Revy Gray Warped World Reflections

The insistent voice of the sobbing boy, Dori, pierced through the veil of consciousness, but Revy Gray remained still, lost in his thoughts. The crimson trickle from his nose painted a stark contrast against the golden wheat beneath him. He stared at the unblemished blue sky, the memory of the cave he'd been found in as elusive as whispers of his past.

"I don't know who I am," he murmured to the uncaring heavens. The memory of the cave was a fading shadow, as elusive as the whispers of his origin. "These talents, these personalities...what are they for?" His hand gripped the hilt of his katana, the only constant in his tumultuous life.

The wheat stalks whispered a gentle lullaby, their golden heads brushing against each other in the breeze. The scent of the distant sea wafted through the air, taunting him with the promise of a life untouched by the chaos he knew so well. A life filled with mystery and the truth of his existence.

Dori's pleading grew more urgent, his voice carrying the weight of the world. "Revy, please. We have to run!" He tugged at Revy's arm, his eyes darting to the horizon where the nobleman's men grew larger with each passing second.

Dori's screams became more insistent; her trembling hands shook Revy's shoulder with a desperation that seemed to echo the tremors of the ground beneath them. "Wake up, you bastard! If I die before I get married, I will be a trouble for you until hell!" The urgency in his voice was palpable; It was a stark reminder of the reality that lies just beyond the peace of the fields.

Revy's eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting Dori's tear-filled face. The boy's cheeks were flushed with a mixture of fear and excitement, his chest rising and falling with irregular breaths. "You and that gambling bastard got us into trouble again, didn't you?" he grunted, pushing himself into a sitting position; The pain of his bruised body was forgotten in the face of his friend's distress.

Dori nodded wildly, her eyes never leaving the horizon. "It's not my fault this time, Revy! The gambler said we had to gamble because we had no money left." His voice cracked with emotion, but the glint of mischief that hinted at his usual carefree nature was always present. "We were winning at a certain level, but when the gambler got drunk, he got a little carried away and caused a nobleman to lose all his money, and then he started flirting with the man's lover!" he shouted, a sly smile spreading across his face.

Revy's eyes were focused on solving the case, the pain in her body a distant memory. The gambler had always been a loose cannon, but he had never put her in this much danger before. He looked at Dori and said: "You don't look very innocent from here. You must have done something because I don't think a pervert who steals women's panties in the village would behave properly." "He growled and rose to his feet with surprising agility, despite his wounds.

Dori stepped aside, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and admiration. "I didn't really do anything, I just asked the woman for her panties," he mumbled, his voice barely carrying the rustle of wheat. The nobleman's men approached, their shadows stretching towards them like the fingers of a malevolent hand.

The swordsman personality looked at Dori with disappointment and thought, I knew that the mentality of these two incorrigible fools was rotten, but I just realized that even their brains are rotten. Revy surveyed the scene, her mind quickly becoming confused. He had to get them out of here. The village was already a memory, a place that could never truly accept him despite his efforts to adapt. Now they were being chased like animals because of the madness of a drunken gambler.

He looked at Dori, his heart heavy with the weight of their friendship. Dori had always been his companion, the one who knew the darkest of his secrets—his three personalities, each with its own unique power. They had been cast out together before, but this was different. This was life or death.

The gambler's laughter still echoed in his mind, taunting him with the folly of their situation. It was a sound that seemed to be carried on the very wind that whipped through the wheat fields. "We'll be fine," Revy said, his voice firm despite the doubt gnawing at him. He had to be the strong one, the protector. It was his burden to bear.

Dori looked at him, his expression a mix of hope and fear. "You can't fight them all," he said, his voice quivering. But Revy had made up his mind. He had a duty to his friend, and he would not fail him.

The nobleman's men approached, their armor clanking rhythmically like a macabre symphony of war. Revy's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from one face to the next, calculating the threat each posed. His mind was a whirlwind of strategies, each personality whispering advice, each power demanding to be used.

Dori took a step back, his eyes darting between the swordsman and the nobleman's men. He knew Revy could be unpredictable, but he had never seen this side of him. "Why did you come after us?" Revy asked, his voice echoing through the wheat fields like the sound of a war drum. The men's laughter faded away, their grins replaced by murderous looks.

"Because you made a fool of the young master," spat one of them. "A peasant like you has no right to take what is not yours."

Revy's grip on her katana tightened, her eyes narrowing at the insult. He was found in this world with no memory of his past, no name and no purpose; they only had the ability to guide him. The idea of ​​being called a peasant bothered him, but he knew better than to let anger cloud his judgment.

"I didn't steal anything, your master gambled against me and lost," Revy said sternly, her voice cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. "But if you want to take our lives because of a nobleman's pride, you are gambling with your life." The swordsman in him came forward, his gaze never leaving the approaching men.

The nobleman's men exchanged funny looks. They were trained warriors, but this was a weak boy with no combat experience, no more than 16 years old.

"Kill them!" The voice of the Young Nobleman riding slowly from behind was cold, the order was clear. The swordsmen charged, their weapons blurring as they approached.

Revy's hand tightened around the hilt of the red katana. The sword, which had always whispered to him, was now a cacophony of anger and hunger, echoing in his soul. "Kill, kill, KILL!" The whispers grew louder with each step the men took, urging him to embrace the bloodlust that pulsed through its steel.