"Mother... Uhm, Mother, I'm coming in..." His voice quivered, hesitation slipping through just for a moment.
"..." The setting sun bathed the room in an orange glow, freezing his breath. His eyes locked onto the silhouette framed by the tall window.
'Uhm... she... she seems fine?'
"Mother...?" Recognizing the figure, he called out, his voice tentative.
"...!" Her hand twitched, but her body remained rigid, unmoving in the dim light.
"..." No response came.
"..." And silence stretched between them for another long moment.
"Uhm, Mother..." He tried again, his words teetering on a hesitant edge.
"You... I pushed myself to the brink, wrestling with each thought... you... And yet you take it all so lightly... calling me something you shouldn't even have the right to say!" Her voice, sharp and cold, sliced through the air as she turned toward him, her eyes, dark and unrecognizable, pierced him like daggers.
"...!" His heart leaped, and so did his feet move back as her hand flowed across the table; fingers found the hilt of a knife that lay there as if waiting for this very moment.
"Uh... Mother, are you... are you alright...?"
"You...! You are not my son! Monster!" Her words were venom, her grip tightening around the blade.
'Something's very wrong...' The malevolence in her eyes, the blade raised—he braced for the worst.
'Barrier...' He tried to summon protection.
"Ugh...!?" But the spell faltered, dizziness crashing into him as his hand shot to his temple.
'No, I don't have...!' His mana exhausted, trying to use a spell did just only drag him into darkness.
"Agh!!" But its too late.
'...' His eyes widened as he looked down, the cold steel already stabed deep in his stomach.
"W-Why...?" His voice trembled as he looked up into the hollow, dark eyes. Staggering back, his legs buckled, collapsing to the floor.
"..." She, her body followed him down, her hands trembling but still relentless as she gripped the bloodied blade.
"Ugk..." She ripped the knife from his flesh, the gushing blood staining the wood floor beneath them. Without pause, she plunged the blade into him again.
"Uhk..."
"Ughk..."
"Uhg..."
"Gh..." Over and over, the knife found its mark until the small body went limp, the fight drained from his eyes.
Lady Evelina, her face contorted in agony, sobbed as she cradled her son's lifeless body. "You are not my child, give... give him back..." she whispered, her voice hollow and foreign, her tears mingling with the pool of blood.
"..." It was only in that suffocating silence that she noticed it.
"...!?" A faint touch—a tiny hand brushed her arm, its bloodied trail staining her white skin.
"...!?" Her eyes, wide and frantic, locked onto the hand reaching for her, her mind screaming with wordless terror.
"Calm..." His whisper, so quiet yet it seemed to shatter the silence like thunder, it broke through her panic.
"Calm... down..." His small hand, trembling yet tender, cupped her cheeks.
The world around him blurred, darkness swallowing him whole, yet still, he reached for her, trying to take away the weight she carried.
"It's... alright... Mother..." His final words—an exhale of peace—seeped into her soul, and in an instant, the haze lifted from her eyes.
"...?" Confusion clouded her face. Slowly, she looked down...
"KYAA!!" The shriek tore from her throat, raw and primal so loud she herself wouldn't recognize that it was her screaming, she scrambled away, her body dragging across the floor until she hit the table behind her.
"KYAAK!!!" Her scream did not cease, her hands flying to her face as the feeling of warm, sticky blood trickled down her arms. Her mind, her body, her very being, shuddered in horror.
"Wha..." At that moment, two figures burst into the room—the Lord and the butler, already coming here, they were drawn faster by her piercing cries.
"...!!"
"...!!" Their eyes widened in sheer disbelief at the grotesque scene before them.
"Doctor... DOCTOR, get the doctor!" The Lord's voice boomed, but the butler was already gone, rushing for help.
"You...! What did you do!?" The Lord knelt beside the boy, his face contorted in fury as he glared at the trembling woman.
"N... o... Don't... hurt..." A faint voice pulled him from his anger.
"Son...?" The Lord bent closer, straining to hear the weak whisper.
"Don't... hurt..."
"Son, no one will hurt you... just stay with me, keep your eyes open!"
"Don't hurt... her..." The boy's voice was fading, his words barely more than a desperate breath.
"...!?" But the Lord's eyes widened. What had his son just said?
"De...mon... at...tack..."
"Son...?"
"Son!?" He called out desperately, but the whisper had died, and with it, the faint light in his son's eyes.
"..."
"SON!"
...
'It's so dark...'
'Cold... Is this... is this the end?'
'Will I die... again?'
'I... I'm not finished...'
'They're not safe... I... I can't be done...'
"I fight not because I hate them all..." Words splintered as his life ebbed away.
'I... What is this?' Memories—distant and foreign—surged forward in a violent storm of images and emotions.
He saw a young man, sword in hand, standing alone against an army.
"You freak of nature, how many lives have you taken? Do you even know? Monsters like you are the reason humanity suffers!" A soldier barked from atop his horse, spitting venomous words.
"I've killed many... But I do not regret it. There are only two kinds of people I kill... those I've warned... and those deserving of the end."
"What gives you the right to judge? Deserving of the end? Are you a god, monster!? Only we, his true messengers, can pass such judgment! And today, you will be judged, you will cease on this holy day!"
"Hmh, I don't make the judgments... they themself do. But it seems you hypocrites, drenched in sin, are more deserving than anyone then? Why not judge yourselves?" His voice carried the weight of countless battles, not even shaken by the enemy's words.
"You!! Charge! In the name of God, rid this world of this filth!" The command came, and the lone man readied himself.
"God... Hah..." A hollow laugh escaped his lips.
"But maybe you're right about one thing... Today, I will..."
Even knowing the end was near, he refused to yield.
"Even if I fall today, I will fight!" His blade rose, ready to meet the tide of soldiers.
One man against an army. The outcome was clear. Yet still, he fought, cutting down his foes as dust and smoke filled the air so did blood and guts taint the earth.
When silence finally settled, only two remained, leaning on his bloodstained sword. Arrows pierced his flesh, and blood oozed from countless wounds.
Around him lay the bodies of his enemies, an ocean of death and ruin.
Only two figures-the warrior and the arrogant general who claimed to be God's messenger. The general, frozen in shock, sat atop his white horse, almost like an outsider to the devastation around him.
"...!?" The general's gaze snapped back to the warrior as chills traveld down his spine, the man who was still standing, his cold, unforgiving eyes locking onto the general as he raised his sword once more.
'No... I don't want to die!' The general, who had sent thousands to their deaths, now tried to flee from his own.
Such thing, the man would not allow it.
In desperation a quick thought emerged, a last-ditch ace, one the higher-ups of the church gave to him for absolute success, he was hesitant to use such a thing, but now was not the time to consider that, the general swiftly brought forth a dark, ominous orb.
"Ahaha... gahah...Uh!?" His laughter emerged, joy in his certain success but was cut short as pain lanced through his arm.
"UGH...!?" His hand and the orb in it fell to the ground, and in the next instant, his head rolled beside them.
"Uh... fuh..." The warrior let out a breath, his battle finally over.
"Guguhugu..." But relief was short-lived. Laughter echoed once more. The severed head smiled as the black orb burst open, black ooze consuming the battlefield, the fallen soldiers twisting into monstrous forms.
"...!" The warrior leapt back, watching in horror as the general's body morphed into something grotesque, his sinister grin still intact.
"You...!! You preached of righteousness, yet you used their lives as pawns for your deception!" The warrior's rage erupted, his voice thunderous.
Without a word, the dark creatures charged, their movements swift and unnatural. The warrior, already gravely wounded, was quickly overwhelmed.
"When I... when I return... you'll be the first..." He spat blood, his voice defiant even as his body was torn apart. "The first I end, you filth!"
As they chewed his body, so did he tear at them, flesh and blood mixed with the dark ooze, and the end only came when there were no more pieces of him, nothing left but just scraps of flesh and bone.
...
"This... No... that was me?"
"What... what are these visions?" Temorsth clutched his head, trying to shake the memories away, but they flooded his mind, relentless.
"NO... NO... This can't be!" Though he was confused and wanted to deny it, the truth is inevitable and undeniable. These were memories, his lives. He felt them, the untold lives.
And with that realization came another... one that sent a chill through his very soul.
'I... I am... fading...' He understood... realized... that 'he'... Temorsth will soon be no more...
'My name... My... I am... who...'
"My name is Temorsth..." Amid the chaotic yet orderly voices, one rang clear, like a ray of hope.
"Lear Olendriant... Temorsth... This is my seventh time... and I... I am ALIVE, DON'T YOU EVER DARE FORGET THAT!"
The storm in his mind was pierced by his own words, a new thought emerged, subtle yet powerful.
"I-I know... I am... My name is Temorsth..." His voice echoed within the darkness, defying the void that sought to swallow him whole.
"And this... this is my eighth time... I... I am ALIVE!" The proclamation reverberated through his very soul, as though pulling him from the edge of oblivion. Each word was a firm grasp toward existence, a refusal to yield to the unknown forces encircling his being.
Silence followed. Not an absence of sound, but a stifling stillness that smothered the space around him, wrapping him in cold tension. And yet, amid the oppressive void, a subtle change etched itself onto his face—a flicker of clarity, of defiance.
"I am still alive..." The repetition carried weight, a mantra against the darkness that had claimed him again and again. The acknowledgment of survival, not just of body but of spirit, surged within him, demanding recognition.
But this time, the claim didn't end in resolve. It ended in something far more primal, more visceral—a deeper truth that had clawed its way to the surface after untold lives of pain, struggle, and death. His eyes, no longer confused, narrowed with determination.
"I... I won't be beaten by you!!!" The words ripped from him like a declaration of war. A war against fate, against history, against the very cycle of reincarnation that had bound him in chains.
It wasn't just survival, rather something more. It was the refusal to succumb to the endless spiral, the resolve of a soul that had lived and died and lived again—one that had been broken, shattered, and yet had never lost its will to stand.
Suddenly, he felt the weight of those lives... those lost, torn, and fractured fragments of himself— seemed to disperse and break from him once again. The truth was undeniable. He hadn't simply survived. He had fought. Each life, each death, every agony, and every fleeting hope had all led to a new life, a new moment...
This moment where Temorsth, in the midst of oblivion, stood again... and this moment that just passed like any other...
...
"Even such will, such wholeness separated, in the end... under merciless inescapable time, even this would vane and fade... the name you were so proud of... kid...it will really disappear..."