Chapter 519

The racket felt unfamiliar in her hand, a tool turned into an extension of the bleakness she carried within. An old friend, or at least it had once been, now it was foreign to her.

Daria eyed the ball. Another pointless drill in another pointless day.

Another pointless second of her now meaningless life. She served, the ball moving faster than any human eye could follow.

Before it slammed into the back wall with the force of a cannonball, exploding against it. She served another, and another.

Each time it's the same, exploding on the wall like artillery shells, but no one is bothered. Her power was normal now, but it hadn't always been this way.

The first person she had ever killed she had loved, maybe the only person she'd ever love, or could ever love. Or had even had the capacity to love.

What a laugh that was. Her coach, Valentin, the person who took a poor girl from Russia, brought her to America, and trained her to become the best tennis player in the world.

She had been a naive kid when they met, not used to people being nice to her. He found her talent.

But more than that, he built her up and showed her she could be somebody in this awful, hateful world. The world hadn't been so bleak then, though it was far from being good.

Their relationship moved from professional to intimate, an occurrence as common as it is cliché. It meant everything to her and nothing to him.

She found that out after it was done, too late, when all that was left of him was a mangled pile of meat. Her final match came around as quickly as the other grand slams she'd played in.

Maybe even quicker, considering how significant this was to her. What a day that was.

All these memories flooded through her now, so easily as if she couldn't let go. Maybe it was like her brain finally found a person who wouldn't ignore what she said.

Her skills alone guaranteed she would have won the US Open; Valentin had told her so himself. She trusted him.

Why shouldn't she? They were equals. Then, she found him with a well-known match-fixer before the finals.

She had loved Valentin more than anything, and all that affection died right there, in that brief moment. Not even a goodbye, a final, warm word.

As if it all meant nothing to him, or worse yet, as if he wanted it to hurt her even more than just rejecting her love. The loss she would endure later meant nothing to her compared to this betrayal.

Her heart had turned as black as a void when she played the next day, the only relief she had been the anger within her. Even still, she wasn't really there.

Her mind had gone somewhere else long before the game had started, left without warning as the players were entering the stadium. She lost the match easily.

Maybe as if by habit, if there had ever been a habit for her in losing matches, even when they didn't matter. Even when she was young and new to all this.

"It was obvious she would lose, right? The girl can barely keep it together on a good day, a final? What did anyone expect," a voice had sneered.

"Who knew what she was going to do when the pressure was on her?" As she made her way from the arena after her loss. That person who had said that was dead now.

Daria murdered Valentin later that day. How easy it had been, what a joke that all that stood between life and death was so fragile.

Her raw strength had been apparent after, when she sent the tennis ball right through him. She enjoyed his suffering, the few precious seconds that were filled with his whimpers.

But then, once he was gone, the joy ended too. Then came that person who had said that thing about her after the game.

And then, the official who had cheated on her in one of her early career matches, causing her to lose her first match. And so many others who did her injustice over the years came after that.

What was the world to do with such a god of death amongst them? The police weren't on her tail; not a single investigator had ever found evidence.

How could they? No normal weapon could do what her strength could do; tennis was barely related, not directly. Nobody saw this coming.

And now she was a known serial killer who nobody knew the identity of. Daria was sitting in her apartment when she got the call.

Her apartment had never looked dirtier than now, so poorly cared for, but who can be bothered to look after an apartment that no longer means anything? Her new occupation now kept her busy enough anyway.

"Hey," a man's voice sounded, gruff and full of anger. "What do you want?" Daria said.

"You need to know something," he responded. "Is this more garbage to waste my time with?" Daria replied.

"It's about your final match, it was rigged," he responded. "What are you on about? I already knew that," Daria responded.

"I found Valentin doing the deed, remember? That's why I killed him. Or has word still not gotten out of how powerful I am?" she asked.

"No. I mean that your strength, the superhuman power you have, it was orchestrated to happen. They did this to you so you would lose on purpose, without fail," the man corrected.

"They? Who are they?" she asked, irritated now. Her only truth she had left in this world was that, from the first second of this new "blessing" that she has been gifted, it was hers alone.

That at least her anger, her vengeance, was righteous. Her justice was true, even if nobody would ever give her credit for ridding the world of so much human garbage.

"Does it matter? I'm dead now anyway, walking into your place," he responded, as he burst through her apartment door, revealing himself. "My name's Anton, a gambler Valentin ruined."

"If you think I care about you, a name, a story, some feeling of companionship, you've lost it," she smiled. What a loser.

Coming all the way here just to meet the same end he would've anyway if he had just had the courage to approach her. He had the face of an old man who was well beyond the use life still had for him.

"Who could have guessed the great champion Daria would kill anyone in her path," Anton continued, talking through his pending death now, like a true defeatist. What an empty person he must be.

Talking now only so she would tell him that he has something to live for. "Just die," Daria sighed, as she fired a ball toward him, ripping him to pieces.

That feeling came over her again, and the feeling only gets stronger now, of boredom. This world, what is the point?

To live, to do things over and over, it was only a distraction at first. How can a person continue doing the same action, never being enough for them?

It is true, she is stronger than anyone who has ever lived. And even when the feeling of ending a life had left, she has found a new obsession now, a way to distract herself.

Trying to figure out how strong she is. Just how many limits can she push?

But still, always that hollow nothingness crept back, the emptiness of existence, this pointless, endless existence. What a sick, twisted joke life is.

Her eyes locked onto a poster she had of a mountain range, and her mind thought again of a documentary she saw before she became famous. It showed someone on the very top of Mount Everest, holding a flag.

What an utter idiot. How arrogant, to go through something so awful for the simple pleasure of planting a flag to show that he did it.

Then it happened, that familiar emptiness and her obsession overtook her again. Her final purpose; this one will make everything right again.

Maybe. She knows the truth now, or does she?

Is that what it has always been, that same sense of hope that a person needs, no matter how useless they know it will end up being, like a drug user using their last vial?

Two weeks went by, she found herself in Tibet. Her new target, the top of the tallest mountain in the world, Everest.

A feat never before achieved without additional air tanks, she was about to embark on it with nothing, in just a single day. Not because of the fame but because that's all the patience she had left to see this through.

She only wore a regular tennis outfit, complete with shorts. Why does she even do that anymore, what a joke.

She might as well get some pleasure from showing off; this would be the world's greatest sports story if anyone ever found out about it. She began, and to no surprise, it took almost no effort.

At first, it seemed easy, though that would change, as even her powerful lungs gasped for the thin, scarce air that high up. It became her greatest physical struggle ever.

The higher she climbed, the more that feeling came, that empty nothing, even though she was achieving the hardest thing she had ever attempted. The summit, that pointless, empty summit that so many had wasted their life's energy on.

That symbol of arrogance. It was near; another worthless symbol to mark just how pointless human ambition really was.

Nothing more than another marker of pointlessness, to feel the warmth of false success in their heart before being overwhelmed by a new pointlessness. What was the purpose of any of it?

Was it fun for them? At least until they were bored and needed something new.

An existence that never gets you any closer to anywhere; only being farther away from the previous second of your life while approaching the next. Even for the great Daria, a person born from nothing who went on to achieve everything she had ever wanted.

What is it for? What an absolute joke it all is, just as fake as her strength.

The very top came into sight, and with a final burst, she leaped into the air. She came down upon it, hard, driving her tennis shoe down on it, causing a fissure.

But it was not enough, this summit needed to go, or did it? Is this one of those worthless endeavors that lead to nothing but further emptiness?

Daria began to punch and kick the top of the mountain until it started breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. Eventually, all that remained was dust and a massive, gaping hole in the very top of the earth.

What a sad thing, this feeling of joy that escapes you just as you approach. That empty pit where a part of Everest used to be, an empty pit much like she had inside of her.

She had won in everything, in every fight, but this? The most dangerous game?

Against her own mind, her soul, her being, whatever it is you call it. That would never happen.

That was too far, even for a person so broken. What a pitiful creature, a shell of nothingness, a human is.

A simple pile of flesh cursed with feeling, cursed to keep repeating this torture forever, day by day, moment to moment. A creature with one end.

"At least it will be different," she laughed to herself. She had achieved everything a person can, even those they can't.

So what a person must do when their options expire, and no path remains to walk. There is a strange feeling when something new presents itself, something untouched.

And with her, that is rarer than anything in this universe. She had her moment, at last, the greatest and most meaningful match a person can play.

She leaped down the giant hole at the top of Everest, a new record to add to her pointless and endless list of accomplishments, with not even an audience there to appreciate her talents.

The final curtain call of her last performance, one no one would ever witness. She would have laughed if it wasn't so familiar to her.

Just a new shape, that same dark truth, something that has been with her the whole way and all that ever really could be. What a waste.

At least she doesn't need to serve anymore.