The pain of life

(KRAK-BOOM!)

Deep within a wooded clearing, the earth trembled, not from the fury of nature, but from the controlled precision of two opposing forces.

"Haaaah!"

Shija, dressed in his martial uniform, moved with the relentless grace of an elite force. His silver sword aimed toward the tiny golden spot floating in front of him, while his senses read the flow of Ki in the environment.

("!!")

In front of the samurai, little Goldie, the golden straw doll, was a whirlwind of movement. Her fighting style was a perfect adaptation of the discipline of Boxing, using her small size for an almost impalpable defense.

(SHING! FWIP! FSSSH-SSSH!)

"Haaaah... Haaa!"

The battle between the steel blade and the straw phantom was long and strenuous as Shija maintained absolute concentration, trying to predict where Goldie's energy would manifest for a strike.

"!!"

(KABOOM-ZZZSH!)

Ignoring that, however, Goldie attacked. The blow she launched was invisible, but Shija's reaction was a flicker of pure movement, managing to evade the impact at the last moment.

(TRUUM!)

But the shockwave of the attack, released right where he had been an instant before, struck the earth.

(KABOOM!)

Causing an explosion on the forest floor while the shockwave created a deep and devastating crater, sweeping away the undergrowth and sending nearby trees flying with the force of an explosive projectile.

"Unbelievable..."

Shija could only murmur after landing on the edge of the newly formed clearing, his breath catching, his face pale under the concentration.

"...."

His gaze, however, was fixed and determined.

(SHHZ!)

But at the same instant that Shija lunged again using his sword, cutting through the air with the intention of severing Goldie.

(WOOSH!)

Only for the straw doll to present no resistance, and instead, her body decomposed into strands of fluid golden straw, evading the cut with a fraction of a second and immediately reforming on Shija's back.

(Her defense is absolute. The movement pattern... it's as if she doesn't physically exist until the moment of the strike.)

As Shija turned with inhuman speed, ready for another attack.

"That's enough, Shija. If you had struck the ground one more time, we would have had to give an explanation to the Boss for the landscape, and you know how his mood swings are..."

But Boudica's voice stopped him dead as she emerged from the edge of the clearing, observing the destruction with a mixture of respect and terror.

"...."

In response, Shija slowly lowered his sword, the steel smoking from the friction.

"I needed to understand the true nature of her power."

In response to those words, Goldie, the straw doll, floated back to the center of the clearing and adopted a playful boxing pose, marking the end of the training.

"Tell me, Boudica..."

After finishing, Shija sheathed his sword and approached Boudica, his mind fixed on a persistent concern.

"How is he now?"

Hearing that, Boudica sighed, her muscles tense, looking towards the inn.

"He seems to be worse. He has started talking to the trees and, according to what I saw recently, he has begun to plant a huge garden. The mood swings are increasingly erratic."

"I see..."

Following that reply, Shija closed his eyes, recalling the scene weeks ago when they had returned from their collection errand for the managers who ran the inn.

Only to find upon their return all kinds of straw dolls and animals made of straw everywhere with a section of the forest destroyed, and the innkeepers, Yuriel and Helen, lying on the ground, screaming thanks for being alive.

Seeing that scene, both immediately came to the same conclusion about the person responsible for those events, running directly after asking towards the room where Mireya had voluntarily locked himself in, only to see his room door emitting an energetic phenomenon in which the room released a fluctuating, constantly changing aura, similar to an aurora borealis that danced and flickered intermittently; upon trying to approach, an overwhelming "pressure" prevented them from advancing.

From that moment on, Mireya entrenched himself in his room, refusing to come out.

On the other hand, since then, the innkeepers, Yuriel and Helen, now acted as a kind of terrified yet submissive maidservants. They had become the spokespeople for Mireya's will, in charge of delivering errands and requests to Shija and Boudica.

It was in this way that time passed.

And Mireya remained firm with his self-imposed confinement. However, despite that, he continued to keep the promise he had made to Shija by sending Goldie and Silver to train him while, despite remaining locked up, he still cooked to feed the rest despite his absolute reclusion.

Any attempt by both Shija and Boudica to communicate or speak to him was frustrated. They were intercepted by some wild straw doll that, appearing out of nowhere, stood in their way or pushed them off the path.

These dolls only conveyed one and the same response, repeated every time they were asked about Mireya's state. The only word they managed to hear was: "birth".

The rest of the time, the only sign of life they could detect from Mireya's room were incessant murmurs, suggesting a deep state of madness and a constant conversation with invisible entities.

Rarely, Mireya left his confinement, and he did so exclusively to tend to his garden, which grew at an unnatural speed right next to the inn.

But the nightmare was not limited to Mireya's room, as the inn building in the remote world of Ky'lar had begun to come to life in a hideous and organic manner. The rustic architecture now exhibited tumorous growth and a biological deformation that mimicked the chaos of nature.

The roof, which Mireya had considered unstable, now looked like a bulging, breathing dome, its broken tiles fused into a grayish, scaly skin that pulsed slightly. The wooden beams did not look carved, but rather exposed rib bones that curved irregularly, tense and creaking with every breeze.

The windows had lost their rectangular shape; the glass had been replaced by opaque, yellowish membranes, resembling cataracts that stared fixedly. The frame of the windows and doors were bordered by a fibrous, damp tissue, a kind of pink gum that slowly writhed.

Near the ground, the roots of the garden Mireya was planting had infiltrated under the foundations, injecting dark sap into the structure. The outer walls were mottled with patches of emerald mold and displayed pulsating veins, as if blood flowed beneath the plaster. In the cracks, small strands of ivy emerged like hair, weaving the architecture.

The chimney was now an open, toothed throat that exhalated a thick, sweet vapor, and the interior stairs creaked not from age, but from the inorganic weight of the new biomass.

The inn in Ky'lar was no longer a simple building; it was an architectural, mute, and watchful monster, a physical manifestation of the chaotic "birth" that was gestating in the body of its guest.

"This is quite worrying..."

Shija then finally opened his eyes, abruptly snapping out of the memory and gazing into the distance, toward the inn.

"From this distance, the building looks perfectly normal."

Shija then assessed how the building imitated a normal appearance, deceiving any casual observer who couldn't feel the dense and terrifying pressure enveloping it.

"What kind of 'thing' is about to be born?"

Filled with tension, Shija asked, watching the cloudy sky.

"I don't want to know."

And in response, Boudica shrugged, her expression hardened in resignation.

"In that case, why don't you flee?"

"Don't be an idiot!"

Hearing Shija's question, Boudica replied in a sharp tone, her eyes fixed on the inn, her forced loyalty now cemented by brutal pragmatism.

"I'd rather serve whatever 'THAT' is than get in its way and end up as collateral damage."

The warrior and the samurai then fell silent, both watching the living inn.

"Gasp!, Haaaah... Haaa... Haa...!"

But at that precise instant, Mireya, covered with several towels and prostrate in bed, clutched his chest with both hands, filled with a sharp, stabbing pain.

"Agh!, Ugh!, Bleeergh!"

(Splash!, Splatter!)

Vomiting mouthfuls of blood with violent spasms onto a completely full bucket.