See, the country that they have oppressed were diamonds, formed into order through time and pressure. They may be outgunned, a slight chance of being outmanned, but they will never break, ready to make an all out stand. When flames went out, the storm blew away, the battlefield’s soaked crimson, they would leave the field victorious.

Sadly, the sky has taken a new gradient the past week, red with whisps of black and gray, oftentimes dominated by black. Amber flame caressed his cheek, smoke curling further into the distance. His ears couldn’t stop ringing, his head couldn’t stop pounding. Every small shift shot pain up his body, a constant reminder of the shrapnel digging into his skin, that odd wedge in his chest. The smokey tang of the room rammed into his nose, setting his lungs aflame. A cough shook his entire body, one spasm after another painful spasm, but no amount of air would satisfy. No matter how many breaths he gulped down, the body would never be satisfied with air tainted with smoke and fire.

Clink, clink

Metal, this is the sound of metal! The ringing has subsided, replaced by bangs and clatters that have pulled his attention elsewhere, to a small cylinder with a pointed tip clattering against the floor. More clinks followed as bullets rained from the higher shelves, knocked from the explosion. Guns clattered against the floor, quickly incinerated by a blaze of heat. Amongst the weaponry and chaos, he could only endure the stabbing pain as the air slowly choked him. Well, as expected when you send yourself straight into a burst of flame.

With the killing calm ebbing out of his veins, he wondered which steps he made to end up here. Truly, nothing came to mind with all decisions pouring into his head during times of crisis, and this time called for a more daring, courageous action. His head gave no answer, yet his heart was clear. Nothing mattered more than getting into the weapon shack.

A sharp jab rammed into his chest, staggered him back a few steps. His hands couldn’t help but reach for the site, yet his feet kept leaping forward as if the earlier shock didn’t halt his pace. His feet screamed, legs outstretched as his pace quickened, both eyes locked into the door. He could see it, could already envision flames glowing amidst the midnight blue sky shrouded by forest canopy, its crackling in harmony with the roaring rivers he just passed. It can’t end here, not with his comrades heavily injured, not when they had paid so much to arrive at this time, at this moment.

O ancestors gazing down from the clouds, if I am going to die here, grant me the strength to annihilate all my enemies.

Enemy spotted. A gunshot sliced through the air. Opposing fist incoming. Stones grind and skid against worn boots, knuckles nearly missing his cheekbones. Each step brought him closer to the dilapidated wood door. A cacophony of screams burst from within as he yanked it open, closely following the press of his trigger. More gunshots echoed in the distance, from the only other man brave and able enough to continue the fight. He hoped he could live to tell his tale.

Sadly he couldn’t return and thank him personally for redirecting any attention from him.

“Perhaps history has its eyes on you too, my friend.” He smiled, slowly drifting his gaze to the metal panes they would call a roof. After sending a last prayer for the safety of his injured comrades, for the other man braving through a wave of gunshots, for his grandparents whom he will part ways, for the nation he served, he wrenched the safety pin from the only explosive in his hand and propelled it as far as his eyes could see.

By now the fight was finished, taken over by an almighty inferno wrestling with a gush of rain. Let it come, wash his face clean of soot. Perhaps it was mother nature mourning as she listened to the soft choir of cries of incinerated trees and plants around him. He didn’t realize there was a clear path, but grayish green soon filled his vision, engaged in incomprehensible conversation.

They pointed at his head, cautiously leaning forward. The cold metal against his index slowly slipped off, his fingertip tapped softly against the earth. These men, recognized from their sombre baritone, huddled around him, muttering something under their breath. A ring of fire wrapped around his ankles, then under his arm, soon he couldn’t feel earth. Instead, a soft cloth cradled his back, sagging underneath his weight.

For once he felt weightless, no longer needing to carry around his body. He was afloat, suspended in the air. His arm dangled over the stretcher, swaying with each crunch of earth. As they went, more hushed murmurs surrounded him. Some sniffled a cry, some outright burst into tears, but his brain couldn’t label any of their faces. He should know the names of those who wept for him at the very least, but his mouth didn’t respond to his command.

They gently set down many flowers weaved into beautiful circles. He could not touch them, he could not lift a hand to bring them close to his face, only his nose could delight in the sweet smell of bloom, though lightly charred. They were feather light, barely enough to hold itself to his stomach. A single breeze could shift it or even blow it away. Yet he could not reach for them, he could not gather them closer to knit their scents together, only his eyes could appraise each curve and dip of each petal. Even their colors started to fade away.

So cold…everything is so cold! Was it the rain that soaked his body thoroughly? No, the rain only brought him reprieve the entire journey, brought him comfort. The light taps on his face only language he could comprehend. Amidst the ever blurring faces and a blend of blues and greens in the far distance, the rain offered constant companionship, washing his canvas anew.

In another life, this might be akin to lying in bed after a long backbreaking day. His back sank into the mattress, his fingertips relaxed, and a relieved sigh left his lips.

This time, his back and fingers settled, yet another inhale never came.

His eyelids shut and he couldn't find the strength to open them again.

And once he found the strength to do so again, all he could see were branches of dark brown and specks of green, and something round popped into his field of vision.

AHH! What is that??

This…critter, is that even right? This white humanoid thing with an apple hat is a critter? Two black dots for eyes so empty, a small line for a mouth that wanted to say nothing. It has quite a unique set of leg covers, whatever those green tints on its feet were. Oh, and the green caterpillar appendage attached to its hind, weird…

It kept chittering, its caterpillar appendage wiggling every once in a while.

Where was I? Oh!

This otherworldly insect paid no mind to this newfound being laying down on a quite itchy wood surface. Dense foliage gave ample shade from the sun. It even did the leaves justice, illuminating his surroundings in a soft green glow. The cool breeze invited the leaves for a dance. It was a welcomed sort of comfort, relaxing in the lullaby of rustles and rolling winds. Every once in a while, the wind twirled the leaves aside. Between the cracks in the distance, the sky shone bright unlike any hue of blue he has seen. Vibrant was the right word, decorated with swirls of clouds. Thick roots sprout from the branches above him, with more insects with wings launching into flight.

“Thank you, we heard your call.”

The urge to rest left him as an unfamiliar voice spoke close by. A man—no, some other man-insect similar to a beetle leaned down, lightly pinching the creature’s cheek.

“Why did you not give our new guest a tour?”

The human-caterpillar clicked back, scuttling away like he got dismissed from work.

With a soft smile, the man-beetle locked eyes with him, “A tour is overdue, but Bap seemed a bit hesitant.”

“Hesitant?”

“Quite,” he nodded, “I would happily step in, but I would hate to break a reunion.”

“A reunion?”

The man-beetle stepped aside, and behind him stood a human-arthropod of another insect he couldn’t grasp, yet he would recognise his face from a mile away.

“You, you are here?” He choked. The last time he saw this human-arthropod, his appendages were still intact, fully human in fact, clutching a gun as they marched towards enemy territory.

“I did what I could,” His friend replied, a proud smile on his face. “I knew my sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

“How? What was it for you?”

He shrugged, “The bullet, the brawl, who knows. I woke up under this big tree the next time I opened my eyes.”

One deep breath in, one very long exhale, “It’s cool here, the air is fresh.”

His friend chuckled, “Better than a few months ago when they razed everything to the ground.”

They shared a knowing smile.

The beetle’s skeletal arm weaved with Javanese edelweiss and hyacinths crossed behind his back as he walked down the branch inwards. Once he felt it was sufficient, he turned around. “You two have done well, time to rest now.”

Both of them finally took in the smaller pieces of the puzzle they just saw. From the hanging roots, both could deduce that the beetle headed towards a ficus tree trunk, yet this one brimmed with life like its own metropolis, spreading upwards and downwards beyond the eyes could see.

“This is Beringin, your respite, and I'm your graf palaka, guide of souls.”