⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS
Before beginning to read Furanchesoku, please be aware that this story explores dark themes and may contain material that could be sensitive for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Author's Note: This is a story about the degradation of a human soul under unbearable divine pressure. If you are sensitive to graphic depictions of mental or physical agony, I suggest proceeding with caution.
<< What a horrible feeling… >>
Blood burst from his mouth in heavy gushes. Hot. Thick. The pain forced its way through him as if someone had poured molten lead inside his body, burning every inch of flesh, every bone, every thought.
<< All of this… is this what dying feels like? >>
No strength left. Lying in a field of flowers that looked like something out of a cheap postcard. Around him, the red puddle slowly spread, staining the white petals until they turned black. Beside him, his companion's eyes —so beautiful just a few hours ago— now stared into nothing. Empty. Dead.
The boy couldn't move a single finger. All he felt was the sticky heat of open wounds… everywhere.
How pathetic.
He didn't say it out loud. But the thought dropped onto him like a slab of stone. One second he was here, bleeding out in the middle of the most absurd beauty in the world. He thought he'd get out of it. He always got out of it. He just had to wait. Waiting always gives you something, right?
Damn it… a few scratches aren't going to kill me.
And then the world twisted.
The field of flowers vanished. In its place—an iron hell of screams. Blood. Violence. Him, pinned against the trunk of a massive tree. The plain, ordinary sword pierced straight through his stomach from side to side, cold at first, then burning, then… nothing. Second by second the pain faded, as if the body had decided to surrender before the mind did.
My army was stronger. More skilled. And above all, we weren't mere mortals.
He could hear the man standing in front of him. He was crying without making a sound. His vision blurred, as if someone were slowly turning down the volume of the world. Ever since that beast appeared, everything went to hell. His men disappearing one after another. Him, the last one left. Carrying the weight of all the blame.
(Trembling, broken voice) What's happening…? I'm waiting for my death… isn't that what you wanted from the beginning…?
The nearly two-meter-tall man —strong, broad-shouldered, with a smile that looked like it had crawled out of the worst kind of nightmare— looked down at him.
—If that were really what I wanted —he said calmly— I would have killed you with my own hands. You're going to die alone. On that tree. In this graveyard that ten minutes ago was a field of beautiful flowers. No one will ever find your corpse.
His mind screamed a desperate no, a denial drowning in the pool of blood.
<< It's true. I'm going to die alone right now. >>
The scene was ridiculous. A giant humiliating some poor idiot who had only been passing through. The white lilies now red. The tree at the center of the carnage, large, ancient, indifferent. From where he hung, he could see the entire disaster: beauty turned into a slaughterhouse in a matter of minutes.
And then… he simply stopped breathing.
Everything fell into complete emptiness.
"You haven't reached this point yet, Furanchesoku. You still have time to screw everything up... or to fix it once and for all."
And then the smell of fresh grass. Too fresh. Too alive.
I woke up.