It was night. Only a few hours had passed since the assassins were dispatched to eliminate Sable Veil. These particular assassins belonged to a clan that had long since fallen from grace, reduced now to chasing contracts simply to keep their blades from rusting. The Fuuma clan.
It was a sad fate for a once-proud line. Yet reality will never mold itself to one's desires. Even the strongest foundation eventually cracks.
"Hehee, Mr. Gorthro, you're so funny!"
A female voice, forced into cheer.
"You should really be a comedian!"
Another voice chimed in, higher, almost giddy.
A fat man, known only as Gorthro, sat planted in the center, his large arms wrapped greedily around the two women. They clutched glasses of wine, their laughter too loud, ringing hollow.
To any observer, the scene was nothing short of wretched. Perhaps to him, it was bliss, a personal sanctuary carved away from the judgment of the outside world. No,more accurately, he was submerged in his own delusion.
A man devoid of love, stripped of respect, rotting in his own greed. To fill the void, he resorted to the pitiful act of buying companionship, paying women with far less than him for a sliver of the affection others might receive freely.
It was a pitiful sight. A man desperate for connection, yet never willing to change.
He never pursued. He consumed.
What he called affection was nothing but lust, Lust in its barest, ugliest form. Lust was but a twisted reflection of love, capable of masquerading as beauty for a moment, before inevitably revealing its hideous, gnarled shape.
And though so many know this truth, they still hurl themselves willingly into the same trap.
The rich are no exception. If anything, their wealth makes them weaker. To them, desire is fleeting, easily quenched, and easily replaced. Their thinking is simple: When I tire of this body, I will discard it, and purchase another.
A man should not hold this kind of power. To wield it carelessly corrodes the mind. Entitlement festers, ego swells, and the humanity within begins to rot.
Such was the case for Gorthro Volara.
His mind was poisoned, his pleasures endless. Women were not women in his eyes. They were paychecks. They were merely 'bodies'. They were objects to be taken, used, and discarded when the thrill had faded.
And as for the women beside him, there was no glamour to their place here. Their stories were heavier, crueler. They were not his willing companions, but his victims. Stripped of their homes, their livelihoods, their dignity, they were left with no other means of survival but to sell the only thing left that could be sold.
Themselves.
Unfortunately, this was not the only case in this world.
Perhaps they had searched long for another way, only to find nothing. In the end, they were trapped, condemned to live a hollow existence in the shadow of men like him.
The man's hand, bloated and oily, slid lower across the woman named Kara's chest.
The woman tensed, inching herself subtly away, trying to preserve even the faintest scrap of dignity. To not allow what remained of her to be corrupted by the dirt that clung to her.
"Ah, please, Ms. Kara, a little skin to skin won't hurt, will it? I will not go any further than that."
He smiled broadly, teeth slightly yellowunder the lamplight.
Kara's stomach churned. With every ounce of her soul she wanted to strike him, to cave in his teeth, to rid the world of that smug, bloated face.
The casual vulgarity in his words made her want to retch.
This was the same man who knowingly tortured those who could not afford to pay on time. This was the same man who willingly separated families, caused starving children, all to feed himself, like the swine he was.
Her hand clenched.
Was she willing to abandon the last of her pride for coin? Was she willing to let herself be owned by this devil of a man?
Gorthro's hand drifted further, slow, deliberate.
Would she give in? Would her dignity break here?
Kara's eyes closed.
Her parents' faces surfaced in her mind. The mother and father who had always cherished her, always believed she would become someone of worth. Teachers, mentors, those who had praised her intelligence, calling her a girl destined for greater things. She could remember their voices, their pride when she rose to the top of her class.
Would all of that be smothered here?
A sharp crack.
Her hand lashed out, slapping his away.
It was instinctive, almost desperate. Fear of reprisal burned in her chest the moment she did it, but it was too late to turn back.
She rose, standing tall despite her trembling, fists clenched tight.
Gorthro's face twisted in disbelief. One of his toys had dared defy him.
He had convinced himself she adored him, that her smile was genuine, that her obedience was real. In his mind, he was the giver, the provider. He paid, he indulged, and when he was done, he discarded.
She was meant to crawl back to him, again and again, begging for scraps.
His shock curdled into rage. His brows knit together, his swollen body shifting to its feet.
To him, it was as though a tool had refused to work. His annoyance quickly soured into fury. This man, who saw others as no more than tools, had begun to allow his anger to control his actions.
The man who controlled all those around him like livestock.
The other woman, frozen in fear, backed away.
"You filthy bitch!" he roared, his face red, spittle flying. "I give you everything around you, and this is how you treat me? I am your provider!"
His chest heaved, breath heavy, before he forced himself into a calm he didn't feel. He inhaled, exhaled, smoothing his hair back, regaining composure with a sneer.
The devil had put on another mask.
"...If you come back now and say nothing," he muttered, gesturing to the seat, "I will overlook this incident."
Kara did not even so much as glance at the seat he gestured to. Her eyes locked into his, unwavering, sharp enough to cut through the dim haze of the room.
"No, Gorthro…"
She took a deep breath, clenching her fists.
"I will not sell myself to a parsite like you."
Her voice was steady, though each word dripped with venom, as if she'd rather choke on it than let him twist her into his possession.
"...You!!"
The man surged to his feet, veins tightening on his neck, his clothes folding and creasing with the sudden rise.
The other woman flinched. His raised fist trembled in the air, dragging the very breath out of his lungs with the effort. He was a heartbeat away from striking Kara, with his imposing shadow almost covering her entire form.
That was when the squawk of the door's hinges interrupted the moment.
The interruption forced him to swallow the strike, lowering his hand at once. He twisted his body, smoothing down his shirt and straightening his tie like a boy caught in mischief.
It was pathetic. This performance of dignity after being caught with his mask split open.
In the doorway stood a boy. Blonde-haired, tall for his age, seventeen at most, with strands of hair falling to his shoulders, swept aside. Blue eyes complemented his figure, giving him an almost dignified look.
"Samuel?"
"...I see you are busy with something, father." His words carried no fire, no need for explanation; the disgust was plain in the tone alone.
Everyone understood. Everyone but Gorthro, who pretended to ignore. He pretended not to hear the contempt in his son's voice. Pretended, because that's all he could do.
Pretend, pretend, pretend.
The cruel reality was that the man who knew of the acts he committed lived in. A pretend. A false world that he knew would collapse at any moment.
Samuel Volara was the stark opposite of his father. Where Gorthro thrived on cruelty, Samuel recoiled from it. He had grown up watching the man torture enemies, extort villagers, and punish innocents who could not pay their taxes. The boy hated him, hated what he represented.
He hated sharing that last name.
And perhaps, he was hated in turn. It was whispered in town that Samuel was no legitimate heir, but the spawn of some forgotten affair, another bastard left in Gorthro's trail of indulgence. One that had only been picked up because of his mother's genes being more dominant, resulting in a handsome appearance.
How many children had Gorhtro fathered and discarded? How many had been raised under the weight of his shadow?
The two women slipped past Samuel quickly, their eyes darting away. Kara wore relief plain on her face, as if she had just been dragged from a noose.
"...Ah, You see, your father—"
"I will not comment on that matter further. Whatever you do behind closed doors is none of my business." Samuel's voice cut clean through the room, shutting it down before excuses could be spun.
Gorthro only nodded stiffly, tugging at his tie, sliding back into his seat as if nothing had happened. The two bottles of wine on the table swayed faintly, the liquid inside rippling from the earlier tension. The lamplight was dim.
"Please, sit."
"I'd rather not." Samuel leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes closed. "I came only to deliver information on behalf of Ms. Laura. She's reportedly fallen 'sick.'"
The word hung in the air. At its mention, Gorthro's facade cracked just faintly, his eyes narrowed, a twitch at the edge of his jaw. But he smoothed it over in the next breath.
It was clear what the man had done, and to comment on it any further would destroy whatever string tethered these two men together.
Most fathers wish their sons to be better men. A father in the wrong will avoid being caught. But Gorthro was not most fathers. He paraded his sins before his son and called it power. And Samuel had long stopped pretending not to see. It was unfortunate, the boy had to rely on his own experiences from a young age, from the people around him, rather than his only parent.
Perhaps that was why his moral compass was much more developed.
"Ah, is that so?"
"Yes." Samuel's tone shifted, slicing through the tension.
"The assassins you sent after Sable Veil have all been discovered outside the town and have been tied up like livestock."
Gorthro's hand curled against the armrest, knuckles pale. For men like him, narcissists, losing was not just failure. It was humiliation. A narcissist could not bear the weight of being proven wrong, even indirectly.
"They must have paid them well… Shit." He swirled his drink in its glass, staring into the red liquid as though it could explain away the disgrace.
"I'd expect the army to come after me at this point, but they're so desperate they send mercenaries…"
"Father, why not purchase their services instead? If they work for money, surely they'd abandon their employer for a greater sum."
"That won't work." Gorthro's voice was clipped. "Sable Veil honors their contracts. The first client has priority. Always."
He rose and walked toward the window, staring into the night as if the world outside belonged to him.
"It's nothing to worry about. If the assassins weren't slain by the Fuuma, they were at least crippled beyond usefulness."
"...You're being recklessly optimistic, father. You haven't even confirmed the outcome of the battle with the Fuuma clan."
The boy's gaze traveled to the various stains on the ground behind his father's back. The room smelled of something foul. Something he'd rather not say.
"Optimism will get you further than caution ever will. How do you think I came this far?"
It was true enough: abhorrent though he was, his cunning and charisma had carried him higher than luck ever could. His cruelty was sharpened by intellect. That was what made him dangerous.
The rich who maintain their riches often have to resort to the rotten world of deception and lies.
"I see." The words were spoken with a slight feeling of indignation behind them, as if hearing the other person would push them over the edge. "Then what of the assassins?"
"Dispose of them. Kill them, sell them, I don't care…."
A smile crossed his features. A disgusting smile that had attached itself to a man who would never learn from his mistakes. "
"But as for that Gorgon woman, bring her to—"
"She has already died. Succumbed to her injuries." Samuel's interruption was sharp.
"..."
"Well then, as for this mansion, it is inevitable that they've been paid to kill me, so double the guards, use all the funds if need be. For every servant, there must be twice the guards. Be sure to place them on the roof as well. Make sure there is not a single crevice that does not have a pair of eyes watching it."
The man took a sip.
"This place will be an impenetrable fortress within the next hour. They may possess skill, but skill cannot be matched with sheer numbers."
"Yes, father."
"Then be on your way, my son." The man finally said, turning around.
The smile that crept across Gorthro's lips was the kind that didn't belong to men. It was wide, twisted, a grin that stank of rot. A monster's smile.
Samuel's stomach turned, revulsion crashing over him so violently that he startled himself.
"...Do not call me your son."
"..."
"I only refer to you as father out of respect. You do not possess that obligation as my father. Do not refer to me as your son."
A cold, hardened message.
"Kh…"
With that, the room was empty, a shut door in place of the boy.
In this situation, a man would seriously reconsider his decisions up to this point. He would think about which choices had led to him being hated by his own son. Any functioning man would think and contemplate this.
But this was not the case with Gorthro Volara.
'I have gone too far, I must not stop now.' This was the justification he gave himself. It was simply an excuse to continue to commit atrocities.
This exact mindset would be the downfall of the Kingpin.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat.
It grows faster. Louder.
Louder. Louder—
Until—
My eyes snap open.
The sky above is painted in blue, littered with playful white clouds drifting lazily across a vast canvas. Sunlight pours down onto my face, warm and soft, bathing me in brightness.
Grass brushes against my arms and neck, light and cool. I'm lying on the ground. My eyes sting from the sun, but somehow it doesn't hurt to look. I don't need to squint, I can stare straight at it as though it were nothing more than a lamp.
I press a hand into the earth, the blades of grass bending against my palm, and breathe in deep.
Lifting my torso, I sit upright. My hand still runs through the grass. Before me spreads an endless plain, rolling hills, rippling in gentle waves, an ocean of green. No trees anywhere, only grass, swaying slowly in the wind, as if the land itself were alive.
I raise my right hand, staring at it. The creases within my palm stare back.
Where am I?
Memories flicker in my mind like a dying flame. I was in the Umbral Valley, deep in a cave. Carrying Navi, running from that machine… That thing.
No… I went past that point… Shit, I can't remember..
Did I die again?
I lower my hand and finally do what I should have done first.
I look up.
And there, above me, logic shatters.
An inverted castle dominates the sky.
Its mass is staggering, eclipsing the horizon, spires twisting and bending downward, curling like claws toward the ground. Its dark body spills a shadow that devours half the plain. It doesn't sway. It doesn't float. It simply is, fixed in place as though it had been born there. It's an impossible, colossal growth rooted in the air itself.
I can't see the top. It stretches out of sight.
A groan escapes me as I push myself to my feet, my legs tight and heavy, stiff as though I hadn't stood for days. My bones creak, and a faint ache ripples through me as I stretch.
"Is this heaven?"
It's what anyone would ask, seeing this kind of beauty. The plain is like a painting I've stepped into, perfect in its stillness. The air tastes clean, impossibly clean. The sky feels infinite. My mind reels, refusing to believe this is real.
"..No, this isn't what you call heaven."
"—?!"
The voice cuts into me.
A woman's voice. Soft, but firm.
From in front of me.
But there's nothing there. I'm staring at empty plains. Only grass. Only the shadow of the castle. Yet there's clearly a voice addressing me. Is the voice in my head? Am I hallucinating?
I blink.
And when I open my eyes again, the world has shifted.
A throne sits before me. Vast, twice my size, towering above me as though it had always been there. Its surface is etched with patterns I cannot parse, designs that shift whenever I try to follow them. A motif of crossing lines, of X's, sleek and alien, almost futuristic.
And upon the throne, she waits.
The only word that fits is ethereal.
Her beauty is something unlawful, something my eyes weren't meant to endure. It feels wrong to look at her for too long, as though I'm trespassing against reality itself. She is perched at the edge of humanity, balanced on that thin line between goddess and something higher still.
Her hair is silver silk, spilling down her body in a shimmering river. Her lashes gleam pale white, framing eyes that will not stay still, colors shifting and folding into each other, dominant red giving way to something else, then something else again. \
The longer I look, the more the colors shift, and the harder it becomes to remember what eyes should look like.
I can't speak. I can barely breathe.
This isn't love at first sight. It's awe. Fear. The kind of reverence people feel staring at the sun too long, knowing it could burn them to ash.
Her attire is strange. Otherworldly. Her shoulders bare, her arms clothed to the forearms. A dress spills down to her feet, streaked with black lines down its length, white and black in perfect balance. A great cross, sharp and bold, carves across her chest and torso, tying her form together with stark finality.
And above her head hovers a crown.
Not metal. Not jewel.
Light.
And possibly the strangest detail of all, it's eight shards of golden light orbiting her skull, slowly turning, casting their glow across her body. They shift like satellites around a planet.
"This world," she says, her voice carrying too easily, "Is the world in between the dead and the living. A middle place. In your terms… a purgatory."
She touches her chin, tilts her head in thought.
"Hmm… though purgatory should look desolate, shouldn't it? I suppose I made it too pretty."
The way she says it, so casually human, sends a chill crawling down my spine.
If I had to guess her age, nineteen, maybe twenty. But her mannerisms clash with the impossible beauty. She's too human. Too uncomfortably human.
Her eyes suddenly snap onto mine.
"Oh, yes! You! 'Kaito!'"
She knows my name.
Well… not my real one.
"Oh, don't be silly. I know that too."
"??!?!!"
She smiles lightly, eyes glinting. "Your thoughts are loud, you know. Like whispers brushing against my ear."
My heart stumbles. I take a step back.
She can read my mind.
Not good.
Not good at all.
"I know, I know. I'd be furious too if someone poked around in my head. But don't worry! I won't tell a soul."
She leans forward, almost tumbling from the throne, her smile too bright, too wide.
She's looking for some kind of reaction from me.
"..."
"Oh, you want to believe I'm lying, but something inside you knows I'm not. I'm beyond anything you've ever met. You can't help but believe me."
Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips curl in satisfaction.
"Your name is █████████. You were born in ████—"
"Enough!" I snap, cutting her off.
She rests her chin on her hand, half-lidded eyes gazing directly into me. A look so human, yet not. It's uncanny, a mask fitted over something deeper, stranger. Not hollow, but wrong. A puppet twisted just enough to unsettle the soul.
"Now," she says softly, "back to what I was saying—oh, wait. You don't remember how you got here."
Her teeth catch her lip, biting down gently.
Then—pain.
Memories flood me, slamming into my mind like a thousand shards of glass. My throat burns. My face aches. I remember now. Shot in the neck. Bleeding out slowly, waiting for death. Waiting for cold darkness.
Did I have a set number of lives?
"No," she says gently. "You're only here because I brought you. I had a message."
She raises her hand dramatically, then quickly points at me.
"You! Kaitoooo!! Become my avatar! I've been so bored!"
"..."
Disgust twists my face. It isn't subtle. It's not just a glare or a frown, it's the exact reflection of what I feel right now. My skin crawls just looking at her. I take a step back, like her presence might burn me if I get any closer.
"...You drag me to this place without my consent, dig through my memories, and expect me to just smile and nod? Fuck you."
A large bird directed towards her further drives the point home.
I'm not making any grand contract. I'm not entertaining any deal or arrangement with some lunatic parading as a god. I won't chain myself to something else, not again. I want to be the one who writes my fate. I want to be the one who climbs to the top and carves out what power means for myself. I won't let my neck be tied to another, especially not someone as deranged as this woman. I was thrown into this world by luck, a one-in-a-million chance, and I'll be damned if I waste it by letting her dig her claws into me. I've already been branded once; I'm not going to let it happen again.
"Hah. I guessed you'd say that. But I've got an enticing offer. One that I know you won't refuse."
I grit my teeth. There's nothing she can say that'll make me bend. Nothing. I've already drawn my line in the sand. I'm not letting myself get swallowed up in another person's twisted game.
"You can ask me three questions about this world. I know everything."
"I'm not responding. Just get me out of here." My arms fold over my chest and I turn my head away, forcing my voice to come out steady.
Her grin doesn't move. "I may know the true nature of why you're here. And perhaps… what lies behind that little death ability of yours."
My eyebrow twitches before I can stop it.
"Any three questions you ask, I'll answer with complete honesty."
My eye drifts toward her. She lounges there like a queen on her throne, smug but sharp, her whole body saying she's not joking. She's serious. My stomach twists. Would I really sell myself out for three answers? Would I really shackle myself to something that could crush me just for a handful of truths?
"What are the conditions of being your avata—"
My mouth clamps shut. Our eyes lock. A spark passes between us. She was baiting me.
If I finished that question, she would've grinned and said, "That counts as one." She wanted me to waste my chances before I even touched the things that matter. I've dealt with people like this before.
Liars who hide teeth behind their smiles.
"This is exactly why I want you as my avatar. That suspicion of yours makes you much harder to kill."
"I can't die…"
"Oh, right, that little trick of yours. But still. Ask away!"
She leans back deeper into her throne, chin resting on her hand, her eyes boring holes into me.
I groan, dragging my hand through my hair as I slump onto the grass. The ground is cold, rough, and she looms over me like a giant.
The sunlight behind her crown of hair makes her silhouette even more unbearable. Her legs cross under her dress, neat and deliberate, like even that motion is meant to remind me of her control.
"Fine. I'll be your 'avatar,' as long as you're not making me do any crazy shit. And I mean it!"
I yell as I point at her.
"As soon as I'm forced to do something out of my abilities, I'm quitting!"
"Atta boy! Trust me, you won't be doing anything outside your abilities!"
"..."
"That tone of yours really makes me believe the opposite…"
"Don't worry, humans are quite strong. Though they are both, in essence, weak and powerful. That was what… Hmm, what was his name again?"
"Ah, that's right, Blaise Pascal had said; 'Man is but a reed, the weakest in nature, but he is a thinking reed.'"
I raise an eyebrow at the sudden mention of that name.
"The notion that man exists within the universe implies that they are weak, but they are strong given that they understand that they are within it."
Blaise Pascal… That was a 16th-century philosopher whose book I had to read in school. I think it was called Penses.
She's really read through all my memories…
"Though there is a limit to what man can understand. Explanations may arise from various sources, but they will never be the absolute truth. There is a reason 'science' in your world is continuously changing."
"But I will personally tell you the reason why there is a limit."
She stretches her arms.
"The reason why there is a limit to what man can understand is precisely because of the mere fact that they are just that, Man."
"..."
I honestly don't know what to say.
"Oh, sorry, go ahead."
The girl is still towering over me from where I sit, and I can't shake the weight of her presence. It makes breathing harder. I have to think carefully. These three questions are everything. It's the same as wishing on a cursed lamp.
My canines press against each other.
If I waste even one, I'll be left blind again, stumbling forward in the dark.
Alright. The first is obvious. My death ability. The power to return after I die, to claw back from the grave and reset. I need to know the limits, the rules, the hidden costs. If I can grasp it fully, I can wield it like a blade instead of fumbling in the dark.
Second, the reason I was summoned. I may not hate this world, but the fact that I was dragged here gnaws at me constantly. What force pulled me through? Who decided my life was theirs to move like a chess piece?
And last… her. This woman who sits there. She can tear into my thoughts, bend space like paper, and dangle truths in front of me like bait. She isn't human. She isn't anything close to it.
"Please, Go ahead."
My brow furrows. She can already read my head like a book, so why is she making me speak it aloud? Is this just her amusement, hearing me voice my desperation? Does it taste sweeter when I have to beg for it with my own tongue?
One way or another, I can't lie to her.
Clenching my fist, I take a deep breath. My chest feels heavy, like every ounce of air is reluctant to go in.
"Alright… Question one…"
My throat wavers.
"What is your death ability?" She butts in.
"If you're gonna insist on me saying it out loud, then at least commit to it!!"
"Haha… sorry…"
"—Tch. But yes, that's my question."
Those times of pain and tribulation claw back into my head. Every crack of bone, every suffocating second of agony, every time my body crumpled in despair, rising back up only to suffer again. I can still feel the rawness of each death, seared into me. Waking from them never felt like waking. It was more like tearing free from a nightmare, only to find another one waiting.
"My time looping ability."
As the words fall from my mouth, the girl tilts her head. Her hair sways with the motion, catching faint light, trailing like a ripple across water. A confused look fills her face, not mocking, but almost… pitying.
"Looping? You aren't looping."
"?!"
The air chokes in my throat. I flinch back, my body instinctively recoiling like I'd just been stabbed. There's no way she's right. No way. But she's someone who clearly knows more than me about all this. If anything, her word crushes mine without effort.
But…
"But it has to be! I died multiple times! I woke up multiple times after that! Are you saying I was hallucinating—no, was I seeing the future?! Are you calling me crazy?!"
It can't be anything else.
It can't.
"Hey. You didn't even let me finish before cutting me off." Her voice groans, flattening my words. She's pouting like a high school girl.
"I understand you've been through a lot, but let me explain."
My breath slows, harsh and shaky, like an engine struggling back into rhythm after nearly sputtering out. My chest burns as I try to steady myself. Fingers twitch. Muscles coil, then loosen.
I nod stiffly.
"Now," she begins, lifting a finger as if she's pointing directly into my skull, "your ability, which I've dubbed: Death's Detour, manifests as a rune marked with a skull. When one of those is placed, it acts as a point. A fixed point you can return to once you die." She places her hand on her chin.
"..It's similar to those 'video games' from your world. I'm sure you've figured out at least that much."
I nod again, more cautiously this time.
Her finger lingers in the air.
"Now, the next parts are speculation. I'm not the one who gave you the ability, and I've only known about your existence for a few days. So, keep that in mind."
"Huh? I thought you knew, given that… well, you're you."
"Well, even I don't know everything."
Her honesty doesn't comfort me. If anything, it unsettles me more. I shouldn't expect too much. I barely even know who she really is. For all I know, she could just be pretending, feeding me scraps to see how I react. Maybe the whole mind-reading thing was just a—
A faint pout interrupts the spiral of suspicion running through my head. She looks almost annoyed.
"Ahem. Anyways. In video games, when your character dies, they return to a previous save point. The world itself resets to match that moment, correct?"
I nod, slower this time.
"Obviously, with your knowledge of those games, you'd assume your ability was the same. A world reset."
Yeah. That's exactly what I thought. It made sense. In games, in anime, the protagonist always gets that luxury. They suffer, sure, but everything gets erased. The doomed timelines vanish, like they never existed. Characters are spared from pain because the author refuses to let their creations drown. It's narrative insurance. Mercy is built into fiction.
That's what I thought I had.
"BUT."
That single word strikes harder than any knife. My throat instantly dries, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Sweat beads down my face. I can feel the blood draining, my skin turning pale.
I already know what's coming.
The dots are connecting, and I'm praying that they don't make the image I'm starting to see.
"The world in which you die…"
Don't say it.
Don't say it.
"…does not reset."
The words detonate in my skull. My eyes widen so far it feels like they'll burst out of their sockets. I want to scream, but nothing comes out. The silence strangles me.
And she doesn't stop.
"Think of it as a multitude of lines. The world you currently reside in is the top line—the future, the one ahead. The lines beneath are worlds where other versions of you exist. They follow nearly identical paths, mirroring your choices. But they lag behind your timeline. You're always ahead."
I clutch my head. Those worlds where I… did those things…
They continued.
They didn't stop after that.
That means someone found those bodies. Their corpses are still there, rotting away in the valley. Someone will stumble across them eventually. I'm still a murderer. No matter what I do, my actions will always remain. I can't wash it away. I can't deny it.
I'm still a detestable piece of shit.
I'm still a murderer.
It didn't reset.
There was no reset button. No magic "erase" to make it vanish.
I know I can't see it…but knowing it still exists, knowing it's still happening—
Wait.
Wait, how do I even know what she's telling me is real?
No no, Kaito, you fucking idiot, don't lie to yourself. She's some kind of creature that knows all. She's right. She's right. She's right.
I'm a murderer.
The woman continues speaking, her voice cutting through the fog of my panic like a scalpel.
"Now, when the 'you' of this world places a 'checkpoint', it extends to all other worlds… except the one you placed it on. It functions as a portal to the next worldline, in a way."
Her words echo, but they barely pierce through the pounding in my skull.
I can hear her. But all I can think about is those worlds. The ones I abandoned. The ones still bleeding. Still screaming. Still rotting.
nonononono
Her eyes drop down on me for a moment. There's something almost pitiful in the look….almost….but it doesn't reach her voice.
"If you're expecting me to give you some kind of reaction, I won't. Sorry. I'll allow you to have your time, however."
I keep shaking my head, knuckles digging into my scalp. The guilt gnaws at me like teeth tearing through flesh. It won't stop. It won't let me breathe. I thought I'd finally come to terms with it.
I can't live with it.
Why can't it just disappear?
No, I'm selfish for even thinking that. I have no right to think that way. It was my fault. I killed them.
Ten minutes pass.
Ten minutes of silent, grinding madness.
Finally, the storm inside eases, if only enough for me to breathe. My chest rises, falls, steadying.
If I can't erase those worlds, then I'll just have to outweigh them. Nullify them with something better. Clear the future of the rot. That's all I can do.
"Sorry. Please… go on."
"Yes. Your Death Detour essentially transfers your consciousness through worldlines, using checkpoints as bridges. Allowing you to redo things. It's fascinating, really. It's as if the universe itself is trying to erase you… but something refuses to let go, pulling you deeper."
I rub my face, drag my hand back through my hair, slicking it back as if that'll push the chaos back inside my skull.
"That's… a revelation."
But a sharp thought cuts through. If she knew all this, if she's been watching all along…
Why didn't she reach out sooner? She saw me struggle. She saw me suffer. She knew.
And she just watched. Did she enjoy it? Did she not have enough to reach out to me? Was it too hard?
"You may ask your second question."
I bite back the storm, shaking my head to clear the swarm of accusations, and force out the question quickly before I can lose myself again.
"Why am I here? What sent me to this world?"
"I can't comment on that. I've no clue why you were summoned. I'm not even sure if you're the only case."
"Tch…"
"I will tell you this, however: You serve as my only proxy into that world. I exist outside its boundaries. I cannot even glance from beyond. But you, having come from the outside, allow me to gaze through your eyes."
She's speaking in a more formal tone now, as if switching personalities at the drop of a hat.
Her answer only digs deeper into me.
Who is this woman?
And that's my last question. My final chance. The deal breaker. Jack of all trades. I need to play my cards right. If I get lucky, I can figure out who she is, the limit of what she can do, and potentially see if she can…
Damn it, I forgot she can hear my thoughts.
I narrow my gaze, drinking in her form. Her black-and-white clothes shimmer faintly beneath the sunlight. Her posture is regal, unyielding. I lean forward, the weight of my question taking a physical toll.+
"My final question. Who are you?"
If I know her, then I'll know what she wants. What she is..
"Aw, you see, if I were to tell you, you'd claw your ears open and rip out thine eyes."
I blink twice, the words hitting me like a blunt club. I almost laugh at the sheer absurdity of how bluntly she says it. So casual, as if it's a weather report.
"————What did you just say?"
"Ah, I said if I told you, you'd go insane."
"..."
"I am something beyond human comprehension. A creature—no, a consciousness—older than time itself. I have existed across planes of reality, seen all that can be seen."
I can't.
I can't even…
What the hell is she saying?
No. I want to not believe her, to dismiss her casual tone as arrogance, but something deeper cuts into me. Something sharp. Something primal. It gnaws at my soul, telling me to believe her. Telling me I have to.
Her stare goes blank. Cold. The air thickens, strangling. The world freezes. The clouds suspended mid-motion, grass stuck mid-sway. Even my heart is stuck mid-beat.
I'm standing in front of something horrific. Sweat trails down my forehead, travelling down to the ground, desperate to run away.
"Hm, actually, I can give you a small hint of what I am."
She points at me with dramatic flair, winking. It's wrong. It's so wrong. Something like her shouldn't play. But she does, because she can. Because nothing binds her. Because bothering someone like me is nothing but idle entertainment.
She switches back and forth as if nothing was wrong.
"Are you familiar with the likes of… ah, what was his name? Something, something… 'H'…"
She taps her chin, gazing upward like the sky might whisper the answer. No, she probably knows the answer. Is she pretending? Or does she truly not care enough to remember? Her feigned curiosity makes my stomach twist.
I initially approached the conversation with a casual air, but now the cold of the moment terrifies me.
Her face shifts with sudden emotion, expression lighting up, and it terrifies me more than her blankness.
"We'll ignore that. Anyways, earlier, you were wondering why I didn't interject sooner, despite knowing about you."
Her voice distorts. Only slightly, but enough. Like static clinging to every syllable. A ghost trailing her words. The kind of wrongness you can only catch when the world around you is utterly still.
"Well, I apologize if this wounds you, but I felt no pity. It isn't that I relished your suffering. But to me, you are nothing more than—again, forgive me—an atom. Humans pity ants. Humans pity roaches. But I am not human. I do not feel such things. I am unfeeling, mostly."
Her radiant eyes slightly close as they bore into my skull.
"Perhaps you're thinking, 'Well, she's on the same level of existence as me, given that she's playing around and showing all kinds of emotion.' That is not the case. Everything I am doing is but a cheap imitation of human emotion. This is simply an appeal to your circumstance."
I stand in front of the woman, my gaze slowly trailing downward, as if bowing to this thing against my own will. My eyes refuse to blink. They only fixate on the flood of information that's just been forced into my skull, into the fragile mind of a seventeen-year-old boy whose greatest worry until now had been what time he needed to get up for school.
"…Are you God?"
Is this question not a justified one? When faced with such overwhelming intensity, when faced with such unexplainable phenomena, something that defies all preconceived notions of logic, is this not the correct question to ask?
She's already shown me enough.
There's nothing I can do but nod like a mindless animal.
"Man calls 'God' that which begins where his understanding ends…"
Her voice carries like scripture, but she only smirks faintly.
"As daunting as I may appear to you, I am not God. Nor am I even close. There exist those such as myself and those far below me, all shackled by their own limitations, unable to ascend to something of that caliber. Unfortunately, they are called 'gods.' Some of which you may know. Aphrodite, Thor, Amaterasu… or do they go by different names where you come from?"
My mouth goes dry. "…Wait. Those exist here? Thor actually exists in this world?"
From where I come from, they're just mere stories, fashioned by stories and cultures created by old widows to relay to their young. They were fictional symbols of their respective cultures' strength, embodying it. They themselves led to their people's victories, despite being fabricated.
If those beings walk this world…
She cuts in, almost bored. "Don't get excited. The ones you're familiar with are false images. All idealized, diluted versions of the actual celestials. Yes, call them that instead. Celestials. Each one rules their narrow domain with absolute authority."
I nod reluctantly. I've already learned the cruel joke of this world: goblins, kobolds, every creature twisted into something far uglier and far crueler than I ever imagined. Why should its gods be any different?
She exhales, rolling her hand as if brushing away the thought. She rests her chin on her left hand.
"Really, if you could glimpse things from where I stand, they'd look like children playing with toys they don't deserve."
That surprises me. She actually sounds… annoyed. But before I can ask, she cuts the thought in half.
"Yes, I am unfeeling. But that is exactly why I want you as my avatar in that damned place."
"…?"
The silence that falls from me is unnatural. I'm not the type to sit still and swallow everything. I should be asking, cracking a joke, anything. But the words don't come.
"Sadly, my…. adversaries have sealed me here, and now they take power for themselves back there." She sighs, a sound that somehow echoes in my bones.
The weight pressing down on me slowly lifts, but not enough for me to breathe freely.
"My role in that world is… or was, to watch over them, keep them in check so they don't end up fighting. A mother, if you will."
So, an authoritative figure.
"All right, that's the end of the questionnaire! Now we'll get to your duties!"
A cheerful tone sets in.
"Your duty as my avatar is to destroy their cults whenever you find them—or at least attempt to. I won't care how long it takes. You're not exactly a multitude of people."
"Huh?" My voice finally breaks out, snapping my eyes upward.
"You want me to destroy an entire religion? And more than one!?"
"It's fine! They're not true religions, only small cults. Besides, their practices are abhorrent, even by human morality. I think that's enough reason for you to crush them, don't you?"
Either she thinks I'm some unstoppable monster, or she's made the biggest mistake in existence.
"No, I didn't choose wrong. You came at the perfect time. I was moments away from ordering my other servant to annihilate the entire world."
"…Huh? Other servant? I thought I was the only one."
She waves it away, smiling like a child remembering a toy. "Doesn't matter."
"Oh right, I almost forgot!"
"Stay on topic! Don't just throw things out like that!"
"You want a cool power, don't you?"
My silence betrays me. I nod furiously. I'm actually quite ashamed of how fast I switched.
She snaps her fingers.
Nothing happens.
"There. You'll have a surprise the next time you're in a pinch."
"…That's not very reassuring. And can't you at least tell me…?"
"Now, let's summarize."
I groan.
She lifts one finger. "Your ability, Death Detour, allows your consciousness to travel through worldlines, or timelines, after death, but only into ones that are temporally behind the one where you died."
Second finger.
"..."
"...I have no idea why you were summoned here!"
"What a fraudulent deity!!"
Third finger. "As for who I am, I'm a ███████ ███. You may call me Aza."
"A what?!"
She clasps her hands with a gentle finality.
"Now that that's settled…"
She descends from her throne, her feet gliding down as if the air itself carries her. The white fabric of her dress conceals her steps, making it look as though she floats across the earth.
Closer.
Each step erodes the space between us, and in that space, my mind churns.
I've learned nothing substantial except the truth of Death Detour. It's powerful, yes, but it's a blade I can only wield sparingly. To treat it like a crutch would be suicide. If she speaks truth, then this ability is a curse disguised as salvation.
As for why I was summoned…she doesn't know. But if there are others like me, perhaps I'll find answers through them.
But daaaaaaaaaaamn itttttttt. I wanted to live quietly. Clear dungeons. Grow stronger at my own pace. Now I'm bound to this eldritch horror draped in white, this creature wearing beauty as a mask.
Although for someone who claims to know everything, she's awfully unsure of many things. Or is that just another game—
No. Stop. Don't finish that thought right now.
My mind is cut short by warmth. A hand, pale and soft, pressing over my mouth.
"…hm?!"
Her face descends, eyes burning into mine, lashes curling like threads of silk. Her lips press against the back of her hand, and my breath halts. Her pale skin burns brightly in comparison to mine.
Her arm slides against my neck, steadying me, holding me in place.
For a heartbeat, the only thing in my world is her face.
She kisses her hand, the only thing separating her lips from mine.
I'd be lying if I said she wasn't beautiful. It would be going against the objective truth. They often say that beauty has no measurement, but that would not be the case here.
My 'world' suddenly disappears. She pulls back, though her hand lingers over my mouth.
"There. The contract is fulfilled."
"Are there any other words you'd like to say before I send you back?"
Her fingers part, just enough for me to speak.
"Well… nothing else, really. But I guess it's nice knowing someone out there experiences the same thing as me. Or at least knows."
She tilts her head, her voice flat. "What are you talking about? I can't experience you hopping. Each time it's a different 'you'. I only know about Death's Detour because I searched your mind. Until I read your mind, your previous death is unknown to me."
"...Nevermind, i's fine."
I won't answer. I won't even touch that thought. Let it float away, untethered, into nothing.
"I'm ready, Aza."
"Go forth, my avatar. Fix what is broken."
Her hand flicks my forehead, and the world tips away. My body falls back, sky rushing into view.
And just before the ground swallows me—
Darkness.