Chapter 6: Tears of Blood

"WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?!" Frel had awoken in a crater several meters deep, the noon sun shining directly downwards into the cavity for quite some time now.

All around him were the desiccated bodies of former goblins, scattered in various stages of panic the further away they were from Frel. 

He couldn't accept it. There's no way he's still alive. There's no way he killed Sir Grog and Jak. 

There's just no way.

But his mind told him he did. His memories showed how he pierced Sir Jak's chest with the cursed blade and watched as the explosion mangled his body beyond recognition. It showed him how he trapped Sir Grog, and ruthlessly killed him before draining his blood.

It showed how he coldly butchered his own people. His neighbors, his friends, his family, and his little sister.

All your fault. 

No... 

If you had not picked up that blade, you could have returned safely, living out the rest of your life happily.

No...

YOU ARE THE REASON OUR PEOPLE ARE DEAD!

NOOOO!

He stumbled crazed, still shocked and not fully accepting of the whole tragedy, stumbling around the expansive hollowed room.

"No... no... no... it's not my fault... its not my fault..." He kept muttering under his breath, his eyes hollow and empty, his hand gripped tightly onto the blade.

He spent hours wandering the lifeless room, a circular opening in the roof letting the sun pour in. Eventually, his eyes focused on a particular body, a particular neckpiece reflecting the sun toward his eyes.

It was desiccated, just like the others, making it nigh impossible to tell who was who.

But Frel knew who it was. His little sister. 

Near her, were their parents, wearing the same clothing he had last seen them in.

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Everything hit him like a wave. They were dead, and he was the one who had caused it.

No, not him. He raised his gripped hand to eye level.

It was all because of this fucking sword.

Anger quickly replaced his shock—pure, unbridled, fiery anger.  

"WHY?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!"  He threw the sword as hard as he could toward the stone walls.

It sank effortlessly into the stone, right down to the hilt.

"YOU MADE ME SLAUGHTER THEM!" He brought the blade down onto the wall, leaving an effortless clean cut. "YOU KILLED NOT JUST THE SOLDIERS-" Another slash. "-BUT ALSO THE INNOCENT PEOPLE HERE!" A third slash. "YOU KILLED MY FAMILY-" A fourth slash. "-MY FRIENDS-" A fifth slash. The rock walls now crumbled. "-MY PARENTS-" A sixth slash. "-MY LITTLE SISTERRRR!" The seventh slash tore the entire section of the stone wall down, revealing the underground walls behind it.

"ha... ha..." He panted, trying to catch his breath. He raised the blade back to eye level, observing how there was absolutely zero damage done to the blade.

*sniff* "Why..." His knees gave out, and he crumbled onto the floor, sobbing.

He'll never see his parents again. He'll never taste their cooking, never wake up to the sounds of his friends calling him to play a game of "Satchel". He'll never hear his sister welcoming him home, how she poured out her hobbies, passions, and interests to him at the dinner table, while his parents comforted him after a long day.

He stayed there, hunched over, sniveling, and crying alone in the dark for an untold amount of days. He had hoped that he'd just die from starvation and dehydration, but he did not. Masamune was providing him with blood and nutrients.

After a week after not dying though, he awoke from his depressed stupor to take his own life. Raising the blade to his chest, he glanced at the sun outside for one last time.

Hopefully, he can meet his family on the other side, perhaps reborn as something better. 

He brought the blade inwards. 

Right before he could pierce himself, his vocal cords seized up as he shouted, "Blood Form!"

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