"No matter how a person lives their life, no matter how many battles a man wins, his final breath still tastes only of regret."
Aris (The MC):
This is it. The end that comes for a person who killed beyond numbers. The consequence of my path.
Blood pooled beneath my hand, the world dimming to a fractured memory. I was abandoned and betrayed by my own people—the very ones I had shielded. Their faces, once filled with reliance, were now blank masks of judgment. I lost those who truly mattered, blinded by the fleeting power sought by those who only wanted to use me. Now, all that remained was the waiting.
(The death came, but not in the way he imagined. It arrived as a vast, suffocating silence.)
Why does my body feel cold suddenly? Why does it feel like time has stopped, not just for me, but for the universe itself? Why is the weight of the air crushing my bones?
The God of Death (No God has a name in this world, only their title):
To see the one who sent so many beings my way brought low by petty human hands feels tiresome. You are The Dancer of Death, if the echoes whisper true. You lived a life of such destructive clarity that even some lesser gods referred to you by your title instead of your name.
Seeing you in this state truly makes the task I have set ache, but I have already chosen you. It is what it is.
You will be sent back to the start of the end. I offer no explanations and tolerate no questions. I give you the chance to correct your gravest mistake. Do not disappoint me, for your final goal should be clear: grow strong enough to protect your sister from someone like me.
I am bound by my station, but as a God of the Order, I grant you two wishes. Speak them carefully. You may speak now, but remember: no questions, only demands.
Aris:
(A God. The God of Death. And yet… I wasn't afraid. Maybe because I'd already seen too much of his work, or maybe because the weight of my mistakes eclipsed even divine awe. I will get answers later. Right now, what I want is very clear.)
I demand the Corrosion Essence, the power of the one you once called the Lord of Destruction. And I demand full authority over your servant and my colleague. She will not be a servant of yours; you will have absolutely no authority over her spirit. I want The Watcher of Death, your third eye. I want Maeve.
God of Death:
The one you struck down? He was called Karl. The power of corrosion, which unravels all things, shall be your trial. You can have his power.
But as for my servant Maeve, you know she has already passed from the Death Realm to the Spirit Realm. Even I must tread carefully there; her retrieval is no small feat. I can return her spirit, but you must find a suitable, fresh vessel for her descent yourself. Do you still risk that wish?
Aris:
Yes, I still need her. She is dead because of my uselessness. You said I can correct my mistake; why shouldn't I start by fixing the life I took?
God of Death:
Your choice. A foolish demand, perhaps, but its foundation is the nobility of atonement. Wait for some time; I will send her spirit your way in at most two days. As for the Corrosion Essence, you will possess that ability the moment your own innate power awakens.
And when the sky burns and the True End begins, seek the wings of death at the place where cages once held life in your city. There, you will find the first-ever Death Phoenix that descends upon your world—a perfect, dark vessel for Maeve.
Now, you can go, my chosen Dancer of Death.
(The crushing cold vanished. For a split second, the air thickened with echoes of moments undone, a pressure that lifted almost instantly. Light flared, forcing a violent, gasping breath back into Aris's lungs. When he opened his eyes, the heavy silence was replaced by the distant sound of wind and the clamor of the living world. He knew: the world was still whole, but not for long.)