Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 226: MARTA: Depth in Oneself

Chapter 226: MARTA: Depth in Oneself

"Ah, Marta, do you need to go to the bathroom?"

Marta’s expression darkened slightly at the question. Irritation turned to hate and then loathing. She clenched her jaw for a moment before responding tersely, "No, I don’t need to go to the bathroom."

"Are you sure? If you need my help, just ask."

"I don’t."

Elena frowned and nodded. From the corner of her eye, Marta glared at her.

Elena Petrovna...she was a forty-year old housewife. What could she possibly know? What could she understand? She gave up on the Heavenly Games the instant she saw danger and relegated herself as a baker while Marta kept pushing. Every day, she trained and practiced. On canoes, in the forest, almost every waking day, she fought. She pushed herself to be bitter. She willed herself through aching muscles and weakness when in her old life, she did none of that. They started the same and they ended up at different points because Marta was...

Marta was...

Better. Better than her. Stronger. And yet she was like this and Elena was...

Her temper flared—

"Ugh...!"

And the phantom pain in her right shoulder flared with it. It was as if her entire arm were engulfed in flames, the burning sensation consuming her from within a layer in. Marta seethed. It was one layer to deep to touch. No amount of magical healing or potions could dull the intensity of the phantom pain. It was there, it was always there when she didn’t want it, and Elena noticed.

"Marta, are you okay?" Her touch was tender and Marta smacked it away.

"I’m fine," Marta said through grinding teeth. "I’m fine. Just...leave me alone."

Elena opened her mouth. "Marta—"

"Leave." Her voice cracked. "I said leave!"

It was the first time she had ever yelled at anyone and it felt good. Elena was speechless. Nodding, Elena got up and went to the kitchen area. She was still here, she was still in her immediate vicinity, and Marta wished she wasn’t. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to twist and turn and scream without anyone being here.

She wanted to return to being on her computer. She wanted to sit there for hours on end. She wanted...

’I want to be home.’

Because this wasn’t home. This was a pale imitation of her home. This didn’t have the life-long air conditioner or her computer. She missed it. She wanted to see it all again. She wanted to play games and go on Discord and go on Youtube. However, this world granted none of those luxuries. It was pain, pain, and more pain. Suffering and effort and nothing else. She wanted to be lazy again. She wanted to sit in her pink leather chair and draw her knees to her face and smile. She wanted to be herself again. She wanted to relax.

Marta didn’t know how much time passed until she did. It must have been hours. Elena was fast asleep in the corner. When Marta closed her eyes and let her shoulders sag, as the rage in her bones dimmed, she was greeted with flashes of blood and a white mask; of a golden rapier and words.

"You’re no genius. You’re just annoyingly tenacious. Dirty. A woman unable to recognize that she has no talent. A speck that I deem...unworthy."

’Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—!’ Marta’s eyes flew open, her chest rising and falling rapidly. ’Shut the fuck up! Shut up!’

"I’ll give you something to cry about, woman."

Muscles were ripped. Inch by inch, she could still hear the ghostly sound. It was so small, so minor, so insignificant in the grand scheme of the battle. A simple tear with the blade. A terrifyingly deafening sound for Marta. The blood spilling out, the desire to keep it inside and failing. The rapier would not allow it. He would not allow it.

"What, you’ll do anything? Do you know how many of you have said that to me?"

"Haah...hahh..." Marta wanted to put a hand on her chest to calm herself but she remembered it wasn’t her hand. It was a metallic abomination. It wasn’t her. She couldn’t even comfort herself. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her chest constricting, ribs grinding against her heart. The walls of her body felt like they were closing in on her and her heart pounded against her ribcage and her ears. The deafening drumbeat drowned out all other sound. The needles in her right shoulder spread to her left. The dizziness, the lightheaded, the burn, it was as if she was melting into herself.

Images flashed through her mind, vivid and loud: the long, tortured seconds of her limbs being torn from her body, the agonizing spill of blood, and the cold. A cold that spread to every nerve inside her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. She didn’t want to reach out. She didn’t want to use this false part of herself.

"Marta? Marta, are you okay—?"

A hand touched her—

"Don’t touch me!" Marta didn’t think, her arm simply reacted and slapped aside the voice. Metal met flesh and she heard a loud thud. She didn’t bother looking. She didn’t want to. But eventually, she had to and her heart stopped. A big red mark wounded the woman’s cheek. "I-I’m sorry," she stammered. "I-I didn’t..." It was because of her left eye, she couldn’t see! She just...she just wanted to smack her hand, not her face!

Elena lay there for a moment, holding her cheek. For a second, she glared up at her—then, a second after, softened. The older woman looked like she wanted to say something. Give something. She drew in a breath, trepid, and got up.

"It’s okay." Elena forced a smile. "I’ll just leave you alone."

Marta liked being alone. She did. So why? Why did she feel so empty? Why was her neck so tight?

Why could she not speak?