The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 14: Alone in Victory

Three years.

Three years of running, hiding, fighting, surviving.

Three years of blood-red skies and ash-choked air. Three years of demons and goblins and horrors I still couldn't name. Three years of watching Aldric's face grow harder, his eyes grow colder, his magic grow sharper.

Three years of searching for a way home.

We moved constantly. Never stayed in one place for more than a night. We learned the patterns of the creatures—when they hunted, where they gathered, how to avoid them. We found shelter in caves and ruins, always wary, always ready to run.

Aldric taught me as we traveled. Combat magic. Defensive spells. How to conserve mana when you're exhausted and bleeding and the world is trying to kill you.

I grew stronger. Faster. Smarter.

But I never stopped thinking about Rue.

Is she alive?

Is she suffering?

Is she waiting for me?

The questions haunted me every single day.

By the time I turned thirteen—my milestone birthday passing unmarked in a demon-infested wasteland—I'd killed more creatures than I could count. I'd seen things that would have broken the boy I used to be.

But I wasn't that boy anymore.

I was fifteen now. Taller. Leaner. Harder.

My body had changed. My face had lost its childish softness. My hands were calloused and scarred. My eyes—when I caught my reflection in still water—looked older than they should.

I looked like a survivor.

Because that's what I was.

And I was still searching for a way home.

We found it on what I think was the third anniversary of the Calamity.

We'd been moving through a valley between two jagged mountains when Aldric stopped suddenly, his hand raised.

"Wyatt," he said quietly. "Do you see that?"

I followed his gaze.

In the distance, rising from the scorched earth like a monument, was a structure.

A crystal pylon.

It was tall—maybe twenty feet—and perfectly smooth, glowing faintly with an inner light. Blue magical swirls danced around it, spiraling upward like smoke.

It was beautiful.

And it was wrong.

Nothing on the demon continent was beautiful. Nothing glowed with soft blue light. Everything here was red and black and wrong.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"I don't know," Aldric said slowly. "But we should be careful."

We approached cautiously, our hands ready to cast at a moment's notice.

The pylon was ancient. I could feel it—the weight of centuries pressing down on it, the hum of old magic vibrating through the air.

Runes were carved into its surface, glowing faintly. I didn't recognize the language, but something about them felt... familiar.

"Don't touch it," Aldric said sharply.

I nodded, circling the pylon slowly.

And then I heard it.

A whisper.

Soft. Distant. Like a voice carried on the wind.

"Touch it."

I froze.

"Wyatt?" Aldric said, his eyes narrowing. "What's wrong?"

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

"Hear what?"

The whisper came again, clearer this time.

"Touch it, Wyatt. It's time to go home."

My heart pounded.

I knew that voice.

I'd heard it before—back in my old life, in the moments before I died. The little voice in the back of my head that had warned me to clear my browser history, to pay attention, to be careful.

The voice I'd ignored.

"Wyatt, step back," Aldric said, his tone sharp.

But I couldn't.

My hand was already moving, reaching out toward the pylon.

"Touch it."

"Wyatt, don't—"

My fingers brushed the crystal.

And the world exploded.

White light erupted from the pylon, blinding and overwhelming. I felt Aldric's hand grab my shoulder, felt his magic flare as he tried to pull me back—

And then we were falling.

No—not falling.

Moving.

Reality twisted around us, bending and warping, and I felt like I was being pulled through a tunnel of light and sound and—

THUD.

We hit solid ground.

I gasped, my vision swimming, my ears ringing.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Couldn't think.

And then I heard it.

Birds.

Birds.

Not the screams of demons. Not the hiss of lava. Not the crackle of fire.

Birds.

I opened my eyes.

The sky above me was blue.

Blue.

Not red. Not blood-soaked. Not choked with ash.

Blue.

I sat up slowly, my hands trembling.

We were in a forest. Trees surrounded us—real trees, with green leaves and brown bark. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, warm and golden.

"Aldric," I said, my voice shaking. "Aldric, where—"

"I don't know," he said, his voice tight. "But we're not on the demon continent anymore."

I looked around, my heart pounding.

And then I saw it.

In the distance, through the trees, I could see a structure.

A house.

My house.

"No," I whispered.

I stumbled to my feet and ran.

Branches whipped at my face. Roots tried to trip me. But I didn't care.

I burst through the tree line and stopped.

The GreyFox estate stretched out before me.

But it was wrong.

The gardens—once lush and vibrant—were overgrown and wild. Vines crawled up the walls of the house, choking the stone. The shutters hung crooked, some broken entirely. The roof sagged in places, tiles missing.

It looked... abandoned.

"No," I said again, louder this time.

I ran toward the house, my legs burning, my lungs screaming.

"Mom!" I shouted. "Dad! Rue!"

My voice echoed through the empty courtyard.

No one answered.

I reached the front door and threw it open.

"Mom! Dad! Rue!"

The entrance hall was dark and dusty. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The once-polished floors were scuffed and dirty.

I ran through the house, throwing open doors, calling their names.

The sitting room—empty.

The dining hall—empty.

The kitchen—

I almost ran into her.

Marta.

She was standing in the doorway, a basket of laundry in her hands, staring at me with wide eyes.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

And then her eyes widened further.

"Master... Wyatt?" she whispered.

The basket fell from her hands, laundry spilling across the floor.

"Master Wyatt!" she gasped, and then she was rushing forward, pulling me into a tight hug.

I froze, my arms hanging at my sides.

She was crying. I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt.

"We thought—we thought you were dead," she sobbed. "We thought—oh, Gods, you're alive. You're alive."

Slowly, I raised my arms and hugged her back.

"Where are they?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Where's my mom? Where's Rue?"

Marta pulled back, her face pale.

"I—Master Wyatt, I—"

"Where are they?" I demanded.

Before she could answer, I heard a voice from the other room.

"What the hell was that noise?" the voice slurred. "Can't afford to replace s**t, Marta, you know that—"

I knew that voice.

I pushed past Marta and walked toward the sound.

The study door was open.

And inside, slumped in a chair surrounded by empty bottles, was my father.

Lord Marcus GreyFox.

He looked... terrible.

His hair was longer, streaked with more grey than I remembered. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. His clothes were wrinkled and stained.

He was drunk.

He looked up as I entered, his eyes unfocused.

"Marta, I told you—"

He stopped.

His eyes locked on me.

For a long moment, he just stared.

And then his face crumpled.

"Wyatt?" he whispered.

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

"Wyatt," he said again, louder this time. He tried to stand, stumbled, caught himself on the desk. "Wyatt, is that—is that really you?"

"It's me," I said.

He crossed the room in three unsteady steps and pulled me into a crushing hug.

He smelled like alcohol and sweat and despair.

"I thought you were dead," he said, his voice breaking. "I thought—Gods, I thought I'd lost you too."

Too.

The word hit me like a punch to the gut.

I pulled back, my hands gripping his shoulders.

"Where are they?" I asked. "Where's Mom? Where's Rue?"

His face fell.

"Wyatt—"

"Where are they?" I demanded.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes filling with tears.

"They're gone," he said.

"Gone where?"

"I don't know." He stumbled back to his chair and collapsed into it. "The Calamity—the portals—they took everyone. Everyone with mana. Your mother, Rue, half the damn continent."

"But Rue isn't a mage," I said, my voice rising. "She's a rogue. She doesn't have mana—"

"She does now."

I turned.

Aldric was standing in the doorway, his expression grim.

"What?" I said.

"Your mana," Aldric said quietly. "You and Rue were never apart. You slept together, trained together, spent every waking moment together. Your mana essence rubbed off on her. The portals must have sensed it and pulled her through."

My stomach dropped.

"No," I whispered.

"It's not your fault," Aldric said.

"Yes, it is," I said, my voice shaking. "If I hadn't—if we hadn't—"

"Wyatt—"

"We have to go back," I said, turning to Aldric. "We have to find them. If they were sent to the demon continent—"

"They're dead," my father said flatly.

I spun toward him.

"What?"

"They're dead, Wyatt." He reached for another bottle, his hands trembling. "Everyone who went through those portals was sent to the demon continent. And no one—no one—survives the demon continent."

"I did," I said.

He laughed—a bitter, broken sound.

"You're the exception. You're a prodigy. A God-Rank mage. Your mother—" His voice cracked. "Your mother was strong, but she's not you. And Rue—Rue's just a girl. A beast-folk girl with some training. She wouldn't last a week."

"You don't know that," I said.

"I've been searching for three years!" he shouted, throwing the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall. "Three years, Wyatt! I've searched every lead, every rumor, every Gods-damned corner of this continent! And I've found nothing!"

"Then we search the other continents," I said.

"The other continents are in chaos!" he yelled. "The portals didn't just take people—they let things out. Demons, goblins, orcs, things I don't even have names for. They're everywhere. Raiding villages, killing travelers, destroying everything. There aren't enough adventurers left to fight them all."

"Then I'll fight them," I said.

"You'll die," he said flatly.

"I survived the demon continent for months before Aldric found me," I said, my voice hard. "I saw things—horrible things. People being killed, tortured, r***d. But I never saw Mom. I never saw Rue. That means they could still be alive."

"Or it means their bodies were already gone," he said.

"Or it means they found each other," I countered. "Mom's a powerful mage. Rue's a trained assassin. If they were both sent to the demon continent, there's a chance they found each other. There's a chance they're trying to survive."

"It's a slim chance," he said.

"It's a chance," I said. "And I'm not giving up on them."

He stared at me for a long moment.

And then he took a deep breath.

"What if they come back?" he said quietly. "What if they somehow survive and make it home, and I'm not here?"

I understood.

He was afraid. Afraid to leave. Afraid to keep searching. Afraid to hope.

"Then I'll go," I said.

He looked up at me.

"I'll form a party," I said. "I'll go back to the demon continent. I'll search for them. And I'll bring them home."

"Wyatt—"

"I'm not asking for permission," I said. "I'm telling you what I'm going to do."

Aldric stepped forward.

"I'll go with him," he said.

My father looked between us, his face pale.

And then he nodded slowly.

"Kira," he said. "She's in Thornhaven. A city a few days' ride from here. She's been fighting the hordes—goblins, demons, whatever comes through. She'll help you."

"Kira," I repeated. Rue's old trainer.

"Go to the guild house," he continued. "Find a man named Thorne. Tell him Marcus GreyFox sent you. Tell him you're my son. He'll help you form a party."

I nodded.

"Wyatt," he said, his voice breaking. "If you find them—"

"I will," I said.

"If you find them," he continued, "tell your mother I'm sorry. Tell her I never stopped looking."

"I will," I said again.

He nodded, his eyes red.

I turned and walked toward the door.

"Wyatt," he called.

I stopped.

"Be careful," he said. "Please."

I looked back at him—this broken, desperate man who'd once been a charming rogue and adventurer.

"I will," I said.

And then I left.

I stood in the courtyard, staring at the overgrown gardens and crumbling walls.

This place had been my home. My sanctuary.

Now it was a tomb.

But I wasn't going to let it stay that way.

I was fifteen years old. I'd survived the demon continent. I'd killed goblins and demons and things that shouldn't exist.

And I was going to find Rue and my mother.

Or I was going to die trying.

Aldric appeared beside me, his expression grim but determined.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Let's go to Thornhaven," I said.

And together, we walked away from the broken house, heading toward the city.

Toward Kira.

Toward Thorne.

Toward the beginning of my quest.

I'm coming for you, Rue, I thought. I'm coming for you, Mom.

Just hold on a little longer.

I'm coming.