The wound in his chest felt like an icy hand, gripping his heart with unrelenting force. Blood still flowed outward, but Ethan Veil could distinctly feel his heartbeat slowing, as if someone had dragged the drumbeats to a crawl and turned the volume almost to silence.
Thump—
The first beat, heavy.
Thump…
The second, weak.
Thump.
The third, nearly drowned in silence.
He collapsed onto the cold cobblestones, blood snaking along his body into the drain. The world around him gradually blurred—distant car engines, voices, and the wind faded, leaving only the rhythm of his own heart.
The final rhythm.
Ethan barely lifted the corners of his mouth, breathing a scent of blood: "Terrible… not even some background music for dying… at least play me a 'Farewell Waltz.'"
He laughed, hoarse yet stubborn. Each chuckle tore at his wound, yet he persisted in laughing.
Suddenly, the scene before him began to sway. Streetlights stretched into countless silver threads, and the sky rippled like a mirror wet with water, slowly fracturing. His body felt heavy, yet his soul became light, as if some invisible force were pulling him upward.
He tried to raise his hand, to touch the fractured sky. His fingers met only a chilling cold, like glass.
Illusion? Or… death?
Breaths grew shallower, each inhale like swallowing shards of glass. His consciousness fractured in waves; images flickered like an old film reel. Memories flashed in fragments:
— His mother calling him to dinner in the kitchen.
— Laughing and playing with a familiar figure.
— The weight of the police badge in his hand for the first time.
"Heh…" He chuckled softly, blood rolling down his throat, "Honestly… life wasn't so bad. Just… the ending is a bit abrupt."
He closed his eyes, waiting for his heart to cease completely.
Yet at that moment, a deep rumble surged from the darkness. It was not a hallucination, but the heartbeat of the world itself.
Thump—
A heavy, foreign rhythm, not his own, yet it made his soul tremble.
He snapped his eyes open.
The cobblestone street was gone. Before him stretched an endless void. Gray-white mist rolled gently, like a heavy tide, wrapping around his limbs and thoughts. His blood, wounds, and pain vanished—leaving only the lightness of his soul.
"Where… am I?" he murmured instinctively.
Immediately, a cold, piercing voice shattered the silence, embedding itself in his mind:
"Ethan Veil, your death has been recorded."
He paused, then laughed: "Wow, that fast? More efficient than my power company."
No reply came, only the deep echo:
"Welcome, deceased. You will face judgment."
The gray mist parted slowly, revealing a massive black stone door. Countless eye-like patterns were carved into its surface, staring coldly at him. Each "eye" seemed to pierce his soul, reading all his fears, regrets, and absurd self-mockery.
Ethan licked his chapped lips and muttered: "Well… looks like I need a new landlord."
He stepped forward. The void beneath rippled like water, but his stride was firm. His heartbeat had stopped entirely, yet a new rhythm quietly awakened in his soul. It was both strange and familiar, as if some force deep within the void were calling him—watching, tempting, threatening, and promising.
He felt himself drawn toward the stone door, steps moving involuntarily, yet without fear. He even noticed faint points of light drifting in the void, like gray dust, arranged in a subtle order—as if guiding his path forward.
"Judgment…?" he whispered, his voice echoing through the void, stretched into a long reverberation.
No answer came. Only the unblinking eyes on the door, and that deep, steady heartbeat.
Ethan Veil slowly reached out, fingertips nearly brushing the cold engravings of the door. In that instant, his soul quivered, as if every memory, pain, laugh, and tear of his life converged at his fingertips.
"Alright then…" he murmured, tinged with blood, exhaustion, dark humor, and stubbornness, "Since I'm dead… let's see how fun the afterlife can be."
He took a second step. The void beneath trembled lightly, as if responding to his resolve. The stone door slowly opened, and a deep, inky column of light surged forth, enveloping his soul. It engulfed him like a tide, yet imparted a strange sense of power.
The wind in the void murmured like ancient bells, announcing that this was not an end—but a beginning. A beginning of death, and a start of another form of existence.