"You know... when I just came here, I was ready to die. After all, in this whole world — two worlds, actually — there's not a single soul who cares whether I live or die. When I'm gone, no one will be sad. No one will even remember that I existed."
Sunny stared at the young hero in the oppressive darkness. For a moment, a forlorn look flickered in his eyes, only to twist into a bitter smile.
"But then I changed my mind. Somewhere along the way, I decided to survive. I must survive, no matter what."
The hero, still writhing in pain from the poison coursing through his veins, looked at him with a strange mix of curiosity and sorrow. His voice was strained.
"To live a life worth remembering?"
Sunny grinned.
"No, to spite you all."
This memory burned the brightest in his mind, a stark and unyielding beacon in the endless dream. Ever since the only light in his life—his sister—had turned out to be better off without him, Sunny had closed his heart to the world. He had built a fortress of hatred and spite around himself, swearing to trust no one, to care for no one. He was destined to spend the rest of his life using and deceiving others, exploiting them for his own gain, and keeping everyone at arm's length. Or so he thought.
But life had a cruel sense of irony.
After surviving the nightmare, receiving his Aspect during the appraisal, and learning his flaw, Sunny's existence became an intricate web of horrors—ones he hadn't even imagined in his darkest dreams. Not because he hadn't expected a nightmare; no, his entire life had been one long, unbroken descent into despair. What surprised him was the discovery that he didn't have to face it alone.
People had entered his life—strangers at first, then companions, and eventually something more. They fought beside him, shared their burdens, and wormed their way into the cracks of his carefully constructed armor. Against his better judgment, he found himself opening up to them. Respecting them. And, to his eternal frustration, wanting to protect them.
The Coral Labyrinth had marked the beginning. Nephis and Cassie had been the first cracks in his defenses. Later came more people in the Dark City. The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. Effie, Kai... I'm truly blessed to have met you all.
But blessings came with a price. Memories of triumph were tainted with pain and suffering, their sweetness forever tinged with bitterness.
A grimace twisted his face as he thought of his fight with Nephis. That fight... and what it had cost him.
'Damn that Cassie. After everything I did... Even though I understand her choice, I'll never forgive her for giving away my freedom.'
His smile vanished entirely as another memory rose, unbidden and unrelenting. His first kill—the one that truly hurt. Harper.
If only he had avoided that man, Cassie wouldn't have known his secret and Nephis wouldn't have ended up alone in that wretched place. He could have stayed behind with her. If only... But the truth was a merciless thing.
'If I had not been there, Rain would have died. Then, I would have become Mordret's slave nonetheless.'
The weight of that truth pressed down on him, hollow and suffocating, as he plunged into the endless abyss of the sky below - His first encounter with the Prince of Nothing. That loathsome voice, sweet and venomous, threaded through his mind, weaving webs of manipulation. Despite his paranoia, despite his careful vigilance, Mordret had gotten to him.
The suffocating cell he had endured—where thirst and starvation gnawed at him relentlessly—was shared with the one person whose relationship with him defied reason. Someone he despised with every fiber of his being, yet someone he would not hesitate to save, even at the cost of his own life. Such was the enigma of human nature, capable of housing the most contradictory emotions in the same fragile heart.
And then there was Noctis—the maddening, despicable bastard who somehow earned his respect and wormed his way into the sanctum of friendship. A dear friend. Sunny scoffed at the thought. Never, in his wildest imagination, had he believed he could grow attached to someone so profoundly—especially when that someone was nothing more than a mirage conjured by the Spell.
But then, does it even matter? He clenched his jaw, his mind circling the question like a predator stalking prey. They lived as we lived. They breathed, laughed, and cried like us. They died like us. Does it really make a difference if they were born in the real world or a world shaped by the Spell?
A shadow crossed his face. How do we even know that the world we call real is truly 'real'?
The thought was interrupted by a haunting memory—a vision of the eerily empty observatory burned into his mind. The silence of that place had been oppressive, a void that consumed everything. A terrible sense of loss gripped his chest like a vice, and an overwhelming urge to flee ignited in his soul.
But the memory refused to release him.
In an instant, he was somewhere else—surrounded by snow and soot, as a massive fortress burned beneath his feet. The roar of flames mixed with the screams of the dying, and the weight of countless lives bore down on his shoulders. He stumbled under its crushing heaviness, and then came the cold. A bone-deep chill seeped into his limbs as he stood over freshly dug graves.
Three graves.
Three of the multitude of lives that had been his responsibility to protect.
He had failed them.
Why... why can I not save anyone? What happened to my conviction? Isn't that the key to strength? Isn't that what I lacked?'
His thoughts twisted into despair, coiling tighter and tighter until the answer came, sharp and cruel:
"Because you're a miserable little wretch."
The voice was unmistakable—his own, yet not. A figure materialized beside him, lounging casually as if it had always been there. It was a wraith, a shadow of himself, but its gaze was merciless.
"Do you think you're worth something?" the apparition sneered. Its voice dripped venom. "Stop deluding yourself. You're nothing more than a pathetic little slave who fell in love with his slaver. Dying in the gutters of that cursed city would have been a far more fitting end for a worm like you."
"Shut up! I... I am not—"
"Oh, but you are," the wraith cut him off with cruel laughter. "Who are you kidding? Look at you, groveling in the dirt. You'd follow her into the jaws of hell itself, knowing full well it'll destroy you. And you'd do it with a smile on your face, just like she said. 'No one in this world is truly free. All you can do is choose your chains.' Isn't that what the dead corpse told you?"
The wraith leaned closer, its voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"Well, here's a surprise for you. You're so pitiful that you don't even have the freedom to choose your chains. All you can do is watch. Watch people die. Just like that miserable child you lost in the time storm."
The wraith's smile widened, twisted and sharp.
"And that's what you'll do for the rest of your wretched, miserable little life."
Its words struck deep, like a dagger piercing a fragile shell, resounding in the darkest corners of Sunny's mind—the ones he had fought so hard to lock away. But now, the truth stood before him, unveiled in all its wretched, miserable glory.
The hideous reality he had always tried to ignore lay bare before his eyes, and with it, his will to live dampened.
He lay motionless in the void, a bleak and endless expanse devoid of light. Strength had abandoned him; even the effort to lift a finger seemed insurmountable. A dark grimace was etched onto his face, frozen like a grotesque mask. His eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now pools of despair. His heart slowed with every passing moment, its defiance finally waning.
Little by little, his body grew colder, and the very light of his soul was being snuffed out. The shadows closed in as silent witnesses to his surrender.
Just a little longer, he thought, his mind spiraling deeper into the void. Just a moment more, and all my problems will disappear. The pain, the suffering—it'll all be gone. The chains will shatter, the bonds will fade. I'll finally be free, embraced in the merciful Shadows. I'll rest in peace... forever. Finally, my nightmare will be over.
"...Be gone."
The void trembled.
For a fleeting moment, the silence shattered as the world seemed to shift. The oppressive nothingness rippled like the surface of a still lake disturbed by a single drop.
And then, the wraith was gone.
In its place stood a figure—gaunt and skeletal, its presence oozing an ancient, otherworldly menace. The man's tattered rags fluttered in an unseen wind, his hair cascading in wild tangles like seaweed dragged from the depths of some cursed ocean. His face was a patchwork of scars, a mask of torment, and his eyes... His eyes burned with madness so deep that it seemed to have festered for thousands of years.
The figure reached forward and grasped Sunny's arm, its grip cold and unyielding.'
"You think you can escape so easily?" the figure hissed, its voice a guttural rasp that seemed to reverberate through the void. "Wake up. Your nightmare is just beginning."
The world convulsed, and with it, reality shattered.
[You have slain a Corrupted Titan.]
[Your shadow grows stronger.]
...
Sunny opened his eyes.
His gaze drifted upward, drawn to the ceiling—or what was left of it. Jagged remnants of concrete and steel dangled precariously above him, swaying gently in the stale, smoke-laden air.
Was I... asleep?
The thought was sluggish, his mind still reeling from the echoes of a dream that felt like it had lasted an eternity. He furrowed his brow, piecing together the fragments of his memory.
Right. I surrendered myself at a police station before I... fell asleep. But... what the hell happened to the ceiling?
As his senses sharpened, Sunny slowly turned his head, scanning his surroundings—and froze.
The walls were half-collapsed, crumbling into piles of rubble that littered the ground. Thick layers of dust coated every surface, the air filled with the acrid scent of smoke and ash. Yet none of it held his attention for long.
No, it was the icy-blue eyes staring into his own that made him stop breathing.
Seated across from him on a barely intact plastic chair was a familiar woman. Her short, raven-black hair was a tangled mess, streaked with ash and soot. Her skin was marred with streaks of blood, grime, and exhaustion. The dark blue uniform she wore was torn and tattered, barely holding together.
"What are you looking at?"
Her voice snapped him out of his stupor. Sunny blinked, realizing too late that he had been staring.
"...Your missing hand," he muttered.
"Ah."
Soul Reaper Jet grimaced, lifting her left hand to the stump where her right arm had been. Her expression was calm, almost detached, as if the injury were a mild inconvenience rather than a gaping wound.
"Don't worry," she said, her tone dry. "I'll get it healed as soon as I'm done with you."
Sunny didn't respond immediately. Instead, he glanced down at her and then took in his surroundings once more, his mind struggling to connect the dots.
"What kind of nightmare creature decided to pay me a visit while I was out?" he finally asked, his voice tinged with unease.
Jet smiled.
"The fallen kind."
Sunny's stomach sank.
"What?" he stammered, staggering as he scrambled to sit up, almost falling off the edge of the cot.
"A category three gate opened here," Jet explained. "We just took care of the last straggler before you woke up."
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