Something was wrong. Trapped with the memory of what had just transpired was disorienting enough, but the churning in his stomach was physical proof that something was deeply wrong.
He tried to figure out why his legs trembled and his hands kept shaking, even when he clenched them into tight fists. Soon, his strength finally gave out, and he sank to his knees.
He had just taken a life. What should have broken him was the terrifying emptiness inside—the fact that he felt nothing at all. Yet as his knees buckled, he knew the collapse had nothing to do with guilt or remorse.
Even now, his mind forced him to dissect his decisions, desperate to find an answer.
This meant reliving the moments festering in his head: the sight of gushing blood almost spraying him, the distracting sounds of gurgling, and the exhausting desperation of fighting to stay alive.
Felix stood up, dazed. Suddenly, his stomach convulsed. He retched, bringing up the little he had eaten, his mind racing to understand what was happening—and why it made him so violently sick.
Clutching his stomach, he bolted without a second thought. His first thought had been the jarring realization that he was out in public, completely exposed to anyone who might look his way.
* * *
Felix stumbled back to his territory, throwing himself blindly into the dumpster. He pulled the heavy steel lid shut, plunging himself into complete darkness.
He slid down the metal wall, his knees hitting his chest. His stomach still felt like a knotted rope, and that bitter, copper taste combined with his vomit was disgusting on his tongue.
Even after endless fretting, finally picking a path, and bracing for the fallout, regrets still had a nasty habit of ambushing Felix in his weakest moments.
Was time truly a healer, or just a comforting lie people told themselves so they could sleep at night? And was there even a satisfying answer to a question like that?
Felix had opted to skip the question entirely—mostly because he didn't have a clue. But that didn't stop his mind from spinning, trying to piece together a response that sounded halfway convincing, if only to satisfy his own stubborn curiosity.
'Great, I'm having these thoughts again. Did killing that weirdo actually do something to me?'
No matter how hard he tried to shake the thought, it kept coming back.
After all, he was the one who had warned them. Who even drags someone into a dark alley like that? It didn't matter anymore. What was done was done, and the only choice left was to keep moving forward.
His brain had entirely justified the kill. It was simple: the smiling creep was going to hurt him, so Felix hurt him first. There shouldn't have been a problem. Yet, his limbs were still shivering.
'It's just the old human mindset,' Felix thought, staring blankly into the pitch black. 'My head knows it was right, so why is my body acting pathetic?'
That's when he realized—the sickness wasn't some moral tragedy. It was just human nature.
It was merely a ghost of the fragile human spirit he had left on Earth. And if he truly intended to survive, he could no longer afford to cling to his vulnerable conditioning. That was Hell's first real—or second, actually—scare.
The human skin was already gone. It was time for the old human conscience to go with it. He needed to shed it like dead weight, or it would act as a permanent cage.
As the trembling in his fingers slowly ceased, Felix's thoughts naturally drifted back to Earth. He thought about the endless parade of those who used to corner him.
They had all spent years lecturing him, sighing over his dreams, and warning him that his complete refusal to live would ruin him.
They swore he would end up broken, penniless, and dead in some ditch. Well, they were half right. He did die. But they were entirely wrong about everything else.
With his mind starting to clear, the deep obsession of his youth began to resurface.
When Felix was very young, he had stumbled across the history of Alexander the Great. He had been profoundly moved by the accounts of a man who conquered a large part of the known world and built one of the largest empires.
To a child who already hated the idea of rules and freedom, Alexander was the ultimate ideal. Felix had desperately desired to be just like him. But as he grew older on Earth, the crushing weight of reality had extinguished that spark.
He remembered learning about how a young Julius Caesar had wept before a statue of Alexander, utterly miserable because he had achieved absolutely nothing at an age when Alexander had already conquered empires.
Back then, Felix had felt that exact same despair. How could he ever live up to a legacy like that?
Driven by that despair, he had abandoned many of his dreams. But now, realizing that Hell was a second chance, he couldn't afford to waste it.
If he had mastered a hundred different tricks just to avoid trading his life away, then those exact same skills were going to be the tools he used to rule this new world.
He was going to make something out of this descent. He would build something so massive that every single person who had ever doubted his way of life would be forced to watch him from the shadows in disbelief when sent here.
'I'll prove that even someone like me can make something massive out of this.'
Felix pulled the stolen wallets out in the dark. He ripped them open, showering his hands and face in loose cash. A wave of warmth rushed through his body, completely stopping his shivering.
His slot-machine eyes activated, and he willed the system to manifest.
[One hundred souls consumed. Further refinement allowed.]
[New Function: Anima Exchange]
[Description: Forfeiting souls allows for the random generation of an inherent capability or a physical manifestation.]
[Cost for Next Invocation: 100 Souls]
As Felix read the ancient language describing the new awakening, even with what was still happening, a breathy, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips.
'. . You have got to be kidding me.'