On a smoldering battlefield, a lone warrior stood at the center.
The sky above was darkened by thick clouds of smoke, the embers of the brutal fight still glowing red in the distance.
This warrior was Atlas—a swordsman whose blade had finally brought down the mighty Nukan Empire.
But victory had taken its toll.
His knees trembled, his body on the brink of collapse. He let out a weary sigh, his breath ragged and heavy.
This is nothing but hell.
Atlas scanned the barren land around him, littered with countless corpses.
The stench of blood and burnt earth filled his lungs, making him pause.
His mind raced back over the long road that led here.
Where did things go wrong?
Feeling the weight of exhaustion, Atlas slumped down on a nearby corpse.
He leaned forward, staring at the crimson sky.
This wasn't what he had imagined.
The glory of revenge felt empty in the face of so much destruction.
Suddenly, a faint crunch echoed from behind him—a footstep.
Atlas tensed, his instincts honed by years of battle.
He spun around, his hand gripping his blood-streaked sword.
Standing there, outlined by the glow of dying fires, was a young man.
He was dressed in fine clothes, clean and untouched by the chaos of the battlefield.
The way he stood, calm and composed, spoke of status and power.
A young lord? Atlas narrowed his eyes.
Why would someone like him be here, in this sea of death?
The young lord's hands trembled as he gripped his sword, the tip wavering unsteadily in the air. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he still pointed the blade straight at Atlas.
Atlas, leaning casually on his own bloodied weapon, grinned in amusement.
"Pointing a sword at me? You'll regret it."
The young lord's breath hitched, his grip tightening.
"You killed my father!" he yelled, voice cracking with rage.
Atlas let out a slow sigh.
He had killed too many men to remember them all.
Fathers, sons, kings, soldiers—it made no difference in the end. He tilted his head, studying the boy.
"Well... that's too bad. If it makes you feel any better, your father wasn't the only one."
The young lord's whole body shook, his face contorted with hatred.
"Mon—monster…" he choked out.
Atlas's grin widened. Monster. He had heard that word more times than he could count.
At some point, he'd stopped denying it.
He had become something much worse than a monster.
A demon.
Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through his chest.
Atlas gasped, his grin vanishing as agony flooded his body. His fingers dug into his armor, clutching at the searing pain beneath.
His vision blurred, his thoughts growing sluggish.
His body was screaming for rest. Begging him to stop.
Atlas let out a dry chuckle, his voice rough from exhaustion.
"I single-handedly toppled the Nukan Empire and slaughtered every master who stood against me… and yet, you call me a mere monster?"
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, the worn leather grip pressing against his palm. The faint scrape of metal shifting made the young lord flinch.
Even now—drained, battered, barely standing—Atlas knew he could cut him down in an instant.
A single swing.
A flick of his wrist.
But he didn't.
Something about the boy gave him pause.
The way he stood, trying so hard to mask his fear. The trembling hands, the desperate eyes.
Atlas had seen this before.
No—he had been this before.
Scared. Naïve. Weak.
With a slow exhale, Atlas loosened his grip and lowered his sword.
His sharp gaze locked onto the boy's.
"What's your name, boy?"
The young lord hesitated, swallowing hard before stammering:
"J-Jonathan… Jonathan Glyn."
Atlas frowned.
"Glyn?"
The name meant nothing to him. He had wiped out entire noble families—too many to count, too many to remember.
It didn't matter. None of them did.
Atlas watched the young man carefully before speaking.
"Jonathan, would you like to be a hero?"
Jonathan blinked, his grip tightening on the sword.
"What?"
Confusion flickered across his face.
His stance wavered.
He hadn't expected that question.
Atlas let out a slow breath, his voice calm despite the pain wracking his body.
"If yes, then pick up your sword and kill me. I won't resist."
Jonathan's breath hitched.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding against his ribs.
His fingers felt slick with sweat, his entire body trembling under the weight of Atlas's words.
Atlas was already dying.
Whether Jonathan struck or not, the outcome wouldn't change.
The legendary warrior's time was running out.
Jonathan swallowed hard, his mind screaming at him to move.
To act.
To avenge his family.
With shaking hands, he raised his sword.
Atlas grinned.
His sharp eyes gleamed, even in his weakened state.
"Don't be a wimp. Your enemy is right here—wounded, dying. The demon who caused so much destruction. The one who slaughtered your family without mercy. Step forward, Jonathan… and claim his life as the last survivor of the Glyn family."
The young lord hesitated. His fingers twitched against the hilt.
Then with a roar of rage, Jonathan lunged forward, his sword gleaming in the dim light.
Steel met flesh.
The blade drove straight into Atlas's chest. A sharp gasp escaped him as pain tore through his body. Blood surged up his throat, spilling from his lips in thick, crimson drops.
Jonathan's breath caught. The weight of what he had just done crashed down on him like a tidal wave. His fingers went numb, and he stumbled backward, his legs giving out beneath him. He hit the ground, staring at his trembling hands—hands that had just taken a life.
Atlas, still grinning despite the blood trickling down his chin, lifted a weak, trembling hand. He reached out and ruffled the young lord's hair like an older brother praising a younger one.
"You did well."
Jonathan's wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Atlas's face.
They were alike, yet so different.
Atlas knew it. His younger self would have never had the nerve to do what Jonathan had just done.
The young lord's shoulders shook as a sob tore from his throat.
Atlas watched, his vision blurring. His breath grew shallow.
Blood poured from his wound, seeping into the dirt beneath him. His fingers twitched as a strange, unfamiliar sensation crept over him.
Regret.
His smile remained, but for the first time, he wondered what would have happened if the past was different.
If I had been stronger earlier… maybe I could have saved my sister from the Nukan Empire.
The bitter thought barely formed before Atlas's body gave out.
He collapsed onto his side, his muscles failing him. The battlefield around him blurred, the distant fires flickering like dying stars.
Every breath felt like torture. His chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven gasps. His fingers twitched weakly against the dirt, slick with his own blood.
Jonathan hesitated for a moment, then crawled forward, his movements frantic. His face was streaked with tears, his breath hitching as he reached out.
His trembling fingers touched Atlas's cheek, his warmth barely registering against Atlas's cooling skin.
"I'm sorry... I'm truly sorry." Jonathan choked out, his voice cracking with grief.
Atlas let out a weak, bitter chuckle, his lips barely curving. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Don't apologize to a demon." His vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges. "This is what I deserve."
Jonathan sniffled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve, his whole body trembling.
"Why? Why did you choose this path?"
Atlas inhaled sharply, pain burning through his lungs like fire.
His gaze drifted upward, staring at the darkening sky.
"Why indeed."
It started with a singular, focused revenge.
Then it twisted—became hatred. Not just for the ones who wronged him, but for anything even remotely tied to them.
Hatred turned into obsession.
Toppling them wasn't enough. He had to erase them. Every trace. Every remnant.
He chased that goal with everything he had because it was all he had left. Living a normal life? That was never an option. He was too much of a coward for that.
So he drowned himself in bloodshed.
He didn't care if he had to become a monster.
Didn't care that he was being ripped apart inside and out.
If it meant seeing his goal through to the end, then he would endure it.
And in the end, he succeeded—at a cost.
A cost he had accepted long ago.
Living beyond revenge was never part of the plan.
It was never even a consideration.
He had become a demon, driven only by hatred.
And he would die as one.
A monster.
Atlas's eyes grew heavy.
His vision dimmed.
The sounds of the battlefield faded.
His body stilled.
His breath slowed.
This was the end.
But just as the darkness was about to swallow him whole, a thought whispered through his fading mind.
If everything were to start from the beginning again… would it be possible to change my pitiful ending?