I stood in front of a roaring flame, a large man hammering away at something on an anvil. I was short. Shorter than the anvil, even.

"■■■■■■■■! Do you see this?"

"Yes, dad."

"This is a fine blade, ■■■■■■■■."

"Yeah, dad. It's super cool! So when are you going to swing it?"

"Haha. No, son, this isn't for swinging. In fact, this isn't good enough. But someday. Our family will forge a blade worthy of our name, just you watch. Even if I can't make it, I'm sure you will."

"But dad, I want to become a swordsman! Not a blacksmith! Swordsmen are so much cooler! Why do I need to spend all day inside a forge?"

"Haha. What use are swordsmen in this modern age? No, son. They may be cooler, but they are also impractical."

"Then why make swords?"

"These are art, ■■■■■■■■. Its purpose may be to slay, but there is no need for such a thing. But they can still be a thing of beauty. Of art. Our family has a history with swords. Someday, you'll see. I believe in you. You'll craft the 'god slaying sword' someday."

"God… slaying sword?"

"A legend passed down in our family. Our ancestor believed he could craft a sword so fine it could even slay the gods. A silly legend, I know, but… I believe in it. Someday, we will craft a sword so fine it will reach the heavens. 'Deicide.' A fine name." He paused, letting his words linger in the air for a little while. "My son. I just know you will do great things."

My father grinned as he reached down and ruffled my hair.

~~~

Destiny shook his head.

"I don't remember much of my childhood. Just that one memory. What happened next… well, it's all I really remember from my time on Earth. I was a teenager at the time. Way later, you know?"

John shrugged. "So what, you've got amnesia, just like me. Just keep going."

Destiny nodded. "Alright. Here we go."

~~~

I woke up surrounded by metal, fire, and death. Underneath me was a fine, grainy substance. I couldn't see it well, but it felt like sand. Sand? Where was I? Right. The trip. My family. My sister. My parents. We were going on vacation. The plane started shaking, and then…

Everything hit me all at once. The plane had crashed. That explained the fire and the metal. Then how was I alive? How had I survived? I crawled to my feet, my head ringing with pain as I surveyed the area. The plane was up in flames, and I was a few feet away. How this had happened, I had no idea.

I wanted to go back in. See if anyone was still alive. But it was hopeless. There was no way anyone would still be alive in that mess. But my heart wouldn't accept it. I took a few steps before immediately falling back down, my body giving out.

"No…"

My vision slowly swam into darkness as I lost consciousness.

I woke up in a well-lit area. There were voices. Voices? It must've just been a bad dream. I was home, I was-

"He's awake, sir."

Who was that? The doctor? Was I in a hospital? Maybe someone had found me. I blinked a few times, but I couldn't see very well. This didn't look like home. And why would there be a doctor in the first place? My brain wasn't working right. It felt foggy, as if a heavy mist clouded my thoughts up.

"Hello? Do you remember your name? Where you're from?"

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but it hurt. My mouth was dry, my lips parched. Someone put a glass to my lips, and I greedily gulped down the water. I opened my mouth again to speak, only to realize something.

I couldn't remember. What was my name? Where was I from? A few things passed through my mind. Our family owned a blacksmith that made ornamental swords. I had parents and a sister. But I couldn't remember their faces. Their names.

I couldn't remember who I was.

"So you don't. That's good. It'll make things easier for us."

Easier for us? What did that mean?

I didn't have time to question it. Something was injected into my arm, and I fell asleep again. When I woke up, I was in an unfamiliar environment. Men and women in uniforms carrying weapons, running around and yelling. Bodies carried on stretchers, the sound of gunfire, screams of pain, as if I were in an active warzone.

I might as well have been.

From that point on, everything started blurring together. Information wasn't given easily, but I learned as I went. I was in a place known only as "The Camp." A private, secret mercenary organization that used only the most elite of the elite.

Their screening process guaranteed it. It wasn't a matter of interviews, tests, or anything of the sort. It was simply evolutionary law.

The camp took in refugees, orphans and anyone that nobody would miss, then put them through brutal training. There were no breaks. There was no mercy. There was only survival. If you died, that just meant you weren't good enough. Hand-to-hand combat was done with real weapons. So was everything else, actually.

But all of that paled in comparison to the other method of improvement.

The man who'd saved me, who'd fixed me up, he was known as "The Medic." They never called him anything else. He was the worst of all. No one wanted to get injured because reporting an injury meant reporting to the medic. He would cure you, maybe, but that was just an excuse for him to experiment with us.

He treated us like insects. He used us as lab rats, trying different things on us, seeing what would work and what wouldn't. Sometimes success meant enhanced physiques, increased stamina, better vision. Failure meant permanent injury at best, and death at worst. Well, permanent injury resulted in your execution, so I suppose death was the outcome either way.

I was given the call sign "Sixteen." From that point on, that's all I was. A number. A replaceable unit in a never-ending cycle of death.

Five long years passed during my time at that camp. I struggled at first, but thankfully, I was fit. My father had taught me a bit of swordsmanship, so I was comfortable fighting hand to hand. So I struggled. And I survived. I did my best every day, making sure I would live. I would fight.

I struggled for so long that I became the best. I was a survivor. Succeeding meant survival, so succeed I would. And every night, I dreamed of escaping. My mind would try to escape in so many ways. I took an SUV out. I stole a helicopter from one of our missions. I faked my death.

But I knew it wasn't realistic. I had no identity, no home, and nowhere to go. What was there for me to do? So the dream just remained just that. A dream. Five years of struggling and survival, and for what?

Then, one day, something in the camp changed. This girl was brought in. I don't know who she was, or why she was here, but I ignored her. We got new recruits all the time. When she arrived, she was just another nameless face to me. She would die soon enough, just like all the others. I soon found out that she was nothing like the others.

"Hello," she said, sitting next to me. "What's your callsign?"

"...go away."

"I'm Four. Nice to meet you."

I sat silently, eating my rations.

"I was told my family would be given money if I came here. What about you?"

"Listen. If you don't want me to kill you right now, then piss off." I brandished a knife threateningly, making sure the message got across.

The girl left, but she kept coming back. And coming back. And coming back. I don't know why she was so friendly, but she tried it with everyone. I was the only one who didn't physically attack her, so I guess I had it coming to me. I just couldn't bring myself to hit her.

That was a mistake.

She started to grow on me. I started teaching her things: tips for fighting, tips for planning. It wasn't my fault. She was always coming to me for advice, and I thought helping her out would get rid of her.

It didn't.

She was good, I had to admit. She learned fast, and she was a good fighter. I started opening up to her. Talking during meals, hanging out during free time…

Bit by bit, my life was less about "survival" and more about "living."

Others started joining. We took them in. Taught them how to live. How to fight. How to survive. Not everyone accepted us, but that was ok. There were a few who did. And in those few, I found friends. I found family. Life in that hell wasn't so bad then.

And therein lay our issue. This place was hell. There was no such thing as love here. No such thing as compassion. There was death. You killed, or you were killed.

The leaders didn't like our little group. I didn't know it at the time. Otherwise, I would've tried to do something about it. I would've rebelled, hidden, ran, anything. But it was too late. They wanted us gone.

That mission. I should've never taken it.

"You five. Your target is here. This mission is covert, so do not, I repeat, get yourselves caught. Get in, eliminate him, and get out. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

We were told it would be an unguarded mansion. Easy mission. Go in, kill the target, get out.

That was a lie.

The place was swarming with bodyguards and traps. We couldn't just leave, though. Failure meant death. Where else would we go? The desert? We had no supplies, no rations.

There was a chance of success. We would take whatever we could get.

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What a joke.

Friend after friend died, sacrificing themselves for us. They tried to say it wasn't our fault. That without us, they would've died a long while ago. That we did more for them than they ever could've imagined.

That wasn't true. It was because of me that they'd died.

Soon, it was just me and Four, everyone else dead or captured. Four was trying to hide it, but she was crying. She was blaming herself. I wasn't showing it, but I, too, was blaming myself. I should've never allowed any of this to happen in the first place.

"Four," I said quietly. "Go."

"What are you-"

"Consider this a thank you for the last year. And an apology for treating you so roughly."

"No. We go together."

"That's not your choice to make."

I burst the door open, firing my pistol. "Over here!"

I heard footsteps pounding in my direction. I could feel the blood rushing through my head as I ran, further and deeper into the mansion, leading my pursuers away from Four. Suddenly, a burst of pain sprouted from my leg, like a searing hot iron had been put to it. I'd been shot. Another burst of pain from my chest, then my arm, and then I was surrounded.

"You gave us a good run. But this is the end."

The last thing I saw was the flash of a muzzle.

~~~

"...damn," John said, but there wasn't much conviction behind his words.

"I know. It's not that much," Destiny said. His voice was hollow. "I'm… I'm almost glad I died. I escaped. But I wonder a lot. What happened to that girl? Did she survive? Did she make it out?"

"What did you want?" John said quietly.

"I- I don't know. It would've been nice if she survived, but then what? Where does she go? I don't know if there was a right answer. Maybe there was never a hope for us in the first place."

The carriage came to a slow stop as the coachman hopped off his seat. There was a light rap at the window.

"Sir. It is time to rest for the night. We will set up camp and resume tomorrow."

"Now?" John frowned. "It's still light out, though."

"Setting up camp takes time. We cannot risk doing so in the dark," the coachman explained.

There was an air of haughtiness to him, but that made sense. In his eyes, John was just some random commoner who'd managed to hitch a ride. John understood. That didn't mean he liked it. He clenched his fist, but Prota put a hand on his arm, shaking her head.

"Not here," she said quietly.

"Come on! I'm not gonna kill him. I just wanna fight him. Just a little. What's the problem?"

"Not a bad guy."

"...fine."

Prota watched with curiosity as a campfire started and tents were unfurled. John was beginning to miss Danjo's utilities. Had the dwarf been here, camp would've been set up in no time. It didn't matter. The servant was quite adept at his job. A pot was placed over the fire, and the coachman started making a stew. Apparently, he was more than just a driver.

While the carriage was roomy, it felt good to stand up and stretch one's limbs. John didn't waste any time in hopping out and jumping around a bit, getting his blood pumping after hours of sitting still. The sun was already setting in the distance, turning the sky a brilliant red. The camp was soon set up, and the food was served as everyone sat around the fire, watching sparks fly into the air. The coachman excused himself and went to attend to the horses, out of earshot.

"Destiny," John said quietly as he sipped from his bowl. "Do you regret your life?"

"...not really. There are times when I wish it could be better. But it's what makes us alive. I've lost a lot, but I've also gained a lot. And isn't that what matters?" He took a spoonful of stew. "Even during my time here, I've gone through a lot."

"You're, like, ten."

"I went through a lot," Destiny insisted. "But I don't think I'd change any of it."

"But what if you could?" John pressed. "What if you could go back in time and change things?"

"It wouldn't matter. I'm just one guy. If I had the power to change the world on my own, it'd be a different story, but powerful as I might be, I can't save everyone. I can't singlehandedly take control of the world."

"...something like that, huh?"

"Well, put it this way. The existence of that organisation was objectively bad. It would've been better if it'd never existed. But without it, I wouldn't have met you, Prota, and Danjo. We got something out of it, right? That's what counts. We can only look forward to what we have."

"Yeah, yeah. Bro thinks he's the thinker," John mumbled, finishing his stew.

The meal was soon finished, giving the group time to mess around and do whatever they wanted. Prota wandered into the forest, curious about the new territory they were in. John left her alone, confident that she wouldn't get into any trouble. He watched as Kit curled up by the fire, eyes closed. A question rose in his mind.

"What is Kit to everyone else, by the way?" John asked, looking at the Mystic.

"She's my mana bond."

"Mana bond?"

"I swear this was explained to you," Destiny frowned. "How do you not know these things?"

"Look, I wasn't born here the way you were. I literally fell into this world, and it hurt. Are you gonna explain, or what?"

Destiny just sighed. "Mana bonds are mana beasts that willingly form a bond with a person. It's rare, but it happens once in a while. Typically, both parties benefit from this. They can lend mana to each other, and a person will typically inherit the magic of the mana beast."

"...and how exactly do you do this?"

Destiny shrugged. "Kit's not a mana beast. She's not actually my mana bond. They say you'd have to experience it to know how it works. It's very rare."

"What? But it's got nothing but benefits! You're telling me there isn't an entire class of people dedicated to making mana bonds? Like, beast tamers or something?"

Destiny shook his head. "It's not that easy, John. First, you need a mana beast that trusts you completely. That's no simple task. They can't just be friendly with you. They need to trust you completely."

"Which means…"

"John. If you die, your mana bond dies. And if your mana bond dies, you die. There are incredible benefits. But there are also incredible downsides. To form a bond with that beast means that they are tying their life to yours."

"...ah."

"Yeah. Do you understand now?"

John nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think I get it." ' They stopped talking after that. Prota returned, twigs and leaves tied up in her hair. She was visibly uncomfortable as John pulled them all out, but she didn't complain.

The sky grew dark as the moon rose high in the sky, the stars twinkling above. Prota was already snuggled in her sleeping bag, eyes wide open as she listened to the sound of animals all around.

"Hey, Destiny," John said quietly as he leaned on a fallen log. "The coachman's all the way over there. Keep going."

"Keep- what? Now?"

"Why not? Are we doing something else?"

Destiny sighed.

~~~

I woke up in a strange area. It was all white and clean, almost as if I were inside a pearl. There was something in front of me. I… to describe it would be a little tricky. It was as if space itself had taken the shape of a woman. She had the outline and form of an adult female, but there was no flesh. It was just space, stars, and an infinite void.

"Child. I am Celestia."

Her voice was strange. It was as if it were being projected directly into my head.

"What the- who are you? Where am I? What's going on?"

"I am what is known as the goddess of this world."

"This… world?"

Memories began flashing back. My friends. The suicide mission, and my death.

Four.

I panicked, checking my body for wounds, but there was nothing. I was perfectly healthy. It was like I'd never been shot in the first place.

What was going on?

"You died. But I saw your struggles, young one. I watched your life, and I believe you deserve another chance."

"Another… chance?"

"Listen. In the world I made, there are two continents. One of demons, and one of people. Child. The demons will try to invade the country of people, and the world will be engulfed in war. The people will not be able to win against the demon king. Only a hero will be able to stop him. I need you to be that hero."

I didn't understand. Why me? Why had I, of all people, been chosen? I wasn't anyone special. Quite the opposite, actually. I'd failed in so many ways. Failed my family. Failed my friends. Failed myself.

She just laughed when I told her that, though. Her laugh was interesting, like chimes blown by the wind.

"Child. Tell me. What do you want to do?"

To be honest, I didn't know at the time. I didn't have any goals in life. For as long as I could remember, it had been a struggle to survive. There was no other goal for me.

But then it dawned on me. There was something I'd wanted to do. Something I'd tried to do, and failed to accomplish. I wanted to protect those near me. It had always been impossible. How could I stop a plane crash? How could I singlehandedly take out an army of men?

The answer was simple. I couldn't.

"I… I want to protect those around me. I want them to survive. I…"

I couldn't hold it back anymore.

Those years of pain, of struggle, of survival, they were too much. I burst into tears, falling to my knees as the strength in my body flowed out.

"I just want to be happy! I want a family! Is that too much to ask for?"

Celestia didn't say anything. She just watched. No judgment, no disgust, just sympathy.

"I understand, child. It must've been hard. But I will give you power. I, too, want to protect my people. You see, I cannot directly intervene with this world. It is a rule I cannot break. But you, my child, can. So, please. Won't you protect this world in my stead?"

She explained how this world worked; the continent of Devfroth had three central countries: Solaris, the country of humans, Lunaris, the country of elves, and Gaius, the country of humans. There were three gods to accompany those: Solaria, Luna, and Gaia.

All of it was so new. So interesting. I'd only ever heard of things like these in stories I'd read when I was younger, and those were faint memories, nearly rubbed out after so long in that camp.

She explained the magic system, about casters and fighters, and how I would be granted the abilities of both. An increased mana pool, limited at birth in order to not draw attention as well as to keep my body safe. A lie detection ability, increased physical ability, a genius level of talent…

But the most important thing was my ability. An ability that was to originate from my soul.

"All heroes receive an ability. But even I do not know what that ability will be. That will be decided by your soul."

"My soul?"

"You, my child. You yourself will determine your ability, even if you yourself do not know why."

With those words, a bright light began to shine in front of me. A voice echoed in my head.

[God Slaying Sword]

Those words felt so familiar. So warm. What did they mean? Why did I recognize them? I reached out as the light manifested itself in the shape of a blade before me, and power surged through my body.

I felt like I could cut through anything. Anyone.

"...the ability to cut through anything." Celestia's voice seemed hesitant.

"Anything?" I muttered.

"Time. Space. Mana." Celestia closed her eyes. "...how interesting. What a peculiar ability."

I wondered about that, but there was no time to think. The world grew dark as Celestia stood up, her body expanding to envelop the space around me.

"Go, my child. May you find peace."

Those were the last words I heard before my vision went dark.

~~~

Destiny closed his eyes as he finished. It wasn't the most pleasant of memories for him, but it wasn't all bad, either. It was simply life. He opened his eyes and was glad to see Prota staring with interest, but his spirits fell as he saw John's face.

"What?" Destiny exclaimed. "Do you think I'm lying or something?"

"No, no, quite the opposite, actually," John said, but the grimace remained on his face. "Just… It's nothing to do with you specifically. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm sure!" John yelled, throwing his hands up. "You wouldn't get it even if I explained. It's- never mind. Ok, what's after that?"

Destiny shook his head. "What do you mean, 'what's after that'? I explained everything."

"No, I mean, what happened in this world?"

"Do you want me to tell you everything?!"

John shrugged. "Why not?"

"...tomorrow," Destiny sighed. "And when are you going to tell me your story?"

"My story? My story's boring," John frowned. "Didn't we go over this?"

"The more I think about it, the more that doesn't make sense. You said you don't know your age. You said you're older than Kit, and you were telling the truth. So, how can your story be boring? Did you do nothing all those years?"

John went silent. He thought for a little, seemingly put down by the question, wondering what to say next. He decided to go with the truth.

"I don't remember."

"Huh?"

"I have amnesia."

"You what?"

"I lost my memories," John said quietly. "Most of those millennia aren't in my head. I have pieces of memories here and there, but nothing coherent. When I said I had amnesia, I wasn't kidding. I'm looking for my memories, Destiny. That's why I'm here."

Fate closed his eyes. "...I'm sorry. Come on, let's go to sleep. I'll continue tomorrow."

He got up as the flames died down, leaving burning coals behind as he went into his tent, zipping it up behind him. John didn't move as he stared at the fire's dying light.

"Fate- Destiny's story is sad," Prota said quietly. "Is he ok?"

"He'll be fine. I think he's getting what he wants, anyway. It's… it's just not that great of a story."

John was conflicted. On one hand, to hear that something like this had happened to someone was extremely sad. Hearing this kind of story come from someone's mouth made it feel real. It made it feel personal.

And that was the issue.

This kind of story was typical. He'd heard it a million times. Someone goes through some sort of tragedy, dies an unfortunate death, reincarnates, and is asked to defeat the demon king. There was a specific term for this kind of story. Isekai, they called it, if his memory was in check. The concept of dying and reincarnating in another world.

Sure, Destiny's time in that camp was a little bit of a twist, but how much did it add? It explained his combat ability, sure, and his ability to kill, as well as his desire to protect his friends and family, but did it fit? Did it make sense? It was as if the [Author] had smushed two stories together to try to make something "new" and "interesting."

Well, in the end, did it matter? While the story was somewhat interesting, who Destiny used to be wasn't that important to John. Right now, Destiny was… well, John wanted to say a friend, and there lay the problem.

If Destiny was a friend, he should feel sad. Sympathetic if not compassionate. But all he could feel was annoyance at a poorly written story. Well, maybe not all that poor, but unoriginal and overused. And in some ways, that was even worse. So what? What was he supposed to feel?

"John?" Prota said quietly. "Is John ok?"

She seemed concerned, and for good reason. She couldn't tell how he was feeling. The void that'd been gone for a little bit had returned. Her brother was watching the burning coals with empty eyes.

"...yeah, I'm fine," John said quietly.

He got up as the dying embers slowly faded. The shuffling of grass at his feet seemed loud as he walked toward their tent, the sounds of the forest deafening in his ears. He was overthinking this.

"The [Author] is just doing whatever the fuck they want. Deal with it, John," he muttered, drifting off into uneasy sleep.

This whole [Character] thing was a lot harder than he'd initially thought.

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