Netori: Stealing The Hero's Party!

Chapter 878: Sorrow And Anger

The dark cave from whence Arche came, today it was full of the dying shrieks of horrors as well as Raven's screams as he beat the visage of his so-called mother with his bare fists. Cracking skull with his knuckles, all busted and his body covered in blood, the hero wandered in a daze, striking everyone and everything that came in his way. From horrors of flesh to those of corporal form, today, they knew the contempt of the hero.

Carving his way through the tunnel, slaughtering the beasts and the monsters as he went, Raven found himself drenched in blood, and although his heavy eyes ached, he held from bawling his eyes out–for in that he saw defeat–something he could not afford not before his fist shattered through Nerva's face.

"Nerva… Nerva! NERVA!!" Standing before the massive crater within which Arche used to live, he plunged himself into the darkness with every fibre of his being burning with corrosive darkness. Clad in an armor of dark and driven by his rage against a goddess, he slammed his fist into the bottom of the crater–shattering the base entirely. "HAAAA!"

As his body fell into a pool of dark water that was surfacing from within the shattered ground, he glanced up into the cave's ceiling and finally screamed his heart out. The sorrows of losing a child before they were even born were eating away at him from the inside like a parasite gnawing at his heart.

His screams echoed through the ditch, and his voice rippled through the dark water like a current in a river. Bashing his head against the walls, the hero raged against himself, his weaknesses, and the fact that he allowed such a thing to happen in the first place. But of course, none of it was his fault. It was Nerva who, out of pure spite, cursed those women.

And now, as they lay in bed, their legs all bloodied from–a horror had taken hold in their hearts. The horror of who knows how many potential miscarriages in the future, and the doubt in oneself for being an inadequate parent before their child was even born. Having saved Raven from the worst of it, both Brenna and Lady Grey knew what would happen to those women. Cursing themselves and their bodies for something that they had no control over.

Alas, Raven felt no different–though his anger was far more primal and directed. He knew that Nerva was at fault and that the dream they'd all had was but a warning for him against having any more children.

"That accursed woman–" A light touch of a hand resting on his shoulder, exacted a quick round smack from Raven's hand. But to his surprise, his hand phased through the body of the woman who was standing behind him. Taking a step away from her, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her translucent form. "Who are you?"

Before him stood the apparition of a pale dark elf with a pixie haircut, smiling at the hero. She parted her lips, and the moment words came out of her mouth, Raven was reminded of who exactly she was.

"Forgot about me already?" Looking at her back at her shoulder blades, she smirked. "Maybe because I no longer have those parasite wings on me. Still, I thought you'd remember. Our meeting and goodbye were quite memorable after all."

As her eyes met his again, Raven took a step forward with his hand stretched outward. Trying to touch her, his hand phased through her body.

"Lilith? But… how?" The dark elf plagued by the parasitic wings who'd helped the hero and his party long ago to get rid of a clan of dark elves at the edge of Elenaris. She stood before him, dead yet in the world of the living–as a spirit, though far from spiteful. "I thought you were gone already."

Despite his fingers passing through her skin, Lilith leaned into Raven's touch and pushed her cheek against his palm. Holding his hand, also not being able to touch him, she smiled at the hero and whispered with her eyes closed.

"I was always here. In this forest, looking after this place after you helped me rid this verdant place of my parasite of a clan." Opening her eyes, she looked at him with the faintest of smiles. "I tried not to stick out too much, but I couldn't stay quiet watching you suffer."

Slowly, as Raven pulled his hand away from her and his eyes lost their rage, Lilith stood straight once more and told him what she knew about his predicament.

"I know what troubles you, Raven. But you have to be strong," moving closer to him, she pressed her hands against his pounding chest. Keeping her face inches from his, Lilith tried caressing his cheek, but her fingers phased right through him. "Once you gave me strength, and maybe now it's time for me to return that favor."

"How?" He asked, his eyes trembling with a bit of numbness.

With a brief chuckle, Lilith pressed her lips against his, and although the touch was felt as a rush of cold air, something within the hero stirred. Pulling her head away, she looked him in the eye again.

"You've come so far, you've sacrificed so much, I trust you to be strong–because you are my savior." Closing her eyes, a gentle smile rested on Lilith's face. She chuckled while a look of remembrance loomed over her translucent face. "A pathetic goddess cannot defeat you, I know, because you've escaped death once and defied the odds to get here."

Opening her eyes again, she heaved a sigh, smiling.

"And most important of all." Taking a step back, her body began to melt into the air. "You promised me that you will cure the rot, and I know you will–for me and for everyone who has placed their trust and love in you…"

As her body disappeared, Raven was left to wonder if he'd truly seen Lilith after all this time or if he'd simply hallucinated the conversation as a means to subconsciously contain himself. Either way, after listening to her talk and being reminded of his promise, the hero reached into his pocket and produced that piece of wire that once belonged to Lilith as a weapon.

'Why do I still have this?' He wondered, only to be reminded of the promises he'd made along the way. Not just to her, but to the countless others who were now depending on him to deliver them into brighter days.

Lifting his head to the ceiling, he loosened his shoulders and realized something. This burden of responsibility that he had considered his weakness was just as much of a sword that could be driven forward into the heart of the enemy. And all it took was a reminder from the simpler days–whether that was real or not, didn't matter, as it was time to return home and plot his next step, be it his next step as a general or bloody brutal revenge.