A man stood at the edge of the same mountain, the one off-limits to the public—the very spot Cyrus liked to visit when he had too many things on his mind. The man had a bald head, and his brown eyes were hollow, devoid of life.
Strangely, there was a body lying beside him, a figure identical to his own, except for one crucial difference: a bullet wound to its head.
Then, he noticed a sound behind him. The man let out a desperate sigh, his voice laced with resignation.
"Oh, looks like someone will discover my body… It was fast, but I wonder, when will I go to hell?"
Then, he felt someone grab his collar with tremendous force. As he turned, he saw who was holding him— a pale boy with brown hair, dressed in a dark suit. The boy's face was unlike anything he had seen on a human before. It was a mask of negative emotion—rage, sadness, despair, and an overwhelming desire for murder.
"You sick, disgusting trash bag of a human!"
Cyrus's voice was a venomous snarl as he swung his wooden sword at the man's head. With a murderous scream, he struck, sending the man flying into a nearby tree.
The man screamed in pain, clutching his face where the blow had landed. It hurt—he had never felt such agony before. As he writhed, a thought crossed his mind:
Huh, am I not a ghost? How is he able to see me? How could he hit me? And how can one person possess so much strength?
Cyrus slowly walked toward the man, who was leaning against the tree, and his voice dripped with venom as he spoke.
"Does it hurt? I hope it hurts! I hope every second of it hurts… You weak, pathetic, selfish excuse of not just a father, not just a husband, but a human being! How dare you torture your own daughter for a month, then kill her in front of her mother, just because you were too weak to step up as a father!"
Tears streamed down Cyrus's face, his eyes burning with murderous rage.
The man, still clutching his face in pain, managed to speak weakly.
"What? It's you… You can see me? And… what do you mean, in front of her mother?"
Cyrus stopped in his tracks, his voice still burning with unstoppable rage.
"You didn't believe her. Heck, you probably got angry and hit her when she told you the spirit of her mother was in the same room as the two of you. You didn't believe her when she said her mother's spirit visited you both often. You sick bastard! You snapped, and you took your despair out on your daughter, all because you couldn't handle losing your wife and older daughter.
Her mother—she saw everything! Do you know the suffering you put both of them through? You made your wife watch you torture your own daughter, unable to do anything to stop it. And she had to watch her die in the most horrific way."
Cyrus pointed his wooden sword at the man, his voice filled with fury.
"All of that… because your pathetic, small heart couldn't handle the pain. You thought you could escape with no consequences by killing yourself? No… If mundane people can judge those beyond the physical plane, then I—someone who can transcend it—will judge you!"
The man put both of his hands in front of him, as if trying to plead with Cyrus to stop.
"I… I'm sorry! I just didn't know what to do… I was in despair… I'm sorry… I didn't mean it! Please forgive me, please forgive me, please forgive me… please forgive me, please forgive me, please forgive me, please forgive me…"
He repeated the words over and over, his hands trembling and pressed to his ears as he cried. The man was undeniably filled with despair as he watched Cyrus.
He remembered the words Liliana had told him in the field of flowers, words that seemed so distant now:
"I suppose it is, Cyrus. But humans are contradictory by nature. They seek happiness, yet cause suffering around them. A mother can claim to love her child, yet kill her own child with her own two hands..."
Then, while his head was filled with rage and murderous thoughts to the point where it was unbearable, one sentence finally broke through the ocean of anger that surged in his mind.
Humans are contradictory by nature…
He took one step forward and said, his voice dripping with venom:
"Were you sorry when you were torturing your daughter?"
He took another step.
"Were you sorry when you killed your helpless child, as she couldn't do anything about it?"
Another step, drawing closer to the spirit.
"Are you truly sorry now that you learned you tortured and killed your child in front of her own mother?"
Cyrus gripped his wooden sword so tightly that blood began to spill from his hand.
"How dare... how dare you... HOW DARE YOU!"
In a surge of rage, he ran toward the man. The man let out a scream of fear as Cyrus swung his sword with incredible force. The blow hit the tree behind the man, severing it in half, and the tree fell with a deafening crash.
The man's laugh only fueled Cyrus's rage, igniting something darker within him—disgust.
Without hesitation, he released his wooden sword and grabbed the man by the shirt, his actions so sudden that it made the man scream in fear. Cyrus's voice, filled with wrath, cut through the air:
"'Believe in the pride of being a shaman,' they say… 'Believe that humans can better themselves as a species,' but all they've ever proven to me is that they are weak, cowardly, selfish, ignorant creatures, guided only by greed! Humans are more demon-like than demons could ever be, if they even exist! I only knew her for such a short time, yet… she was the first and only friend I ever had in my life! And you just tortured her, killed her like that… and now you have the nerve to ask me to forgive you?!"
His grip on the man tightened, his rage growing as he looked directly into his tormentor's face.
"Can spirits die? If you can feel pain, then you can die again. I wonder what will happen to you if you die again!"
The man screamed in terror, desperately trying to break free from Cyrus's unyielding hold, but it was no use.
Cyrus pulled the man closer, their faces mere inches apart. The man could feel the overwhelming rage radiating from Cyrus, a rage no child should ever experience—no human should ever feel.
"But I will honor Liliana's belief," Cyrus growled, his voice low and venomous. "I will hate ignorant, selfish, cowardly, and evil humans like you. And I will protect the humans who have the potential to grow into kinder, more understanding beings. I will protect the earth from people like you!"
Cyrus's grip tightened. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost unnatural for someone his age.
"My grandpa told me to believe in the pride of being a shaman. He said we can teach people how to be free of suffering, that we can share our knowledge and wisdom. We, the shamans, have the power to do that.
That we should believe in humanity, since they are capable of great virtue, as well as great sin!." His voice shook, not with fear, but with the weight of his words.
"Shirokae told me that, as I grew older and explored humanity, I would eventually understand what it means to be a shaman, and I would believe in the pride of it. But... It's no use. I wanted to believe in humanity. I truly did. But it's no use anymore."
He paused, taking a breath before continuing, his tone resolute.
"So now, I will hate the part of humanity that deserves to be hated, and protect those worthy of protection. I'll protect the earth as much as I can from garbage humans like you. And I'll protect those I deem worthy. That will be my way as a shaman. The kind of shaman I'll become."
Cyrus stepped back, releasing the man and picking up his wooden sword. "So I won't kill you. Even if it's possible. You'll remain on this earth, wandering, a cursed soul, until the devil, if he exists, calls you. You'll drift for hundreds of years in solitude, waiting for hell to claim you, and thinking about what you've done. Hopefully, for as long as possible."
With those final words, Cyrus turned and walked out of the forbidden zone. But Before Cyrus could leave the pathetic murderer behind, the man's voice pierced the air, filled with pure, unrelenting despair.
"Please kill me again... please kill me again... don't leave me... I'm sorry! Please kill me again... please kill me again... don't leave me... I'm sorry!" The words spilled from his lips, repeating in a never-ending, desperate chant.
"Please kill me again... please kill me again... don't leave me... I'm sorry! Please kill me again... please kill me again... don't leave me... I'm sorry!"
The man's pleas continued, echoing through the air, as though his very soul were writhing in agony.
Cyrus no longer felt the burning rage that had fueled him moments ago. Now, only an overwhelming sense of despair lingered within him. It wasn't just the murderer who suffered—it was the world itself, broken and full of contradictions. He could feel it. The hopelessness of it all.
As he walked, his face became hollow and empty. He looked at his wooden sword in his hands, hoping that it could become an unstoppable blade, firing an unstoppable slash… an unstoppable slash that severs the wheel, that stops us from reaching true understanding and true happiness.
chapter fifty-one end