#Picture long-haired Viral (Gurren Lagann)'s brown-red outfit but without the shirt underneath his cloak

[djeesperate]

The Monster Called 'Gawain'

Chapter word count: 1307

C/W: Body horror?, pure unfiltered angst, alternate universe (bad endings).

In which we found Gawain a little too late.

It started with a curse on a knight who was far too proud—a hopeful life lesson for a man to be kinder.

He would find someone who cared for who he was, flaws and imperfections, enveloping him in a familiar warmth that would melt the frozen heart that had forgotten the boundless love he had.

He would find a place to belong after feeling lost. A new calling to be by another’s side, through darkness and light and every spectrum of hardships in between.

He would be at peace, lying beside his most trusted and beloved for years to come as the world continues to spin around them.

It sounded too good to be true—happy endings are only for fairy tales, after all. The blue skies that symbolise peace were nothing but a joke, a mockery of a man long abandoned by everyone around him.

There he was, flesh rotted and scarred where he pried off his bloodied iron prison, storming through the woods into nearby towns like a rabid animal, pupils dimmed after all hope left his soul years ago. He bares his teeth and screams out as the civilians run to safety.

A monster, they screamed.

He remembers the nights Morgause sat beside his bed, telling him stories of heroes that slay monsters and save the day. He remembers the days Lot would train him to protect people from these same monsters. He has had many experiences slaughtering said creatures as they near Dalmore.

Gawain, the exiled knight, knew the definition of a monster. Yet, somewhere down his journey to redemption, it would seem that he became that definition.

People would shy away and scurry off as he roams around looking for deeds to fulfil. People would run and hide when he was spotted coming into their town. People would beg for him to leave them alone, near crying on their knees because he was so overwhelming as a presence.

They looked so distressed, he didn’t know what he did wrong. Their request is for him to disappear? Does his existence cause this much pain for others?

Why won’t anyone look at him? Why wouldn’t anyone hear his cries?

He thought, at the very least, his sister would still be on his side, waiting for him to return to Dalmore. He would do all this so Florence knew that he was still her beloved brother and that he wasn’t a bad person.

He had tried hard to do good deeds. Whether or not he understood the meaning of kindness, he tried his best. It began as a chore but slowly turned into a genuine plea to be accepted, and over time, it became desperate, aggressive and frightening.

… what a cruel joke.

Somewhere down the line, he had uncovered the identity of the damned witch that put him in this mental spiral. He felt utterly betrayed, he cried for days. It was almost like no one wanted him around anymore, he was better off a corpse.

So he isolated himself in the mountains.

The times when he would skip and run through trees with Lamorak, dear Florence tailing behind as the three bantered. Three pairs of feet jumping around giggling before the Sun goes down. The memories he fondly kept in his heart corrupted since that day—he only recalls a boy whose face was crossed out, and a haze behind them, voices all muffled. He blocked them all out. 

He trekked the mountains alone in pure silence. Not even the beasts watching him in the distance would give him any company out of fear. He drags his feet as he enters a small cave with his makeshift bed of animal pelts he had acquired from hunting. Far away from people who had started to send out bounties to end his life once and for all.

He was hurting and no matter how much tears he wept at night in the cold, neither mother nor father came to hold him. Eventually, his eyes dried, bloodshot red to accompany the scarring around his face from where he ripped his mask off.

He rubbed his arm for warmth, draped in a cloak. He had broken down and torn off the armour from his body, which meant most of the skin on his torso was now gone. Now he really looked like a monster. Does that mean a hero would come and slay him?

Something twisted grew inside him from that revelation. He starts to pray for the day he will meet this hero—the only one left who will look at him. The pathetic thought enraged him, insulted that the thought of death by another person would put him at peace. 

He hated himself.

Standing in front of him was a skyfarer, eyes bright as the stars he would count while he sat on his father’s shoulders on their way back home. He charged at them with the intention to kill; that’s what monsters do, after all. Yet all they did was dodge and block his blows.

He saw it, the compassion and pity in their eyes. Every time he backs up to prepare for another attack, they try to call out to him.

“You’re Gawain, aren’t you?!”

“Wait! Just listen to me!”

“I don’t want to hurt you! I just want to help!”

Their words fell on deaf ears. He’s heard all these lies from her already, he refuses to believe that there was someone out there that actually wanted to help. He was in too deep that it hurt more to heal his heart than to continue down this endless madness. He was too afraid of trusting someone again, to put his guard down and give even a crumb of his heart away. His attacks became frantic, like a wounded animal trying to survive.

He watched them try, again and again, shouting in hopes that their words would reach him. He watched tears flow down their face as they became increasingly frustrated, knowing that if this battle continued, their other crewmates that were rushing to the scene would behead him on the spot.

“Gawain!”

He huffed, energy draining. His damaged flesh tore open from all the heavy blows he tried to deliver, blowing apart from the sheer intensity of his own strength. His vision was blurry but he saw the distress in the person’s face, trying their best to get closer to him. In his head, he thinks it was so that the hero could slay the monster once and for all. Their eyes grew wide, he saw them open their mouth to scream but he heard nothing but high-pitched ringing.

He didn’t notice he fell to the ground.

He didn’t notice the giant gash on his body that was spilling out blood like he was a waterfall.

He sees wings, six pairs of them, radiating light so blinding as it joins the side of his opponent, it was as if he was staring directly at the Sun. 

He felt warmth, for the first time in years. He watched them run over to his dying figure, holding onto him as their tears fell onto his face, begging him to stay awake. He watched them scream and scold the angel beside them in anger, ripping off their own sleeves to bandage his wound as if it weren’t fatal.

He hears his name being called repeatedly. It had been so long that he almost forgot. How could he have forgotten it?

Visions of three kids running around the mountains haunted him for one last time—faces clear as day, his dear friend and sister.

Where did everything go wrong?

Gawain didn’t know. Gawain didn’t have long to find out, either.

The last thought he had before he went cold was a new revelation. He wasn’t the monster in the story at all…

He was who the hero needed to save.