Even in death, I still serve.

It takes you a while to awaken, to open your metaphorical eyes within your subconsciousness so that your sentience is fully aware. Moments tick by, like beads of sand slowly falling in an hourglass as you return to the realm of the living.

Synapses fired, fingers and toes twitched, and your once still heart began beating, sending your blood coursing through your veins. By now, you could have woken up truly and return to your duties in the waking world, but you choose not to. You lay there, your body still on the cold stone slab, the ceremonial table to which you were resurrected. Beside you, the figure of a petite girl stood, patiently waiting for you to rise, the last tendrils of necrotic energies fizzling away from her fingers as she finishes the ceremonial resurrection.

This girl, this necromancer, was Uruha Rushia. You knew it as if by instinct, your mind already connecting the dots automatically. She was your master, as per all undead summoned by the unnatural magics of necromancers. You shall serve her bidding without question, without tire, and without complaint. But in this moment of reawakening, these short-lived sparks which will quickly fizzle out, you remember almost everything.

You were a normal man, an average person, going about your days without much care nor purpose, yet compared to your state of being now, it was like day and night. You remember that you spent your days watching streams of what would be known as VTubers, and had grown to enjoy the entertainment brought by a petite, green haired girl called Uruha Rushia. Back then, you had no idea who she really was, merely entertained by how desperately she clung to the love of her fans. You were enamored by it, citing it as pure love, or as close as you could feel to actual love. You admired, cared, lauded and loved Rushia for it. And she noticed your efforts. How vindicated you felt when she even asked to meet you one day.

But when you actually met her, it was everything but what you expected. Physically, she was everything you expected, but there was something wrong about her presence. Something so unnatural that every single iota in your body screamed for you to run, like it was a warning to your very soul. If only you had heeded it earlier. But alas, your feet were frozen and your body seized up as her blood red eyes met yours. It was like staring at all the horrors of the world, all the tortured souls in hell screaming at you, keeping you rooted to the spot. Only as she took a step towards you, that your bodily functions finally kicked in, allowing you to move your locked legs. You remember your body backing away, right onto a busy street, and then your life flashed before your eyes, before everything went dark.

The next thing you remembered was the same for many, many times onwards. You learnt that you had died, hit by a vehicle, a truck of sorts. A freak accident, all things considered. But you wished you had stayed dead. For the necromancer girl Uruha Rushia refused to accept that reality, and in the desperate throes of her love lost decided to drag your soul from the underworld. Not once, not twice, but as many times as she wanted. And this resurrection? The 34th? 35th? You couldn’t remember at this point.

What you do remember, is that even as you are brought back to the land of the living, you are but a husk of what you once were. A mere zombie, who’s soul could only operate your mortal shell like a broken automotive. You would rise, serve your mistress to whatever wicked desire she had, and only be able to witness this atrocity known as your unlife from the confines of your shackled soul.

And yet, perhaps in one of the cruelest twists of irony, you would somehow always end up dead again. Be it by accident, or on purpose, the time you spent on this realm was limited, at most a month, if your already fading memories served you right. It was like fate itself was trying to right the wrong which was your existence. You were meant to be dead, but Rushia wouldn’t have that. As many times as it took, she would bring you back. There were words she would mutter, but you could never recall them. That was the other cruelty of your unnatural existence.

Whenever you are brought back from death, whenever your soul was forcefully taken from the grasp of the grim reaper, the memories of your lives are brought forth, allowing you a short reprieve of true sentience before they all fade away, leaving only servitude to your short statured mistress. It was a cruel inversion of having your life flash by the moment of your death, and you remembered it all. All the times you died, all the moments which Rushia would do her best to prevent it from happening, and ultimately fail. And perhaps, what you cherished yet hated the most, was that you would remember who you are, before it all slips away, like sand in an hourglass.

So you awaken, rising from the peaceful haze which was your death, into the clockwork suffering of your unlife, just so that you could return once more. This cycle, unending, undying, like a Sisyphean punishment which you did nothing to deserve. You smile, taking refuge that at least your remembrance of all this suffering was temporary, before it all repeats once more. You turn your head to Rushia, your mistress. Her red eyes glow, and a small smile spreads over her face as she sees you. You blink, and some of your memories begin to fade. The wheel of fate turns once more.

She rushes over to you, and in the back of your mind you could feel like this is what she would always do upon your resurrection. You blink away these memories. Words of love, tears of sorrow, sprung forth from the small figure as she embraces you. How cruel it was, that her love for you was genuine, yet for you, it was a punishment, eternal and unending. What did you do to deserve this? To live, die and live again in this cycle of existential suffering.

 So you blink, letting your memories, your awareness, and your pain, fade away. Perhaps in the next cycle, you would find a way to break free.