Why was he here?
Was this another world in which we were friends?
No, the question was, why was I here?
I remembered that I had slain a slimy tree thing and perceived its memories before suddenly waking up here.
I looked at my arms and touched my skin; what were these black markings that wouldn't come off?
Was this even my body?
Like immense power poured into a tiny jar, it spilled out of me—I know this feeling. I had long brought it under control, so as not to feed my other selves with strength, to avoid making them stronger for the time I would have to fight them and take back what was originally mine.
I crawled over the unmoving man beside me, fell on the floor, and made it to the window on all fours before I pulled myself up on the windowsill.
What was I hoping so desperately to find by looking outside?
A city? Dark buildings on the other side of a street? To perceive the smell of a restaurant after opening the window?
