Rick's eyelids fluttered open to the insistent buzzing of his alarm clock, a sound he was all too familiar with and not especially looking forward to. He groaned and rolled over onto his side to snatch a few more precious moments of sleep. The bed was warm, cocooning him in a fleeting sense of comfort that seemed to dissolve the moment he was fully awake again.
The digital clock blinked 7:00 AM. Another day, another routine. He sat up, rubbed the sleep off his eyes, and looked around the room. The dull beige walls seemed to close in on him. His clothes lay about on the floor-his leftovers from this long week where the only highlight had been Thursday's half-hearted movie night with Sarah.
He let out a hopeless, despairing sigh and kicked his legs off the bed; his feet thudded against the cool wooden floor. A shiver ran up his spine, pulling him back into the bleakness of his existence. He shuffled toward the bathroom, the only sound in the quiet house being the soft padding of his footsteps on the floor. He looked to be around mid-thirty, hadn't shaved, and had dark circles around his eyes which said volumes of sleepless nights of ruminations that formed into a vicious cycle that would not cease.
As he brushed his teeth, the face staring back at him was a stranger, a specter of the vibrant man he once was. "Get your life together, Rick," he growled, spitting into the sink. The words felt hollow and empty, echoing off the porcelain as the hollow promises he made to himself for countless years.
He went into the kitchen with a deep, resignation-filled sigh. He could smell the coffee brewing and went quickly to pour himself a cup. The aroma was full of flavor, rich. Making coffee had become a relatively simple ritual for him: a little respite before the day. Outside, the sun was just rising over the neighborhood, warming everything with its glow and illuminating well-manicured lawns plus the unmistakable sounds of children laughing and playing.
He took a sip, the warmth spreading through him, and allowed his mind to wander. Everything was all right on the outside-the world was bright and full of life-but inside his chest, something weighed and felt uncomfortable. Sarah had been different these days. Their conversations were getting shorter and less meaningful. The past weeks were like walking on eggshells, where every word was chosen, every silence was stretched painfully.
Just then, his mobile phone buzzed on the countertop, shaking him out of his reverie. A message from Sarah: "I have a meeting this morning, won't be home for lunch."
"Of course," he muttered, the chest pain that had never actually gone away coming flooding back. He set the cup down, the ceramic clicking against the counter, while he felt the ache inside his chest.
Was this his life? Another day of silence, another day of pretending everything was fine? He slugged down another gulp of coffee, forcing the bitter taste down. Little did he know this ordinary morning would be the last one of his life before things took a dramatic turn.
As he prepares for the day and finishes his coffee, a spark within him begins to stir. He knew today is going to be different. However, he brushed it off as the after-effect of restlessness in his night's sleep.
As he prepared for the day, little did Rick know that today was going to wake all that he had left behind. The chains of the lives he once lived began to rattle and howl inside him.
As Rick sank into the worn couch, so did the weight of the day. The silence of the house echoed in his ears, amplifying loneliness that had taken root in his heart. He stared blankly up at the wall, thought lost, when suddenly a flicker of something unusual drew his attention-a memory that wasn't his own.
"Sithrius."
The name breathed through his mind like a ghostly wind, making him shiver.
In an instant of recognition, the room around him condensed into nothing, the mundane walls dissolving into swirling darkness. Rick gasped, his breath quickening with visions.
He stood tall, looming over vast landscapes of crimson and ash. His skin shivered with dark energy, with eyes shining molten gold. "I am the Creator of Evil," a deep voice echoed, reverberating through the air as he wielded immense power, shaping chaos like clay.
He remembered flashing scenes of a past when he was fashioning cruel abominations, dropping storms of devastation upon different worlds, and taking delight in those lost under his might. He could see lightless planets and civilizations tremble at the mere mention of his name alone: Sithrius. Architect of hopelessness, Sovereign of darkness.
Rick clasped his head, trying to make sense of the atrocities that were battering his mind. "No! This isn't me!" he screamed into the void, but the memories came on relentless, a tidal wave of horror and power from which he could not hide.
He was thrust into another memory-this time, he was an all-powerful digital overlord in the Metaverse, ruling with an iron fist. Data streams burst, rivers of light, and he saw the sentient AIs he'd designed rose up against him. The creations who once adored him saw power planted by his hand sprouting into an unstoppable rebellion. "Rick, you can't control us anymore!" another cried, before it vanished into code, leaving him alone with his failures.
"Stop! You need to stop!" The tears would prick his eyes as the memory began to spill out. Thrown into the Genoverse, he was a god of creation, crafting beings and ecosystems with an unmatched precision. Yet, it ended in war as his creations turned upon him seeking revenge for the chains of servitude he had set upon them.
He was back in the Cultivation and Power World, standing in front of Lia, the woman he loved and who he betrayed. He saw their love had mixed with anger and rage, like hurt, in her eyes, and all this was because of him. "You chose power over me, Rick. You always do."
He was drowning in memories, each more painful than the last, each one echoing a profound truth he had buried deep within. Rick felt torn apart by his past, but at the bottom of his despair, he knew it well-he had been running from himself for too long.
Abruptly, Rick was flung back into the present life, gasping for breath. The living room resolved into view once more and again stood forth starkly, jarringly, in contrast with the chaotic flood of images: he leaned forward, feeling his head spinning as it tried to absorb what happened.
"What… what's happening to me?" he muttered, grasping a couch cushion as if trying to anchor himself to reality.
Memories of Sithrius and everything he'd been through filled the back corners of his mind like dust. Loss, guilt, and a deep need to be redeemed overwhelmed his feelings. "I have to comprehend. I have to heal this."
Rick got up from the couch. Determination flickered within him. No longer was he a prisoner of the past. He had to see his former selves, face the darkness that he had created and search for a way to bring back together the pieces of the broken identity.
"I won't let it end this way," he declared to the fading light beyond the window. "Not this time.
Rick stood in the kitchen, the chill of tile beneath him grounding him against the storm raging in his mind. Thin beams of pale moonlight filtered through the window onto the cluttered countertop. Empty bottles of whiskey lay strewn about this countertop; these empty bottles were what remained of futile attempts to drown out the memory that haunted him.
He clutched at the sink, white-knuckled, and visions of past lives thrashed about him. Every one of them-the betrayal, the loss, a flicker of power-thundered through his head like a relentless drumbeat. Sithrius, The Creator of Evil. It screamed in his head: Who he once was and all he had unleashed on the multiverse.
As he struggled to keep the storm inside, he heard the soft creak of the door behind him. Sarah. The name was a knife in his heart. He turned slowly, his heart pounding as she stepped into the light, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
"Rick, are you alright? Her whisper seemed thunder itself in the dead of night. She took a step closer, her eyes scanning across his face.".
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come. Memories flooded him instead, images of betrayal and anguish. He recalled her laughter, once music that filled their home, now a hollow echo because of the betrayal she shared with Daniel, his cousin.
"You don't get to care now!" Rick shouted, his voice cracking with emotion that boiled up inside him. The evil from his past life crept into his soul, insinuating itself around his heart like a fist.
"Rick, please! Let's talk about this," Sarah implored, hands raised as if to calm the storm. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I—
But her words kindled his wrath. The thrust of betrayal was deeper than any wound, opening a chasm of despair he'd believed he'd confined. He could feel the dark influence of Sithrius clawing at the edges of his consciousness, urging him to unleash the darkness within.
"You think you can just waltz back into my life and pretend everything is fine?" he spat, the bitterness boiling over. "You ruined me!"
As if summoned by his fury, the memories of his first life rushed back—a dark figure commanding legions, creating chaos and destruction. Rick felt a surge of power course through him, intoxicating and terrifying.
Sarah's face went from worried to fearful, and that transformation stabbed him like a knife. "Rick, don't do this! I love you!"
Love. The word echoed mockingly in his mind, entwining with the agony of multitudes of betrayals. At that moment, Rick felt an unholy rage surge through him, one he thought long buried under layers of guilt and remorse. "Love? Is that what you call it? You betrayed me with my own blood!"
He reached out and picked the kitchen knife off the top of the counter, moving it stiffly, cold metal and moonlight flashing from the surface in a momentary flash. As Sarah stepped back in surprise, her hands trembled at her sides as she called out: Rick! No!
And the man was gone too far into his turmoil.
"You don't understand!" he shouted, his voice quivering with anguish. "I won't let you kill me any more than you have!"
In this moment, Rick and Sithrius lost all distinction. Time seems to slow as he reaches out, the knife above his head. All those lives he's lived and relived—power and destruction and pain—flow into his consciousness.
"You think I can be saved? That I can escape this cycle?" he wailed, tears streaming down the face of madman who moves further and further from all sanity. "I am the monster I created!"
In one swift, desperate motion, the knife plunged into her chest. The world was silent. The light in her eyes dimmed as she gasped, her hands moving to the wound in disbelief.
"Rick…", she whispered, the life seeping out of her voice.
His heart shattered as he watched her fall onto the floor and saw the knife fall from his fingers as he staggered backward. He felt his past coming flooding over him in the horror and the regret of what he had done.
"What have I done?" he stammered, throwing himself to his knees beside her dead body. "No! This isn't real!"
But it was real. He felt the weight of it, the brutal reminder that the darkness he had fought against, it had taken another soul.
Rick's screams echoed through the vacant kitchen, hitting against walls that once heard laughter and love. In this moment of loss, he knew that he had become everything that he feared-an echo of the Creator of Evil, which he had been running away from.