“I don’t want to talk about it.” Andrew said, frowning as he ignored me and started to pick up the scattered teacup pieces.

“But—”

I stopped, flinching at the sudden glint in his eyes. It was dangerous. Colder than ice. And it warned me not to pry any further. Oh, I should’ve listened. But I was a greedy little shit. And maybe I was still a little angry about what had happened earlier.

“But you said you’d tell me everything,” I finished, raising my nostrils high into the air. I crossed my arms for added effect, a butterfly appearing in my stomach for every drop of sweat I felt drip off my shoulder blades. I damned well knew that I was playing a dangerous game. But I had to take the gamble. 

His eyes widened.

“Y-you—”

“You’ll what? Break your word?” The words left my mouth with a snort.

“I-I—”

The veins in his fists throbbed like tight ropes. Then, after a second, he snarled through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll tell you another time. Alright?" He looked straight at me, eyes asking—no, begging—for me to stop. "Just ... not now. Please.”  

A sharp pang of guilt shot through me. Clearly, I'd taken my little charade too far. 

“I—”

“Ask me about anything else, and I’ll tell you. Please. Anything else.” His voice became a hoarse whisper. 

And at that moment, when I’d realized I’d poked into a matter far more delicate than I’d thought, I felt horrible. No, I was horrible for doing this to him. And I was ready to give up altogether and move on to something else. But the voice in my head told me to keep going. Just a little more. I could pay for my sins another day, but for now, I needed to push.

And I listened to it.

“Promise?” I asked, biting my bottom lip, carefully studying his expression. I would stop, I swore to myself, if he refused. The voice objected, but I had my bottom line.

“Y-yes.”

“Alright. I won’t ask further.” I sighed, leaning back into the chair and staring up at the wooden ceiling.

Finally, I’d gotten closer to finding a way out of this mess. To finding answers. Though I hadn’t known him long, I had a good feeling that he was someone who valued his word. And I valued mine too. I wouldn't pry into his personal matters again. After all, I knew too well that people had some things they’d rather left untold. Honestly, if he held this against me someday, I wouldn't blame him . . .

Another pang of guilt hit me when I looked down from the ceiling, noticing that the gloomy countenance had remained on his face. I tried to find something else to move onto.

“Uh, so I guess I’m stuck here now, right? As a hero.”

He nodded weakly, his tanned face crumpled with wrinkly creases, like some used tissue someone had forgotten to throw away. 

I winced.

What a really great start at being a hero, Yohan. Amazing, actually. I’m impressed.

The silence was depressing and my inner voice wasn’t being of any help. I barked at it to shut up before thinking of something else to say.

“So, about earlier, you r-remember?!” I asked, trying to add a little extra cheer to my voice. “When I, when I became. . . that. It has something to do with this world, doesn’t it?” 

I prayed for it to work. For him to respond. To say anything for god's sake.

But it didn't. Instead, the man continued to stare down at the floor, silent as a rock. 

“A-Andrew?”

He didn’t answer.

I bit my lip, heart bursting at the seams with guilt.

God, I was an idiot. Clearly, he’d gone through things, and I’d decided to poke and prod at his vulnerable spots, not even caring about what I was actually doing to the poor man. From what I could tell, he probably lived here all alone and whoever he'd mentioned had most likely already...

Yeah. And I’d been the bastard that had gone along and made him remember. 

Fuck. Me.

I’ll make this up to him one day.

After swearing my oath in silence, I peeked at him again to see if there was any change. None. I took a deep breath and spoke the words I had to say. Words I owed him. 

“I’m sorry. I should have never—“

He suddenly trembled and after a shake of his head, raised his chin. Our eyes met and after blinking, he let out a small laugh.

“Ah, I-I apologize. I must’ve spaced out.”

I bit my lip, starting, “I—“ 

“Don't worry, I heard your question. Well, most of it.” He winked, and, right away, I knew he’d heard everything. I knew he’d accepted my half-finished apology. I quickly looked away, averting the gaze that made me feel like some heartless asshole. Like some sick bastard.

Like him. 

That's why you're his so—

Andrew's weary voice interrupted my own.  

“And yes, it. . . it has everything to do with this world." He sighed. "My world.”

After that, he stopped speaking. When I looked back at him, I saw him sink into the chair, shoulders slumped. Immediately, I thought of Atlas, the Titan that had been punished to hold up the sky. If he'd existed, then he would’ve looked like this. Exhausted from carrying a great burden. A burden he alone had to bear.

“A-Andrew?” I called out his name for the second time.

He flinched at the sound of my voice, straightening his back before looking back at me. After clearing his throat, he chuckled slightly, scratching his head.

"Sorry about that. I . . . haven’t had much sleep in the past few weeks.”

“No prob—”

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?” 

I blinked. 

"So, I take it that's a no?"

“No. Yes! O-Of course, you can!” I blurted out in half sentences, nodding vigorously. 

This was my chance! I’d do my best to give him an answer, no matter what he asked. It was the least I could do, after what I'd done. My mind started to race, thinking of all the possible—

“What do you think a hero’s purpose is?”

I coughed out a hairball. 

Shit. 

Well, it wasn’t that unexpected of a question, considering all the hero-talk we'd been doing. I just didn’t know what to say. A hero’s purpose? Hell, I wasn’t even sure what he thought a hero was, because if I was “one,” then surely there was something wrong with his definition. And were our standards for a “hero” even the same? Did he mean a hero from the comic books? Or firefighters, doctors, and the like? I had no idea.

But I had to say something.

“Er, I-I guess it’s to help people? To save those in need and ensure that they live the highest quality of life that they can live? I-I’m not sure.” I said, averting his eyes again as the textbook-answer rolled off my tongue.

His throat rumbled in response, something I hoped meant my answer was at least somewhat satisfactory.

“Not bad. The responsibilities of a hero do include such,” he started, giving me a nod.

I heaved a sigh.

“However, responsibilities are different from a purpose.” And with a single shake of his head, I plummeted from heaven to hell. He continued to speak, ignoring my crestfallen expression.

“When the world's unstable and the era grows turbulent, a hero is born. And only then is a hero born." His hands balled back into fists.

"Even if people are . . . killed or accidents happen, if the world is in balance, then a hero is not needed. It is unfortunate, but it is the truth. So then,” he paused, staring at me. “Is not the true purpose of a hero to restore balance to the world?” 

He eyed my reaction carefully, sighing after seeing the blank look on my face.

“Alright, let's save that conversation for another time. I'll ask you something else. A perfect world doesn’t need a hero to save it, right?”

“Right.” I nodded, slowly regaining my composure. But what exactly was he getting at?

“So, if the world needs a hero, then the world isn’t perfect. It is flawed.” He looked at me again. I bobbed my head once more.

“And what do you think it means for a world that needs more than one hero? Like ours?” The look in his eyes grew bleak and this time, he continued without pause. 

“Well, that’s when you know. That's when you know there’s something wrong. That your world is far from perfect.”

I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t find any words to say. I’d been here for only what, a day? And I'd already died to mucus monsters that could jump higher than Olympic athletes. Who would dare to claim that this world was reasonable, much less perfect?

"This world, my world, is terrifying.” He said, resting his head on his arm before continuing in an increasingly solemn voice. “The hive mind that seeks to absorb all life, ever-growing through consuming endless flesh. The scourge brought to life by sin, seeking to devour and decay everything in the world, until nothing is left. And the gatekeeper of hell—“ He stopped suddenly, as if he’d said something I wasn’t meant to hear.

But I’d noticed. I’d seen the hint of despair on his face, even if it had only lasted for a second.

“T-they are all monstrosities beyond imagination.” He finished, ending off with a quick chuckle. A soft chuckle.

A lonely one.

I was going to ask about the things he’d mentioned and if he was okay, but Andrew just shook his head again and laughed, continuing his discourse.

“Well, there’s a reason I’m telling you all this. You see, with such ungodly beings present in our world, their presence constantly pulls and pounds away at the fabric of every sentient being’s mind. It's made the natives reliant on developing their mental force to resist their call.”

My eyes widened slightly. 

Their call. 

. . . Ever since I’d arrived in this world, there had been something. It was a feeling? A voice? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that it was hiding away in the corner of my mind, promising my inevitable demise. My impending doom. My death. Could he be talking about tha—

“That includes you, hero.” He said, bringing me out of my thoughts with a point of his finger. “Some of you call it despair. Some call it insanity. The Order calls it the Inner Demon.”

I was right. I hadn’t been going crazy! There was a real voice all along, whispering into my ear, eating away at my sanity. It had been with me the whole time, slowly twisting away at my mind, piece by piece. Until it broke me.

But just what was it that pulled me out?

“The Order?" I asked, shaking my head. I’d dwell on those thoughts later. I had a strong feeling that there was something he was about to tell me. Something important. Something I needed to know.

"The Order of the Guide. They’re responsible for guiding you heroes and teaching you how to get accustomed to this world. I’m one of them.”

“W-why do you guys call it the Inner Demon?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure, actually." He shrugged. "If it were up to me,” he said, leaning closer. “I’d name it the Inner Demonic Doppelganger instead.”

“W-why do you prefer that name?” I asked, covering my mouth with a hand, trying to suppress a sudden laugh. Inner Demonic Doppelganger just sounded. . . a little off. A bit too wordy, maybe?

Unfortunately, my predicament had lasted only for a moment as the urge to chuckle at his naming skills was eradicated by his chilling reply.

“Because it is you. The version of you that's succumbed to the ever-growing pull of this world’s greatest evils. The you that has lost the battle of force.”

“Battle of force? L-like physical force, or—”

“Mental force," he said, stressing the difference. "A force every sentient being possesses. It is the inner strength that prevents us from becoming corrupted, from being vicious and seeking out flesh and endless chaos.” He paused, checking my expression before continuing. “And like any other type of strength, it can run out.”

I knew what he was trying to say.

“Do you mean—”

“Yes. It’s what happened to you back there.”

I slumped into the chair, a pool of sweat spreading on my back.

So, I’d become a demon? I’d lost to myself? To the evil?

The growing lump in my throat made it hard to speak.

“I-is there any way? Any way to fight if it takes control?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Once you’ve succumbed, you can only pray to the Gods to save you. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait. Wait until you’ve destroyed and killed enough until its urges are satisfied.”

I shuddered. Just how much destruction and murder would it take to satisfy such a demon's urges? Wait, w-what happened to me then? 

“But there is another way, right?!”

He hummed. 

“Well, I suppose you could always die.”

My eyes grew wide, like a goldfish who'd realized it was in a fishbowl. At that moment, my heart stilled and the hand surrounding my chest tingled. 

D-did he know?

“But only you heroes have that option.” He finished, chuckling.

"T-the other heroes, they c-can,” I tightened my eyes, bracing myself for the pain.

“—die too?”

. . . N-Nothing? No pain?

I waited a few more seconds before opening my eyes. Andrew looked at me oddly before verifying my conjecture.  

“Yes, they can.”

My heart started beating again, pounding against my chest.

Oh god. S-so, I wasn’t alone in my experience? In all of that? I wasn't the only one to succumb to death’s grasp and. . . return?

After the realization something in me felt . . . disappointed. Disappointed that I wasn’t the only one who could die and live to tell the tale.

Wait.

What in the unholy fuck am I thinking?

How had I become smitten with my ability to die and resurrect? When did I become somebody who wished he was the only one to suffer such a fate? And hell, didn't this mean that as a hero, I’d have to face the mental or internal demon whatever, over and over, until I went insane again? Would I be stuck in an endless loop?

I shook my head, trying to stop my mind from ruminating further into dangerous territory. But this time, a mere headshake couldn't rid myself of the frightening thoughts. So I turned back to Andrew, hoping to distract myself instead.

“But, doesn’t this affect you too?” I asked, fidgeting in my chair.

“Of course. I am a sentient being, am I not?”

“But then, how do you—”

He grinned.

“Now, that’s where it gets interesting kid. Remember when I mentioned that we natives need to develop our mental force to resist the calls?”

I nodded.

”You see, although you can’t do much once you've demonized, you can train. You can train to the extent where your force is so powerful that you can't even feel the pull anymore. Well, mostly.” He smiled and patted my head.

Before I could demand him to stop his audacious and impudent act, a wave of energy washed over me, like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. My worries and anxieties dissipated with the intangible wind, and my fidgeting stopped altogether.

This was mental force? Damn. It was . . .  a little, okay, pretty cool.

“Thank you.” My voice cracked softly.

I was sincere in my gratitude. After all, I’d been terrified that I’d have to face off with the Inner Demon, forever. I’d already put it after  death on the list of things that I never wanted to experience again. But now? I had hope. A way to fight back.

“No problem, kid." He smiled and moved his hand away from my head.

"So, I can resist the call if I learn how to do that?"

“Yes." He nodded. "However, M-Force isn’t just used to suppress the calls of evil. It's the foundational building block for everything in Terraria.”

“M-Force?”

“Mental Force. Though, we usually just call it M-Force.”

Andrew took out another bottle. From where, only God knew.

“Remember this?" He held the water-filled bottle near the teapot, and again, there was a flash of light and bam, the bottle was gone, only to be replaced with a teacup. I suddenly wondered where the broken pieces of the last one had been, but I quickly assumed it had gone the same way the bottle had appeared.

"It’s not magic. Simply an application of M-Force to transform the elements of this world into different products, following a specific formula."

“Like alchemy?!”  

I admit, I was a pretty big fan of FMA¹Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime) back on Earth. Not that any of this looked even remotely close to equivalent exchange.

“Err, well there is real alchemy, but I . . ." Andrew scratched his head before continuing. "I suppose you can think of it like that.”

So, this world had both alchemy and magi—

Wait. That was it! 

My eyes lit up as if I'd just discovered the meaning of life. It wasn't 42, that I was certain. But I was certain of something else. 

If I was stuck in this world, then I would just become a hermit. The others could fight and be real heroes, for all I cared. If I trained my M-Force and just hid in a hole, I'd survive. I would live a comfortable life, practicing magic and studying alchemy, far from the monsters and all of the other horrible things that probably existed in this terrible place. Far, far away from death. And, maybe, someday, I would even find some magical way back to Earth! 

But before that, I had to make sure that I had the key to success.

“H-how do I increase my mental force? And fast?” I asked, unable to disguise the growing excitement in my voice. 

Andrew rubbed his chin.

“Well, you can cultivate it slowly through a nurturing method. It mainly involves strengthening the control you have over your body and emotions."

Okay, doesn’t sound half bad.

I nodded.

"Or, you can rapidly increase it through experiencing traumatic events and healing from them. Learning from them. Over and over.” His voice took on a strange tone.

“W-what are you suggesting?” I glanced at him warily.

Another glint emerged in his eyes. This time, it wasn't anger. Was it . . . passion? Excitement? I didn't know. And I didn’t think I wanted to. 

“It means you’ll have to fight. And die. Again and again. Until you’re strong enough.”

“Uh, I—”

“Strong enough to survive.” He continued, grabbing my shoulders.

“I don’t think—”

“Survive even your greatest nightmares.” He gave me a serious look, as if expecting me to agree right then and there and become his disciple or something.

But right now, wasn't he just telling me to become a damn masochist?

“C-can I choose the first method?” I asked, trying to pull away from him. He didn’t budge.

“If you want to be a thousand times slower than the others, then yes, by all means go ahead.”

I sulked at his blunt reply.

"And . . . how long would it take me to do what you did?"

“Crafting?”

I nodded. He let go of my shoulders, brows furrowing in thought.

"Well, it’s not exact, but I’d say you could do it in a year. Give or take a few hundred days."

". . . And the other method would take how long?" 

"Under an hour."

. . . I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. No, wait, I wanted to crawl in a hole, find a magic tree door, and then go back to Earth, like Alice from Wonderland.

“Are you sure there isn’t another way—”

“Yes. There is . . . the way I and the others in the Order did it. I am not keeping this a secret from you, because I have a feeling you'll ask for it sooner or later. And I keep my promises. But,” he said, stopping mid-sentence, voice suddenly growing cold. Colder than before. Like hell had come to Earth. Or well, Terraria.

“I will never. Never. NEVER. Let you do that.” His teeth were sharp fangs, grinding on each other as he leered over me.

“And don’t even think of asking me to. Got it?”

My open mouth closed immediately.

“Y-yes, sir.” I squeaked.

"Good." He smiled again, returning to his old self in an instant. I made a mental reminder to never touch upon that subject with him, even if I was being held at gunpoint. Not like they had guns in this world.

“But you should be fine, kid. Don't worry too much." He patted my shoulder. "You heroes have a hundred lives. Though, I suppose with you having demonized, you'd probably only have sixty or seventy left."

My eye twitched. Was . . . was that supposed to make me feel better?

"Still much more than what we have. We natives only have one, though we’re a pretty special case.”

“Uh—”

“I don’t know how many you have left." He shrugged. "And, no, there’s no way to check, at least, not that I know of. Other than counting how many times yourself.”

It wasn’t what I was going to ask, but I had a feeling that I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it anyway. That I'd died only once before succumbing to the Inner Demon.

Well, at least I'd confirmed that he couldn’t read my mind, right? Or at least, not all the time.

I shook my head.

“Okay. So about the M-Force . . ." I paused, biting my lip. "C-Could you help me use it? Or train, whatever you call it.”

He nodded.

“Of course. That is my role.”

“Er,” I started again, glancing at him awkwardly. “Without d-dying? And fast?”

He immediately frowned, putting a hand to his brow. After an entire minute of me regretting even asking, he ended the silence with a loud chuckle.

"Well, if you follow my advice—perfectly—I suppose it should be feasible. Can’t say for certain, of course. You are the first hero I've been able to talk normally with after all."

I blinked.

"You weren't joking about that?"

"No." He shook his head. "The natives of this world cannot speak to heroes without using the commands. And before you ask, they're essentially just a list of pre-recorded lines that we're allowed to use to speak to the heroes. The only things we can use."

"But, then, how are we—"

"I don't know. But what I do know is that it’s really damn nice to speak to you like this." He flicked my head softly. "So, I think it's safer if we keep this to ourselves."

Though I was annoyed again at the unsolicited touch, I nodded back. For once, I completely agreed with him. If there was a glitch in the system and it had to be fixed, then Andrew—and I—would probably be . . . well, fucked. Or at the very least, in a very big pile of shit.

"Okay. I'll do the training." I bit my lip again. "No d-dying, as long as I follow your instructions perfectly, right? When do we start?”

“Oh, we’ll save that for tomorrow. You should get a good rest for now. Even if it seems you’ve recovered, I don’t want to take any chances of you relapsing.”

A shiver traveled down my spine.

R-relapsing?

"Now, come here."

Why did I have a bad feeling about this?

“N-no,” I whimpered, starting to back away from him.

…I'd only felt a light tap on my neck before I fell unconscious.

"Sorry about this kid, gotta make sure," was the last thing I had heard.  

So this is how he gets back at me, huh? I thought. 

And then my vision turned black.