OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 319: 'Him'

Chapter 319: 'Him'

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Emir waited for a reply.

He received none.

He remained in his bowing position, waiting patiently. But then, after a few moments, he remembered that he needed to interact with one of the pawns on his sunglasses to call for Mr. Player, and that was what he proceeded to do.

Picking it up off the ground, his hands then neared his head, intended to wear it. Yet as his hands got to his ears they grazed his... beard?

Right, it appeared that he grew a beard while immersing himself in a world so far different from his own.

It wasn't only that, his hair had also grown by a lot, reaching his shoulders in length.

Just how long had he spent starved?

As that question surfaced in his mind, another came with it.

'And why do I not feel hungry anymore?'

'Do I have my Aether back? I can't feel it still...'

Leaving that for later, he chose to not wear the shades and his right pointing finger touched

the side, the temples, as he folded it by the two pawns, putting it back into his pocket.

"Thank you, Mr. Player."

And finally, a response arrived after a second or two, sounding as majestic as always:

"I've only fulfilled my part; there's no need for thanks."

Emir nodded.

"I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it."

The Class-Two chuckled, his every high and low sounding to be a perfect pitch.

"... What is your starvation?"

He corrected his posture as he thought about that question, his mind returning to all he had gone through.

Leaving his home, coming to the A-11 sector, hoping for a life worth living, and believing in what obviously was a lie.

That was an act of starvation.

With words that left him broken, he begged all the passersby for credits, yet he gained none. No matter how demeaning, how vile, he did what they asked with a smile, for they have given him hope to live another day and to feed his family.

That was an act of starvation.

A gang asked his wife to work as a prostitute, he said no, yet regret didn't stop hounding him. That was an act of starvation.

On days that they received no money, he had to go through many obstacles to gather whatever scrap he could find, even lamenting at how lucky the junkies had it, able to inject themselves with nanobots and all manners of drugs without a care in the world.

That was an act of starvation.

They, whom he felt slight envy for, beat him up. He almost died for their entertainment. That was an act of starvation.

He smacked his own son across the face, and he cried for what he did, a guttural scream leaving his throat.

That was an act of starvation.

His wife, the mother of his children, became a prostitute. He failed. Though happy that no one bought his wife, he slowly grew silent anger at her uselessness, until eventually... all went away as he heard her cries for help.

He turned his back on everything and slept on the cold, cold floor, his heart frozen to ice.

That was an act of starvation.

He robbed them of all the food that his wife had gained; he was satisfied only for a short while, as guilt soon came knocking, demanding his attention. It was an ugly sight.

That was an act of starvation.

He went to a place where death was close, needing quick credits while also wanting to escape, begging for the Reaper to take him and his family. The sound of them desperately asking for a piece of bread would never be heard again.

That was an act of starvation.

Knowing that it was futile, he still went to the landfill every day, working with a rotting body. That was an act of starvation.

His eyes saw beautiful red, and his tongue tasted blood. He was beaten by a gang he begged to but the pain didn't visit him. All he thought at the time was how sweet the blood tasted.

That was an act of starvation.

"And you are forgifen."

That... even that was an act of starvation.

Emir smiled with a hint of pain adorning his face.

"Starvation felt like ugly guilt and a cold shame of failure. It tasted like dry yet colorful blood."

"And what do you make of it?"

"It made me remember what my essence was. I forgot that I was human; it was just 'Fallen' this, 'Weapon' that, never me and only me... Everyone experiences their own starvation. To me, it was that, family was always first in mind, but to someone else, it might be a cycle of life and death. The beating heat of a dying star. The weak bowing to the strong. Being left behind, and more, as much as there are known things in the universe. Starvation, like any other emotion, can be experienced in an uncountable number of ways."

"Incredible... truly."

Emir tilted his head.

"What is?"

"You, a boy unknowing of such grim, could imagine, taste, and experience such a dream as if

it was real."

Shaking his head, Emir acted humble, his words contradictory to what he would usually say, an obvious sign of respect to Mr. Player:

"Thank you, but it wasn't without any issues; I couldn't imagine the finer details; my family's faces were blank; even someone that I know was too. As was the feeling of eating such foods, I've been quite privileged in that regard."

"And the fact that you've succeeded without limitations is extraordinary, no?"

"Hm."

"Now stop acting humble and tell me, what is it that you understood, Mr. Pawn?"

"I'm human. I don't just hate fate; I fear it. I'm not just controlling; I'm a perfectionist. I'm both sentimental and practical. A man-no, a child-forced to be a man. I'm proud, proud to be from Earth, proud of who I became despite the tragedies. I'm someone who didn't spend much time working as a hunter but had that time influence much of my life and the way I did things. Treated as a subject, as a lab rat since birth, memories manipulated, and personality created, yet that very personality twisted and forged what I'm so proud of. I'm a safe player; I like to keep things in control even if I have to sacrifice my puppets, but I'm also a person who could change his mind if needed; adaptability is a trait I learned. I'm a hunter by force, a result of circumstances, a result of fate. I would've liked to explore, learn about more hobbies, do something, anything other than kill, but I've got a mountain on my shoulders... I simply can't take my eyes off the game. Money is nice, I love capitalism, unless it goes against my goals of course. I also love looking at my family, seeing them enjoy a life that I can't. I've got a woman who has started to inch closer to my heart as well; she's a long way off, but love appears to be inevitable. I dislike drama, had enough, and I despise excessive personalities, especially justice-minded ones. Fuck the Fortune's blessed. I'm a Celestial with no bottom line; I can dive into any low to win. This results in me thinking a lot, thoughts of control always whispering in my mind, editing plans, adjusting and adjusting—a never-ending cycle. Those who see me think of me as aloof, cold, creepy, and scary, and they aren't wrong. I am just that, but I'm also much more; I seethe with fury, controlled, yet burning. I'm starved of life. A man who used to be an extra, now a cog, a pawn in this game of giants. And finally, I'm a protector, taking my father's place as the man of the house since young, a role I'll continue to fulfill until I die; that is my obligation, my promise."

Emir's words finally came to an end, and only then did the man who spoke for so long notice

how he acted.

With surprise coloring his face, he looked up, silently questioning Mr. Player.

He noticed his trepidation and answered, intent on alleviating his confusion:

"Don't worry child, it happens to most, those unfortunate with repressed feelings usually

'explode' as such after their 'flame' ignites."

"I see..."

Mr. Player chuckled softly.

"...So? What are you to embody?"

Emir looked down, taking a moment to articulate his words correctly, and then said a soft

chuckle, noting the irony:

"I'm a puppeteer, once a puppet now someone who tries not to be, someone who tries to be in control. I weave people and events into place with my threads, but I have a flaw. A flaw where if any of my strings gets cut loose, or if my puppets are positioned incorrectly, I experience backlash, the severity of said backlash depending on the mistake."

Mr. Player hummed an almost excited tune as he listened, only speaking after a long second of

silence:

"Interesting... I never heard of a Celestial gaining a flaw, only Holy Relics, but that tells me your path is nothing ordinary. Perhaps this is a result of your lineage, but I can't say for sure, you're the first Najma I've met. Anyhow, it's apparent that this is needed to balance your existence, both body and soul, for without that flaw you might die. Embodiment is dangerous

after all."

Showing a face full of hesitation, Emir looked back up again and asked:

"You... Mr. Player said that you enjoy fairness, no? Then may I receive a gift for this knowledge I've shared with you? I've still not received the third freebie I've been promised."

"..."

Emir received no reply.

He waited quietly.

"..."

But nothing changed; it seemed that Mr. Player ignored him-

Fshshshshshshsh...

A portal suddenly appeared in front of him, and Mr. Player materialized from it, causing a

purple 'fog' of insane magnitude to bathe their surroundings.

Calmly, he began to float towards him.

Emir flinched and looked down, not daring to look Mr. Player in the face.

"Child, raise your head."

Struggling with his instincts, he did what Mr. Player asked and slowly raised his trembling

head.

Now, their faces were only two feet apart, with Emir looking up at the floating mass of 'fog,'

his inky eyes on Mr. Player's colorless, almost invisible ones.

"W... What brings you here Mr. Player?"

'Fog' neared Emir's hand, and then, without warning, his bracelet was flooded with

information, requesting their path to his brain to open.

Emir showed momentary surprise, but he didn't reject the trade, allowing what Mr. Player

sent to reach him.

'Ah... N-No. I...'

He immediately realized why Mr. Player didn't say anything out loud.

This... it wasn't to be spoken about, even within this Celestial Realm for if 'He' heard, 'He'

would come, knocking, no smashing the door in, no matter where they were-

Click!

He looked at where the sound originated, the door, it opened before his eyes, allowing

someone in.

It was a blurred figure, not by 'fog,' by Aether, but simply a blurred existence.

It was 'Him.'