Five days had passed since Servi, Momo, and the rest of their friends had dinner at the restaurant. Fisher Jin walked alone on the street as he made his way home. It was dark out, and he was stuck at the headquarters until it was late. 8:32 PM, to be exact. Today was the day he told his class-- yes, his class-- about their final exam.
I can’t believe it. I actually think of those Demis as my class. Fisher Jin, you fool, you have got to be going senile.
As he walked home, his mind wandered to a place: a village. Now, it was nothing more than a memory. But it was worse than that. He couldn’t remember the color of the pretty stone he gave to his sister on that fateful morning, nor could Fisher remember the name of his loyal cat who guarded him while he slept.
Fisher blinked twice. First, he saw the dark and empty street in front of him, felt the weight of his armor, smelled the meaty scent from a cooked steak a street over, and enjoyed the warm nightly air caress his face. After the second blink, it felt like he was transported back through time.
The dark alley disappeared, and the night sky was no longer in his view.
The village standing before Fisher wasn't anything special. It had 18 buildings, three of which were designated as storehouses for food and supplies.
It wasn’t night, and he couldn’t see the moon. He saw the yellow sun, shining down its glorious rays upon the world, and the beautiful blue lake that ran right beside his village.
Fisher knew what he saw was a reconstruction of his past by his mind. It wasn’t the first time he had seen this.
The events that took place on that fateful day changed him forever. He went from a loving boy who lived with his sister to becoming a man with a hard heart that had the blood of many Demis, innocent and guilty, on his hands.
Fisher walked around, seeing the little kids play with a rock nearby. One boy looked straight through him, but he wasn’t staring at Fisher. He was just a memory, and try as he might, he would be unable to affect the past in any way.
Right about now, I should be….
Fisher walked through the village, eyeing the few plots of farmland that grew tomatoes and carrots and the small huts that were built with love. From the age of 8 to 14, he had worked the fields for half the day before going out to play. He solemnly smiled as he recognized the innocent boy running his way.
The ever-flowing brown hair rustling in the wind lightly slapped against his forehead. The innocent brown eyes that always stared towards the future, a partly torn white shirt that had been sewed up multiple times, black shorts with two holes, and no shoes: it was beyond doubt a sight for Fisher's sore eyes. The boy quickly ran into the field and started to pick up the weeds that stole nutrients meant for the crops. All the while, he had the biggest smile on his face. Tonight was the night his sister would make a stew using the vegetables she brought back from working in a nearby field. It was his favorite meal.
Fisher stood off to the side and smiled. He knew that nothing would happen if he walked up to his past self, but he wanted to give the boy some privacy.
It seems it's about 8 AM. The attack doesn’t happen for another few hours.
It looked like Fisher was a masochist for always going back to the single moment in his history that changed him, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to admit it, but whenever his hate for those damn Demi-Humans started to waver, it was like his soul forced him to re-experience the most traumatic moment in his life to reignite that dimming flame of hatred. For nearly a decade, his mind focused on getting revenge.
But he did get revenge. On the very first day, in fact. But his soul yearned for more.
He and his family were generous and helpful. Hell, the entire village was available to all who needed help. Even Singi strangers and Elven travelers received assistance, even though they were Demis.
My soul has to be punishing me, right? It's always punishing me. He lamented as he walked through the village.
Over to the right, sitting on the rocking chair, was Ms. Nodle. Her wavy blond hair and intelligent, green eyes were the talk of the village when she first showed up. Being one of the only teachers around, she was the first love of many boys and some girls. She was kind and beautiful, but soon her head would be on a Kobold’s spear. Her body would be defiled and bit into by a Singi with one eye. His rotten teeth would tear her nape from her flesh and devour it like a tiger would a raw chicken.
Sitting beside her was her precious dog, Mutton. He, too, would suffer the same fate as his master. He was a good ole dog who never once growled or barked. He enjoyed the easy, soothing life of sleeping in the sunlight. Every few hours, Mutton would walk himself over to the orphanage and lay down in the shade. When the children would come out for recess, he'd soak up all the loving and petting he'd receive from them.
Ms. Nodle, I wish you could see me now, but you’d probably be disappointed with how I turned out. I have a family, though. I might be a shitty man, but I swear I’ll raise my daughters right. I’ll do all I can to make sure they’ll turn out better than me. Maybe that’s how I can make amends...
The justice captain just sighed and walked forward. The sun in the sky jumped ahead, and he realized it was 9 AM. Fisher saw a little girl and her older brother walking down the dirt road. He held a small bag in his left hand and her hand in his right. They shared the same hair and eye color, yet the scar plastered across their faces mirrored each other. Fisher never knew their story, but that was fine. His sister had told him it wasn't very nice to pry into the private lives of others, and he took that lesson to heart.
They were the Tsuka siblings. A year ago, when Fisher was 13, the two siblings just wandered into town in the middle of the night. Fisher’s sister was the first to find them since they collapsed in front of their house.
Fisher wasn’t exactly close to them, but he did like them. However, they were fated to die. The only ones who would be alive by the end of the day would be Fisher and Arnold. Speaking of his former friend, Fisher decided to change directions and made his way to a little wooden pier beside the river.
He had been subjected to this memory so often that he knew where everyone was and what times they would die, but Fisher didn’t know how he knew that.
It’s possible that the things I personally didn’t experience or see, like Arnold fishing, were something my mind and soul made up. Even if he did love to fish, he was probably doing something else at the time.
He only saw Arnold for the first time that day when he stood over a Kobold's corpse. Arnold took one look at both Fisher and the corpse, then declared that Fisher had started to dispense justice to the foul bandits. That was after he held a sword for the first time and when he took a life for the first time.
Even though it was his first time holding a weapon, he undoubtedly showed so much skill that an outsider would’ve thought he’d been training for years. The lone Kobold, the leader of the bandits, died instantly. Rage and anger fueled Fisher’s sword arm. He didn’t know how he knew the right spots to attack or the right moments to dodge, but it had something to do with his God. His name was Blethor, a Major God of Combat. Being blessed by a God of Combat meant that the skills he acquired by being blessed were little to none, but he was blessed with an above-average understanding of combat that only grew as he got older. The skills didn’t matter since he eventually learned them from Warden.
This moment was also the origin of his nickname. Arnold must’ve overheard the Kobold, who led the bandits, preach about bringing justice to the Demis by killing Humans. Fisher brought justice to his fallen friends killing the Demi-Human bandits. Arnold then had an idea and figured that turning the concept of justice around on the bandits would be effective.
And it was. It was more effective than Arnold ever imagined it would be. His sick sense of justice was one of the cornerstones that made the Fisher into the 'justice captain' he would eventually become.
The rest of them fled, with terror filling their minds after seeing their brave leader fall in battle after Arnold's declaration. But Fisher wouldn’t let them. In an unbridled and blood lusted rage, the young Fisher screamed as he ran towards the retreating bandits. Blood soiled and soaked the ground that night. Even as they begged him and they prostrated themselves before him, he massacred them. He wasn’t thinking straight, and he only saw blood. At that moment, the concept of mercy did not exist.
But he didn’t have to reminisce on that now. It wouldn’t be long until he would be a sideline witness to the two massacres that occurred that day: one committed by the bandits and one perpetrated by a young boy who lost himself to rage.
Yep, there he is. He thought. The village was behind him, and a single young man, aged 14, was sitting on a stool. He had a wooden rod with a string and a hook attached to it, and he tossed it out. The neatly stylized tuff of blond hair was warmed by the hot sun, and Arnold's green eyes stared out towards the still surface of the azure lake.
It was still around 9 AM.
“You know, I love fishing. I really do. Hey, why don’t we talk?” Arnold suddenly said. Fisher wasn’t alarmed. Not at all. He knew it was his mind and soul making the young Arnold in front of him speak. Perhaps it was because of his current mental state, but the hair on Arnold's head kept flashing from brown to blonde to red and back to brown.
“If I’m already this crazy, then I should go all the way. What kind of man ends up trapped in his own horrors and can’t get out?” Fisher said. He still had on his black armor that said ‘Justice.’ His sword was still on his hip, and his nadrium dagger sat nearby on the back of his waist.
“You should know how to get out already,” the younger Arnold pulled his makeshift fishing rod back in, clicked his tongue, and tossed it back out.
“I do. But it’s not right. My students are not at fault.” Fisher grabbed a stool and sat down beside his former friend. Well, it was just a phantom created by his psyche.
“But it is right. Those bastards killed everyone we loved.”
“Not every Kobold will be or act the same as the one who attacked us. Just like not every Human will be as caring or loving as my sister."
“But can you take the chance? Kobolds are a violent race, strong and easy to anger, with the stamina to last for days without rest. They don’t deserve freedom.”
“That’s not true.”
Young Arnold turned to Fisher and shook his head. “You were the one who told me that. Are you denying your younger self? You know what that would mean, right?”
“…” Fisher stayed silent.
“See? You’re just preaching the same shit that other people say, and just like them, you know it to be fake. Demi-Humans can’t be trusted. They just can’t.”
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“I’m a teacher now. I'm not just the captain anymore.”
“I know,” Young Arnold felt a tug on his rod, but it was too late. He yanked it back and missed the opportunity to catch a fish.
“There’s two Koena, two Dwarves, and a single Kobold.”
“I know that, too. Why haven’t you killed the green bastard?”
“I can’t. I know Feral isn't like the one who attacked us."
“You’re lying. You know that sack of shit is the same. The only good Demi is a dead Demi.” Young Arnold put a worm on his hook and cast his line back out. “Do you remember who told me that?”
“…” Fisher stayed silent.
“There’s no use in staying silent, my friend. After all, you were the one who told me that. I believe it was right after I christened you the nickname ‘Justice.’ That silver sword dripped with their blood, and you and I were the only ones alive. Your poor sister died, you know. I’d imagine it was quite painful.”
“You don’t think I know that?!”
“Then how come every time you have this flashback, you come straight to me? I know you hate me, but you really should see your sister. Even if it's just a fickle imagination produced by your mind, which is the same as me, surely you want to gaze your brown eyes upon her uninjured form one last time before she's brutalized.”
Fisher slammed down on the wooden pier with his foot, but the impact produced no sound.
That didn’t scare Arnold. He just kept talking. “If only you could’ve saved her. Why did you tremble and hesitate at first? I believe if you would’ve picked up a sword sooner, then most of the village would still be alive. Then maybe I would’ve been alive too.”
“So, you’re dead?”
“I am. But you already knew that. After all, I’m only a product of your mind. Your trauma. The fact that I’m still here proves you’re weak.”
“I guess you can’t tell me how you died?”
"I can't. If you don't know, then I can't tell you. And it doesn’t matter. It’s all your fault I’m dead. If you would’ve picked up a sword sooner and fought sooner and saved us sooner, then we’d still be here with the village. Perhaps one of us would be married to Ms.Nodle. Or maybe one of the other girls. You probably would’ve become an uncle.”
“Just shut up.” Fisher felt like all the strength left his body. The sun dashed ahead in the sky, and it was suddenly 10 AM. One hour remained until the fateful moment.
“I can’t do that. If you want to stop seeing this-- to stop coming back to this moment-- you need to get stronger. Hell, you know what you have to do, so fucking do it!”
“I can’t! I JUST CAN’T!” Fisher stood up, grabbed the chair he sat on, and threw it into the lake. Before it hit the water, disturbing the still surface that reflected the white clouds and blue skies above, the chair suddenly appeared back in front of him.
“Then you’re weak. And you don’t deserve the Justice Captain name.”
“I never wanted it. You’re the one who gave it to me.”
“Did I?” asked Young Arnold. He dropped his fishing rod and turned to Fisher.
“You did. Didn’t you?” Fisher muttered slowly.
“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. I only know what you know. You know how to get rid of me. Didn’t I tell you that already? It feels like I’m repeating myself, but you know why I’m doing that.”
“Just leave!!” Fisher shouted.
“Make me. You know what you have to do, but you’re so fucking weak,” taunted Arnold.
Just then, the sun moved ahead, the blue sky turned red, and the screams began.
Fisher didn’t dare to look back. Even as he heard his sister cry for help or Ms. Nodle begging the Gods for help. Or even when the Tsuka siblings became nothing more than a chew toy for the bandits’ attack dogs. The smell of blood and fire filled the air around him. Dead fish from the river floated up to the surface, and the yellow sun was in the process of turning black.
It was a far more horrific sight than what happened. The now black sun started to drip blood-like world-destroying meteors, and the ground around him shook as the meteors brought destruction.
The world that was his mind-- that was his source of horrors and regrets and pain and agony and anguish and hatred--faced him head-on.
Fisher Jin, Captain of the Guard, father, and husband. Was he strong enough?
No.
But could he ever become powerful enough? Was it possible for him to find the internal strength to overcome the nightmares and become a better person?
He didn’t know.
“That’s right. Just cry and rely on the only thing you can. The only good Demi is a dead Demi. You taught AND told me that, so rely on it. Let the hate give you strength. We both know you practically preached that during our time roaming the countryside. So much death and despair... Tell me, how many liters of blood have you spilled?"
Fisher stayed quiet.
"Then, how about this? This is the fifteenth time your mind and soul have showed you this, and you’ve failed fourteen times. Do you really have it in you to go another round?”
The sky started to shake, and even more blood-like meteorites fell. It almost like the world was ending.
Raising his head, Fisher found out that only the little pier remained. The world had nothing else in it. It had flickered out of existence.
He was surrounded by an ever-growing black sea filled with blood and bodies.
Tears flowed from his eyes, and he fell to his knees. The black armor he hated more than anything was something people regarded as an indestructible shield of justice worthy of the justice captain. But to Fisher himself, it was nothing more than wet paper, which was why it suddenly tore away and left him with a white shirt and a pair of white shorts. He put his hand to his sword, but it crumbled like old plaster.
The world began to grow. Or so Fisher thought. He then realized that he was in the body of his 14-year-old self.
He was regressing to his younger self: the one that was assaulted by anger and hatred. The one who wished death on Demi-Humans all over the world. The old, the sick, the frail, the young, the children, the babies. He wanted to damn them all. In his mind, if they weren't Human, then they deserved to die.
He was the Fisher that Fisher never wanted to be. Not again.
But he was weak to fight against it. He needed that anger and the thought that he was right to keep going.