Reincarnated As The Side Character

Maxwell and Gladiolus turned around instinctively at the sound of the voice, their muscles tensing as they prepared to defend themselves. Gladiolus's large muscles were tense, and Maxwell had his mace raised. However, their aggression disappeared when they saw Malacosteus standing a short distance away, his body almost blending into the shadows of the forest.

Maxwell lowered his guard, though not completely. "Malacosteus," he said.

"Right, well, catch me up on what you wanted," Maxwell said, crossing his arms. "If I remember correctly, you wanted me to speak with Professor Juno about turning you back into a human and sending you back to your original universe?"

"That's correct," Malacosteus replied as he tilted his head slightly, studying Maxwell. "Of course, if you're to assist me, then I'll cease my... hunting of the inhabitants of Calla Lily." He replied. "And let's not forget, you stand to gain something as well. Helping me would mean you, too, could return to your original universe. Surely, that must tempt you."

Maxwell tensed, his expression unreadable. "You seem awfully confident about what I want," he said, his voice measured. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. What's your plan if I agree to help?"

"Well, there's not much left for me to do on my part," Malacosteus said, his voice calculated as he perched on the branch. "Once you contact the Professor, I imagine I'll be placed in her care. She'll handle the process of restoring my humanity and sending me back to my universe." He paused. "In the meantime, since I'll refrain from hunting, I'll focus on extracting the mana from the forest to sustain myself. It's not as... fulfilling, but it will suffice for now."

"So, you're saying this entire deal hinges on me trusting you to keep your word and not prey on anyone in Calla Lily? You're not exactly trust worthy, Malacosteus." Maxwell said.

Malacosteus let out a weak laugh. "Ah, Maxwell. Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it? But I assure you, I'm a being of my word. Breaking it would only complicate matters for both of us."

"Hmph," Maxwell crossed his arms, his gaze hardening as he stared up at Malacosteus. "So if I'm understanding correctly, you don't want to be held accountable for the crimes you've committed. You expect a happy ending—returning to normal and going back to your universe, as if none of it ever happened. Look, I understand your circumstances. You were turned into a NULL when you came here. But that doesn't excuse what you've done." His tone was sharp, but there was a flicker of empathy.

Malacosteus tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I suppose I understand your side of this," he admitted. "But you must know, I never hunted those humans out of sport or malice. Every life I took was for my own survival—a desperate attempt to stave off the emptiness consuming me. I clung to the hope that I could one day reclaim my humanity."

Maxwell's frown deepened, his grip tightening on his mace. "That doesn't make it right. Survival or not, those lives you took mattered. You can't just erase the blood on your hands by saying it was for survival." He took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "If you really want a chance at redemption, you'd better prove you're more than just a monster. Actions speak louder than words, Malacosteus."

Malacosteus didn't respond immediately. He simply gazed down at Maxwell, he felt faint flicker of remoro. "Perhaps you're right," he finally said. "Perhaps redemption isn't something I can claim. But I will do whatever it takes to reclaim my humanity. And if that means earning your trust and proving my intentions, so be it."

Malacosteus spread his wings, the faint glow of mana coursing through his body as he began to ascend into the air. He looked down at Maxwell with a sly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How very anticlimactic," he muttered. "I was expecting us to fight again, but I suppose I'll see you around, Maxwell."

He soared upward, his dark body blending into the shadowy canopy of the Elemental Forest. The powerful beats of his wings sent gusts of wind rippling through the trees, and in moments, he disappeared into the forest, leaving Maxwell and Gladiolus standing alone in silence.

Maxwell exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that could've gone worse," he muttered, glancing at Gladiolus, who huffed in agreement. "Guess that's our cue to head back."

With one last look at the direction Malacosteus had flown, Maxwell turned and began making his way out of the forest.

Just as Maxwell was walking through the forest, a thick mist suddenly began to engulf the entire area. Maxwell and Gladiolus tried to stay close to each other, but they were separated as if by an invisible force. The mist seemed to swallow everything around them, distorting the landscape and muffling their sounds.

The fog crawled into Maxwell's lungs, the air thick with a strange energy. His vision blurred, and his head spun. Before he could call out to Gladiolus or even reach for him, his knees weakened, and the world around him darkened. His body went limp, and the last thing he remembered was the cold, oppressive fog.

When Maxwell woke up, he could instantly tell that something was wrong. His surroundings were entirely different, and his senses felt… disconnected. He was no longer in the Elemental Forest. Instead, he found himself in a grand hall, surrounded by an unfamiliar crowd. They all looked toward the center of the room.

A man stood in the center, and though Maxwell couldn't clearly see his face—everything about him was blurred, like a figure fading in and out of focus—he could tell that this man was someone important. People all around him raised their voices in praise, clapping, chanting, and shouting his name, although their voices were muffled.

Maxwell squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of the man's features, but the harder he tried, the more the man's appearance slipped away. The figure remained a hazy blur, his face unreadable, though the power he radiated was undeniable. At the man's side, a beast stood guard, large and formidable. Its eyes glowed with a fierce light, and its presence was unmistakable— a companion.

Maxwell felt drawn to the man, as if something deep inside him urged him to move closer, to understand who this person was. But as he took a step forward, the distance between them seemed to grow. The closer he tried to get, the farther away the man seemed to drift. Each time Maxwell attempted to get closer, it only widened, as though some invisible force was pushing him back.

Why couldn't he get any closer? He could feel a strange connection to the man, something familiar, but the harder he tried, the further the man seemed to become. It was as though he were stuck in a dream, unable to reach what he longed to understand. The crowd around him cheered, but their voices grew more distant.

Maxwell's heart pounded in his chest, and he clenched his fists, desperate to reach the man. He needed to know who he was, to understand why this vision felt so significant. But despite every effort, the distance stretched impossibly far, leaving Maxwell standing at the edge of the hall.

"This must be a vision of me from my past life," Maxwell muttered to himself. "But I don't care about that anymore. I'm not that person. I'm Maxwell now, someone completely different. This life, this world—it's all that matters now." He took a deep breath. He shook his head, rejecting the pull of the past. "I've moved on. I won't be bound to that person again."

Maxwell turned away from the crowd,the blurry image of the man and his beast faded into the background as he focused on his present reality, the one where he had a purpose, a future, and a new identity. The past was a distant shadow.

As Maxwell began to turn away, something shifted within him, like the very air around him had changed. The vision shifted abruptly, and the man from earlier—his features still blurred—was now locked in a desperate battle with a massive demon. The clash was brutal, and Maxwell could feel the intensity in the air as if it were his own fight. The battle seemed to stretch for hours, the exchange of blows, the heat of the demon's attacks, and the relentless strikes from the man and his beast. It all unfolded before Maxwell in an instant, as though mere moments had passed of what should have been a lengthy and hard fought battle.

Just as quickly as the vision had shifted, it changed again. Maxwell was now in a different place—a town square. People were celebrating and cheering. There were banners everywhere, all celebrating the man from before—the hero who had defeated the great evil. They hailed him as their savior, their protector. Maxwell could see the respect in their eyes as they looked upon the man. He was a role model, a beacon of hope, admired by all who knew him.

In the center of it all, the man stood tall, his beast at his side. Despite the blurred features, there was no mistaking the pride in the man's posture. He had become a symbol of victory, of perseverance, a figure to be looked upon with awe.

Maxwell stood there, watching it all unfold, feeling like an outsider. The more he tried to make sense of it, the more disconnected he felt from the image of the man, from this world that was now foreign to him. It was as if he no longer belonged to that life, that person, no matter how much the world around him glorified it.

Then suddenly, Maxwell was shifted once again. The celebratory cheers and the bright town square disappeared, replaced by the dim lighting of an office. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with tomes that looked ancient and important. Maxwell could no longer see the man or his beast from before; instead, he found himself observing a conversation between two unfamiliar figures—a man and a woman.

The man sat behind a polished wooden desk, "That must have been hard to do, but it was necessary."

The woman, standing near a window with her arms crossed, responded with a calm, almost indifferent tone. "Now that the 'great hero' is dead, we can finally proceed with our plan."

The man nodded, though there was a flicker of something in his expression—regret? Uncertainty? "He wanted so desperately to believe in a peaceful world, but that kind of idealism doesn't survive in reality. It's simply not possible. Still..." His voice trailed off, and he glanced down. "I'll admit, I feel like he isn't entirely... gone. Even though he's six feet under."

The woman turned, "What do you mean by that?"

The man hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice quieter now, "It's hard to explain. A part of me feels like he left something behind—a fragment, a seed of his presence, something more than a memory. As though... he's still out there, in some way. Watching. Waiting."

The woman frowned, tapping her fingers on the windowsill. "You're imagining things. He's dead. You saw it yourself, didn't you? He's not coming back."

Maxwell stood there, frozen, trying to piece things together. The hero they referred to... was that him, from his past life? Why had these people turned against him? What was this plan they were so eager to continue? The questions swirled in his mind, but no answers came.

"I suppose you're right. I must be paranoid," the man said with a faint chuckle. "That 'great hero' is long dead, and we no longer have any obstacles in our way."

"Exactly," the woman replied with a smirk, turning her full attention back to him. "Now, let's proceed with the details of the plan. There's still much to—"

Before she could finish, Maxwell's surroundings began to distort. The dimly lit office faded into a haze, the voices of the man and woman becoming muffled echoes as his vision blurred.

Maxwell jolted awake, his breathing uneven as his surroundings came back into focus. The towering trees of the Elemental Forest stood tall above him, their faintly glowing leaves casting a light across the ground. The mist had cleared, replaced by the familiar atmosphere of the forest.

Beside him stood Gladiolus, the beast's eyes scanned the area, his posture defensive, ready to strike at any sign of danger. Maxwell felt gratitude for his companion's vigilance.

"Gladiolus…" Maxwell muttered, his voice weak. He reached up to pat the beast's head, grounding himself in the present. "Thanks for watching my back. I don't know what just happened, but I'm glad you were here."

Gladiolus let out a low, reassuring growl, his attention never wavering from the forest's shadows.

Maxwell sighed, pushing himself to his feet and brushing off the dirt from his clothes. "We better go back home..." he muttered.

Gladiolus gave a slight nod, staying close as Maxwell turned and began making his way back toward Calla Lily...