Chapter Text
A cool breeze blew the unruly gray strands of hair from the man's sheriff's hat. The golden meadow was dotted with wheat, swaying gently in the wind. The fragrant smell of intoxicating flowers beckoned with its beauty. One wanted to simply bury oneself and drown in this meadow of beautiful flowers. The scorching sun in the sky began to descend, taking on an orange hue, turning red, and then a frightening crimson. The man's hands trembled treacherously. Was he afraid of nightfall? Not at all. He doesn't want to close his eyes. If he closes them, he will find himself in a completely unfamiliar place. Taking a deep breath, he watches as everything around him begins to darken. A mysterious and serene quiet night, dotted with sparkling stones in the sky. They radiated a faint warmth and tranquility. Only crickets broke the silence with their anxious chirping. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear owls hooting, wolves howling, and an unfamiliar growl. The sheriff blinked quickly and regretted it. The crimson sky frightened him so much. This place literally made him tremble with anxiety and fear. The ground beneath his feet was dead, not a single blade of grass, although there was no vegetation in this area. The air and oxygen here were simply terrible. It was very difficult to breathe here, and he still had to control his fear. The sheriff tried to suppress his emotions; if they seeped out, it would be all over. Other entities could sense emotions, even though they were blind, and the sheriff knew this very well.
It's useless to complain about his fate now; he doesn't have time for that, and if he allows himself to think about it, it will end badly for him. "Calm down, just calm down, you have to change your hiding place again and find a new one." He senses their presence; they are cunning creatures who love to press on his weak spots. Every time, the man thinks hopefully that he will soon get out of this hell. And all this will turn out to be a nightmare, or his sick imagination. He is so glad that at least he still has a weapon to defend himself. It was a small scythe for grass. Oh, the memory of his farm came flooding back with a certain longing. Damn, he shouldn't have remembered anything; they sensed him. Large, massive, clawed hands grabbed him by his coat and pulled him forward. Before he could scream, he met the red eyes of these creatures. They looked at him with a kind of squint, and perhaps smirked, revealing a row of sharp teeth. It was amusing for them to watch this man try to suppress his fear.
《GO FOR IT! 》
The roar of one creature was deafening. The sheriff did everything right; he aimed for the eyes. While he took advantage of the confusion of the other two, he tore off his gray coat, which was quite worn out, and began to run away as fast as he could. Blood rushed to his head, adrenaline surged through his body. His heart was pounding so loudly, his head began to throb eerily with excitement. The ringing in his ears made it difficult to concentrate. The man sensed he was being pursued, which was correct; let them chase him, perhaps he could lure them into an improvised trap. The sheriff saw a ledge and rejoiced; all he had to do was run quickly and deftly turn aside, and he succeeded. One of them was foolish, as he did not see the ledge and fell into the depths of the abyss. He continues to run and sees other unlucky individuals who have ended up in this dreadful place. The sheriff warns them to leave immediately. The inhabitants of purgatory stare at him with eerie, empty eyes. The creature attacks one of the grunts, tearing him to pieces and beginning to gnaw on his bones, which crunch unpleasantly. The sheriff quickly grabs the strange grunt, who was in a state of prostration. Incidentally, this grunt had no face and did not particularly resist.
The man continued to drag his silent opponent behind him. It was unclear why he was saving him; perhaps the man wanted to alleviate his loneliness.
The sheriff stopped, finding shelter. His legs gave way, and he leaned against the wall, covering his tired eyes. The strange grunt followed the sheriff's example. Regaining his breath and nervously clutching his weapon, the sheriff continued to hold the grunt's cold hand.
- DAMN IT, WHERE WERE YOU? When I woke up, I couldn't find you, so I started searching the whole area. Do you even think when you go outside? It's dangerous out there, the Sheriff said angrily, looking at his companion. The other man looked at him calmly, continuing to remain silent. He didn't particularly share the Sheriff's concern; experiencing emotions was foreign to him. Grunt took a piece of bread out of his worn bag (which was soaked with blood) and handed it to the man. The sheriff stopped, greatly surprised, his anger gone, replaced by shame. In fact, he didn't want to raise his voice at him. It was just that strong emotions and excitement had gotten the better of him. He turns away from him in embarrassment, but accepts his food, breaks off a piece for himself, and gives it back to its owner. His stomach aches badly; he hasn't eaten in so long. He is severely emaciated from hunger. As he begins to chew his food, he wearily rests his head on Grunt's shoulder, who doesn't even object. This endless running around is so exhausting. It's impossible to rest and relax properly here. This place drives others crazy, and when they start to lose their minds, they lose their emotions, becoming insensitive. And Grunt, sitting next to him, was one of them, bringing a piece of bread to his face and pushing it into the black slime dripping down his face, thereby dissolving the piece of bread.
The sheriff was doing very well in this crazy world. But spending so much time in this place caused him to have nervous breakdowns. He died here every day and was reborn again, continuing to live in fear and trying to find a way out. What saved him was that he was not alone. He was immensely happy to have such a strange companion in his life.
What the sheriff understood was that wounds in this place do not heal; they remain as deep scars that sting with renewed force. No matter how hard he tried to escape or find a way out, he inevitably died. With each attempt, his hope began to fade. Tears of bitterness ran down his face, and there was an unpleasant lump in his throat that suffocated him. It was simply unbearable; the conditions here were inhuman. He felt a cold, faceless hand on his wet face. Perhaps it was trying to cheer him up.
Do you need help?
Once again, those strange voices echoed in his head.
What do you think is wrong with him?
The sheriff clutched his head in despair, the pain becoming unbearable. It was a pressing, sharp pain in places, almost unbearable.
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO HIM???
Please don't yell at me, I'm doing everything I can. Your friend has lost consciousness, and that's very bad. It could be clinical death.
He has no oxygen flow in his body, one of the voices reports.
The resuscitators frantically tried to restore the breathing and blood flow of the man who lay unconscious on the couch. Sheriff felt strange, as if he were flying at high speed, about to crash to the ground.
Please wake up...
Please open your eyes...
Sheriff...
I'm really sorry...
«What made you come to me? Did Kristoff himself decide that I should lend him a helping hand :)»
«You know the terms of this deal. He will wake up, but until then, you will erase his memory.»
There was a long, piercing sound. Voices, gunshots, and desperate cries grew louder and louder in his ears. Red blood, yellow blood, everything mixed together in his mind. Red lenses, the barrel of a gun pointed at his face, a shot. Don't forget, don't forget the main thing, and don't trust them.
The sheriff woke up with a start and began to breathe heavily and wheeze, trying to catch his breath. This unexpected event woke Christoff from his slumber. It felt as if his lungs were filled with water. He was choking on his cough. Cold sweat gathered on the man's forehead, and small drops began to run down his face and chin. Kristoff began to help the Sheriff calm down. "It's okay, calm down, it was just a dream." Five minutes later, the Sheriff was exhausted and lay down on the couch, completely drained of energy. Everything was blurry in his eyes, and black spots danced around the room. Christoff looked seriously at the Sheriff and began to take a syringe from the bedside table. Recognizing his friend, the Sheriff calmed down and began to breathe evenly.
I... had a nightmare... he said, his tongue thick with sleep. Kristoff frowned, the needle glinting dangerously in the dim light.
"What did you dream about?"
"A red sky, rusty chains, and... and more..."
⟨⟨ DON'T LET HIM ERASE YOUR MEMORY ⟩⟩
The sudden scream in his ears made the sheriff flinch in fear. He tried to get away, but Kristoff pinned him to the couch and inserted the syringe into his vein. The man stopped resisting.
"So what did you dream about?"
The sheriff looked at him wearily and mumbled, "I don't remember..."