The world was silent—just too quiet. The blood smell was still in the atmosphere, mingling with the burnt and hopeless scent which is very distinctive.
The battle was once very furious and wide but the place has turned into a graveyard now.
The once fertile ground was now strewn with broken blades, burnt flags, and the bodies of the deceased who were fighting for the last human salvation.
He was there—alone.
Every single one of them the he used to call friend, comrade, or brother-in-arms had perished. Their joy, their aspirations, their assurances—nothing remained, all were devoured by the never-ending war against the Demon Lord.
He was panting, his whole body shaking, every injury was screaming in protest as he held on to his sword—a sword that is cracked, blunt, and dripping with blood.
The sky was painted in a deep red color as if the gods were mourning over the lost ones.
The Demon Lord, huge and deformed, was looking at him with a glare that resembled dying stars burning.
"You have fought bravely, human," it addressed the young man, its voice resonating over the desolate earth. "But this is the end of the line."
The young man attempted to raise his sword again but the body did not cooperate.
He was completely drained. His power…his determination…had almost completely disappeared.
A slight grin formed on his lips that were stained with blood.
"Yeah… I suppose this is the end," he said quietly. "Everybody is dead…It's only me who has survived..."
The Demon Lord moved its arm and a huge amount of dark energy was pulled together—an ultimate curse, intended to annihilate him beyond recognition.
The earth got fissured. The gale screamed. Even the time seemed to quiver.
The moment the demon cast his spell, the world started to be indistinct—their colors were losing and turning into a dazzling, pure white.
The lad experienced the release of the burden of everything. The agony, the weariness, the isolation… all gone but for a moment.
He shut his eyes, the very faintest hint of peace mellower his face.
"I had fun," he let out, while a soft smile was on his face.
Then—light.
Light that is infinite and full of life.
And amidst that dazzling light, there stood a figure—calm, shining, and unimaginable.
The boy was so amazed that he hardly managed to utter a word. "Who... are you?"
The figure gave a kind smile. Its voice belonged to no gender, rather it was like the sound of creation itself in its soft, rhythmic lilt.
You have endured a lot, valiant one. However, even when hopeless, you stayed strong. You did not earn an end from it but rather a new beginning."
The radiant light surrounded him, comforting and pleasant like.
He sensed the process of repairing his cracked soul, and his pain turned into a mere memory.
The being said, "Bestow this gift upon yourself," as it performed the act of offering with its glorified hand. "This is a heavenly present—awarded to the one who trod all the way. Now, the only thing remaining is the cautious use of it, as it will be your compass on the still uncharted journey.'
A spiritual emblem was imprinted on his chest very faintly, yet it was alive and vibrant with light.
He was about to talk when God broke into yet another smile and then gradually gave way to the ceaseless bright light.
The light engulfed everything.
The moment he opened his eyes, the site of the battle was not there anymore.
No remains of fire. No dead bodies. No Lord of Demons.
He was in a silent village, the morning sun was moderately hot on him.
His hands—tiny. His image in the stream that was not far away—a kid's face looking at him.
Puzzled… shaking… he comprehended the unbelievable fact.
He had been transported to the past.
Back to the beginning.