[To lose his meaning of life]
——xxx——
A completely deserted, white canvas stretched out before the man's pale eyes. For some reason, the lack of colour or shadow unnerved him, itching at his mind and making goosebumps dance along his skin.
Only, before him, standing in its grand luster and glory, were a set of silver scales, nearly four times his height.
A youth wearing a loose pair of brown shorts that stretched over their oddly glittery knees, and a tidy button-up and vest, all prim and proper. The child smiled, inclining their head to the side.
Lucas furrowed his eyebrows, uncomfortable. "Are you the Scales of Justice?"
Instead of a verbal response, the voice boomed in his head loudly, like a harsh hiss snaking through his mind.
[You can call me that.]
"What else would I call you?"
[I can be named Lady Justice as well. I do not care, my gender is not set, nor are the titles I answer to.]
The child jumped, scattering their wavy, grey hair that reached just below the ears. Lightly, they landed on the white space, gesturing to the scales.
[What trade do you wish to make?]
"My memories," answered Lucas immediately, already adapting to the situation. "My memories for my life."
[Hm...] The child tilted their head, pursing their lips worriedly. [It isn't often that mere memories can bring the dead back to life.]
"What about memories that are my reason to live? Memories that make up the core of my existence?"
[If that is true, then perhaps. However, humans often over-evaluate the worth of their own memories. People typically make many memories that collectively become their very reason to live, and cannot determine the exact reason they persevere.]
They hesitated, walking circles around Lucas. [In some cases, humans do not have a reason to live. They merely exist, searching for that very reason.]
"That's true," agreed the man with an indifferent shrug. "And it's fine not to have a reason, it's okay not to know."
[Yet you're saying you do?]
"I would've died many years ago if not for these memories."
Lucas believed that some people spent their entire lives searching for meaning. Some people found it, and some never did. But meaning could be found in people, hobbies, and places. In homes and in environments.
A person's meaning didn't have to be physical—they could live because they wanted to search for that true purpose, live to see the sights they hadn't seen yet, live to meet the people they'd yet to encounter.
For Lucas, he was ardently aware of the fact that his life, the very reason he didn't break down all those years ago, was because his brother still existed.
Because, despite indulging in debauchery, he'd hoped to coincidentally encounter Kane again. Of course, coincidences were rare, and his encounter with his older brother never happened.
But,
"I've devoted my life to my brother."
He'd decided to give up everything to give Kane a chance in surviving the cursed world, as a final gift from a younger brother too scared to reach out.
[Your memories are those related to your brother?]
"More specifically, I plan to trade the existence of a 'brother', instead of Kane himself. My emotions for my last remaining family—I'll give it up. However, the memories of respect I have for the character called Kane, I won't sacrifice."
[You're contradicting yourself.]
Lucas shook his head.
Currently, he had two different memories of Kane Silvius. One was the most important: familial love and longing for the brother he had abandoned. The other was for the hero in his novel who saved everybody.
Of course, the latter couldn't compare to his affiliation with the former memories.
However, if Lucas could remember the main character of his novel, perhaps he'd go searching for a way to save that man.
After all, Lucas had always admired heroes.
He was also a man who wanted to live, and therefore foolishly clung to random reasons to live another day. Life in the gang distracted him; writing gave him motivation to persist to the end.
A new hobby after the next distracted him from his failing thoughts. A pathetic person like that would likely go seeking out the protagonist of his own novel.
The child peered at him curiously, seeming to dissect his mind. [I see. Very well, perhaps that will suffice then. A human's life is worth less than one might think. Or at least, it is worth as much as the owner values it.]
"I value it. I think I'm worth gold," stated Lucas shamelessly, relishing in the taken aback expression on the child's face. "But he's worth more to me."
The scales trembled, and a gush of wind burst past him, tossing him into the air until he landed on one of the scales. On the opposite side, a mirage materialized, the transparent and fading image of a tall man.
Lucas swallowed, feeling nervous for once. Having the thing most important to you, the very reason you kept living, stolen away wasn't something easy to accept.
But he'd be no good dead, and Wren chose to test him.
[Memories are a difficult thing. It's impossible to completely take them away because they're linked to so many other things. However, I can seal them away indefinitely. It will feel as if there is a large gap in your thoughts, something you long for but can't reach.]
"Okay." A trickle of relief ran through his voice. Even though he'd assumed as much, it was different hearing it in person.
If he remembered right, Kane should also possess a secondary mental ability to refresh and heal people's psychological state. Of course, it wasn't incredibly powerful, but it kept the people around him sane.
Perhaps that would clear the block in his mind. Or at least, he wouldn't be able to persist with this choice if he didn't try to convince himself of that fact.
The scales tipped, slowly at first before rocking violently, as if the balance between his life and the memories of Kane couldn't be measured.
How much was his life worth?
As much as whatever it was that kept him alive.
The shaking became too rapid and unpredictable, so Lucas scowled and lunged for the sides, gripping on for his dear life. His eyes didn't move from the faint blue pulse of Kane's outline standing on the opposite side.
"Tsk!"
Lucas couldn't die.
He couldn't. Not when risks still stood in his brother's path.
He glanced over at the child—Lady Justice, supposedly—watching the intrigue flicker in their bright eyes, as if watching a show.
The damned Tellers. The whole apocalypse was a joke to them, and humanity's hopeless pursuit of survival meant nothing.
But the scales were beginning to slow, to balance out.
Lucas held back a breath, his lungs burning as the weight teetered side to side dangerously. The slightest sliver of imbalance meant death.
Finally, it stopped.
Lucas let out a breath of air.
The child's smile stretched out joyously.
[Congratulations, Lucas Silvius. Your life is worth exactly what you believed. But can you bear the consequences of this trade?]
Before the man could blink, the gilded surface disappeared right under his feet, and he pummeled towards the vast white space. His vision blurred as something crept into his mind.
He wanted to push those thin, string-like fingers away from his thoughts, but they lunged out, wrapping around and around until he couldn't think. He choked, and something was roughly yanked away.
Then, all he thought of was nothing.
Wren stretched her limbs out, stalking out of the cell with a relaxed smile on her face.
Well, not 'her' limbs, but it technically was until Lucas' body left her control.
A person was waiting outside the door with closed eyes, breathing calmly. Although she could hear the information from Lucas' daily life, she couldn't see whose voice came from whom.
Regardless, a sleeping person was a perfect target.
Lucas' consciousness should've faded when he disappeared, but instead, something weakly tugged for control in the back of the body.
Therefore, Wren couldn't actually use her ability properly at the moment, and the Punisher's death would be pointless until Lucas properly died, or, absurdly, came back to life.
She flexed out her sharp, black nails and slowly walked past the man leaning against the wall.
As soon as she did, a hand jumped out and grabbed her wrist.
Wren jerked back, surprised as she futilely attempted to shove the other off. The pair of deep blue opened.
His lips tugged into an amused smile.
"I can't say I expected this." He dropped the wrist like a rag before sighing. "And I am thoroughly disappointed. I'd have thought he'd last a little longer."
"Who are you?" wondered Wren, feeling the body respond to the familiarity of the voice. Her initial surprise had quickly faded, replaced with a curious wonder. "I have a feeling I'll dislike you."
"Isn't that perfect? I feel the exact same way," replied the man leisurely.
"Whatever you are, mind your own business, yeah? I didn't kill him; it killed itself messing around with the wrong creatures."
"I'm not blaming you. I knew what his intentions were."
Wren paused. "And you didn't think about, I don't know, stopping him? Saving him?"
She faltered for a second. The man's face, she realized belatedly, was shrouded in a cold indifference to the matters of life and death. A detachment from reality.
And the smile perched on his slender lips was no doubt a facade, or one out of fake politeness, a scam.
"If he died like that," The man chuckled deeply, his face revealing not even the slightest care towards the death of his partner. A cold, chilling voice that made even Wren flinch. "Then that's all he was."
Wren immediately wrote this person into her blacklist. Sure, she'd left Lucas to die, but that was only because their contract required mutual trust.
He needed to guarantee he could deliver what he promised, and he failed.
She yanked away violently, and Elias released without any struggle. Watching as she stalked off, clearly irritated with Lucas' body, he turned his gaze back to the Punisher's open door.
The man tilted his head curiously and casually strolled over, kicking the ajar door wide open.
The first thing he saw was the limp corpse of the Punisher, coated in blood—likely his and Lucas'. It made for a gory sight, nails having torn into its flesh and ripping it apart.
"To think you'd die like this," muttered the man, using the front of his shoe to impolitely nudge the body.
Considering the display the creature had been put on, and the eagerness of Lucas to visit, Elias had assumed that it would have lasted longer.
Both the Punisher and Lucas meeting their ends together wasn't something he considered. In a way, that in itself was amusing.
That indifferent, uncaring man—surprising him to the very end.
How pathetic.
Deep blue eyes raked over the streaks of blood sprayed onto the ground as he imagined the strikes of the whip and the horrific events that must've taken place.
Turning away, he closed the door properly behind him, allowing it to slam shut with a thud. It'd do nobody any good if the guards were to realize what happened at this point.
After all, the final execution was occurring as he strayed.
As for Wren, she'd been hastily escorted to a large wooden stage, taking place out in the courtyard of the prison. The grass that had been carefully picked throughout the days was prepared for their own execution ground.
The guillotine. A crude, unlikely method of execution in modern times, but the Story's purpose was to strike fear and despair into humanity.
A bloody death like this would work for the best.
The guards didn't seem to have noticed her appearance since she'd been shoved into a group of people, herded together like livestock.
An amused smile stretched out on her lips as she lowered her head, watching the first person being dragged onto the stage. Wouldn't it be interesting to surprise everybody with this body's survival?
Since Lucas Silvius technically should've died in that room.
To the outside, however, she was wearing the body of a bloody corpse with red seeping out of its battered clothes. A strange, uncommon sight that went unnoticed when compared to the terrors laid out ahead.
Why would somebody worry about another person's well-being when their own lives were put into question?
She watched indifferently as several people were shoved forward, their unwilling heads crushed between two wooden boards, before the blade finally struck down. The usual, typical struggle.
It was in a random order, with people being dragged up without rhyme or reason. A flicker of white hair brushed the corner of her eyes, and Wren instinctively glanced over.
An expression that was unwilling to die.
Unlike the other terrified, wailing shrieks begging to live, the woman being pushed forward remained calm despite the sweat dripping down her forehead.
Nora stood, willingly dragged forward as she neared the bloody splatters on the blade. Gorged chunks of leftover flesh splayed on the floor, sliced off by a dull metal.
She could imagine the roaring pain that she'd face if she were to meet an end like that. Humiliating and awful, not something she would face without struggle.
Lucas had disappeared all of a sudden, and her lifeline was gone. The man she'd instinctively followed based on his brimming aura of confidence had likely died.
As she thought that, her eyes raked the crowd and landed on a familiar sight.
Immediately, her bright blue eyes lit up with a newfound vigour, and Wren almost stepped backwards in pure surprise, forgetting the body she currently inhabited.
"I have proof that I have been falsely accused," announced Nora in a loud, unwavering tone as she pulled a pile of papers hidden up her sleeve. Raising it high for all to see, she continued. "I demand to have my conviction revoked."
"These papers contain the comparison of DNA, the inconsistency in testimonies, and more evidence to prove my innocence."
Somewhere in the crowd, a small figure pushed through, squeezing in the gaps between people. A small tuft of white hair peeked out before scrambling to the stage.
Nora offered out a hand, and Rome jumped up and grabbed it.
The little boy beamed excitedly, looking over at 'Lucas', who stared back oddly. "I... I also have proof!"
A guard shoved forward angrily, but Nora stretched out an arm and held out the sheets of paper. "You cannot execute me if I am innocent."
"If you're innocent."
"Do... you have proof that I'm not? Because I have proof that I am."
The guard narrowed his eyes before snatching the papers held in both Nora and Rome's grasp. It was the evidence Rome had found the previous day, along with a written statement of the real criminal.
Well, the criminal who had been forced to accept Sylvia's 'sin'.
The golden-haired woman watched from the crowd calmly before turning away. The Story was over; those able to redeem themselves could leave, and those who couldn't would be stuck.
She'd already found a replacement to cover her crimes in the Story, so there was no point waiting around any longer.
The DNA had been mysteriously swapped to pinpoint a new culprit, and a strange doctor's note containing new forensic evidence had been found.
After being discovered by the little boy, she quickly found somebody else and threatened him to admit to the crimes, forcing an unwanted execution. The ring on his finger and his age made it probable that he had a family he wanted to return to, so threats fell easily upon his ears.
One might think of Sylvia's actions as cruel, but if she wanted to survive as badly as he did, to return to her own home, was that so wrong?
Two people willing to do anything to protect their family.
Only, she had chosen deceptive means to return, and he had fallen prey to the cruelty to protect.
She felt no guilt in following that decision.
And therefore, with a single glance over at the soon-to-be dead husband, father, and man, she departed.