Will

It was the cold that woke him up that morning, frosting his breath and sending shivers down his spine.

He supposed what surprised him the most was the fact that there was no snow yet, even in the chilly early autumn weather. Looking down at the villages, the altitude he was at ought to be covered in snow. Hell, by the way the breeze penetrated his relatively thin clothing, he ought to be knee deep in the fluffy white stuff.

Will set his gaze to the left of him, and he could see a bit of the Urtha gulf. The massive city, called after the own kingdom of Urtha, was covered in the usual morning mist that rendered it practically invisible until noon. He'd be able to see the city in a few hours. It wasn't like he wanted to see the gold capped white towers of King Darius's palace, not like he wished to see the pointless show of power and wealth of the kingdom. Not while his friend lay dead behind him. Because of him.

He sighed deeply. His chest ached painfully. The day was shit from the start.

Kneeling down next to Jon, Will silently prepared what few tools and items he had left. He hadn't seen a point to hunt after Jon had passed, not when his meager supply of dried jerky was sustaining him well enough. Plus, he wasn't sure how well the occasional mountain rabbit would taste, or even how healthy they'd be. With the lack of vegetation near Mount Wyvern, animals didn't have the right to be picky with food. Sickly yellow weeds were still food.

Will lifted the boy into his arms. It would never cease to surprise him how cold Jon's corpse was, how stiff and unmoving. Death wasn't something pretty, and usually after causing it Will's job would be over. He'd never interacted with dead bodies longer than he should, hadn't even checked his wife and daughter's corpses after that demon burned them in their house. That sick fuck. More reasons to kill the Wizard and his demons kept popping up, each more convincing than the last. It was time to cut the snake's head off, rid these lands of his evil once and for all. Maybe kill Seraph as well if he could get his hands on him. Then he'd kill himself, purpose fulfilled. For years, he'd existed without purpose and wondered why he was still alive. Here it was now. A purpose, and he was completely at ease with it. Death comes to all.

For now, Mount Wyvern was waiting for him, the gaping chasm calling his name. He answered with the full force of his hateful heart.

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After a bit, he had to tie Jon's still body to his back, as climbing now required both hands to get the job done. He used his trusty rope to safely secure the boy, breastplate and all. He deserved to be buried in his armor and with his weapon, like a true warrior.

'I'm doing this for the honor of my family,' he thought to himself. 'I'm doing this to help those who could not help themselves.'

'I'm doing this because my ego and heavy conscience demand it.'

"No," he said out loud, pausing for breath. "I'm nothing now. I'm a nobody. I have no reason to protect my ego."

Perhaps we simply hold different opinions of insanity. For example, I find a man who is willing to risk everything for revenge quite insane. I find a man who pretends like he's doing it for the memory of his family, hiding his true motive, insane.

"I'm going to slit your throat, foul creature. I don't know how you grew so large or how you got so fast and strong, and I don't care. Moonsaw will cut through you."

'Flamefist. For one last time. The world needs you,' some part of him whispered in his head.

"No," he said again, warring with his own thoughts and feelings. "I'm not Flamefist anymore. I'm Will Paragon."

'Talking to yourself, Paragon? Maybe you really are insane.'

"Maybe I really am," Will echoed. He thought for a moment, then laughed. Now he really felt like a lunatic. He was carrying the corpse of the boy that had come to be his friend on his back, traveling up a mountain to stop an evil sorcerer. He laughed again, almost losing his holding. Will wouldn't have minded.

Something bright flared in his periphal vision, and he fought back the urge to shield his eyes. That was a hand he couldn't afford to use for anything other than grasping the rough grey rocks that led to the Wizard's home, the chasm in Mount Wyvern. Squinting his eyes, he gazed across the horizon, towards Urtha. Great Urtha, The White City, The City of Mist, capital of the great kingdom of Urtha, now free of its morning mist. It was much more disgusting knowing that Darius's father, King Jeric, named the capital and entire kingdom after his wife and Darius's mother. What a bunch of stuck up assholes.

There they were. The gold capped towers of the grand Urtha palace. Some poor fellow would have to climb up every month and make sure the tips were gleaming and shining gold. Apparently many workers have lost their lives from slipping off the tower. The white palace stood out between smaller white mansions, the ministers' residencies, which in turn stood out from between smaller white buildings that housed the elite. The ministers were the ones who truly ruled behind the scenes, keeping a balance between a happy king and content citizens. Which was working... For now. Will always wondered how long it would take for the people to realize that they were slowly but steadily growing more poor as the ministers grew more corrupt. It was a delicate balance that was slowly tipping.

That snapped him out of his temporal state of unclarity, and he literally shook it out of his head. He had a job to do. What was he thinking, giving up before he completed his goal?

'Flamefist,' the voice in his head whispered again. 'Flamefist doesn't give up. Will was a tired, depressed alcoholic. You're Flamefist.'

Will didn't have an answer to that.

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He almost reached the massive opening of Mount Wyvern that sunset, but he chose to rest in a small cave below the Wizard's base. Not even the mountain wolves broke the silence here. Otherwise the peak was identical to the rest of the mountain in terms of appearance, grey and rocky and harsh. The incoming sense of dread, the tingling in the air, those were just figments of his imagination. Dragons weren't real. Magic wasn't real. Wizards weren't real. Will had enough experience with fake personalities to know them on sight.

'Flamefist wasn't a fake personality,' scolded the voice. 'It was part of you. It became you.'

"Whatever," he replied gruffly, gently laying Jon's cold body on the smooth stone floor. "Now leave me alone. I need to be me when I face the Wizard. When I kill him for ruining my life. For killing my family."

Perhaps we simply hold different opinions of insanity.

Will was too tired to argue against the party of voices in his own head. He curled up on the floor next to Jon and closed his eyes. It was the third night without Jon. And the second night with a nightmare.

The same one, in fact.

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Similarly, he woke up somewhere near midnight, feeling as exhausted as he was before he went to sleep.

"Gods," he murmured. "I haven't asked for your guidance for... A long time. But I need you now. I think I'm losing my mind."

Will waited for a few minutes, for some kind of miracle or sign. Nothing came.

'Maybe the Wizard is above the gods,' a sly part of him suggested. 'Maybe they can't hear you. Maybe they don't care about you after those years of neglect.'

He clapped his palms to the sides of his temple and screamed, writhing on the floor. The pain in his chest was irrelevant. His tiredness was irrelevant. He wanted to be done. Thankfully, the Wizard was just a short hike above him. Finally, he would be done with everything. It was time for him to die.

'The world still needs Flamefist.'

"WELL, I DON'T! I DON'T NEED HIM, SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

There was no response from the voice inside him, the voice he started associating with Flamefist. So he curled up again, feeling more miserable than his throbbing chest. A few minutes later, he fell asleep.

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He woke up a bit later than he intended, and the sun was almost directly overhead. His destination was, after all, about twenty minutes away, and he was still getting over the fact that today was the day he would die.

Will stared at his scarred right hand. He closed it into a fist, then relaxed it. He closed it again, then opened it again. Wasn't it strange how a single fictional moment had defined him for the rest of his life? How he burnt most of his right arm was a simpler and admittedly sillier story, one he wasn't willing to recall at the moment.

It began to play in his mind automatically, like telling a child not to touch the jar of cookies on the counter, like handing someone a scroll and telling him/her not to read it at any cost, because we always want what we cannot get. Because we always get what we do not want.

He shut his brain down, using all of his mental effort to keep his thoughts calm and collected, to keep a clear mind. Surprisingly, it worked. No voices interfered.

Will turned to the corpse of his friend. The smooth skin was now pale and ashy. A blank expression stood where Jon's usual soft features would be.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His eyes felt hot and dry, like a dried up lake in the Xericity Desert. He was definitely dehydrated, possibly sick. "I'm sorry."

Kneeling down, he gathered the light, slim husk of what used to be Jonathan Solaris in his arms. He didn't bother to check if he had all of his tools and supplies. He was going to die today, and he had everything he needed for that. Will would kill the Wizard, then die among friends.

It seemed fitting, no? A friend to bury and a friend to slay with. A friend he had killed and a friend he would kill himself with.

His journey started with him and Moonsaw. The blade had been with him through smooth and rough sailing, through love and peace, through blood and bone. The blade wasn't magical, but it had always been Will's best friend, and it was about time he showed respect to the blade again.

It gleamed on his waist as he carried Jon out of the small cave and up the mountain, which had begun to even out as he neared the chasm at the peak. The blade wouldn't mind ending his life, resting deep in his chest until after many years some brave explorer would get some guts to climb the abandoned Mount Wyvern in search of treasure and fame, and he/she would find Will's rotted corpse alongside the Wizard's head. Hopefully that adventurer would take his sword and the Wizard's head. Hopefully he/she would spread the tale of how Will rid the lands of the Wizard's presence. A final redemption. And even if the adventurer took credit for himself/herself... Will hoped his/her fate wouldn't be the same as the mighty Flamefist's. As they said in his hometown, the longer the climb the harder the fall. Or something like that.

Will looked up, and he found himself at the entrance of Mount Wyvern. The cave was like an abyss of darkness, a gaping void of death, a shadow of a creeping predator. Finally. His quest was almost done. The journey was near its end, after a load of pain and loss.

"For my beautiful Cassandra," he breathed through waves of pain and exerted effort. His voice echoed softly through the cold unknown space, but he didn't feel cold at that moment. "For my little princess Annie. For Jonathan Solaris. For Will 'Flamefist' Paragon. For everyone you have killed, you worthless smear of feculent shit. I'll see you in hell, and I'll personally make sure every one of your days lasts a million years. You and your demons, especially the ones named Azrael and Seraph."

Holding the boy's corpse like his life depended on it, which in his fucked up head it did, Will Paragon took a deep breath.

Then he stepped into the Wizard's lair.

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Oh my. This was so difficult to write. I had to put myself in the place of a hopeless man, someone who had been fed up with life and everything he had experienced. And only a few months ago, I was that man. Cold. Desperate. Numb.

Needless to say, I very much sympathize with this character and all he has been put through. I sympathize with poor Jon, who expected too much from the world around him.

The world isn't fair. It can be very cruel to you, and you might want to just be done with everything. But we all have a purpose in life. We just have to find it. And you should never rest until you've fulfilled that purpose, until you've made a positive change on the world or those around you. Leaving everything behind doesn't help anyone, and it's a coward's way out.

It doesn't get rid of the pain, it just passes it on to other people.

Never give up. Things WILL get better. I'm a living breathing example of that. If you need anything, or just someone to talk to, please, my DMs are open. Please don't hesitate to hit me up. I would never judge you for anything.

Next chapter will be pretty tricky to write, so it might take a bit to get my thoughts together. As always, have a wonderful day/evening.