What, after all, is despair?
Is it merely a fleeting feeling, a chill down the spine that vanishes with the dawn? Is it a mere physical sensation, a weight on the chest that makes every breath difficult? Or would it be a profound dejection, a weariness of the soul that renders even the simplest of movements a herculean task?
For me, it was much more than that. Despair was not a visitor; it was my permanent dwelling. A state of being, an irrevocable condition of existence. It was the absolute certainty of being at the bottom of an infinite well, where the walls were slippery and of a terrifying blackness. From down there, I could see a tiny dot of light, a glimpse of the unattainable top. But the beauty of that light only served to highlight, to cruelly illuminate the impossibility of the climb. Hope, in this context, was not a consolation; it was the agent of torture that amplified every failure, every fall.
Thus, for an inhabitant of this abyss, for a congenital desperate like me, only one coin remained to play: life itself. The bet became my only language, my only strategy. It was not about ambition or greed, but pure existential arithmetic.
If all I possessed was a life without value, why not stake it as chips on a gaming table? Every struggle, every challenge, was a round of Russian roulette. I bet a fleeting victory against absolute fall, total annihilation. My breath, my heartbeats, were mere betting chips in the casino of my existence. If I lost? So be it. Defeat would simply be the end of a game that was already lost from the start.
This was the choreography of my macabre dance with destiny. Living wasn't about building, loving, or ascending. It was about betting. It was my lifestyle, my twisted philosophy, my only refuge against the paralysis of emptiness.
And I was determined: until my last breath, until the final moment, I would bet.
The silence of non-existence that I expected after death did not come. Instead, a presence flooded my perception. A soft, golden light, which did not hurt my failing eyes, materialized in the void. It had no definite form, but pulsed with an overwhelming intelligence and power. Then, a voice, not audible, but imprinted directly onto my consciousness, echoed, both serene and challenging:
"So, you want to bet with me?"
Ah... So that's how it was. I had died. The body that had betrayed me so much had finally capitulated.
The final irony of my journey was bitter. The cliché narrative of rags to riches, from absolute poverty to obscene wealth, hid a tragic trap. I had conquered misery, but I carried with me the indelible scars of the battle. Ischemic Optic Neuropathy was a sneaky assailant, stealing my vision little by little, painting my world with brushstrokes of shadows, and when the money was finally in my hands, it was too late.
The doctors spoke of toxins, a poisoned reminder of years spent feeding on rotten scraps, on spoiled food my starving body could not refuse. My system was irreparably compromised, like a house of cards built upon rotting foundations.
And the final price of that desperate survival? Absolute solitude. Not even the comfort of a family was permitted to me. The possibility of a child was a dangerous fantasy; my poisonous blood would be a liquid tomb for any life beginning to form in the womb. I built a fortune with no one to leave it to.
And now, at the end of the line, after a lifetime of betting against death, I find myself face to face with the Divine. Or with *a* divinity.
The entity that took the form of a pulsating sphere of light, offering one more play, the last one...
Interesting.
A smile that no longer needed lips formed in the essence of what I still was.
"The dice are on the table," I replied, my determination rekindling like a flame. "What's the bet?"
The atmosphere around us, or rather, the lack of it, seemed to concentrate in that moment. The silent vacuum of death was filled by a deck that materialized not as an object, but as an extension of the divine light itself. It was golden, not like gold, but like the first light of morning illuminating a field of wheat, pulsating and alive. The cards, cold to the touch despite the absence of temperature, slid into my hands with a whispery sound, like the wings of an ethereal bird.
"Reincarnation." The voice of the Divinity was clear, like a star being born. It did not deal the cards; it created the deal, each movement a perfect flow of inevitability. "If you win, you reincarnate with a foundation, a framework. A System. A tool of boons that will pave your path. If you lose, you go in raw. Naked and crude, like most do. Just another soul thrown into the river of time, to be shaped only by the current."
My failed hands, now perceived as a form of conscious energy, held the cards. My eyes, which in life saw only shadows, now saw every infinitesimal detail of that celestial hand. It was a good hand. Not perfect, but powerfully good. One that promised victory to anyone who wasn't a complete idiot. And yet, I felt no euphoria. Only a familiar coldness, a calculating acceptance. My expression, if I still had one, remained a lake of absolute impassivity.
"Is that all?" My voice echoed in my mind, devoid of any tone of challenge, only pure, raw curiosity. "After a whole lifetime of betting my very breath, a card game for a second chance seems... trivial. Anti-climactic. I imagined something more dangerous, with higher stakes. Something that would hurt more to lose." It was the despair speaking, the need to turn even salvation into a game of Russian roulette. "Give me one more. Raise the stakes. Make it worthy of my despair."
There was no hesitation. A single card, shining with an intense silvery glow, separated itself from the floating deck and came toward me. It wasn't thrown; it decided to come. It stopped hovering before me, its ornate back hiding a potential I could feel as a vibration.
And then came the question that had always haunted me, even in disbelief. The identity of the dealer in this final casino.
"And who would you be?" I asked, my consciousness fixed on the sphere of light. "You are not the God of the Bible, the one those who prayed in desperation on the dirty streets I inhabited called upon. Your voice does not carry the weight of millennia of judgment, nor the promise of conditional forgiveness."
The light pulsed, and in that pulse, I felt an antiquity so profound it made the concept of time seem like a childish invention. The voice that replied came not with arrogance, but with the quiet simplicity of a fundamental truth.
"No. I am not that one. I am the one who existed before names, before books, before prayers. I am The Beginning. I am The Principle. The first spark, the ignition point of all that came after. Now... make your play, little desperate one. And let us see if your end will be worthy of my Beginning."
The silence that followed was more than the mere absence of sound; it was a living entity, heavy and absolute, sucking away even the echo of our voices. It was the expectant vacuum of the universe awaiting the outcome of a fundamental move. And then, I broke it.
It wasn't a laugh of joy or triumph. It was a dry, cutting sound, a blade of pure scorn that reverberated in the core of that divine reality. A laugh that carried all the bitterness of one who had bet their life on every street corner and knew the smell of a bluff.
"You don't even know how to bluff," my voice came out flat, icy, devoid of any fear or reverence. The words weren't a shouted insult; they were a diagnosis, a factual statement, like a doctor declaring a terminal illness. "You are a nobody."
My hand, a reflection of a will that death had failed to eradicate, moved. One by one, the cards left my grasp and landed on the void that served as a table. Each one a snap of authority in the solemn silence.
10. J. Q. K. A.
A golden and red flash erupted from the cards, a flow of pure power that illuminated the divine sphere, challenging its serene light.
A Royal Flush. The absolute hand. The uncontested victory of cosmic poker. The ultimate expression of chance, luck, destiny—or my own indomitable will to turn even probability into a weapon.
I didn't look at the winning hand. My eyes, or the consciousness serving as their substitute, remained fixed on the sphere of light, challenging it.
"If you're going to play with me," I continued, each word a nail in the coffin of its supposed authority, "at least learn to lie about your own name and believe in your own lie, you piece of shit."
And then, I waited. The arena of our duel was set. My play, the highest possible, was on the table. The pressure shifted to the deity. The sphere of light did not pulse, did not tremble, did not emit a single sound. It just... remained. Still. A calm so profound it was, in itself, more terrifying than any cosmic rage.
Then, without a command, without a gesture, the cards that belonged to The Beginning, The Principle, released from their position and fell softly onto the table, next to my immaculate Royal Flush.
They arranged themselves into a perfect sequence, a rainbow of numbers and suits in absolute harmony. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. All of the same suit. A Straight Flush. A magnificent hand, one of the strongest possible, one that would beat almost anything on any table, in any reality.
Almost.
It had lost. By a single card. By a single step on the royal ladder.
The deity's Straight Flush shone with a humble light next to the aggressive, triumphant glow of my Royal. It was the visual representation of an "almost." The definitive proof that, in that final move, against the despair that bet everything, even The Principle could be imperfect.
Silence returned, but now laden with an entirely new meaning. It was no longer expectation. It was the silence of checkmate.
The cosmic tranquility shattered like glass.
"Damn Human!"
The deity's roar was not a sound but a wave of pure impact that struck the very essence of what I was. It was an explosion of cosmic indignation, a fury so primordial it would make supernovas seem like wet matches.
The sphere of light distorted, pulsing in violent shades of red and black, and for an instant, infinitely brief, I felt the crushing weight of an ageless existence, the spite of a being that had never been contradicted.
And then, it vanished. Everything vanished.
The irritated deity, the solemn void, the ethereal table, the golden cards that had witnessed my supreme victory. Everything was erased like a dream upon waking.
The transition was instantaneous. A blink of eyes that were no longer eyes.
Now, I was... somewhere else.
An immense place. Above me, a starless sky, a canopy of deep purple and dark blue. Below me, a sea. An infinite ocean of tranquil waters, mirroring the sky above with perfect clarity. My feet, or the perception I had of them, rested upon the liquid surface as if it were the most solid of marbles, each step causing a soft circle of light to ripple gently through the darkness.
And then, in the sublime quiet of this new world, it appeared.
Floating before me, a rectangular screen. Its frame was a pure, bright white, but its interior was absolute darkness, a black so profound it seemed like a portal to nothingness. White, glowing letters materialized in this void, burning themselves into my perception with unquestionable clarity.
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Gacha System complete!
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A mental silence. My first thought was one of pure, cynical disdain.
Gacha? The word echoed in my mind. A roulette? A gambling machine?
A low, internal laugh arose. The false deity, defeated in its own game, fled and left me with this? A consolation prize? The irony was so thick it was almost delicious.
"Want to hand it over right away, you false Divinity?" I muttered into the void, my voice a whisper that did not disturb the tranquility of the mirrored sea. "A Desperate Gambler with a roulette and luck system... was there a better combination?"
It was the ultimate weapon in the hands of the one man who did not fear losing it. It was like giving the key to a nuclear arsenal to a pyromaniac. It was perfect.
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You have acquired 3 Tickets!
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Three luminous emblems, resembling ancient coins with intricate symbols, materialized floating beside the screen. They rotated slowly, pulsing with a soft golden glow. Tickets for the roulette. Chips for the next bet.
My fingers stretched out, not physically, but with intent. One of the tickets slid smoothly toward my hand. I didn't hold it; it simply hovered over the palm of my perception, emanating an irresistible potential.
A wide, genuine smile, the first in an entire existence, stretched lips I no longer had.
Death was boring. Victory over a god was amusing. But this... this was a game.
"Let's go," I said to the machine, my voice filled with a hungry anticipation. "Show me what you've got. Let's bet."