People say when death approaches, you see your whole life before your eyes—your joys, your choices, your regrets, and the fragile illusion of purpose.
But purpose… that word now feels hollow.
What is the purpose of my life? My life was never mine to command. I was a puppet, pulled by the strings of others' expectations, by the designs of greater players on this endless chessboard. Those who are also bound by these strings—but unlike me, they pretend to be players, when in truth, they're pawns who refuse to acknowledge it.
Life is an endless chessboard. Only the positions of the pieces change. Some rise to the top, while others, like me, remain at the bottom of this game—or should I call it a social structure?
But everything on this chessboard eventually comes to an end. That is the rule of the board. Nothing is eternal.
Just like what's happening to me right now. Every victory, every mistake, every regret—all of it is coming to an end. And it ends not with glory, not with meaning—but with comedy.
One moment, I was dragging my exhausted ass home from my nine-to-five job—or should I call it a circus, where I had to dance like a monkey on the orders of some fucking losers who thought themselves the center of the world. On the road, just like every day, I was cursing this prison, our ringleader—my boss—cursing my life. The next moment—bang! A giant store sign, rusted and forgotten by the city, decided it couldn't hold itself up anymore. And lucky me, I happened to be the idiot standing right under it.
A ridiculous death. A fucking joke. Rey Arclight—crushed by discount advertising.
As my body lay broken, I could feel my time running out. Well, does it matter anymore? Nah. I think dying is better than living like a monkey in a circus. I wondered where I was heading. Heaven? Hell? Neither sounded right. I wasn't a saint, but I sure as hell wasn't some comic-book villain either. If the gods really had a place for me, it'd probably be some forgotten waiting room for souls they didn't know what to do with.
And maybe that's exactly what happened.
The darkness crept in—heavy, absolute. My heart slowed. My chest burned. My body refused to move. But oddly enough, fear never came. Regrets didn't choke me.
Instead—clarity.
The strings no longer mattered. The board no longer mattered. The pieces no longer mattered. Even I no longer mattered.
Does it mean anything? No. But the absence of meaning is its own kind of freedom.
As the void swallowed me, I whispered into nothing:
"...This is bullshit."
---
The First Dawn
Light.
Blinding, searing light.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed wasn't pain. It was the grass. Lush, vibrant, greener than anything I had ever seen. Each blade shimmered faintly, almost as if morning dew had been forged from glass instead of water. The air carried no stench of smog, no choking dust from traffic. It was clean—too clean, almost offensive in its purity.
And above me… two suns burned in the sky.
"…What the actual fuck."
I sat up, heart hammering, trying to process the impossible. This wasn't my dingy apartment. No moldy ceiling stains. No mattress springs stabbing my back. No honking cars, no neighbors screaming through paper-thin walls. I wasn't in a hospital either—no antiseptic sting in my nose, no monitors, no tubes in my veins. Just… wilderness. Endless fields that bent and shimmered in the heat, forests like dark walls in the distance, and mountains sharp as serrated knives biting at the horizon.
If this was heaven, it sure didn't match the brochure.
And if it was hell… well, at least it was a damn beautiful one.
A rustle in the bushes shattered my fragile awe. Leaves trembled. Low, guttural growls leaked out, vibrating through my bones. My head snapped toward the sound—and that's when I saw them.
Eyes. Yellow, wild, glowing faintly under the twin suns. Staring at me.
The creature that stepped into the clearing was no ordinary wolf. Its fur was a shifting dark grey, almost metallic, bristling like steel wires. Muscles rippled beneath its hide, thick enough to shame a bodybuilder. And its teeth—jagged, dripping with strings of saliva—looked like they'd been designed for one purpose: tearing through meat like paper.
"…Of course," I muttered, my voice shaking despite my best effort at bravado. "Reincarnated, and the first thing I get is a goddamn tutorial boss fight."
Instinct screamed: Run. But my body didn't obey the way I expected. My limbs were sluggish, like this… avatar—if that's what it was—hadn't been properly calibrated. My balance was off. Even my own breathing felt alien.
The wolf circled me. Slow. Deliberate. Savoring the hunt. Its growls rumbled like a motor. I must have looked like a lollipop to it. From the dripping saliva hanging off its fangs, I could tell it didn't care if I was tasty or not—it just wanted me torn apart.
My mind scrambled. No weapons, no armor, not even a stick within reach. Just me, my fists, and a handful of shitty memories from street fights I mostly lost.
"Alright," I whispered, forcing my trembling hands into a stance I barely remembered from some YouTube boxing tutorial. My palms slick with sweat, fists shaking. "Well… what's the worst that can happen? I already died once. Yeah, it wasn't some glorious death like a soldier's, but I guess the feeling of death still matters."
The wolf's muscles bunched. Time slowed—my heartbeat thundered in my ears. Then it lunged. Jaws gaping, a flash of steel and hunger flying straight for my throat.
And what did I do?
I don't know.
I just closed my fist.