Ali was a mangled mess on the streets, after being hit by the truck. His body was barely recognizable, limbs twisted unnaturally, bones jutting out through the skin, blood pooling around him. A short distance away, an aloof dark-haired woman watched him as he died. That was the end of Ali Asad's life.
Alicarde remembered Ali Asad. He had wanted to study psychology to understand why he couldn't cry when he lost his loved ones. It became the primary reason he enrolled in one of the best universities in the world.
He had even discreetly asked his mother about it, jumping through several conversational hoops to do so. She had told him, "If your mother dies, you would cry."
Yet Ali wasn't so sure about that. The thought of his mother dying scared him, but he wasn't convinced he would cry. He wondered if something was wrong with him. Maybe he was a sociopath. In his case, he was more of a psychopath—he had the telltale signs lying, delusions of grandeur, and a low amount of empathy and remorse.
Still, he couldn't be completely sure. Maybe he'd need to become more violent, perpetrate a few crimes to be certain.
That was the sum of the reason he had chosen Evergreen to study psychology. Not to understand other people's minds, but to understand his own, because he was afraid of being different.
Alicarde watched as his mangled body was taken away by an ambulance. That was the day Ali Asad died for good. The deranged doctor had announced it. Alicarde sighed. Ali Asad had lived a worthless, mundane life. When he died, Alicarde was born.
He looked at himself objectively. The shadow stood by his side, wearing a mocking expression.
'I think I adapted to this bullshit far too quickly. I was afraid, but somewhere deep inside, I was excited at the novel idea of being in a fantasy world. The more I learned, the more curious I became, the more I wanted.'
"You think, and that, my dear me, is called delusions of grandeur. As you already figured out, the signs of a psychopath."
"It was every boy's dream, almost like saving your school from a terrorist attack," Alicarde said to the shadow.
"I felt like the main character. Hell, I even had an otherworldly beautiful woman who promised me everything. I knew this world couldn't be all good, yet I stupidly put on my rose-colored glasses and ignored the ugliness."
"Take them off, you bastard. Take them off and look at the hideous truths you've been ignoring," the shadow said, its voice sinister.
Alicarde fell to his knees, covering his face with his palms. The flames came, and the black smoke grew.
'I don't want to. I... didn't want to.'
"You can't run away from the truth forever."
"I'm afraid. I'm scared... I don't want to fight," Alicarde whispered.
"Then let me do the fighting. Let me kill all our enemies," the shadow urged.
"You would?" Alicarde asked.
"Yes, I would. I am you, after all," the shadow laughed.
The world burned as the violet flames engulfed everything. The next memory was of his brief battle with Beowulf, Argint's brother. Alicarde had killed him, but he felt nothing. It was like killing a monster from a video game.
"Ahhh, indifference to killing. If that isn't a psychopath, I don't know what is," the shadow laughed.
The next memory was his worst nightmare, the red-haired werewolf girl, Argint, falling to her knees and crying at her brother's tombstone.
"I was depressed, so it's obvious that I cared," Alicarde said, trying to deny the shadow's words.
"Don't flatter yourself. We both know you weren't sad about killing her brother. You were only bummed about being called out. You wanted to preserve your image in the group. You didn't really care. If you did care, it would be because she could cry for her brother's death, but if Sarah died, you wouldn't shed a single tear."
"I...I..." Alicarde stuttered.
"Admit it," the shadow pressed as it moved closer, part of its foggy form absorbed by Alicarde.
He felt the agony gnawing at his chest. It hurt even more because she could cry for her loved ones while he could not. Her tears hurt more than her claws ever did, and he spiraled into depression, hoping, like the selfish coward he was, that he would be forgiven.
"I... I admit... I hate that it's the truth, but I admit," Alicarde whispered.
"Good. Finally, we're getting somewhere," the shadow said.
He was forgiven, and he moved forward like a fool. His rose-colored glasses cracked a little more, yet through the broken lens, he ignored the ugly truths.
He moved on, even getting a cool horse—how very main character-like.
"This world was a dream. Dying was so worth it. I even felt like one of those cheesy harem protagonists I hated so much, living with beautiful girls. I was happy."
"Of course you were. Only a madman would not want to be spoiled by a beautiful woman," the shadow remarked.
The flames engulfed everything, leaving nothing. His mental scape was reduced to a violet inferno. His mind blurred further, and he asked himself a question.
'Who am I? Who am I?' His mind faded from the pain as his body continued to be destroyed by Wrath and its infernal flames, its fear infecting his very core.
The shadow became indistinguishable from Alicarde, its eyes gleaming with madness and rage. In this haze, a memory surfaced—one that made Alicarde despise himself even more.
He cursed his very existence, his pathetic weakness, as he recalled the promise he had made to a little girl to save her mother. But he hadn't. He had left her mother to die, choosing to save his friend instead—not out of love or loyalty, but because,
"Her death would be a bigger inconvenience to me." Alicarde whispered coldly.
The shadow grinned at his words, moving closer.
'Who am I? Who...?' Alicarde's thoughts fragmented as memories played before his mind, while violet flames engulfed him.
He imagined himself in the years to come, watching as his family aged—his mother, father, and sisters growing old, while he remained unchanged. He would be eternal, untouched by time.
"I would be all alone," Alicarde whispered, realizing that his immortality had condemned him to outlive everyone he loved.
"And why is that?" the shadow asked with a sneer.
"Because... I am an eternal an undying being," Alicarde lamented. Confusion and pain twisted his soul, but the agony in his heart far surpassed any physical suffering.
"I would be alone forever because I am Aeter... huh, who is Aeter?" he murmured, collapsing as he tried to hold his fractured mind together. The shadow's smile widened as the broken shards of his consciousness turned to black mist, melding with the dark figure.
He remembered Carrisa, his constant support. She had promised him that his immortal existence would not be a lonely one.
"Forever and always," Alicarde muttered, clutching onto that memory.
He thought of Amena, the taciturn maid whose kindness had always felt unshakable. He remembered her stoic expression, always steady, always capable.
And Argint. He missed her fiery spirit, her unwavering strength. She never looked at him as her brother's killer, something he both envied and admired.
He missed Anne, his steadfast friend. And Elly, the sly, stunning woman whose company he always enjoyed, despite the chaos she often brought. She wasn't all bad, he thought. Or at least, he couldn't bring himself to believe she was.
The world around him was quiet. He was letting go, only saddened by the thought of never seeing them again.
"Now that you're about to be erased, any regrets?" the shadow asked mockingly.
"Yeah... never made a guy friend in college. Too late now."
The shadow's expression was unreadable, but its grip tightened.
Another memory flashed before him—Zagarath, the powerful creature who had toyed with him, mocking his helplessness and immortality. Alicarde had been spared by luck and circumstance, but the humiliation festered within him, stirring a deep-seated rage.
The shadow's form grew, tendrils of darkness pouring into Alicarde's very pores.
"What now? Zagarath humiliated you, and here you are, fading away," the shadow taunted.
"I'm going to kill them all," Alicarde growled, consumed by fury. "I'm going to make them pay."
"How, when you don't even remember your own name?" the shadow mocked.
A moment of clarity flickered in Alicarde's dazed eyes. "I... I don't know."
The shadow circled him, its voice chilling. "Then tell me... what are you?"
"I... I am immortal," Alicarde stammered, unsure.
"And now, who are we?" the shadow pressed.
"We... I am Aeternus," Alicarde whispered, his voice gaining strength.
The shadow laughed as it fully merged into him, its form dissolving into Alicarde's soul. His body became a vessel of shadows, eyes burning violet.
"They will pay... in blood and misery," Alicarde murmured, the transformation complete.
In the darkness, a voice echoed in his ear:
[Aeternus.. *e**r.. Eternal... ****e* your fable has begun.]
[The ****** sends his boon, Aeternus. You have received the boon of the ******.]
Alicarde screamed as the shadow fused with him, his mind a whirlwind of regained memories and chaotic emotions. His once-fragmented consciousness sharpened, clarity returning to his thoughts. The world around him seemed different—changed.
He was no longer Ali Asad.
He was Alicarde. Aeternus. The Eternal. He was Reborn, his eyes opened.