What was this? I supposed that being stuck to my arms were someone's hands. My body—did it hurt? I supposed so. But there were so many days? months? in the complete darkness of the tunnels farthest from the cities that it did not count. I thought they were my hands—at the end of some things clinging to a stupendous piece of smithing. If you'll excuse the expression, those whiskers... I think I had never seen anyone with such long whiskers. Once, I ate something like that—a long time ago...
"Stupid! You are just an aberration who leaves your responsibility to go on a spree, MURDERER. I cannot believe you call yourself an ally of justice. You sicken me. In that time you lost underground, all that remains of my faithful are a bunch of slaves—many of them just babbling idiots who can't do much. They keep thinking of my help, their salvation, but no one listened to them. How? If the one who offered to help dedicated his time to giving an eternal tour inside the mountain! What do you have to say about it? Answer! "
I had to go—I knew it. But it was difficult. Everything was confusing. I supposed it was wrong to travel, but I had my reasons. Besides, weren't you the one to help your own people?
"I weaken every day you are not doing what you should. I don't understand how you chose to follow the darkness and then offer a breath of hope to people, only to leave them to suffer at the hands of their enslavers... charlatan! Why didn't you go out through the walls, destroy tunnels until the open air taught you that the beauty of justice is outside, not alongside your blood-blind dwarves?"
Blind? My brothers fight, suffer, and bleed to survive. I have definitely realized who you are—only a vain god like Phaladine could believe he owes you something.
I was ready to ignite my protection magic—exhausted, weak as I was, to the point of not recognizing a rabbit. Yet I felt in me that inexhaustible source of fury, of rancor accumulated against all those who always point fingers, insulting, sending to death all those poor souls whose only crime is not having the means to defend themselves. But when he appears, even I feel sorry for him—a little. His body was thin; a grayish glow more than silver covered him, giving him the appearance of an old man abandoned to his fate.
"This is the image my people have of me—they who for so long saw me as the sole source of their salvation. Today, many are beginning to look for other beliefs as their nexus to escape the recurring misery in which they live, dominated by a hostile continent that neither you nor your friends have bothered to eliminate. Your whore succubus keeps making stupid plans that perpetuate her in the power of an ever-growing center of garbage, of people who corrupt those around them, reveling in sex and the consumption of prohibited substances."
I wanted to reply, but it was true—not because it was bad; the people there lived under the ideas of respect for diverse cultures. The Dark Elves—well, if the shadow mushrooms were toxic, that was what the Overlord's runes were for, trying to give a survival opportunity to those who never had one. Finally, I knew that the Dark Lord's search had nothing to do with anything we sought, but no one knew that except those who benefited from that desire to bring peace to the one he loved in the past.
"See how you fall silent? To what degree do you become complicit in your debauchery? Your dwarf brothers live in the mud; you come covered in the same. Does my people not deserve a true savior?"
I remained a little dazed. The lights grew more intense each moment, so I sat down. The supposed god did not stop insulting, seeking—I felt his existence pressing on me. I was tired. For now, some things seemed to make sense, but I knew they were not—not since that Phaladine only cared about the simplicity of future justice. That did not exist; that was an empty hope.
"The evil you have engendered, the innumerable lives lost because of that mockery of a future they gave you... do the deaths not weigh on your shoulders? If you do not want to follow my justice, you know the last death will be yours—your body consumed by corruption and rage."
I wanted to tell him to shut up, but what right did I have? Many of those who languished would still be here if not for my eagerness to face the forces always attacking them. But they were still alive. I should have tried a little harder. How tired! Did I sleep at all these days?
"Friend, do not falter. "
This voice was different. I still heard distant shouts of a discomfort far from me. It was no longer a pain in my chest—a sensation of peace enveloped me. The red and golden mist that kept my mind calm and disconcerted cleared. For the first time, I noticed the grass—dry—the sky, and the mangy wolves about to bite my face.
"Friend, the decisions you make are yours. The power you have was not achieved alone, nor does it remain there by selfish choices. It is the strength of the vengeance of those who need or wish to be avenged. You offer everyone around you the opportunity to be themselves—in the end, if necessary."
I understood him. Even without intending to, a hand shot out and grabbed the nearest wolf's neck. Yet I feared this waste of time. I understood that the mentioned Phaladine was annoyed—I spent many nights without light inside the mountain.
"That, warrior, was by your own choice—a very good one, indeed. You fought, dwarf. You fought through all the main tunnels, the lost, abandoned cities. You fought day and night in an attempt to keep all the miasma of enemies from throwing themselves upon your people before they could achieve what they did. They are safe, and it was because of you. You should remember that every time you feel doubt."
The second wolf met my shield. I was very weak—my strength barely enough to smash its ugly head against the mountain. I could remember what the second voice said: walking without seeing, exploding enemies without stopping, dead tired, building a refuge inside a pile of bodies, eating putrid, burned meat to avoid any degree of corruption. But above all—even beyond Phaladine's insistent screams—I knew my people were safe, as they should be, that they would be able to arm and protect themselves, that they would be stronger tomorrow.
"Take care of those you wish, because you are not here for others. You chose this path. Sooner or later, we will pay the price of our choices. But when that day comes, you and I will face the consequences head-on."
The wolves that fled were few. I was hungry—very hungry. They still accused me of being a heretic and now of depriving animals of their instincts. But that was always the case—it accompanied me all the time. I was their true failed champion. I did not regret it in the slightest. But now it was my turn to eat real meat.
"One last thing, Chapatrueno. I will be on another continent. There is something urgent to do, and I fear that if I wait another month, we will lose. You have formidable enemies who only seek to dominate you—do not let them. Your strength is tenacity and compassion. Your armor is rage. Do nothing that takes you away from your ideals. Even if you fall to pieces, the Deathbringer must remain true to himself, to the end. "
I listened and smiled. He knew I would not fall so easily. But it was an honor that he did not forget me. I would go to save those people—despite Phaladine's betrayal. I did not go for him; I went for the thousands of lives that did not deserve to die. The aroma of roasting meat distracted me, but not much—there was a long journey ahead, and my senses must remain alert. Ahead, a nation that hated me; behind, allies or perhaps enemies who would come for me from the mountain. But if they did not hurry, who knew if they would find me.