Freefall.
Of the fears bestowed to n, there are only two with which we are born. Our fear of sudden noises and that of great heights. It is ironic, then, that so n seek to conquer those heights, and from upon great peaks, fling themselves unto the earth.
Freefall.
A contradiction. For to fall, steered by the will of gravity, is not to be free.
But in the torrent of wild wind that pushed against Han’s fall, he found the word fitting. And for a few instants, in the joy of it all, he forgot to spread his wings.
’Fuck, I need to focus.’ His mind was already tiring in the background, trying to find an angle with which he could glide safely towards the crimson mansion.
He found it several ters into his mad dive, and spread his wings so that they would direct him to the imaginary angle his mind had derived.
A strenuous exercise this was, like holding a weight steady with outstretched arms. And with a large chunk of his health gone, he found himself blacking out between quickly plumting altitudes.
Still, he smiled.
Even if this was not true flight, he felt as if a bird gliding through the skies. An inexperienced chick of a bird with erratic, nonsensical flight patterns, but a bird nonetheless.
’Fucking sentry dogs,’ he thought, the adrenaline rush like euphoria to his mind. "You can’t kill !" he shouted to the skies, hoping the Arcitect could hear him. "You hear ! I won’t die."
And as if in response to his proclamation, a buzzing sound echoed behind him.
’I just had to open my mouth, didn’t I?’
Han struggled to turn his body around so that he could have a good view of what was happening.
Both his bees, now puppets to the sentries, were plutting towards him. However, his own bee had managed to carry out its final task before its death and eventual undeath. It had torn both the enemy bee’s —and its own— wings to tatters.
There would be no true flight for anyone.
’If the physics textbooks weren’t lying, all objects should fall at the sa rate save for air-resistance,’ he thought with a smile. And his mind had already processed the little details. The bees were heavier, yes, but their surface areas were way larger than his.
All he had to do to get to the crimson mansion first was reduce it even further.
And so, he closed his wings and held his arms tightly to the sides of his body.
He plumted even further, leaving the sentries behind.
He began laughing. "Do you see , Chul!" he shouted. "This is what a real phoenix looks like."
He was several dozen ters away from the crimson mansion now. He strained to open his wings to slow his descent; a gargantuan exercise at this speed.
They spread with a loud ruffle, and he spun wildly in the air, flailing his arms in an attempt to regain his balance.
After so struggle, he managed to gather himself.
From this distance, he could see it more clearly: the mansion.
He found that it wasn’t truly crimson. It was actually white.
However, an icon glowed crimson above it, just like the quest icon that had been above the convenience store, except this one had a crown.
’Is it another quest?’ he thought.
Quest or not, it would save him from the approaching monstrousities.
’Almost there,’ he reassured himself, noticing that his wings were beginning to ache from all the strain.
It was then that he saw it.
A ghost ship, ethereal blue under the touch of moonlight... the sa colour as the ocean, sailing skyward from the mansion towards him.
From the tip of its bow stood a man... no, the figure of a man, head replaced with a smiling pumpkin, pointing at him.
"Ahoy there, Icarus!"
Han stared in shock and awe as a gust of ocean wind knocked him back into the sky.
’Why? What the hell even is this?’ he thought, trying to steady himself.
It was only when he heard buzzing behind him did he realize the sentries had caught up.
One of his legs slamd into a sentry-bee, and its black rot began to eat away at his foot. It felt like ice had been injected into his bloodstream.
His mind didn’t have ti to process what was happening. His first instinct was to get away from the sentries. And so he flapped his wings —one great big flap— that sent him a few ters away from him.
He summoned his dagger and bit down on his tongue. With a savage slash, he dismbered his insectoid foot.
The pain sent flashes of white to his eyes.
『Warning!』
『Hp critically low.』
His world beca a fractured film, and in between mini-blackouts he could see his blood stringing into the air behind him.
He was still falling, but he did not have the strength to open his wings. Did not have the ntal fortitude to process real thought.
"Rising tides!" a voice bood from sowhere below him.
An instant later, a great torrent of water tore into the air, wiping the sentries from existence.
Han should’ve felt relief, but it did not co. For right in front of him, plumting right beside him, was the pumpkin-man.
"Now why would those wee little sentries be chasing another monster?" The voice was drowned by the roaring air around them.
『Warning!』
『Hp is approaching fatal minimum』
『Heal now.』
Han struggled to open his mouth, drawing on what little strength his pain-plagued mind could muster.
"Hu-Human. Ea-ear..."
His body began to freeze from the embrace of certain death, and he could find no strength to finish his sentence.
Freefall.
A contradiction. Free only in the choice to make that leap. And beyond that?
We are made puppets to the strings of fall. Puppets plumting to our deaths.
And Han the puppet could see no more.
Death.
*
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