In a dimly lit and chilling basement, the only source of light emanated from the glowing screen of the computer. The man, his features partially obscured by the shadows, sat hunched over his desk, his eyes locked onto the digital world before him.

The screen flickered with an eerie intensity, casting distorted shadows across the room. Amidst the darkness, a solitary message flashed: "."

The man blinked, disbelief washing over him like a wave. He rubbed his eyes multiple times as if hoping to dispel the illusion before him. Yet, no matter how many times he blinked, the same message remained.

"I must be tired," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible in the oppressive silence of the basement. "I'm probably imagining things."

But the message persisted, mocking him with its simplicity.

"No... No way," he whispered, his voice trembling with doubt.

The man blinked and rubbed his eyes multiple times. He then looked back at the screen again, in doubt.

"I... I can't have won," he muttered, his voice growing hoarse with disbelief. "This can't be real."

A heavy silence descended upon the room, suffocating him with its weight.

"It's impossible," he declared, his words barely audible above the sound of his own heartbeat. "I can't believe it. There's no way I could have won."

He stared at the screen, his gaze unblinking, as if daring the message to vanish before his eyes.

"It can't be..." he trailed off, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the basement.

And then, as if a dam had burst within him, laughter erupted from his lips, wild and unrestrained. The man started laughing like a madman.

"AHAHAHAH! I won!" he exclaimed, the sound echoing off the cold, damp walls of the basement.

"I won, I won, I won," he repeated, each word punctuated by fits of laughter. It was as if he had lost his mind, which, at that moment, seemed entirely plausible.

The laughter continued unabated, a manic crescendo filling the room with madness.

"I won," he gasped between breaths, his voice raw with emotion. "I won."

He repeated the phrase like a mantra, his voice growing hoarse with each repetition.

"I won," he said again, his smile deranged and wild.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter subsided, leaving behind a heavy silence.

But the man's euphoria remained, a tangible presence in the room.

After long periods of time passed, the man finally managed to calm down. He took a few deep breaths and looked back at the screen with a smile.

"This was fun," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"But there's still one more thing left to do."

His smile faded, replaced by a cold, unreadable expression.

"Now then, let's finish what we started."

With deliberate movements, he reached for the drawer next to his desk, his fingers trembling with anticipation.

Inside lay a small black box, its contents hidden from view.

He opened the box with care, revealing its contents to the dim light of the basement.

"Ah, here it is," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own heartbeat.

He lifted the gun from the box, its weight comforting in his hands.

With steady hands, he aimed the gun towards his own head, his finger poised over the trigger.

"My life was worth living. That was truly fun." he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the basement.

And then, with a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound echoed through the basement. In the dim light of the basement, his lifeless body lay slumped over the computer desk, his blood staining the keyboard a dark crimson.

The computer screen flickered, the message still flashing on the screen:

""

.

.

.

.

"... Where am I?"

"What happened?"

"Why is it so dark?"

"Who am I?"

"What's going on?"

The man asked those questions in his mind, but the answer didn't come.

'I can't remember anything,' the man thought. 'But more importantly, what is this feeling?'

'It's a familiar feeling, but I can't remember what it is.'

The man tried to think about what was happening, but the answers were not forthcoming.

'Ah... I finally remember this feeling ... It is hate.'

"Hate for the world, hate for everything, hate for yourself, hate for the unknown, hate for the unknowable, and hate for the unforgivable."

"I remember now..."

However, this feeling was not rage or anger. It was simply a deep, overwhelming sense of hatred toward all and everything.

"I hated the world so much that I wanted to destroy it."

"I hated myself so much that I wanted to destroy myself."

"I hated the unknown so much that I wanted to know everything."

"I hated the unknowable so much that I wanted to comprehend everything."

"I hated the unforgivable so much that I wanted to forgive everything."

As the man was thinking, his consciousness began to fade. When the man realized this, he became afraid.

"Wait! I don't want to disappear. I don't want to fade away. I don't want to become nothing."

"I want to continue hating. I want to continue existing so I can hate."

"I want to continue existing."

"I want to exist."

Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, the man's consciousness returned, and a very familiar red panel appeared in front of him amidst the darkness.

""

'...Ah, I remember now. I was playing a game—a game that I was extremely good at, the best at, and had won after many, many years. What was the name of the game already?'

"Ah, right. The name of the game was...Forgotten Games.'"

"That's right. I had won the game. It was the game I spent my life trying to win. And I won."

Suddenly, an unfamiliar and deep voice interrupted the man's thoughts.

"Indeed. You won."

The man paused for a moment and then replied, "Yes, I won. But who are you ?"

Ignoring the man's question, the voice continued, "You are like me. You hate everything. I am dying with many regrets, and I can't do anything about them. If I give you another chance, will you hate the world in my stead?"

"..."

"If you do, I will give you the power to destroy the world. I will give you the power to destroy the unknown, the unknowable, and the unforgivable."

"..."

"Will you accept my offer?"

"..."

"Will you become my successor ?"

"..."

"Will you become the one who hates the most?"

Somehow, the man felt like he was in deja vu. "...Yes," he replied instinctively, his voice barely a whisper in the oppressive silence of the void.

As soon as the man accepted the voice's offer, the red panel in front of him began to glow with a strange light.

"H̷̨̬͝A̵̢͗̄͒Ṫ̷̨̡̻̥E̶͙͍͖̒̍͜ ̷F̵͚͚̃̈́͌̉̃O̵̧̦̼̼̾̓R̵̳̲̗̋̂̄̈́̂̍ ̸̢͍̬̣̻̣̎̒̑̈́ Ḿ̵̢͚͇͋ͅE̷̩͖̠͍̹̦̿͒̓.̷͚͔͔̞͉͋̑̆̔̋͗"

Suddenly, the man's vision went black, and he felt his consciousness slipping away.

.

.

.

.

.

When the man regained consciousness, he found himself sprawled upon the cold, unfamiliar ground of a place he could not recognize. A sense of disorientation enveloped him as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

"Where am I?" he muttered, his voice echoing into the darkness that seemed to stretch infinitely in every direction.

As he glanced around, his gaze fell upon a solitary door suspended before him, its immense size and peculiar material commanding his attention. The door loomed like a monolith, its surface swirling with an otherworldly, liquid-like substance that defied explanation.

Something about this place felt strangely familiar, as if he had been there before, at another time, or in another life.

Driven by a mixture of curiosity and instinct, the man approached the imposing door, his hand reaching out tentatively to touch its enigmatic surface. Yet, despite his efforts, the door remained steadfast and unyielding, refusing to budge beneath his touch.

In that moment, a sudden burst of color shattered the monotony of the void as a crimson window materialized before him with startling clarity.