The sound of a man yawning snaps me back to my senses.
I think I just passed out from a hard blow to the head… or maybe to the stomach. I'm not sure which. Not that it matters though. I mean, a brawl is a brawl.
If you're afraid of losing something, then don't step into one.
I'm not afraid. That's why I always win.
Shit…
Is that my tooth?
Oh, you gotta be shitting me... I can't even feel my nose!
I mourn whatever might be left of my handsome face, seeing as there are a few teeth scattered on the floor, all soaked in red.
I don't even know when all of this happened—I've completely lost track of time. For fuck's sake, I can't even feel anything except the cold that makes me shiver, even though the faint light seeping through the small gaps in the barricaded window tells me it's probably still only midday… And it's summer… Probably.
Yeah, of course… I'm not that stupid. There's no way I've been unconscious long enough for the seasons to change while I'm still here—in this familiar-looking room, with this familiar-looking guy.
"Oh… You're awake?"
I shift my eyes to the source of the voice. Just to the right of where I'm sitting on the floor—my own hideout floor—bound with ropes and wires to the network of iron pipes lining the walls… A man sits on a chair facing backward, his arms draped casually over the backrest. One of them holds what looks like an old-gen pistol, probably from around the year 2040.
Yet I can't lie, his robotic limbs right there… gleam under the dim light, metal joints whirring with each subtle movement. Those aren't standard commercial prosthetics at all.
No, they're the latest in advanced tech, and I wouldn't be surprised if they really are packed with that very one AI that does all the thinking for him, letting them move beyond the limits of human reflexes and thought.
Or, to put it simply… I don't believe even a little bit that this guy can actually fight that well on his own. And such a thing really reminds me of the events from the night before.
Ah… I really remember it now, like there is no mistake in that… This guy was the one who managed to defeat me in hand-to-hand combat for sure.
"They call you a legend," he says, voice dripping with arrogance.
Bald head is cast in shadow, turning it into a mere silhouette, while the rest of his body remains clearly visible… This young man definitely knows how to make an entrance—dramatic, over-the-top, the whole package. Lucky for him, I've got just the right comeback.
"It seems all those metal plates and wires you've got strapped to your body are what's making your head bald." The words scrape out of my dry throat, rough and strained. I hadn't expected it to be this hard to speak, but I still managed to get it all out in a flat, mocking tone.
Yet, somehow, my words don't make him laugh or even irritate him. Instead, he just looks confused, tilting his head slightly before clearing his throat—like he's about to say something he actually wants me to take seriously.
~~~~~
"Deon Ravenheart... The most effective hitman ever born. The deadliest assassin of the century, the shadow, the reaper… Oh, they always say that anyone who sees you will only get that one chance in their life, but here we are."
"With all of that… Don't they also have the shit to help you grow your hair back?"
The young man finally laughs at my ramblings, brushing off whatever disappointment he had from our fight last night... Guess my words are more amusing in a sense of annoyance than the so-called "legend" he thought he'd defeated.
"But I hope you're not too upset about the fight," he says, getting up from his chair with that smug grin still plastered on his face as he walks toward me… Each step deliberate, confident—it's clear that he just wants to enjoy his victory for as long as he can.
"The way I see it from our duel, no matter how much talent someone's born with, eventually, science and technology will surpass… But unlike you—who sulks and resists it—I just know that that's how the world works.
Oh, you gotta believe me, fifty years from now, people will surely find something new to hate—something far beyond AI, just as horsemen once cursed the arrival of wheeled machines. But in the end, no matter how much they resist, they'll come to the same conclusion… That the only thing they can do is harness such greatness.
Just think about it… Like, doesn't it just make so much sense to your organic head? You old-fashioned killer?"
He goes on and on, rattling off explanation after explanation, even though I never actually spit out my complaint about the thing he's so eager to defend.
But I do get what's going on right here…
It seems like I'm not the only one who's questioned him about this. A lot of people must have asked the same thing—why he's so desperate to convince everyone that the AI-driven tech he relies on counts as a unique talent. As if it's the same as being born with real skill and putting in the blood, sweat, and years of training just to stand on the same level as people like me when it comes to combat and killing.
But I don't really have the right to judge, because in the end it's him who keeps walking leisurely and gallantly there while I, the battered one, sit tied up below.
Watching as he finally stops just close enough for me to catch the smug curve of his lips—right before he launches into the same damn speech all over again as he said, "I mean, don't get it twisted—I don't see this as cheating. If you refuse to keep up with the times, you'll only end up in a place that you know exists."
Unfortunately, each word he chooses makes something else click in my head. I realize why I'm still alive after everything that happened last night… The truth dawns on me even before he bothers to explain, and I can't help but give him a little push.
"You know," I say, my voice steady, "I just realized... You still haven't aimed your gun at me yet… Only your mouth. But it's there and ready, isn't it? Like, why don't we just cut the crap and get this over with, huh? Kill me, take the title—it's that simple."
"Oh, right. About that… I maybe forgot to mention," he replies casually, almost like we're chatting over coffee. But what he's about to say next is exactly what I've been dying to hear—so I force myself to be patient, even if every second stretches longer than I'd like.
"About all of those companies you pissed off? Yeah, turns out they realized that just killing you would be such a waste. Nah… no profit in that. So, they paid me to keep your brain and spine intact. I don't know… Seems they're planning to extract everything—your talents, your memories, all of it. Something about mass-producing an army of machines that think just like you, except five times faster."
"Damn…"
"I know, right?" He laughs. "So, yeah… In other words, they'll make you pay for every bit of damage you've caused... until there's nothing left of you worth using."
"Yeah… When you guys could've just paid me a little more than my clients, and I'd have turned around and killed for your boss instead. But no, they'd rather waste five times the cost on a dirty, oily toy like yourself."
That must've been a step too far. Before I can blink, his fist slams into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs.
"Alright, calm down a bit… Listen… I never try to make people think I hate technology or anything like that. I mean, yeah, I don't go around sticking metal into my body like you did, but that's just because I prefer staying organic. Doesn't mean I've got a grudge against tech or whatever. Just so we're clear."
From the look on his face as he listens to all my nonsense—which I copy from his own—it's obvious that this young man still has no suspicion whatsoever about the device I'm activating, embedded under the skin of my back.
All it takes is a simple command from the electrical signals in my brain—just like how this guy moves the gears and joints in his fancy robotic arm. But I really am being honest about it from before… About how I'm not usually this cautious on any missions. But ever since my body started breaking down from that damn liver cancer five years ago, I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd find myself in a situation like this one.
In these short forty years of my life, I've never had anything truly worth holding onto—nothing worth fighting to stay alive for. No wife, no kids... I don't even know who my parents are.
No regrets either. Everything I've done up to this point, I've done because killing is the only thing I've ever been good at. And I've never once felt a shred of guilt using that talent to line my pockets.
~~~~~
I feel a cough rising, sharp and metallic, as the device starts tearing me apart from the inside. I swallow it down, forcing myself to look as normal as possible, even as cold sweat pours from my forehead and my skin turns deathly pale.
"And that being said, there is one exception I make about bionic stuff. And again, just so you don't get any wrong ideas, it's not about paranoia or being possessive or any of that crap. But in this particular case... well, I'm afraid you're gonna have to come a little closer."
Slowly, the young man comes to a bad feeling, his eyes finally looking at my chest where the bright light begins to shine beneath my skin. His face twists, cursing as he realizes what's about to happen.
Too late.
The explosion tears through the building, taking everything with it in one deafening, blinding flash.
But then… I think to myself… Wait, why am I still thinking again? Why can I still feel worried about how the hell I'm able to narrate all of this in my own head?
Is this normal?
Is death supposed to feel like this?
So when we die… our thoughts just—
Then, it appears…
Something that will change my death forever.
~~~~~
It all starts with literally a floating square.
Its hazy white light flickers in the middle of the darkness. It looks like something out of a commercial district—a hologram ad, maybe. Or one of those transparent glass phones that were all the rage for a while until people realized you could always see your fingers through the screen while watching a video, ruining the experience.
Or maybe something even simpler.
A notification bar. The kind you'd see in some old fantasy story from seventy years ago.
"Wait…"
"Did I just say a notification bar?"
╔═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╗
║ ⌈ System Notification ⌋ ║
╠═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╣
║ ▶ Calculating Time Before Event Occurs is successful! ║
║ ║
║ ▶ Time Calculation Results Before ║
║ the Event Appeared: **383 Years** ║
║ ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╝
╔═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╗
║ ⌈ System Notification ⌋ ║
╠═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╣
║ ║
║ ▶ Time Remaining Before Scheduled Event: ║
║ **000 years 00 months 00 days** ║
║ **00 hours 00 minutes 03 seconds.** ║
║ ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╝
-[...Ah…]-
-[...Finally…]-
A deep, ragged voice tears through the fading peace of my soul… The same thing that pulls me back from the abyss—into a place where color and form cease to exist.
There is nothing but emptiness… In the void, my soul drifts—a glowing white orb floating in the endless nothing. And before me, a very tiny black dot hovers, still and silent… Though it has no eyes, it feels as if we are staring at each other.
Then it makes another sound—a low, scratching noise that almost resembles a greeting. It's terrifying—yet warm at the same time, laced with something that feels almost like hope. Like someone longing for the return of something lost…
As if that someone is waiting for me.
-[...Waiting… for you? Ah… yes…]-
-[...I am indeed waiting for you, o fragile little human…]-
-[...For I need your soul to get my revenge…]-
Now the words become clearer, seeping into my mind as the warmth I once felt twists into something else—worry, fear… and then, burning.
I don't even realize it, but my soul has begun drifting away from the source of the voice. Yet like a speck of a black hole it refuses to let me go, as one by one, tendrils of darkness slither out, writhing toward me.
They coil around my essence, staining me—first gray, then black.
"What in the hell are you!?"
-[...Now, now… don't you be like that…]-
-[...Listen…]-
-[...I know everything that will happen to you…]-
-[...I know the people who will summon you soon…]-
-[...I know just where your soul will go to…]-
-[...I know the fate that awaits you in the other world…]-
-[...I will give you my aid and all I ask in return is that you do not resist. Let me be a small speck of your soul—nothing more. But don't you worry…]-
-[...In time, I'll leave without you even realizing it, fragile little human…]-
-[...So calm yourself down a bit…]-
-[...And now…]-
-[...Let's stir up a little chaos, shall we…?]-
The final words come out from the black dot with its perfect timing—right as a deafening roar erupts from all directions.
Along with it come whispers, countless voices murmuring in a language so foreign, so unfamiliar, that it sends a shiver through what remains of my now-corrupted soul.
Then everything goes black, only for me to realize that I am back in the flesh and the darkness is nothing more than my own tightly shut eyelids. So, as a natural response, as if my body has just remembered how to exist, I jolt awake, gasping for air.
My lungs burn, desperate to fill the void, as though they have been empty for far too long… And the sound I make with it echoes through this big dome, joined by the ragged breaths of several others—children just like me. Their clothes are tattered, their bodies weak, their minds struggling to grasp reality. But their eyes are full of something undeniable.
Life.
A long and cruel one.
All of us wake up on a cold stone floor surrounded by chalk, patterned with lines, circles, and stars. Each of us is accompanied by two figures draped in black and gold robes, their faces worn with age, their gazes locked onto us as they continue whispering strange incantations. The same chants, I realize, that have dragged us back from death itself. And that is when it truly sinks in—everything that has happened up until this moment.
Death…
The void…
A drifting soul.
And now, resurrection in a place I don't recognize.
It all happens in such a short span of time that my mind can't keep up. My chest tightens, my head spins, and before I can stop it, a violent nausea surges through me.
I double over, choking as a thick, black liquid spews from my mouth, splattering against the cold stone floor.
My body convulses with yet another ragged cough as I gasp for air.
Along with it, my hearing gradually returns to normal, falling into sync with the rest of my senses as they reawaken one by one.
The rhythmic chanting from before has also vanished, replaced by voices speaking in a language unfamiliar to me—sharp, questioning tones cutting through the silence.
I catch the wide-eyed stare of one of the elders, his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion as he realizes I'm not responding. He's waiting for an answer I can't give… And that's all the justification he needs.
A sudden kick slams into my stomach, a sharp gasp escaping before I can stop it. The man barks another question, his tone edged with frustration.
Then, it appears again—this time, the notification has changed.
The hazy white glow flickers, reshaping into a different format, something just a little different from the first one.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╗
║ ⌈ Private Notification ⌋ ║
╠═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╣
║ ║
║ ▶ Authority has been temporarily taken over ║
║ by ████████ ║
║ ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╝
╔═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╗
║ ⌈ Private Notification ⌋ ║
╠═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╣
║ ║
║ ▶ Accessing both subjects' memories.. ║
║ ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╝
╔═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╗
║ ⌈ Private Notification ⌋ ║
╠═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╣
║ ║
║ ▶ The language sector of memory has been ║
║ successfully shared with the player! ║
║ ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════ ═══╝
"I'm not afraid to throw away an expensive asset like you if you can't even talk, you damned thing! Tell me your name now! Do you hear me?!"
Before the hunchbacked man can lash out again, I force the words out.
"Deon Ravenheart! My name is Deon Ravenheart."
My own voice feels strange in my ears—too quick, too desperate—but at least it stops his boot from slamming into my ribs.
And to be fair, I have never felt this sick in my entire life… It's as if this body has been burning up with a severe fever before my soul took it over. As there isn't even time to process why I'm here—why I'm in a child's body in the first place.
But I force myself to piece together some kind of understanding, a temporary conclusion, even if it's all false, just to keep from panicking and making things worse… Since I know very well that all of this is not technology but pure magic and other bullshit I can't even begin to predict—I have no other choice but to be cautious.
And I'm sure of something else, too—what had been floating in that void before wasn't just my own imagination. My soul had been there… and so had something else.
I want to question all of it. I really do. But my instincts tell me that if I don't act the way they want me to, if I fail to keep up with the flow of events unfolding around me, then I will die again—for the second time. But this time, it will be for nothing.
And for some reason, unlike my usual self, I'm terrified of it.
So when the man tells me to stand up straight in a language I can somehow understand, I decide to stand up straighter than I myself ever expected.
~~~~~