Gallag released the swords and fell, landing on an Abysman soldier. He had been skilled in hand to hand, more so than many Griever had faced in his days. He had also had an incredible power that, just a day before, Griever would not have believed existed. In all honestly, the only reason Griever had won was luck and the man’s inexperience in using his power to its full extent.
And his own Gear’s power, of course.
“I’ll heal from this right?” Griever asked Bash. Standing was becoming hard and the swords in the left side of his body sent out waves of agony through him. And was he standing in a puddle of his own blood? The bodies around him surely weren’t the cause…
There was a hesitation before the Gear spoke. ‘I’m not even sure-‘
Griever blacked out, missing out on whatever Bashenthar had been about to say.
The dreams came almost immediately.
He was standing in his old house – a manor worn with time and neglect. His father was out, of course, working in the nearby city to bring home food. They had inherited the manor from Griever’s grandparents on his mother’s side, Leonard and Jem Dominos. He always knew it had been something special. Despite the wear and tear, Griever always could see the structure as being something magnificent. But, due to his father losing all their inheritance money to a scam, they had become poor and unable to pay for the necessary repairs.
So now it was a fragment of its former glory. A fragment that Griever had grew up in.
He stood at its gates, though. It was his time to leave. He would become a mercenary and don the name ‘Griever,’ like his grandfather before him. He planned to visit his grandfather to learn of the location of the Eternal Lion’s blade, which had been used by the original Griever, and use it, but would later give up on after joining the White Boars.
His mother ran after him, forcing Griever to turn and face her.
“Leon, sweety,” she sobbed, “Please, it will get better. I promise! Don’t leave me!”
Griever felt his heart wrench. He didn’t want to leave his mother like this, though he did wish for a life of freedom. “I’ll be fine, mother,” he assured her, “And I’ll write every time I’m able.”
She fell to her knees and grabbed Griever around his stomach. “No,” she cried, “You’ll die out there! My mother told me how war works, she made me promise to stay away from it! I don’t plan on letting you risk yourself like her! So stay!”
Pulling away from her felt like clawing out his own heart, but Griever managed somehow. “I’ve seen how you suffer, mother,” he said, trying not to sound harsh, “You starve yourself so that me and dad can eat. If I’m not around you two will have enough food to survive. You can even start repairing the house!”
His mother sobbed slowly, but didn’t move.
“I’m doing this for you,” Griever told her softly, then walked away.
The vision faded, and so did Griever’s guilt. It was replaced by incomprehensible fear. Then pain. At first it was minute, and barely noticed, but then it grew. From the seeds of pain grew great vines agony that laced through his body and out of his pores. How he did not cry out and los himself to the hell that had incarnated his body, Griever did not know.
And, he had no time to ponder. For as soon as the pain came, it vanished.