The air hung heavy, thick with the stench of despair and rust, as David knelt alone in the shadowed expanse of his prison. The chains binding his wrists clinked faintly, a cruel reminder of his torment. His heart thudded—a dull, aching rhythm—echoing the rage and sorrow that gnawed at his soul. He was a man broken, a king dethroned, left to rot in the silence of his own shattered mind. The black castle loomed around him, its jagged spires piercing the void like the teeth of some ancient, malevolent beast. And then, without warning, the silence shattered.
A figure emerged from the darkness—an unknown man cloaked in shadow, his presence a suffocating weight. David's breath hitched, his chains rattling as he recoiled. The man's footsteps echoed with deliberate menace, each step a drumbeat of impending doom. He stopped mere inches from David, his face obscured, his voice a low, venomous hiss that slithered through the air.
"Well, David," the figure began, his tone dripping with mockery, "since you've rejected my offer, I suppose I owe you a little… hint."
David's eyes widened, his chest tightening with a cocktail of dread and fury. "What are you talking about?" he spat, his voice raw, trembling with the weight of a thousand unspoken screams.
The figure leaned closer, his breath cold against David's skin. "I'm not creating an army to kill the original timeline David," he whispered, the words hanging like a guillotine blade. And then, as if the world itself conspired to mock David further, the figure vanished—dissolving into thin air like smoke on the wind.
A deafening crack split the silence. The chains binding David's wrists and ankles snapped apart, the seals etched into his flesh glowing briefly before fading into nothingness. He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him, his mind a chaotic storm of disbelief and rage. The black castle—his prison, his hell—began to crumble. Walls dissolved into ash, spires melted into the ether, and in their place emerged a world he thought lost forever. Green fields stretched endlessly before him, kissed by a golden sun. Birds sang in the distance, their melodies a cruel juxtaposition to the horror still clawing at his heart.
David staggered forward, his bare feet sinking into the soft earth. "How?" he whispered to himself, his voice cracking under the weight of his confusion. "How is this possible?"
A shadow flickered beside him. The unknown figure reappeared, his form shimmering like a mirage. "Did you really think the original David did all of this for real?" he asked, his voice laced with a chilling amusement.
David whirled to face him, his fists clenched, knuckles white with fury. "What the hell do you mean?"
The figure tilted his head, a predator savoring its prey. "Everything you saw—the destruction, the death, the blood staining your hands—it was all an illusion. The original David showed you scenarios he crafted, nightmares woven from his own twisted mind. He didn't kill anyone in this world. He could have, oh yes, he could have bathed these lands in crimson. But he didn't. Instead, he chose to let you suffer—to drown you in despair and depression until you broke."
David's knees buckled. He sank to the ground, his hands clawing at the dirt as a guttural sob tore from his throat. "An illusion?" he rasped, his voice a shattered thing. "You're telling me… everything I endured… the screams, the fire, the faces of the dead… it was all a lie?"
The figure crouched beside him, his presence a dark stain against the vibrant world. "Oh, he tried to destroy it all, believe me. He stood at the edge of that abyss, blade in hand, ready to carve his vengeance into this timeline. But something stopped him. He refused."
"Why?" David roared, his voice echoing across the fields, a primal cry of anguish and betrayal. "Why would he do this to me?"
The figure's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Why?" he echoed, his tone mocking yet tinged with something deeper—something almost sorrowful. "You'll have to ask him yourself."
Before David could demand more, a small, trembling voice pierced the air. "Daddy? Daddy, where are you?"
David's head snapped up. His heart seized as Jack—his five-year-old son—stumbled through the grass, his tiny arms outstretched. Tears welled in David's eyes, a torrent of relief and torment crashing over him. He surged forward, scooping Jack into his arms, clutching him as if the boy were the last tether to his sanity.
"I've completed my task," the unknown figure said softly, his voice fading as he began to dissolve once more. "I got the answer I needed from you, my child. Live a happy life."
And with that, he was gone—ascending into the sky like a wraith, leaving David alone with his son and a mind fractured by questions. Why had the original David spared this world? Why had he woven such a cruel tapestry of lies? David's grip on Jack tightened, his rage simmering beneath a fragile veneer of calm.
High above, the unknown figure soared, the wind whispering secrets only he could hear. A voice echoed in his mind, sharp and inquisitive. "Why would you rebuild this world?"
The figure's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun bled gold into the sky. "He said he wouldn't go through with revenge," he murmured. "Even when I offered him the chance to kill the original timeline David, he refused."
The voice pressed further, its tone skeptical. "Even though the original David destroyed his world for real? Made him suffer beyond imagining?"
"Yes," the figure replied, his voice heavy with an unspoken burden. "And yet I lied to him. I told him it was all an illusion. Why? I don't know." He paused, staring at the rising sun. "Of all the Davids across these cursed timelines, this one—this broken, raging, grieving man—is the only one who didn't fall to the same darkness. I'll name this timeline Angels' Protection."
The voice hummed with approval. "Looks like he gave you what you needed, didn't he?"
"Yes," the figure said, a faint smile touching his lips. "I've undone the massacre, the evil the original David wrought. It's nowhere to be found now."
"You've still got a long way to go," the voice warned. "The one behind all this chaos won't stop so easily."
The figure nodded, his form fading into the ether. "I'll be ready," he whispered, and then he was gone.
The scene shifted violently, a jarring cut to another timeline—the original David's world. The air here was thick with the mundane hum of life, a stark contrast to the horrors that lingered in the shadows. David—this David, the original—strode toward the canteen, his steps casual yet laced with an undercurrent of menace. Beside him walked Ruby, Alice, and Casca, their laughter a fragile mask over the tension that simmered beneath.
They didn't get far. A group emerged from the crowd—Russel, a sneering boy with the arrogance of nobility, flanked by his minions, and Benna, a girl with eyes like daggers, her own lackeys trailing behind. They blocked the path, their presence a storm cloud over the fleeting peace.
Russel's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "You girls stop right there."
David froze, his hand twitching toward a blade that wasn't there. Ruby's breath hitched, Alice's eyes narrowed, and Casca's fists clenched. The canteen chatter faded into a distant murmur, the world narrowing to this single, suffocating moment. Suspense coiled tight, a serpent ready to strike.