Chapter 0
☾ Twisted Thoughts ☽
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[First-Person Viewpoint]
What is life? A question so simple, yet it sits at the center of everything, haunting me in the silence of each day and the darkness of each night. Sometimes I try to answer it, think that maybe, this time, I'll unlock the truth. But each answer I come up with twists and dissolves before I can grasp it, leaving me more confused, more empty, more... lost.
Maybe life is just a grand play, crafted by something, someone, to entertain an unseen audience. Or maybe it's a dream—a fleeting, fragile dream that we'll all wake from someday, only to find out it meant nothing. But even that thought is comforting in a twisted way. Because if it's all a dream, then nothing here matters, does it?
As I've wandered through this life, pieces of myself seem to drift away. The more I see, the less I understand, and the more I drift from the person I thought I was. Thoughts, once simple, now become tangled in dark webs, each turn leading to another dead end. It's funny how quickly my questions about life turn into criticism, into whispered accusations that tear at my mind. These thoughts become monologues, stories I tell myself to make sense of everything that feels so wrong.
Yet, even my monologues are empty. They've become nothing more than rehearsed scripts in my head, looping, replaying, until they seem more real than reality itself. They bleed into my daydreams, filling every quiet moment with twisted fantasies. These dreams are my escape—a sanctuary of fabricated worlds that feel more real than the life I wake to each morning. Because here, in the waking world, it feels like reality is a lie.
The world is made of illusions, stacked so high we mistake them for truth. The smiles we wear, the words we speak, the lives we live—they're all fragments of some larger lie. Sometimes, those lies make you feel safe, make you feel loved. But more often than not, they cut deep, reminding you that the truth is always just out of reach.
Lies are the foundation of this world. Every day, we build our lives on them, each lie carefully chosen, carefully placed. And the cruelest part is that sometimes, we even lie to ourselves, convincing ourselves that we're happy, that we belong, that we have a purpose. But it's all just a delusion.
Even time itself feels like a lie. The past is just a shadow of the present, a collection of moments we've left behind. The future? A faint echo, always just out of reach, taunting us with promises it will never keep. And here I am, stuck in the in-between, unable to move forward, haunted by the mistakes of the past. They cling to me, each regret like a weight pulling me deeper into the darkness.
I know I should move on. I know that dwelling on the past won't change anything, won't undo the mistakes I made. But even knowing that, I can't shake the regrets, can't silence the echoes of all the things I've done and failed to do. So here I am, trapped in a world I've built for myself, a world where dreams feel more real than the waking world.
I look around, and everyone seems so sure of themselves, so confident that they're the main character in some grand story. They walk around as if the world revolves around them, as if they're somehow special. But I know the truth—I'm no protagonist. I'm just a bystander, an extra in someone else's tale, invisible, forgotten.
Maybe, once, I thought I was special too. Maybe I believed I was meant for something greater. But that illusion shattered long ago, replaced by a hollow emptiness. Now, I watch others chase their dreams, cling to their fantasies, while I drift through each day, a ghost haunting my own life.
Sometimes, in those quiet moments when I'm alone, I feel it—this nagging sense that something is wrong, that there's a piece missing, something just out of sight. I don't know what it is, don't know why it haunts me, but it's there, lurking, reminding me that there's something broken within me.
The world is vast, infinite, and I can't help but wonder why. Why was it created? Why was I born into it? I don't have the answer, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's all just a prologue—a prelude to something darker, something that no one is ready for.
"Fate is unavoidable. The world is despair. Reality is a lie." These words have become my mantra, my only anchor in a world that feels like it's slipping away. I tell myself that it's all just an illusion, a dream that I'll wake from eventually. But sometimes, I wonder if it's not the world that's twisted… but me.
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[Second-Person Viewpoint]
And now, here I am, standing helpless as he bleeds out in front of me. I didn't do anything—I just watched, paralyzed, as he took his final breath. It's almost like he knew, like he was prepared for this end. But how could he be? How could anyone know this is how it would end?
"Why?" The word escapes my lips before I can stop it, raw and desperate.
For a moment, he looks at me, his gaze distant, as if he's already halfway gone. His lips move, but the words are faint, barely audible over the sound of his dying breaths.
"Why… you ask?" he says, his voice a broken whisper. "It's… simple."
His eyes close, and the life drains from him. The silence settles in, heavy and final.
He's gone.
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[Third-Person Viewpoint]
So, this is it. This is how it all ends. The blood drains from my body, and with it, whatever life I thought I had left.
Is this what I wanted? Did I really want to die like this? The thought almost makes me laugh. There were things I wanted to do, dreams I once had. I wanted to live, to find meaning, to understand why I was here. But here I am, bleeding out, and none of it matters anymore.
"Why…?" I hear a voice, faint and distant. Someone asking why, as if the answer could change anything.
"Why… you ask?" I whisper, my voice thick with irony. I can't even remember anymore, can't remember why I thought this was the answer. Maybe it was just… interesting? Or maybe it was the only thing I could control.
"Keh… it's simp…le." The words slip from my lips, and i fell a strange felling of satisfication.
It's strange, the way pain sharpens everything yet numbs me all at once. Every heartbeat echoes through my body like a drum, each thud pulling me deeper into an abyss I can't crawl out of. The world blurs around me, its colors fading to muted shades of gray, and all I can feel is this slow, agonizing descent into nothingness. It's almost poetic, in a cruel way—how life doesn't care to offer comfort or dignity in these final moments. The darkness isn't some gentle veil; it's a weight pressing down on me, dragging me into something colder than death.
But it's the silence that tears at me the most. The emptiness wraps around me like a shroud, whispering things I don't want to hear, reminding me of everything I never had and will never find. I've always felt alone, even when surrounded by people, but this? This is something else entirely. The kind of loneliness that claws at your insides, that burrows into your bones and sets there, permanent and unyielding. I think back to all those times I wanted someone to understand, to see me, to know the weight I carried. Yet here, in this final moment, I'm just as invisible as I've always been.
A part of me wants to scream, to thrash, to fight against this ending—but what would be the point? Every struggle feels pointless, every breath wasted on an indifferent world that wouldn't care if I faded away. I've spent so long clinging to a faint hope that maybe, somehow, it would all make sense. But hope is just another lie, isn't it? A clever disguise for despair, a trick to keep us going when all we really want is for the pain to stop. I feel the futility deep in my chest, like a dull, hollow ache that's impossible to ignore.
Regret festers in me, bitter and all-consuming. Regret for the chances I never took, the words I never said, the life I never allowed myself to live. I kept thinking things would change, that maybe I'd find something—someone—that could make it all bearable. But those dreams are just distant echoes now, fading like smoke. All that's left is this gnawing emptiness, this haunting knowledge that I wasted it all chasing after something that never existed. What's the point of a life built on shadows and illusions?
As the cold creeps in, I'm left with one final, cruel realization. I am my own prison, and no matter how far I ran, I was always bound to this loneliness, this despair. There's no redemption waiting, no escape from the twisted mess I've become. I am nothing more than a fading memory, a ghost even before death, wandering through the shattered remains of a life that was never really mine. In the end, I realize, I was always alone—just a small, fragile soul lost in a vast, uncaring world. And as the darkness closes in, I accept it.
And just like that, everything fades.
---
[Singularity Expansion]
[Something New: Completed]
[Sudden Changes: Completed]
[Daydreams: Completed]
[Delusions: Completed]
[Sanity: Failed]
[Worldline-One: Complete]
...
[Genocide: Found]
[Simulating 'Genocide'...]
[Genocide: Complete]
[Worldlines Complete: 5/5]
[Regressing: Unlocked]
[Possession: Unlocked]
[Reincarnation: Unlocked]
[Transmigration: Unlocked]
[[Genre unlocked]]
[Please select a genere and a theme]
[Error!]
[Host isn't in the state to chose]
[Going into hibernation until host is awake]
.
.
.
.
.
[Error!]
[The host is determined to be dead]
[The host is unconscious]
[The host hasn't waked up for two million seconds]
[Auto chosing the genre and theme]
[Genre available:
Fantasy, action,tragedy,...,....]
[Selecting the most compatible genre]
[Processing.....]
[Tragedy selected]
[Selecting the theme]
[Theme available: Regression,transmigration,reincarnation,possession]
[Selecti—
[Error!]
[The host has no sanity to select theme]
[Error!the host's mentality isn't enough]
[Anomaly detected!]
[Emergency defence activated]
[Initializing the Worldline]
[Error!]
[All themes are activated forcibly]
[Timeline set]
[Creating a new multiverse]
[Alternative universes terminated]
[The host— subject now will be transported to a different worldline]
[The host past may be tragic ]
[The host present will be despair]
[The host future may be a tragedy]
--
Now, drifting in the space between life and death, I feel myself unraveling, fragments of my mind scattering like ashes on the wind. Somewhere, in the darkness, something stirs, pulling me toward an unknown fate.
Maybe I'll be reborn, reincarnated in some strange world. Or maybe I'll become a ghost, forever bound to this broken life. But whatever comes next, I can only hope for one thing—peace. An end to the endless questions, the loneliness, the lies.
In the end, whether reality or fantasy, all things fade. Perhaps this is my ending, or maybe it's just the beginning of another tragedy. But one thing is certain: the darkness will remain, waiting, patient, until this cycle ends.
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No matter what you see, don't believe it. It'll all be over sooner than you think.
Nothing is real,
its all just an illusion,so real that it makes you question reality.