The broken bottle's right there! This is my chance!'

Risking everything, Elliot reached for the bottle — but the squatter moved too much. Binding his fists together like a hammer, Elliot smashed the squatter's head several times.

"BANG!"

...

"BANG!"

...

"BANG!"

It stunned the squatter just enough. Elliot seized the moment, grabbed the broken bottle, and, with all the rage built up over the last two weeks, stabbed the squatter in the neck.

"AAAAARGH! DIE!!!" Elliot screamed.

"SCROUTCH!!!"

...

"SCROUTCH!!!"

...

"SCROUTCH!!!"

One strike, two strikes, three, four... The squatter's bald face twisted grotesquely. Blood gushed out, his last remaining eye exploded with a soft 'pop!' His face split open, his windpipe pierced — he no longer even looked human.

Elliot finally stopped. A pool of blood spread across the moldy floor, soaking the yellowed papers and giving them a new color. The heavy air was quickly replaced by the stench of death and blood. The scene was enough to freeze your soul.

"Huff…! Huff…!"

Catching his breath, Elliot rolled off to the side, his hands soaked in blood. And it wasn't just his hands — during the final struggle, the squatter's blood had splattered all over him, drenching him from head to toe.

"Ah… ah… ahahah… Is it over? Fuck! He actually pissed himself... I warned you, you'd die pissing yourself... Huff...!!" 

His hands trembled as he slowly realized what he'd just done.

"I..."

He couldn't finish his sentence, too terrified of what he might say. Overwhelmed by panic, he finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Bahaha...! Sniff...! MY LIFE IS OVER! I... I killed someone! I really killed someone! How will people see me? Am I... Sniff!... a monster?"

'Is this considered self-defense? Am I free now? Or am I going to jail?'

Elliot imagined a future full of hardships — an uncertain future, but one he had earned in battle. A fight to the death. Yes, he alone deserved the life he had fought for.

"Ssshhhiiiiiinn!"

The door to the room creaked open.

A silhouette he had recently forgotten stood there in the doorway, staring at him.

'What?'

Yeah, no — it had been fucked from the start.