What goes around comes around

Christopher reached the final steps of the stairs, leaving the basement. It all felt so blurry in the swirl of people and the hot air that flew around. So I'm dying.

The burn from the whiskey he downed still ached in his heart as he passed by the many silhouettes in the warm light of the pub. All the sounds of people chattering and talking blended together into some noise he could not tell apart. Only further isolating his mind from the reality. Three weeks until I'm dead, three coming weeks of agony? Life just couldn't side with me for once.

He felt how he bumped into someone, muttering out an apology as he continued with his eyes set on the door. In between the tables he passed, he found yet another glass of something strong. Without contemplating the morality of stealing someone's drink, he snatched the glass. The texture of the glass was as uneven as his walking.

"Christopher! The sound of a distant voice shouted across the bar, quickly drowned out in the noise, making it all feel so temporary. He placed the cold glass on his lips and felt quickly how the coldness was replaced by a tinge of pain from an old lip bite. Why do I even bother? Every waking day is a struggle. Sooner or later I was always going to crash.

He tilted his head to the roof with closed eyes, feeling how the orange light that broke through his eyelids, became gradually darker. The liquor poured through his throat; it was painful yet welcomed. A hand was felt on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw the exit door in front of him and the bouncer from before. He said something yet the words felt like porridge, a batter too hard to digest or to understand. Christopher kept walking, though he didn't know where or why. He just ignored the bouncer's concerned gaze. In the next moment, he felt the wind and rain hit him along with the taste of salt. His whole body was shaken as he, in one step, skipped a step of stairs and landed on the gravelled road. The night was pitch black, but the sound had become more pleasing. Rage was the sound. Windy storm clouds had flown in from the west, and he felt the chilling raindrops pour onto him. And what the fuck did I manage to accomplish in my meaningless lifetime? Life without regrets? How well that turned out.

He closed his eyes as he walked and stumbled into the stormy night, every once and then blinking up to see something and once again returning to his own stormy conscience. Just another asshole to die, just another one falling for the numbers game of the piling deaths. Damn the demons.

The sound of the sea crashing and the wind whistling felt calming, the only thing that could give him solace in this cascade of emotions. One foot after the other, the terrain was uneven. One blink after the other as he drunkenly teleported a couple of meters at a time. I just want to sleep.

He felt how the rain was weighing down his hair to lay flat on his forehead. And in the next blink, he felt how he had to climb; he didn't know why; his feet had taken command.

I'm so tired.

He suddenly opened his eyes wide again as he, for a second, snapped out of the dark pits of his mind to the roaring sound of crashing waves. He looked down and saw the sea right in front of him, showing its might below him. He had to wipe water away from his eyes as he grasped the surroundings. How did I even end up here?

He had walked to the furthest point of a harbour, grasping the sea on a dangerous ledge. It was dark, yet he could see the white bubbles foam as they hit the rocks of the wall he was standing upon. He looked out to the sea that seemed infinite. Or perhaps I know why I'm here.

He tilted his head to the sky, seeing droplets that landed on his face. His voice felt weak and meagre, perhaps for the first time in a while.

"God. If you ever existed." The rain masked the tear that tried to escape.

"Why?" He stood there, looking at the droplets that continued to pour down without a break.

"Why?"

The only answer were the waves that called for him below, crashing against the wall, loudly. One step, two steps, and I could sleep in, into the sea and just forget and escape.

Perhaps it was the liquor, but his voice felt dry as he tried to form words. He tilted his head slowly back down to the sea and its rocks. "I have missed you, mom." Pictures flashed through his head, yet his eyes were wide open.

"Dad." As from a former life.

"Brother" A life he had tried to deny.

"Sister" Ever existed. But what can a mortal do?

Another wave crashed against the wall, splashing itself all the way up to Christopher. The Judgement was declared.

He took one step forward. Feeling how his body was in a wavy synch with the ocean below.

"CHRISTOPHER! WHAT ARE YE DOING UP THERE?!" the voice was familiar. Christopher stopped in his trance, and before he could turn around, he suddenly

felt it. The tidal wave he had been holding back, leaving its cavernous holdings. And in a seconds notice, he bowed down with his whole body, releasing a stream of vomit."Fucking hell, you didn't even drink that much." Orup shouted.

In a series of hulkings, Christopher puked in the very ocean he had intended to take a swim in. He raised his head again, and with a sour throat, he suddenly felt how the nausea, along with the fogginess, evaporated.

"GET DOWN FROM THERE BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF!"

Christopher turned his head to see that it was Orup who had shouted down the mounted wall ledge. Another day, another time.

He turned his head yet again towards the sea, grazing down. This time, his body yearned for him to take a step backwards. His senses were slowly returning; his vision became clearer. He spat down the ledge in a futile attempt to rid the foul taste from his mouth. He yet again turned his head and body towards Orup.

"You never collected your bank profits, wouldn't want a fellow colleague to go empty-handed!"

Christopher looked from his view and saw the Varberg fortress hundreds of meters behind him emitting small amounts of light. The harbour he found himself on stretched long and thin from the mainland, a single long-lined pier that reached past the shallow waters near the fortress behind him. He jumped down the ledge; just this time, his legs didn't feel like a synched wave but rather shaken and exhausted. For the first time, he felt how cold the rain and wind felt; perhaps it was his dehydrated state or the pure cold. But he suddenly began to shake as he took another step towards Orup, who held a hand out.

"That's it. We don't get to rest that easily." Orup muttered as he placed a hand on Christopher's shoulder.

"What's the point? Why stall the inevitable?"

"because it dosen't have to be inevitable. The Demon mentioned a certain girl, locked up in the fortress in front of you. Devils are hard nuts to crack, but I'd hate to see you leave such a coincidence to faith."

A welling crash erupted at the edge of the pier as a large wave drenched them even further wet. The taste of salt hit Christopher's lips, and the smell of wet dog hit him as he felt Orup lean closer to him. "Besides. I couldn't take your cut of the money with a clean conscience." The senior hung a leather bag over him. Christopher looked at the man, perhaps in awe at the sudden comradery.

"Let's go. You need to get something to eat." With a hand on Christopher's shoulder, he began leading him along the hundreds of meter-long pier.

The girl? It's a murky lead.

"Why are you helping me?"

The sound of boots stepping on wet ground drummed to the music of the storm. Orup looked ahead for a few seconds until he sighed and placed a hand behind his head.

"I'm old, I'm a coward, and I'm a pessimist. I have already decided to be two of these claims. I want to think that we can stick it to the Demons. Just for once."

"So you're an optimist now?"

"Not really, but even if there is a decimals chance that this possessed thing has something worth your time. Isn't it at least worth a try before you toss yourself to the seas?"

The sound of the waves decreased as they reached closer to the mainland where the Fortress itself was standing closer than ever before. In the distance silhouettes could be seen at the end.

…It's just wishful thinking, nothing but prolonged agony.

Christopher let out a tired scoff as he tried to bite through the cold wind.

"Are you sure on where this possessed girl is?"

They were reaching halfway through the pier, a man walking, minding his own business could be seen as they neared.

"Probably in the fortress, that's where I would lock up something unordinary. It will be my last effort before I leave the continent. See it as goodwill."

…Wasted efforts…

Orup wrinkled his nose in disdain.

"Fucking hell. Speaking of the fortress, they have the sewers, connected to the fucking sea. People swim here!" He said covering his nose. Christopher didn't even notice the smell of sulphur until mentioned.

"Well, at least I didn't jump into shit water."

"See! That's the optimism!"

Christopher looked over to the fortress that was planted in front of them. It was a steady sight, an immovable object that could not easily be demolished, symbolic in a way. He tried to look for possible sewage ports, perhaps possible break ins. He turned his head yet again towards the end of the pier which they were heading. The man they had seen the silhouette on before seemed to be heading this way.

"This demon that you fought earlier. Did it go by any name?"

"Moloch. Heard of it?"

"…No, I've only heard of a certain Azag. But that name don't ring a bell either does it?"

"Unfortunately… But who is this Azag? You piqued my interest."

"Nothing of immediate importance, Demons come and go. Nothing but word of mouth from my time in the north."

Perhaps…Why bother though, don't need to fill my head with ill thoughts so close to the end…

"The fuck. Is this guy going for a stroll in the weather volontairly?" Orup muttered looking at the man heading their way. Perhaps he got cursed by a certain shitstain of a demon.

"Hey Orup."

"Yes?"

"If I against all odds were to figure something out with this imprisoned-demon-thing-girl. Can I have your sword?"

"My sword? What's wrong with yours?""The ladies mock it, don't wan't to go into further detail." And It's been covered with Olaf all over it.

Orup scoffed out a laugh.

"Sure. I won't need it. But I would seriously consider to just get a gun. I barely used my sword. It's your last resort."

The synced steps of Christopher and Orups tired march began to clang with the passing man that were only meters ahead of them. The smell of sewage stool stung in the nose of Christopher, even more now. And he could visibly see Orup cover his nose with his hand.

"They really need to look over the provisions of the guards. It reeks."

Christopher looked up towards the man in intent to greet him with a nod.

Why does he look so familiar?

The passing man was a long middle aged man wearing a raincoat that concealed everything except his face. A shock wave passed through Christopher, a reflex that clocked something before the thought could be formulated. Moloch. The man's face was unfamiliar, a blonde beard, crooked nose and bushy eyebrows. But it was the eyes that made him react. The bloated, blood-filled eyes, along with two purple hands. Christopher froze up in his walk, turned his own eyes towards the sword hilt and fingered on the handle equally fast. What were moments, felt like long pages of a book.

He began pulling the sword upwards, the sound of the metal's friction against the hilt peered. His eyes were locked on the blade as he followed its path up in the air. As the sword tip reached up, a vibrating crack was heard and felt. The top half of the sword suddenly splintered away, flying backwards and leaving a vibration that his hands could not dampen.

The blade breaking in half was soon followed by a snapping sound.

Christopher's eyes left the flying blade and back to the man who, mere seconds ago, had just been a bypasser. But those bloated eyes couldn't be mistaken. How?

Droplets hit his face horizontally from the right where Orup was standing.

"What a coincidence. I found the Bounty hunter again!" The voice wasn't raspy like before. Wait?! Where did those droplets come from?!

Christopher turned his head left only to see a sight of horror. It was hard to recognize the man. Orup made a gurgling sound as he wobbled, struggling to stand straight. His entire jaw had exploded, and the remnants hung loosely on his face. The man's tongue writhled openly as it had no mouth to hide inside. He turned his panicked eyes towards Christopher, unable to express and speak the pain that streamed through. Orup just gurgled the pulsating blood that covered the fractured remnants of his exposed bones.

"Sincerest apologies!"

A wide grin appeared on Moloch as he spoke.

"It wasn't my intention to hunt you down, I found the curse sufficient enough. But here you were! Cornered."

Orup desperately tried to cover up the blood that pulsated from his battered jaw, looking with wide eyes at Christopher. No words could be spoken by Orup, yet his eyes told the message loud and clear. Run. Orup finally couldn't keep his balance any longer as he collapsed to the ground, twitching in pain. Christopher looked back at the Demon. The night felt darker from where Moloch stood.

"I know what you're thinking. How has it returned? To be honest. I wasn't expecting to be back so soon, either! But the Dark Gods have deemed this task urgent."

He could feel his heart beating faster than ever before. Terror struck him; he wanted to reply. Swear at the demon and launch his broken blade into the foul fiend. But the words were stuck in his throat, his legs locked, and his sword hand shaky.

"It can't hurt to do a little detour?"

The Demon took yet another step forward, already disregarding Orup as nothing more but a nuisance. Christopher's upper lip was twitching, trying to speak. Moloch took another step forward.

"Aren't you going to stab me this time? You were a lot more fun when my body was limped!"

Christopher grasped his shaking wrist, trying to keep the sword firm. I should have jumped.

He thrust the sword in the third step Moloch took forward. In mere moments, he felt a cold hand, hard like a rock, around his sword hand. He looked from the dark, purple claw-like hand and up again; he saw Moloch in breathing distance, face to face with him, smiling.

"That's the spirit! Now tell a joke!" Pain followed as the demon pressured with its hand, causing him to drop the sword to the ground.

"So cocky before! Is this the same human that cast me to the fourth circle?" Moloch reached around with its left hand around Christopher's neck and pushed him quickly to his knees. The bruising pain came quickly as his knees crashed to the stone floor of the pier. Brought to his knees by the same Demon he had defeated nights before.

"You look like him! You reek like him! But you don't act like him."

Moloch released the grip on his hands and reached around the foot. The demon then pulled the trouser leg up.

"Good thing I marked you!" The demon released its grip on his neck and leg, standing up whilst Christopher was on his knees.

"What should I do to you? Killing you right here is a less cruel faith than what awaits already. I would be putting you out of your misery."

He didn't dare look up at the Demon's face, he just stared left to where Orup was lying, still twitching. Impossible to know whether the man was still in pain or if he had died before his body had.

"But it pains me to just leave you here. Meddling in business you have no comprehension of."

Moloch walked with heavy, condescending steps towards Orup, knowing that Christopher wouldn't dare try and escape. He could only watch as Moloch stopped in front of Orup. He could still see Orup's eyes give off one last fleeting stare into the distance.

"But I guess I could still have use of you. Hunter." The demon raised its foot in the air, and with a stomp that left a sound horrible to the ears. It sealed Orup's life once and for all.

"You see, Christopher. I have a dilemma. My master demands I kill a certain girl."

It turned its path to him again and walked towards.

"A certain girl possessed, and held up in that fortress up there. Originally, I was plotting in that farmstead how I was going to get in there in a broken body. Until. you. came."

The demon crouched itself eye to eye with Christopher.

"I was fortunate enough to be granted a return with renewed essence. But even then, I can not hope to get inside the fortress by myself. Not with so many guards inside, The Gods wouldn't forgive me a second time."

Moloch raised its purple hands, stripped of oxygen. It placed one hand on top of his head and one under, on Christopher's jaw. The immense force that was held up in each finger was felt. Like the springs of a loaded bear trap, were one incorrect move would shatter his head into a mush. The demon forced Christopher to look towards the fortress that laid planted.

"The Gods would not forgive another failure. But I could give you a second chance. Retrieve the girl for me and I will lift the curse."

I can't breathe. I can't breathe, this is too much.

The sheer sprint his heart had taken was getting too hard for the rest of his body to synch up with. His nostrils flared, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell it to stop. His body refused to function.

"What say you?"

Answer! Say something! Do something! I can't die like this!

The demon tightened its grip around his jaw and head.

"Although, I am tempted to squish you here and now."

SAY SOMETHING!

"We have a deal." Christopher forced out between his heavy nose flairs.

The demon immediately let go of him.

"You better get going. I won't be nice a second time."

A forceful push on Christopher was made, firm enough that he stood up on his legs. Christopher turned around to the Demon, to make sure he was free to go.

"Don't show your face without her, dead or alive." Christopher took a couple of steps, before stopping besides Orup. The senior man, who he had looked up to, just a moment ago, was beyond recognition. He crouched.

"I'm sorry." Christopher reached around Orup's waist and pulled off the man's sword.

"Get going, Kûflag." Moloch shouted.

I should have jumped.