The forest stirred as though it had seen a ghost. Leaves rustled though no wind passed. Branches bent low, almost bowing. Birds that usually sang at dawn were gone, fleeing to horizons unknown. What walked through that jungle was not Aryan anymore.
Slow, deliberate steps pressed into the earth. Each footprint seemed heavier than it should be, as if the ground itself bore the burden of despair.
But the figure did not look burdened. He walked with a strange rhythm—half playful, half terrifying. His back straight, his head slightly tilted, as though humming to music that only he could hear. Shadows followed him, and above, the once-clear sky was being devoured by dark, swirling clouds, pulled unnaturally into his wake.
And then, a familiar chime broke the silence.
Ding!
System Notification:
Alert! Luck stat has been temporarily disabled until the original soul of Aryan returns.
The figure paused. His lips curled into a smile—far too wide for comfort.
"Luck disabled?" His voice was soft, musical almost, but dipped in poison. "Hah. How lucky."
The System's window blinked uncertainly, like it wasn't sure how to respond.
System:
Identity mismatch detected… User Aryan's soul resonance unclear. Please confirm—
"Confirm?" The figure chuckled, a low rumble that made nearby trees tremble. "Oh, sweet System. Confirmation is just another word for denial."
System:
…What? That doesn't even make sense.
The figure stopped in his tracks, eyes glowing faintly with a pale, sickly light. He pressed a finger against his lips as if in deep thought, then suddenly clapped his hands together.
"Of course it doesn't make sense! That's the point. Despair doesn't have to make sense. It just has to be… there."
System:
This… this is going to be a nightmare, isn't it?
The man—no longer Aryan—threw his head back and laughed. But it wasn't the hearty laughter of joy, nor the mocking laugh of cruelty. It was too cheerful, too careless, as though he were enjoying a joke only he could hear.
And with each laugh, thunder rolled above.
The jungle began to thin. Ahead, the wide plains stretched towards the looming walls of Vaikunth Dham's royal palace, where the execution square was already prepared. Thousands of citizens had gathered, their voices a sea of murmurs and fear.
But behind them, a storm unlike any other began to brew.
The figure kept walking. Clouds coiled behind him like hunting beasts, chasing his slow march. Lightning danced across the sky, as though heralding his arrival. Every beast in the jungle fled, every shadow bent in his direction. The people at the palace looked up, startled daylight had been swallowed in minutes.
The System tried again.
System:
I must insist, please state your designation. This aura does not match Aryan Singh Rana.
The figure placed a hand dramatically on his chest, bowing as though on stage.
"Designation? Oh, my dear, I am Despair. The final song, the last tear, the cruel joke at the end of every story."
System:
…Please never introduce yourself again.
He gasped theatrically. "Rude!"
The System sighed—if sighs could exist in code.
System:
You're already worse than Aryan's stupidity. At least he tried. At least he tripped over his own limits instead of laughing at them.
The figure smiled, looking down at his hands. They trembled—not with weakness, but with unspent power.
"Limits? Hah. How quaint. Aryan was bound by them. But me? I am the joy of breaking them. Over and over again, until nothing remains but broken pieces."
The System muttered under its digital breath.
System:
I miss the old dumb Aryan already.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Vaikunth Dham, the entire city had noticed. The sky was black, the air heavy as lead. Children cried in their mothers' arms. The palace guards whispered nervously, pointing to the lone figure approaching through the storm.
One captain barked an order.
"Identify yourself! Hold position! Do not let anyone through, without identifying themself"
The figure's pace never quickened, but each step echoed like thunder. Finally, one brave soldier stepped forward, spear raised.
"Halt! By order of the King, no one may enter the execution grounds Witho—"
The soldier never finished.
The figure cocked his head like a curious child, then—boom.
His fist shot forward, a casual, almost lazy punch. But the result was anything but casual. The soldier's body flew backwards, crashing into the palace wall with such force that the stone shattered, collapsing into dust and rubble. The man was dead before he hit the ground.
Silence.
For one breathless moment, the entire square was frozen.
And then, panic erupted.
The other 5000-foot soldiers surrounding the palace stared in horror at the lone figure who had just demolished a man and a wall with a single blow. Citizens screamed, scrambling away. Horses reared in terror.
The System's window flickered violently.
System:
…Okay. No. Nope. I take it back. This is not fine. This is not funny anymore.
The figure looked at the carnage, then at his trembling hand. Slowly, a smile spread across his face.
"This… this will be fun."
He pressed his fist into his open palm, the sound like a crack of thunder.
"5000 soldiers? Ah, finally. A proper workout."
The System's window flashed frantically.
System:
I want Aryan back. Bring me the dumb one who asked if punching harder would refill his chakra faster. Bring him back right now!
But no answer came. Only the storm, the chaos, and the too-wide smile of despair.
The figure raised his head, eyes burning, and looked at the trembling army.
And then, everything went silent.