「'Is this a dream?」 He tried to ask himselfBut no sound left his lips. He couldn't even twitch his mouth.
A bluish glow emanated from his form as he floated in a vast, endless void of blackness, utterly without anchor.
He had only just come to his senses, but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness. It wasn't the kind of darkness where light was merely absent—this was an oppressive, consuming nothingness. Though the space was somehow bright, there was nothing to illuminate: no land, no sky, no air, no sound. Just an endless, empty expanse.
Anyone trapped here long enough would surely lose their mind. But he felt no fear. Not just fear—he felt no amazement, surprise, confusion, or anything at all. His emotions were absent, as if they'd never existed. Was it because he was...
「Am I... dead?」 he wondered, a flicker of something close to confusion surfacing in his mind."
"...?!"
『"Who the f*ck are you, b**ch?!" he snapped, his voice echoing in the void as he questioned the strange presence in his mind, the one that seemed to be speaking his every thought. Annoyed, he began cursing, rage building inside him.』
『"Oi, do you want to die?!" he shouted, his anger flaring. In a desperate burst of fury, he tried to swing his fists, to leap at the unseen voice, to do anything to silence it.』
『But he couldn't.』
『"Why?!" he demanded, confused. He had meant to punch, to move, to lash out, but somehow the voice had known he would—and had stopped him.』
『The reason was painfully clear. He had no fists. No arms. Not even shoulders to connect them to. No chest, no body. Nothing.』
『Because he was...』
『DEAD.』
『"WTF?!" he shouted, his voice trembling in the silence.』
『But he didn't feel too surprised. Somehow, he'd already sensed it. Besides, emotions seemed dulled, as if drained from him entirely, making this realization almost... easy to accept.』
『"So I'm dead, huh?" he said to himself, almost amuse faint, existent smile tugged at his nonexistent face. For a moment, he felt a strange relief.』
"So I really am dead..." he repeated, this time feeling a pang of something close to sorrow. The urge to cry surged up, heavy and relentless, but no tears came. The weight pressed on his chest—or where his chest should have been—an unbearable, invisible burden.
"Oi, aren't you making it a bit overdramatic?" he shot back at the voice, the irritation flaring up again. "I didn't felt that much." He said.』
He felt a surge of frustration but quickly let it subside. There was no point in arguing with this voice—it was a waste of time. He realized that he couldn't even muster the energy to keep resisting.
Fine, he thought. If this voice wanted to narrate his every move, he'd just let it be. He'd consider it a part of himself, a surrogate for his own thoughts, since he couldn't quite think or speak the way he used to.
With a resigned sigh—or at least the feeling of one—he sank deeper into the emptiness, letting the voice continue.
"So, since I have no idea where I'm going or what comes next... might as well give myself a quick flashback," he thought, almost amused by the irony of recounting his life after it had ended.
"Hi. My name was Deva Ram Dharma. I was a highly decorated and dedicated soldier, one of the best in my country's ranks. And yeah... currently, I am...
DEAD."
His mind drifted back to his childhood, a memory that felt both familiar and distant. "I grew up like any other kid on the streets, in a middle-class family. I was the second child, with an older brother and a younger sister. And, of course..."
"Mom..." A faint, fleeting emotion surfaced, flickering on his non-existent face, an ache he hadn't expected.
"I never knew my father. I never actually saw him. But Mom used to tell me stories about him. She said he was tall, strong, always smiling—the kind of man who could make people feel safe just by being there. That's why she fell in love with him. But he was a soldier, too. The day my sister was born, he got his orders to go to war... and he never came back."
"Yeah, sounds like one of those cliche, tragic stories, right? But that's how it was. Mom raised us alone, and I could tell she loved him deeply, even though he was gone."
He paused, as if remembering.
"Maybe that's why she wanted me to join the military. Or maybe it was just something I was destined for."
"I took to the battlefield like it was in my blood. I gave everything to the job—fought and fought, killed and killed. I got shot, stabbed, slashed, bombed, and one idiot even tried to throw me out of a plane. But somehow, I survived it all."
"That's how I became a veteran. A survivor of countless battles." He felt a sense of pride over his achivement .
"And then... a new assignment came, a notice that would be my last, the one that would end my life."
"A piece of paper which was supposed to be my letter of summon has later turned out to be my warrent of Death."
Story will continue in Prologue 2 :