Here's a rewritten version in simple, author-like language:
Cough!
"Huh? Where... am I?"
I opened my eyes, but all I saw was darkness. I blinked again, and slowly, the shadows pulled back, letting in a bit of clarity. The air was still—too still. No warmth, no sound. Just an overwhelming silence pressing down on me like an invisible weight.
I looked around, searching for something—anything—but there was nothing. Just emptiness stretching endlessly, like the vastness of space. No stars, no sky. Just blackness with no beginning and no end.
This place... it was dark. Cold, too. Yet, despite the eerie stillness, there was something strange about it. Something almost... beautiful.
"I see... so I'm dead."
The words left my lips in a whisper. Distant. Hollow.
Wait.
If I'm dead… does that mean I'm just a soul now?
I tried to remember what I'd read about souls—glowing, ghostly, shaped like the body they once belonged to. I glanced down at my hands, expecting to see something spectral.
But—
Nothing.
My hands weren't there.
I sighed. "Guess those philosophers were full of it," I muttered, half amused, half uneasy. "Bastards. All that reading for nothing."
None of it mattered now. I was dead. There was no changing that.
Sigh.
The silence stretched on. Heavy. Absolute.
…
When was the last time I felt this calm?
I couldn't remember. Maybe before everything fell apart. Before my life spiraled into chaos. Before I became a murderer.
But this wasn't peace. This was suffocating. Crushing. A weight I couldn't fully understand. Unbearable—
And yet…
I ignored it.
How did I die? And why?
Wait. I think I remember…
An image flickered through my mind—pink hair flowing in the wind, a face so distant yet so close.
Her.
"Haaah!"
A sharp gasp tore from my lips as I jolted upright—if this place even had an "up." My vision swam, and then—
"From this day forth, Lumiea, son of Elena, shall be stripped of his rights as a member of the Arenford household!"
The words rang out, loud and clear, slicing through my confusion like a blade.
Arenford?
Hah. Right.
The void around me vanished. Instead, a vast blue sky stretched overhead, dotted with soft white clouds. Though the sun was missing, the world was bright. The wind was warm against my skin—a warmth I hadn't felt in so long.
But… wasn't I dead?
I did die. Didn't I? Then what was this? Purgatory? Or—
Screech.
The sharp scrape of metal against stone jolted me. I looked down. A pair of leather boots approached, slow and deliberate.
My gaze traveled upward.
A boy—no, a young man—stood before me. He looked around fifteen or sixteen, his black hair casting shadows over his face. But it was his eyes that caught me—deep, burning red.
That rage. That intensity.
Something about him unsettled me.
That sneer on his face—it pissed me off, though I didn't know why.
Did I know him?
I tried to stand—
Nothing.
My body refused to move. My arms, my legs—heavy, unresponsive.
What the hell?!
I struggled, willing myself to move, but—
BAM!
"Ahh!"
A sharp pain exploded in my stomach.
He punched me!
I winced, glaring at him. Anger flared inside me, but I was still stuck, frozen. I could only watch as he raised his fist again.
BAM!
Harder this time. The air left my lungs in a painful gasp.
"Haaah!" I exhaled sharply, trying to suppress the pain.
"You don't belong here! Not now, not ever!" he spat, his voice filled with venom.
Something clicked in my mind. I knew this boy. Didn't I?
Stop!
But my body still wouldn't move.
BAM!
Another punch. And another. Each hit slammed deeper into my gut, sending waves of agony through me.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
I could barely breathe. Barely think. Pain and rage fought inside me. I wanted to hit back, to make him pay—
But I couldn't.
I was powerless.
And then—
It stopped.
My vision blurred, but through the haze, I saw—
A girl.
She stepped between me and the boy, blocking his next blow.
Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back, a shield between him and me.
She looked about his age, maybe fifteen, but her face was hazy, like a dream slipping away.
"That's enough, Cain. You'll kill him if you keep going," she said, her voice calm but firm.
"Tch." The boy—Cain—clicked his tongue in irritation. "You're still defending that ingrate after everything he's done to you?!"
The girl stiffened. Silence stretched between them.
Cain scowled. "Don't try to stop me, Christina. He deserves this."
Arenford. Cain. Christina.
The names hit me like a hammer.
I knew them. I knew this place.
No.
No!
A sharp kick sent me sprawling. Pain flared as I forced myself to look up—
And there, sitting on a throne-like chair, was a man watching it all.
Cold. Unfeeling.
I knew exactly where I was.
No. No!
This can't be happening.
This cannot be happening.