Chapter Text
Scott’s eyes opened to a clear sky. The ground was soft and comfortable. He didn’t really want to get up, but his body forced him.
He got to his feet, his joints stiff and sore. How did he get here? He couldn’t remember anything, the place looked familiar, maybe something he had seen countless times before, maybe it was just his imagination.
Despite that, something made him move, he walked to a nearby tree and punched, it hurt, but he had something to do, the tree was small, only requiring him to repeat it five times.
Scott sat back down against the stump that remained, tired and out of breath. His back was covered in sweat, his hands bruised and bleeding. His blood was a silvery blood, small specks streaming slowly between his knuckles.
But his hands started moving again despite the pain; turning the logs into wood: 20 pieces, he made some sort of bench with them, he didn’t even know what it was, but it felt right, he then made a few sticks, 12 pieces of wood left.
Then he made a pickaxe, it felt nice and heavy in his hands at the same time, 9 pieces of wood left.
Scott started moving again, having more control over his body. He walked to a patch of stone and started to swing his newly made pickaxe at it, digging pieces of rock. It took a while, but as the stone broke smoothly, he got enough for new tools: a pickaxe, an axe, a furnace and for some reason, a sword.
He started really looking around, seeing animals walking around freely. He felt a little ashamed of how his stomach rumbled at the sight of the pigs, cows, sheep and chickens roaming around.
He wasn't going to do it, was he?
But gods, the hunger was unbearable, stomach aching in a way it probably had never done before.
He got his sword out, scrunched his eyes shut, and then-
SLASH
A wail of pain rang out from the animal, making his ears ring. He hesitantly opened his eyes.
There lay the sheep.
Dead.
Deep red blood had started coating its thick, soft wool. It made him feel sick.
Tears welled in his eyes as he collapsed to his knees, bile starting to rise in his throat,sour and stinging.
He couldn't stop it, it came out all at once.
He leaned forward, vomit coming from his mouth. The gross mix of liquid splattered on the forest floor, seeping through the thick layer of grass and leaves. A little came on his knees. He felt disgusting.
‘It isn’t as nearly as disgusting as what you’ve just done.’ He tried to reason with himself, closing his eyes tightly
It didn’t help to take away the guilt gnawing at him.
He opened his eyes again, hoping that it was all a bad dream. That the sheep was still alive in front of him. That he had never made that damned sword.
But there it was again, still limp, still dead. There was more blood now, surrounding its head. The sheep’s once pristine woolen coat was now soggy, the blood already starting to turn a brown-ish red.
He scrambled back. His back hit something, an object. What it was? Scott didn’t know. A tree? A rock?
He didn’t care anyway.
His stomach started rumbling again. He hated it; hated how much he wanted the flesh now that it was still fresh and warm. He glanced at the wood he had collected, the furnace he had crafted, 9 pieces would be enough to cook a sheep, right?
He got up again.
Then, his brain became fuzzy.
He could feel himself moving, reaching for his sword again. Then it began. He began cutting, skinning the poor sheep, saving the wool that was still mostly clean.
And then again, another sheep, another hopeless victim.
Skinning.
Carving.
Saving.
Killing.
Skinning.
Carving.
Saving.
After that, Scott found himself wet. His shirt had turned an ugly shade of a reddish brown, same with his pants. His hands were stained red, coated with sticky red liquid. It was drying under his nails and in the creases of his hands.
This would be his life now, he guessed.
He gently moved what were now the remains of the sheep, the parts of its torso he had saved; thick wool and lots of meat. He hoped that this would be enough for now.
He started to walk towards the furnace, gathering a piece of wood and placing it in. Then, he added the fresh meat. The wood just… Ignited, all on its own. He couldn't explain it, he didn't know how, it was like magic.
Soon, the hunger-inducing smell of cooking meat filled the air, making him forget the guilt. He could only think of how hungry he was, how much he wanted to taste the rich meat.
He started moving again. The wood had burned up. Now he had multiple parts of cooked flesh, most of which he would probably save. He would eat it later, even if it was cold. Almost like jerkey.
He tore into the first piece. It was tough, but filling. The juice filled his mouth, partially burned fat, partially remaining blood which hadn't evaporated, but he still didn't care, he had food, that was all that mattered.
— — —
Scott started walking again, through the forest. It was nice, his stomach was full, the sun was, filtering through the leaves and there were birds chirping.
He could see a few dogs running around, or were they wolves? He didn’t know, he just knew that they were cute.
The walk was peaceful, soft moss squelched under his feet.
He could see a clearing in the distance, there were a few oak trees strewn about, flowers popping up and making the soft green plains a bit more colorful. A bit further, there were dwindling creeks, leading to a desert.
He stepped out of the forest, the sun hitting his back, warm and relaxing.
Then closed his eyes, just soaking it up.
He continued, smiling at the tiny tickles of the millions of grass blades across his bare ankles and lower legs.
He walked through the flowers, careful not to squish them, the smell was calming, making him momentarily forget what had just happened.
There was one flower that stood out among the rest; a small, red poppy, the light falling perfectly so it was illuminated by the sun, glowing softly.
He crouched next to it, it was beautiful, the petals were soft to the touch, black at the base, slowly blending into a fiery red. He loved it.
He wanted to pick it up, but it would die; he couldn’t take care of it or plant it anywhere in this situation.
Then the journey continued, walking through the soft plains, closer to the creeks. The water was nice and clear, a few fish swimming here and there.
He dipped his hands in it, it was cold, immediately making his fingers cramp slightly. The dried blood started washing away, leaving maroon streaks in the calm waves.
The blood…
He was still covered in it, needing to wash it off.
His shirt was starting to get hard and tough, his pants still sticky. There was even some in his hair, the end of his braid solid, like it was glued together.
Scott sat on the edge of the water bank, his feet touched the water causing shivers to run up his spine. It was too cold, but he needed to, he needed to get the blood off of him.
Then he dipped in further, the water reached his waist, making his pants heavy with water. The maroon was still creating streaks, now a lot more.
He cupped his hands, scooping up some water, it still swirled faintly red in his palms, but he didn't care. He brought it up to his lips, taking small sips, it tasted like iron, but he didn't care, he needed it.
It soothed his throat, which he didn't even notice was so dry. His lungs squeezed together, his teeth hurt, it was like ice.
He crouched, his shirt now into the water as well, this one was the worst, a steady stream of blood pouring out, a river the size of his torso drifting away from him.
Then his hair.
It was long and thick, a light shimmery blue with white streaks, bleached by the sun.
He tried to untie the small piece of leather holding it together, but it was hardened with blood, completely stiff.
He’d have to soak it first.
He scrubbed at his hands, his arms, his legs, until the skin started to split.
Then he dug under his nails too, scraping until those bled as well.
He scrubbed at his hair, pulling strands out of the braid, everything to get it off.
His skin started burning, red and raw, thick tears streaming over his cheeks.
Everything started getting heavier as he started noticing more things; his shirt sticking to his back, his hair now completely soaked and a dark teal, completely clean.
Clean…
The sheep’s blood was gone, entirely gone. The water had long turned a soft blue again.
Then Scott looked at his body, he really looked; his arms were red, long nail marks going from his fingers to his shoulder, they were slowly turning white before turning blue and silver from the tiny specks, oozing blood. His nails were worse, they were raised, the beds swollen and inflamed, bleeding heavily.
A sob escaped his throat, his knees threatening to give way.
The edge of the water was just close enough, he grabbed onto it, thick, slimy mud now covering him, it was stinging his fresh wounds.
Then he pulled himself up, arms shaking with effort.
He twisted himself to sit on the edge, he was panting, his heart racing.
He jumped as there were cracks behind him, he turned around, expecting someone, even something there, but there was nothing… He curled up, knees to his chest, tears starting to flow again, he couldn’t help them, everything hurt, he was alone, there was no one to help him, to even comfort him but himself, and look at how that ended!
A soft breeze blew through the open field making him curl up further, attempting to block out the cold, but it failed. His body shook, his teeth chattering, the bones slamming against each other with force, it was loud, too loud, he didn’t like it.
He needed to get moving, he knew that, but he didn't want to, the mud was starting to get warm, a nice, clinging hug, and the pain in his arms was grounding him.
But his body started moving again, his arms reaching out behind him, pushing himself up. His hands sunk into the mud, covering them in a thick layer.
He crouched down, careful not to tip forward as he put his hands back in the water, cleaning them. Then he stood up again, making the journey up the small hill hiding a thick, oak forest from the creeks.
He had to keep moving, his legs fighting him, shaking like the leaves in the wind, but he still managed to continue walking.
Shadows swallowed him again as he walked into the forest, the trees were massive, just like the one he had cut down, but these were closer to each other, the stems intertwining. There were birds chirping in the leaves above, a few insects crawling over the treebark.
The path to walk on was small, he could barely set one foot in front of the other, but he still kept going. He needed to get out of this forest and find some population, he missed the feeling of others around him, though he couldn’t remember how it felt.
The forest started to thin out again, light streaming through once more, blinding him, the sun was in front of him, it was past the middle of the sky. It was getting dark…
His surroundings soon turned from dark green and brown to a soft gold, there was sand everywhere, sticking to his still wet legs.
This place was weird, the place shouldn’t just change like this, right? Weren’t they supposed to gradually change?
Scott shook his head, it didn’t matter, he was here, and he had to keep going.
The sand was hot under his feet, the sandals he was wearing didn't really do anything except trap the sand in them, and not to mention the fact that the leather was still wet, making it also cling to the outside.
It would probably be better if he just took them off, which he eventually did after sagging into a small heap of soft and almost white sand, they were filled with sand to the point where he could barely see the soles, not that he had the best eyesight, but still.
The sand was burning his feet, a few stray sticks digging into them every so often, but it was better than his sandals.
There was a tall hill up ahead, it seemed to not be too steep. He took a few steps on it, his feet sliding back every so often.
It took a few minutes, but eventually he was at the top of the hill, his body even more exhausted than before, but hey, he had a good few of the area.
He could see the forest he had just passed through, the top full of green and fluttering birds, then on the opposite side, where he was going, there was another forest, it was less crowded, and it had white trees, birch, he thought.
He knew he had to keep going, but gods he was tired, and not to mention hungry, but he would be damned if he wasted any time or food, so he kept going, slowly treading down the hill, this side being steeper.
He stepped forward again, his foot soon slipping.
The way down went quicker, but he was more on edge; slipping was too easy.
He felt as though he wanted to kiss the ground once he reached the bottom of the hill. It was hot, he was sweating and his neck and back felt burned, it was painful.
— — —
The forest was a nice relief after the scorching desert, it offered shadow once more. But because of that it was cold, making him shiver violently.
Scott leaned back against one of the trees, the bark was like ice; stinging his burns.
His feet were still covered in sand, sticking to them like glue as they dried. His sandals, though, were finally clean, only the edges being covered by a few grains.
He cleaned his feet, slipping the sandals back on.
Then, the journey continued once more, everything looked the same; every tree, every bit of grass, every open field.
He didn't know if he'd ever get out…