Isami's words ring in his mind, a blur of memories rushing in accompaniment. His guild members staring in shock, in fear. The city Guard, its massive blade raised to strike Isami down- the sharp, cold pain that followed as it nearly cleaved Soujirou in two as he sought to protect her.
"Injuries and pain are real. This world is real..."
His own words, back when he realized that not everyone was so eager about being in the actual world of Elder Tale than merely a game. When he had learned that Isami was afraid to fight, and he had been enthusiastic in seeking real combat. He had thought nothing of it until that point. Elder Tale was a world he knew. Even when revival from death was an uncertainty, he didn't think twice to sacrifice himself for his guildmates. He would do anything to protect them, his precious friends...
Their tears when they came to meet him at the cathedral... They had thought that they might have lost him forever. He came back, then, and their tears were of joy, not of sadness-
I could die here.
That thought chills him like a glacier sliding down his spine. He can barely feel the warmth of his own blood that runs down his neck, the pain a dull throb, but still very real. He stares up almost numbly at the Moh Shuvuu, stares past her at a world he can't reach. Time seems to drag the seconds impossibly long.
If I die, will I go back to them? ...or will I disappear forever?
That horrible bloody beak is coming down towards him, but he feels incredibly sluggish. He doesn't need his overskill to tell him where that strike will hit.
The girls will be sad. Nazuna will be angry with me again...
The rules are different here. These demons are different than goblins or even dragons and trolls. His focus sharpens suddenly, eyes widening as that bloodied beak is that much closer.
I don't want to die.
It's like something bursts. The air around Soujirou feels like it contracts, then suddenly expands and shatters as a form coalesces above him. Its silhouette is slender, a spindly humanoid, its head resembling a helmet with the longish face of a traditional kitsune mask. Twin blades swing upwards to intercept the Moh Shuvuu, the blades themselves being the crimson thing's own arms.
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"Kyokuchō...I think....I'm going to die here..."
Isami's words ring in his mind, a blur of memories rushing in accompaniment. His guild members staring in shock, in fear. The city Guard, its massive blade raised to strike Isami down- the sharp, cold pain that followed as it nearly cleaved Soujirou in two as he sought to protect her.
"Injuries and pain are real. This world is real..."
His own words, back when he realized that not everyone was so eager about being in the actual world of Elder Tale than merely a game. When he had learned that Isami was afraid to fight, and he had been enthusiastic in seeking real combat. He had thought nothing of it until that point. Elder Tale was a world he knew. Even when revival from death was an uncertainty, he didn't think twice to sacrifice himself for his guildmates. He would do anything to protect them, his precious friends...
Their tears when they came to meet him at the cathedral... They had thought that they might have lost him forever. He came back, then, and their tears were of joy, not of sadness-
I could die here.
That thought chills him like a glacier sliding down his spine. He can barely feel the warmth of his own blood that runs down his neck, the pain a dull throb, but still very real. He stares up almost numbly at the Moh Shuvuu, stares past her at a world he can't reach. Time seems to drag the seconds impossibly long.
If I die, will I go back to them? ...or will I disappear forever?
That horrible bloody beak is coming down towards him, but he feels incredibly sluggish. He doesn't need his overskill to tell him where that strike will hit.
The girls will be sad. Nazuna will be angry with me again...
The rules are different here. These demons are different than goblins or even dragons and trolls. His focus sharpens suddenly, eyes widening as that bloodied beak is that much closer.
It's like something bursts. The air around Soujirou feels like it contracts, then suddenly expands and shatters as a form coalesces above him. Its silhouette is slender, a spindly humanoid, its head resembling a helmet with the longish face of a traditional kitsune mask. Twin blades swing upwards to intercept the Moh Shuvuu, the blades themselves being the crimson thing's own arms.