Chapter Thirty-Four: I Am Dead (Part Two)

This was a darkness both familiar and terrifying, a supernatural shadow that seemed to gather all things in the world into itself, entangling them into a bottomless void that pressed against my eyelids. It felt as if the world had suddenly become immeasurably vast, boundless, and utterly empty. In this heavy, pure monochrome realm, I could not say I was truly conscious, yet neither was I entirely devoid of awareness. Dimly, I sensed myself dissolving, but this dissolution was nothing like physical death—when the body dies, a corpse remains, left for worms and insects to gnaw, to decay bit by bit. Now, however, it was as though I were vanishing utterly, leaving nothing behind.

The soul of that human called "Jephritz Kidd" seemed to have ceased to exist, fully engulfed by the darkness, becoming part of this limitless void.

There was no beautiful lady Reaper, no black-and-white world revealed to the soul, no feather-light state of death, nothing of what my fellow Voidwalkers had experienced or spoken of—my death was a true and utter ending, one that left no trace and offered not even the faintest chance of return.

My memory told me that death lasted only an instant; I had barely closed my eyes before opening them again, and before me once more stretched the dank, filthy tomb below ground, where the minotaur shaman Krado stood, having just completed the soul-marking magic that wrenched me back to life.

Yet my senses told me something entirely different. That overwhelming tide of death had come too fiercely, its despair impossible to measure in any simple unit of time. It felt as if I had just escaped a tunnel leading to "eternity"—though perhaps only a moment had passed in this world, to me, it seemed I had traversed an endless gulf.

Only now did I have room for fear. But this fear was nothing like the desperate courage I’d summoned in battle; it was absolute, crushing, and devoured all bravery, freezing my soul. It went beyond fear itself, leaving only numbness and hopelessness. My mind was in chaos, as if my wits had not yet emerged from that boundless darkness. My limbs were cold and rigid, utterly unmoving—not because something bound me, but because I had no will to command them. A monstrous despair coiled in my mind, squeezing my consciousness until it was utterly blank. Only one thing became piercingly clear: I was not like my fellow Voidwalkers. If I died, I would truly be gone forever, with no hope of resurrection as they had known.

Krado’s burly form danced anxiously before me, his broad mouth opening and closing in a flurry of unintelligible sounds as he patted my shoulder and pointed toward the raging battle. He must have been saying something, but I understood none of it. True, I’d never understood his words before, but now his voice was like a bewildered breeze, passing my ears entirely, never reaching my drums.

The resurrection spell had drawn the attention of the Marquis Menerval. With a howl, he strode forward, charging straight toward us. In my daze, I watched this monstrous brute draw nearer and nearer. I could not move at all. The Marquis now seemed ten thousand times more terrifying than in battle before, and it was not he himself that frightened me, but what he could bring upon me. I was afraid—yes, I was afraid to die, afraid of that end where even the faintest mark of my soul would be erased by darkness. This terror bound not only my limbs, but seemed to freeze my very heart.

I could feel my legs trembling as I stood there, cold sweat running down my neck and tracing shivering lines along my spine, draining me of all strength. I thought only of escape, of fleeing this place of death, fleeing anywhere at all. I no longer wished to stay here—not for an instant. Yet there was nowhere for me to go. It was like a nightmare from which you longed to wake, yet could not.

“Jeff! Kidd! Warrior!” Longbow Sunshot called out, switching through several clumsy names as he shouted for me. “Get over here and take the monster!”

Without me in the fight, our dwarven priest had once again rushed to the front—though this time, there was more desperation than resolve in his action. His magical shield "Intercepting Fist" was strong in attack and could stand up to physical blows, but its defense against magic was far more ordinary. Whenever the Marquis Menerval unleashed his vampiric magic, Longbow Sunshot was always thrown into disarray.

“I—” I wanted to say I was coming, but only managed to part my lips and utter a sound so faint even I could not hear it.

“What are you doing? Get over here!” Another spell struck the faithful of the Supreme God, and he shouted at me in frustration.

I must have disappointed them, just when they needed me the most. I was less than a frightened snail—at least a snail could retreat into its shell to avoid danger, while I stood limp and useless, dazed and unable to move.

“Longbow Sunshot, fall back! Heal the warrior with the shaman—he’s stuck, protect him, don’t let him die again. I’ll hold things here!” At that moment, Tri-Corner’s voice cut clearly into my awareness. My heart warmed; something gentle seemed to flow into the fear-frozen hollows of my being.

Even in such peril, my friends did not mock my cowardice. Their trust in me was unwavering, so much so that they could not believe in my weakness, choosing instead to attribute my inaction to some mishap. Wave after wave of healing magic washed over my rigid form, restoring my vitality until it was more than half returned. By then, the monstrous vampire Marquis had reached me. The leather-clad rogue and the thinly protected mage had managed to delay him only briefly with all their strength, but now their situation was dire.

The half-orc rogue staggered back to my side, seemingly under some curse—his life ebbing away in slow, relentless trickles. The wound itself was not fatal, but the unceasing blood loss prevented him from using his stealth techniques, forcing him to face the Marquis head-to-head—a hopeless prospect. After the frenzied fighting, his life force was down to a dangerous sliver. He could not survive another blow from the vampire lord.

And just at that moment, the Marquis swung his massive sword down upon him again.

The sword’s shrieking arc brought back the memory of my own brush with death.

Watching the blade bear down on Tri-Corner’s head, I felt as if my own scalp would split. My mind was a tangled storm, two voices circling endlessly within. One urged me to flee this place of danger, to escape while I still could—if Tri-Corner died, Longbow Sunshot and Krado could revive him, and even if all of them fell, they could revive themselves. But if I died, it would truly be the end. The exit to the next level of the tomb was now visible behind the massive vampire—if I ran now, there was still time…

He was right, everything he said was true. For me, this was the logical choice.

But the other voice quietly asked: What is death, to you?

Death must be the destruction of life, I thought. For anyone, death is the opposite of living, even for those with extraordinary powers who can break free from it.

But death is still death. No one likes it, whatever their form of existence; its meaning is the same for all. This burly half-orc beside me had put himself in mortal peril to protect me—was this not an act of courage, an honorable deed?

And so, a question formed in my heart:

Does the fact that he can be resurrected diminish the meaning of his sacrifice?

Does the fact that I can die only once make my life more valuable than his?

No, that’s not right. Whatever he might feel himself, to me, it is all the same. Death has never been an excuse for cowardice, and fear is only a symptom of weakness and incompetence. This man was trading his life for mine—that is the whole meaning.

He had done his part for me; now it was my turn.

It felt as though something within me suddenly opened, the world growing wider and brighter. Though panic still gripped me, it loosened as my resolve hardened. My heart still trembled with cowardice, my muscles still locked with fear, but as my mind cleared, I was amazed to find myself standing boldly before Tri-Corner, sword in hand, blocking the killing blow with every ounce of strength I could muster.

In a flash of steel and thunder, blade met blade.

Once again, in the greedy, blood-red eyes of the Marquis Menerval, I saw the image of myself fighting on.