My heart aches.I called them friends, yet that didn't stop them from driving their blades through my chest.
It hurts.Why am I still alive?
I look up at the sky. I wonder.Would things have ended differently if I were just a little stronger? Maybe wiser? Smarter? Prettier? More thoughtful? More cunning?
These thoughts swirl in Garrett's mind as he lies on the ground, one hand pressed against his torn chest, riddled with holes.Holes from the blades of the very people he called comrades.
He stares at the sky, lips twitching into a bitter smile, pain distorting his face."Shit," he mutters.
He's been lying here for over an hour, waiting for death to come.But it won't.
His body's slow, agonizing healing keeps him from dying quickly, just enough regeneration to keep him alive, but not enough to save him.He bleeds and heals, bleeds and heals, stuck in a cruel loop of suffering.
He closes his eyes, ready to say goodbye to the world, however long it might take.
Then a hiss.
From the corner of his eye, he sees a snake.
Not just any snake, this one has three heads.
The left head hisses, its tone amused:"Look at him. I think it's hilarious."
The right one speaks more softly:"Poor creature. He looks confused."
The middle head leans closer, voice colder, sharper:"Well, little one… are you in pain?"
Garrett blinks.A three-headed snake? There's no such thing. Not in the wild, not in the myth-books. This must be some hallucination brought on by blood loss.Still… he can't help but listen.
The left head chuckles:"How does it feel? Dying slowly, too weak to live, too broken to die?"
The right one whispers:"It's not his fault. He doesn't have what it takes. He was born like this. Just like us with three heads."
The middle one sneers:"Being born flawed and being born burdened are not the same, brothers."
Garrett frowns. This has to be a dream.A talking three-headed snake? Seriously?
He weakly lifts one arm, gathers what little strength he has left, and swipes at the creature.The snake doesn't move.
He misses by a wide margin.
The left head laughs."Look, brothers, he tried to hit us."
The right head hums:"He doesn't even believe we're real."
The middle one says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet—until it asks:
"Do you want to live?"
The left and right heads recoil, shocked."We can't !""No, no, this isn't what we planned!""We need a better vessel!"
But the middle one only repeats:"He's alright."
Still confused, Garrett lowers his hand. He no longer looks at the sky.Instead, he turns and locks eyes with the snake.
Right side up now.
"Of course I want to live," Garrett snarled.
"I want to live and I want revenge."
His voice shook with pain, rage, and despair.
"They called themselves my friends, and yet they killed me.They drained me like cattle. Just for a damn ritual.All because I regenerate."
The left snake hissed softly."We saw it all. Don't worry."
The right snake shook its head."He's not the right one. We shouldn't choose him," it muttered, still trying to convince the middle head.
But Garrett was barely listening now. He watched the snake coil around itself, the three heads murmuring to each other in circles.Who's really in control here? He wondered.
The middle head turned to him slowly, eyes sharper than razors."I am," it said. "I am in control of this body."
Garrett's eyes widened. Did it read my thoughts?
"I can hear you just fine," the middle head continued."You're dying. Slowly, but surely. And I've heard your wish…"
It leaned closer, and its three sets of eyes glinted in the pale light.
"Let's make a deal."
"You will live," it whispered."We will grant you power enough to avenge yourself. Enough to make them suffer."
"In return," the right snake added, reluctantly,"You give us what we want."
The left one smirked."Nothing to lose now, right?"
Garrett stared at them. For a moment, all he heard was the wet rasp of his breath.His fingers twitched in the blood pooling around him.
"What is there left to lose?" he muttered.
The deal was sealed.
All three snakes hissed in unison and then lunged.
Their fangs sank into his chest.
Garrett's body arched as a sharp heat exploded in his core. He gasped, choking on his breath as fire filled his lungs, his veins, his very soul.
His back shot off the ground. He reached for air, fingers clawing at nothing.
Something was burning inside him.
And then he screamed as the snakes slithered down his throat.
Garrett's eyes shot open.
He gasped, head jerking up, scanning the forest around him.
What just happened…?It felt like a dream. No, a nightmare.
His heart pounded in his ears as he looked around, disoriented. Slowly, he sat up—and then froze.
His chest. The wounds were gone. He tore open his shirt, fingers trembling.No holes. No scars. No blood.
Nothing.
His regeneration had done something for the first time in his life.Usually, it took hours just to heal a shallow cut. Days for deeper wounds, depending on how bad they were.But now? He'd been healed completely. Within hours. Maybe even minutes.
What the hell is going on…?
He stood, turning in place, eyes scanning the forest floor. The ritual circle drawn by his so-called "friends" was still faintly visible. The ground was scuffed and stained, remnants of the fight still etched into the earth.
But the snake, the three-headed snake, was gone.
He scratched the back of his head, trying to make sense of it.Did I imagine it? It bit me, I'm sure it did.
He pulled off his shirt again and checked his chest more carefully.No punctures. Not even bruises.The skin was flawless, smooth, too perfect.
Even the stab wounds from the betrayal were gone. No proof. No scars. No story left to tell.
"I guess… it was just a dream," he muttered.
But he didn't believe it. He stood in the same cursed spot right here, where Philgrim, Anya, and Elvis had turned on him. Right here, on the edge of the Spectral Grounds, they had taken his freedom, stripped his life away, and bled him like cattle for some damned artifact.
His hands clenched.
He looked down, spotting something glinting beneath a patch of moss.
His dagger.
The one Philgrim had kicked away at the start of the fight.
Garrett knelt and picked it up, thumbing the blade. Still sharp. Still his.
He slid it into his belt, pulled his shirt back on, and began walking toward the edge of the woods.
Night had already begun to fall.Navigating the forest would be difficult in the dark, but he didn't stop.
He kept walking.Forward.Toward something.