Fern floated in the endless black, the abyss a silent companion that no longer felt like a prison but a cradle.
The four blessings from the void pulsed quietly within him infinite appeal that made even the darkness seem to lean closer, the blessing of Adonis rendering his reformed body a vision of flawless symmetry and golden allure, strength of ten men humming in his limbs like restrained thunder, and calmness of mind that kept the storm of memories at bay, though not entirely silent. His long hair drifted like ink in water, framing a face that could make gods weep if there were any here to see it. But there were none. Only the holographic white screen, glowing with ethereal patience.
[Choose your 3 Wishes]
[You have 3 wishes]
He stared at it, golden honey eyes steady despite the ache behind them. The memories sharp as the pliers that had once torn his fingers joint by joint, hot as the torch that sealed the stumps in bubbling fleshstill lingered. They didn't rage anymore, thanks to the abyss's calm, but they hurt like old scars pulled taut.
Silent tears traced down his cheeks, warm and unbidden. He wiped them away with a hand that bore no trace of the mutilation it had endured. No blackened craters, no missing digits just smooth, perfect skin.
Fern knew what this was. In his old life, before the war in Ukraine turned his simple farmer's existence into a nightmare of wrongful capture and endless torture, he had read stories. Fanfics, novels, web serials, tales of transmigration, reincarnation, systems, and wishes granted in liminal spaces like this. He had even written a few himself, late at night by candlelight when the power grids failed under shelling. Dying and waking here wasn't a shock; it was almost familiar.
But the pain was real, the anger toward those soldiers Soldier A with his scarred lip, Soldier B with his mean stockiness, still simmered.
They had known he was innocent, yet they had pulped his thighs with barbed bats until the muscle hung in shreds, sawn off his legs with grinding hacksaw blades while he screamed and fainted and was revived, carved his cheeks into drooping grins that filled his mouth with coppery blood, gouged out his eye with a twisting knife until the socket wept vitreous fluid, electrocuted his stumps until smoke rose from charred flesh, whipped his back to exposed ribs, burned his genitals black and blistered, bloated him with syringe-pumped water until his skin split like overripe fruit, and finally poured petrol down his throat and lit him from the inside, his tongue blistering, esophagus charring, lungs igniting in a final, wet hiss.
He wanted to find them. Torture them as they had him slowly, methodically, savoring each crack of bone and sizzle of flesh.
Make them beg as he had begged. But he also recoiled at the thought of seeing their faces again, hearing their laughter.
Revenge would hollow him out, leave him emptier than the abyss. Or worse, fill him with regret that tainted whatever new life awaited.
No, he wouldn't waste wishes on that pettiness. If he hunted them, it would be on his own terms, with the strength he will carve for himself.
He refused to waste his wish on them.
With a deep breath that echoed only in his mind, Fern opened his mouth. His voice, once shredded by screams, now emerged smooth and resonant, carrying the quiet authority of someone who had outlasted hell.
"I wish to keep my memories, never to be lost or changed."
The screen flickered, processing the words with an almost thoughtful pause.
[Wish Granted]
[You have 2 wishes left]
A subtle warmth spread through his mind, like invisible chains locking the recollections in place. Fern nodded to himself. He wasn't stupid. Memories were the forge that had shaped him the once farmer boy turned mangled corpse turned reborn vessel of the void.
Without them, he wouldn't be Fern anymore. They were his anchor, painful as they were.
Now, two wishes remained. He had read enough stories to know the pitfalls: wishes too vague got twisted, too greedy got denied. But he also knew what could make a new life easier. A faint chuckle escaped his lips, soft, self-deprecating.
To any third-party observer, he might look like a madman laughing in the void, yet still unbearably beautiful, his features lit by the screen's glow like a statue come to life.
But there was no observer. Just him and the abyss, which seemed to hum approvingly around him.