Extra's Reincarnation: Son of SwordGod
I continued lying in bed, tired of all the hate I received because of my novel's ending. One of the fans' favorite characters had to die, and they did. After all, I couldn't bring them back. Why would I kill them just to revive them? That would make no sense. But screw it—it's my story, and it's my decision whether they live or die. I made that choice, not them. If someone else wants to decide, they can write their own story, but not now. They can't do anything about it. They should be happy I'm even continuing to write.
The silence in my room was deafening. It was the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, making you feel like you're the last person alive. My desk lamp flickered slightly, and the pile of crumpled papers in the corner seemed to mock me. Why did I even write in the first place? Was it to share my world with others or just to escape my own? These thoughts lingered as I stared at the ceiling, feeling a growing sense of isolation.
I hadn't slept properly in days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the disappointed faces of my readers. Social media wasn't helping either. My notifications were flooded with angry messages. Some were tame, but others were downright cruel. You ruined the story. How could you kill them off? This is the worst ending ever! Just quit writing!
I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. I wasn't going to let them dictate my story. After all, I poured my heart into this novel. If they couldn't see the beauty in the pain, the necessity of sacrifice, then maybe they weren't the audience I was writing for. Still, the weight of their words clung to me like chains, dragging me deeper into my own mind.
Then the silence broke.
[Ring... Ring...]
The sound jolted me out of my thoughts. I frowned, glancing at my phone on the bedside table. It was odd for someone to call me this late. Hesitantly, I reached for it and answered.
"Hello?" My voice was hoarse, barely audible.
Before I could process what was happening—boom! My phone exploded. I didn't even feel pain, just a sudden shift. One moment, I was standing in my room; the next, I was staring at my own headless body. Blood pooled on the floor, and my clothes danced in the air before the lifeless shell collapsed with a heavy thud.
Strangely, I wasn't horrified. If anything, I felt calm. Peaceful, even. It was as if this was always meant to happen, like my entire existence had been leading up to this moment. My brain, desperate to cling to life, began flashing memories before me—childhood laughter, quiet nights spent writing, the first time I held a pen. But it was futile. Nothing could bring me back now.
I smiled faintly, accepting my fate.
Darkness surrounded me. It was thick, suffocating, yet oddly comforting. Maybe it was because I'd always felt at home in the dark. It mirrored my mind—chaotic, neglected, and broken. Was this because of my parents' indifference? Or was it the countless times I had given up on life, making death seem like an old friend rather than an enemy? Maybe it didn't matter. I was just a discarded soul now, floating aimlessly in the void.