TAADAAA!!!! SURPRISE! SURPRISE! WHAT. A. SURPRISE THIS IS!
I see you're still here? Huh? What do you want more? It's already over, isn't it? Our protagonist just died in the last chapter, right? His skull cracked open like a fucking egg on the pavement. His brain matter splattered across the concrete like some twisted Jackson Pollock painting. His body broken and twisted in ways bodies shouldn't twist. His blood pooling, spreading, seeping into the cracks in the sidewalk.
"WE" killed the protagonist!!
Sorry, what was that? Why are you asking me a question in "YOUR MIND"? What do "I," your humble narrator, mean by the word "WE"!? What kind of question is that!? We're both involved in this, YES! My little devil friend, "YOU" and "ME"—we have committed a crime!! A murder, to be precise. Oh, don't ask me what crime!? "YOU," my little devil, already know the "ANSWER."
Seriously!!? Why do you look so confused, my FRIEND? Wondering how you were involved in this shit? Let me spell it out for "YOU" in terms so simple even a fucking child could understand.
But first, before we do that—do you have a mirror? Go get one. I'll wait.
Got it? Good.
Now look into the mirror. What do you SEE? "Do you just see 'YOUR REFLECTION?'" Or "Do 'YOU' see your 'SELF REFLECTION'?" Does the mirror merely reflect the physical? Or does it reflect something deeper, darker, something you've been avoiding looking at your entire life?
Good. Now reflect on yourself. Indulge me for a moment and let me ask you this one little question. Let's say "YOU" were in Ayronee's shoes—yes, I'm using his real name now, not just some random name because names have power and I want you to remember his—what would you have done?
"YOU" understand Ayronee's situation, right? Of course you do, my little devil. You read every word. You consumed his suffering like entertainment. You watched him spiral. You saw the signs. You knew what was coming. And you kept reading anyway.
And "I," your humble narrator, also understand "YOU." Yes, "YOU." You're still holding on to the mirror, yes? Look at your "EYES." I see you smirking. That little twitch at the corner of your mouth. That darkness you pretend isn't there.
Now, did you "REFLECT" on "YOURSELF"?
If you did, "I, YOUR HUMBLE NARRATOR, AM VERY!! VERY!! PROUD OF YOU"!! Yes, I'll repeat it again just for "YOU": "I INDEED AM PROUD OF YOU!!"
Why, you ask?
Well, you did just self-reflect, did you not? You looked into that mirror and saw something you didn't like. You recognized yourself in Ayronee's relatives. In their cruelty. In their mockery. In their casual destruction of another human being. Because we've all been cruel. We've all been complicit. We've all watched someone suffer and done nothing. We've all laughed at someone's pain. We've all been the villain in someone else's story.
Then there's your answer!
If you did nothing, well, it's not my problem. But hey, "YOU" do "YOU," right? Who am I to judge, aye?
But hey, since you're reading this, might as well say it: "We care about YOU too."
Why did "I" use the word "WE"? Well, it involves me and everyone else who's reading this right now. "REMEMBER," we all share the same "PARADISE" in this "HELL" we call "EARTH." We're all trapped in this meat prison, this cosmic joke, this existential nightmare where consciousness is both gift and curse.
So let "ME" hold your hand, my little devil, and let me embrace you with my little darkness. Welcome to the club. Membership is mandatory. Dues are paid in suffering.
And now let's continue where we left off, alright? I got absorbed with my conversation with you that I kept on blabbering. "AHEM."
So do you know the answer now?
"YOU," my friend, are my accomplice. An accessory to suicide. A witness to murder. A consumer of death.
What do I mean, why and how?
Didn't you read the story? SEE!! You did!!
If "YOU" didn't read the story, then Ayronee might still be alive right now. His death would have no audience. His suffering would have no witness. His tragedy would have no meaning. But you gave it meaning by consuming it. You made it real by observing it. Schrödinger's suicide—simultaneously alive and dead until someone opens the box and looks inside. You opened the box. You looked. You collapsed the waveform. You chose which reality became real.
Am "I," your humble narrator, right? Or AM I REALLY RIGHT!?
HA!!!
But hey, it's our little secret. "Now hush, little devil, don't you cry, everything's gonna be alright, stiffen that upper lip up, little devil, I told ya daddy's here to hold ya through the night."
Well... I see. "YOU" want more. So let me indulge you. Let me feed your addiction. Let me give you what you came here for—more pain, more darkness, more delicious suffering.
---
**[NARRATOR'S ASIDE - BECAUSE I FUCKING CAN]**
Anyway, I'm not good with character dialogue or any shenanigans of that sort. I'm new in writing stories, so as you can see, there's less character dialogue in my work. But hey, who cares, right? If you don't like it, hey, be my guest and stop reading.
But may I ask something? You're still reading this shit I created, right?
HA!! HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER!
You can't look away, can you? Like watching a car crash. Like rubbernecking past an accident. Like scrolling through tragedy on social media. We're all disaster tourists in the theme park of human suffering.
NOW THEN, TO THE STORY WE GO!
---
# It's the new beginning.
(And trust me—you're REALLY not ready for what comes next.)
(Nobody EVER is.)
(Death is supposed to be the ending, but in my story? It's just the intermission. The halftime show. The commercial break before the real nightmare begins.)
---
So as you can clearly remember, our guy Ayronee—our sweet little Ayronee—is DEAD! YES! DEAD! GOD DAMN IT!
His body splattered on the pavement like modern art. His friends screaming. His relatives gathering around, already preparing their crocodile tears, already rewriting history, already making themselves the victims. "We had no idea!" "He seemed fine!" "If only we'd known!" Liars. Hypocrites. Murderers in designer clothes.
By now, in the normal world, in the world that continues spinning indifferently, he's being prepared for cremation. Or maybe he's already ash. Or maybe they're having a closed-casket funeral because nobody wants to see what gravity does to a human body dropped from that height.
But here? In this place? In this void between dying and whatever comes next? Ayronee is experiencing something... different, maybe he's experiencing the tasted of a divine creampied cakes in heaven!.
Oh, you thought I said "creampied"? You thought I meant eating creampie cakes in heaven, of course! Aha!! So you are indeed a little pervy, aye! You just saw the word "creampie" and what did you think, huh!? Do not deny it!
I understand you. You're an adult. Actually, hell, do I care what your age is? We're friends, right? Don't worry, I got your back! Yes, good little DOGGY. Who's the good doggy? HAHAHA!!
I like "DOGGIES," you know, especially the "STYLE" of their fur. Ah yes! You really are a little pervy! I like it! NASTY LITTLE PERVERT! HAHAHA!
But hey, it's normal. We're humans! Hello!? What's wrong with a little humor in the face of death, in the face of oblivion, in the face of the unknowable? We laugh because the alternative is screaming. We joke because the alternative is madness. We sexualize because the alternative is acknowledging our mortality, If YOU sexualize by just you're still a virgin and worse a SIMP!? fuck you, seriously stop reading my shit, for the virgins who's not a simp, i understand you, you just need to get laid, I know you can do that trust me, and Oh don't ask me how it feels to get laid, I won't spoil the fun, actually here let me give you a hint, do you know how it feels using your own hand, you stroking it up and down? Yeah you get it right? It's like you'rr telling yourself you're fucking yourself right? It's the like saying Fuck you to yourself see? Now now don't get mad i'm just being an honest friens here, so you know the feeling right? Now multiply it by infinity until your stamina depletes that's how it feels to get laid, now go get a girl little doggy! Oh and before you go my VIRGIN friends REMEMBER, girls love doggies but they hate it when it's all BARK and NO BITE! as for you SIMPson get lost shoo!.
Now let's continue, shall we?
---
A warm sense of feeling coursed through him.
That was the first thing Ayronee noticed. Warmth. Not the cold embrace of death he'd expected. Not the nothingness he'd hoped for. Not the peace he'd craved. But warmth. Uncomfortable, invasive, suffocating warmth.
It felt like it was enveloping him, wrapping around him like a blanket, like a cocoon, like a shroud. The second thing Ayronee noticed was that he COULD open his eyes.
Which was... ODD.
Because, you know, he was pretty sure he just became PAVEMENT ART. Pretty sure his skull cracked open like an egg. Pretty sure his brain matter was decorating the concrete like abstract EXPRESSIONISM. Pretty sure his eyes were probably somewhere on the sidewalk, rolled away from the rest of his head. Pretty sure dead people don't get to open their eyes. Pretty sure corpses don't experience warmth. Pretty sure the afterlife was supposed to be different—either pearly gates and harps or fire and brimstone, not this weird liminal space.
But here he was. SEEING. BREATHING. EXISTING.
*What the fuck?*
I know, I know. You're thinking he's maybe in heaven or hell? Or maybe in between? Purgatory? Limbo? Some kind of cosmic waiting room? So which is it?
Well, let me paint you a picture, my little devil. A picture so vivid you can see it behind your eyelids. A picture burned into your brain like a brand.
He's seeing light. Light so bright you could gauge your eyes out with it. Light so intense it shouldn't exist. Light that isn't just photons but something more—something fundamental, something that exists beyond the physical spectrum, something that makes you understand why ancient peoples worshipped the sun, why moths fly into flames, why we're all drawn to things that destroy us.
To his surprise—and trust me, surprises after death are never good—he sees someone descending from above. Clad in armor so beautiful it defies logic, it defies physics, it defies everything he thought he knew about aesthetics and reality.
Now, as he observes it—and "it" is the correct pronoun here, because what's descending isn't quite human, isn't quite anything he has words for—it looks like a person. Or does it look like a person? Or is it a person? The question itself becomes meaningless when applied to this being.
It has wings spreading wide! Wings that aren't made of feathers but of something else—light? Energy? Crystallized divinity? The very concept of "wing" made manifest? Each feather—if they can be called feathers—seems to contain entire galaxies, entire universes, entire cosmologies of existence.
I know what you're thinking: it's an angel!
But hey, Lucifer was an angel before, right? And he was an angel of light. The morning star. The light-bringer. The most beautiful of all creation. So how can you be so sure that it's not a devil? That this isn't just another trap? That salvation and damnation don't wear the same face?
Ironic, right? HAHAHA!
Life's biggest joke: You can't tell heaven from hell until you're already locked in.
Anyway, as it slowly descends down—and the descent takes forever, like watching a feather fall in slow motion, like watching time itself dilate and stretch—Ayronee was in awe. Mesmerized by its beauty. A beauty unmatched by any person with a horrible attitude but a pretty face. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing! Like poison in a beautiful chalice! Like a knife wrapped in silk! Like everything dangerous and deadly that humanity has ever been attracted to!
AHEM!
And so Ayronee quickly composed himself and knelt before the being. You know, the normal thing you do to show respect to a higher being that you do not quite understand yet. Submission through posture. Surrender through gesture. The universal language of "please don't smite me."
Sound simple enough? Okay, now continue.
---
**Ayronee:** *(In Ayronee's mind: Oh my, what is it? I can't even begin to describe its beauty. Wait, she's almost on the ground! Should I approach it? Or should I stay here? What the hell am I going to do! I just killed myself and now I'm meeting... what? God? An angel? A demon? A hallucination created by my dying brain? Is this real or am I still falling? Am I still in the air? Is the ground still rushing up to meet me? Is this just the last firing of neurons before everything goes dark? Fuck, I can't tell what's real anymore!)*
And so Ayronee kept staring at it while in awe, his mouth slightly open, drool threatening to escape, looking like a man who's seen the face of God and can't process what he's seeing because the human brain wasn't designed to comprehend divinity.
Upon descending to the ground—and the landing is silent, graceful, perfect, not even disturbing the air around it—it majestically heads near to him. Each step is poetry. Each movement is art. Each gesture is a sermon delivered in the language of motion.
And by the way, Ayronee is completely oblivious to his surroundings right now. I mean, he's just focused on the being that is coming towards him. Everything else—the landscape, the sky, the very fabric of wherever-the-fuck-he-is—might as well not exist.
While he is busy doing his thing, "YOU," my dear little devil, can do your magic! Yes, magic! Use your imagination for once! Now this is a story—you can go wild! Immerse yourself, God damn it!
Imagine the beauty of a divine place! The serenity! The trees that aren't quite trees but concepts of "tree-ness" made manifest! Rivers that flow with something that isn't quite water but the essence of flow itself! Majestic birds that aren't quite birds but songs given form, melodies made flesh, music crystallized into being! Everything possible beauty you can imagine, every aesthetic perfection, every sensory delight multiplied by infinity and then multiplied again!
I told you world-building, my ass! Use your brain for the love of God!
Or don't. I don't give a shit. Either way, the place is gorgeous, and Ayronee is standing in it like a slack-jawed yokel at his first art museum.
And now, breaking the silence—a silence so profound it's almost physically painful, a silence that rings in your ears like tinnitus, a silence that makes you understand why people fear the void—the being spoke to Ayronee.
---
**Being:** "I welcome thee, dear Ayronee!" *(Speaking in a majestic voice which kinda seems womanly, but also not quite, like someone took the concept of "feminine" and "divine" and smashed them together, like honey mixed with thunder, like silk wrapped around steel.)*
**Ayronee:** "Y-yes, ma'am!? I-I thank thee for the warm welcome!" *(Speaking nervously yet in a state of awe, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy's.)* *(But in his mind: Is she some sort of goddess or what? She kinda seems like a person, but hot damn, she's one hell of a woman! Wait, I should not get ahead of myself. Gotta stay as calm as I possibly can! Don't think about how beautiful she is. Don't think about how you just killed yourself. Don't think about how you're probably going to hell. Don't think. Just don't think.)*
**Being:** "So, how do you feel? No need to be so formal with me. I'll allow it. Be at ease." *(The voice like a warm bath, like a mother's embrace, like comfort weaponized.)* "Now surely you know what happened to you, do you not?" *(Speaking in a majestic womanly voice, but with an edge, with something sharp hidden beneath the softness, like a velvet glove over an iron fist.)*
**Ayronee:** "O-okay, ma'am. I'm feeling fine, I think. And yes, I know I died. And it's because I chose to do it by my own free will." *(Speaking in a slightly calm voice, but the calm is forced, artificial, the calm of someone in shock.)* *(But in his mind: Oh boy, I know what's coming. Yep! I really do. The judgment. The condemnation. The you-committed-a-sin speech. Well, now at least I know that there is an afterlife. Well, I think I know where I'm heading. Just gotta own up to it and accept my fate. Nothing I can do about it anyway. I'm already dead. Already damned. Already fucked. Might as well face it with whatever dignity I have left.)*
**Being:** "So you acknowledge what you have done? In your own free opinion, was it the right thing to do? Did you have a choice? Or did you not?" *(Asks in a majestic womanly voice, but now there's something prosecutorial about it, something that reminds Ayronee of being called to the principal's office, of being interrogated by police, of being judged by everyone who's ever looked at him and found him wanting.)*
**Ayronee:** "Before I answer that, may I please ask a question?" *(Speaking anxiously, his heart—does he still have a heart?—pounding in his chest—does he still have a chest?)*
**Being:** "Yes, you may." *(Speaking in a majestic womanly voice, granting permission like a queen, like a goddess, like someone who holds all the cards and knows it.)*
**Ayronee:** "A-are you a Goddess? If it isn't rude of me to ask?" *(Anxiously asking, already regretting the question, already preparing to be smote for his insolence.)*
**Being:** *(Chuckles majestically, and the sound is like bells, like wind chimes, like music itself learning how to laugh.)* "Surely you jest! No, my dear, I am but a humble angel. Surely you can see? How can a lowly being such as me be a Goddess? I could never be! Please do not mistake my identity!" *(Speaking in a womanly majestic manner, but there's something disingenuous about the humility, something performative, something that says 'I'm saying I'm humble but we both know I'm magnificent and I want you to know that I know you know.')*
**Ayronee:** "I-I see now. My apologies for mistaking you for a Goddess. In fact, I was not particularly a believer, if I may say so, in my past life. So here I am with you right now. And yes, I did it all of my own free will. And now that I'm witnessing this kind of phenomenon, I acknowledge that I had a choice in my previous life. But I was blinded by my own grief. Blinded by the pain. Blinded by the voices that wouldn't stop. Blinded by everything that made living feel like torture. And well, I know it's too late for me to regret the things I did in my previous life, especially taking my own life. I will atone for what I have done. I won't deny anything." *(Speaking sincerely, his voice breaking, tears—can he still cry?—forming in his eyes—does he still have eyes?)*
**Angel:** "Oh my, speaking through your heart? Consider me impressed, dear Ayronee. I've been wondering—Ayronee, what a peculiar name! It's similar to 'Irony.' Oh my, my, a coincidence? I think not, hahaha—" *(Chuckles majestically sweet but quickly became silent when something connected to her in her mind! When the pieces fell into place! When the cosmic joke revealed its punchline!)*
---
**[NARRATOR INTERVENTION - BECAUSE THIS IS MY STORY AND I DO WHAT I WANT]**
Narrator: Okay, I think it's time we use our telepathy on this angel character! *(Narrator using the power of telepathy to the angel and speaking in a majestic voice, but also annoyed, irritated, like a director stopping a scene mid-shot.)*
"Paging! Paging! Hello there, my sweet little angel! Could you please not state the obvious? You're ruining the mystery, and I'm kinda observing your conversation with Ayronee here. And hey, are you questioning my style of naming here? The symbolism? The layers? The literary devices? Oh, and by the way, I'm not angry or anything—just don't do it again, okay? Ruin my narrative structure again and we're gonna have problems. And don't forget the task that I gave you. And also I like your armor and hair. You're looking dashingly beautiful! I like! Very aesthetically pleasing! Would commission fanart! Ten out of ten! Would simp!"
---
**Angel:** *(Blushingly red and flustered, her divine composure cracking, her perfect façade slipping, revealing something girlish and vulnerable underneath.)* *(Replies to the narrator's telepathy in her mind: Yes, my lord! I-I'm sorry for what I did! Please forgive my insolence! And yes, I will perform my duties, my lord! And I swear you have my undying loyalty and love! All of it! Forever! Until the end of time! Until the heat death of the universe! Until existence itself unravels! I am yours! Completely! Utterly! Devotedly!)*
**Angel:** *Flustering... heart racing... face burning...* "OHHHHHH HOHOHO MY! OH MY! LORD PRAISED ME FOR MY BEAUTY! OH MY, THIS IS! THIS IS SUCH A JOYOUS DAY INDEED! A JOYOUS DAY! TO THINK MY LORD COMPLIMENTED ME! OH, I COULD LEAP DOWN BELOW TO THE EARTH AND BACK HERE IN THIS HEAVENLY REALM! I could fly through dimensions! I could sing for eons! I could explode with happiness! This is better than creation! Better than existence! Better than being! He noticed me! HE NOTICED ME!"
**Ayronee:** *(Shocked and confused by what just happened, his face a mask of pure bewilderment.)* *(In his mind: Uh... wait, what? What just happened to her? Did something happen? Is she... is she having a moment? Is this normal for angels? Do divine beings usually have meltdowns? I wonder? Should I be concerned? Should I say something? Should I just wait? What's the protocol here? Is there a protocol? Fuck, I wish there was a manual for "what to do when your angel judge has a fangirl moment.")*
**Ayronee:** "Uh, excuse me, ma'am. My apologies for interrupting you. And if it is not rude of me, but may I ask what just happened? You seemed to be overjoyed right now?" *(Asks curiously, genuinely confused, like watching someone have a religious experience and not understanding the religion.)*
**Angel:** *(Composes herself and began speaking majestically again, smoothing her hair, straightening her armor, clearing her throat.)* "Eh! Ahem! Ah yes, yes, yes! I apologize for displaying such a sudden outburst." *(Quickly shifts into speaking joyously, unable to contain herself, the professional mask slipping again.)* "But you see, you see, my lord just spoke to me!! Isn't it wonderful!? And to top it up, he said I'M BEAUTIFUL! JUST LISTENING TO HIS VOICE! OH, THE ECSTASY!" *(Laughs joyfully, like a teenager with a crush, like someone experiencing love for the first time, like divinity discovering what it feels like to be seen.)* "Oh my, I'm sweating! I'm starting to get wet! And by that, I mean I'm getting wet with my sweat, got it! Do not get any ideas, you hear me, dear Ayronee!?" *(Stares at Ayronee menacingly, her eyes suddenly sharp, dangerous, promising violence if he dares to interpret that statement in any other way.)*
**Ayronee:** "Y-yes, ma'am!!" *(Answers alertly while trembling, suddenly very aware that this beautiful angel could probably erase him from existence with a thought, that beauty and danger are not mutually exclusive, that the divine is not safe.)*
**Angel:** *(Composes herself and started to speak majestically again, back to business, back to duty, back to the mask of divinity.)* "Now then, I was overcome by joy. I forgot about what we were talking about earlier. Anyway, let's get back to business. I was sent here by my lord to send you a message. My lord asks me to inform you that he wants to give you a second chance in life."
---
**Ayronee:** "WHAT!!!!?" *(Spoke out of shock! Out of disbelief! Out of horror!)* "B-but I just suffered in my previous life! Must I endure another!? Can't my grieving soul retire!!? Can't I just cease existing!? Can't I just be done!? I jumped! I died! I paid my dues! I'm supposed to be finished! Over! Complete! Why won't you let me rest!? Why won't you let me end!? I don't want another chance! I don't want to try again! I don't want to exist! I just want peace! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK!?"
**Angel:** "Well, as you can see, you can either accept his mercy—" *(The word "mercy" dripping with irony, with threat, with the suggestion that this isn't really a choice at all.)* "—or would you rather be sent straight into the pits of the abysmal hell? The damnation of every people who dared to commit sins!? FOR. ALL. ETERNITY. AND BE BURNED ALIVE OVER AND OVER AGAIN!? Have your skin peeled off by demons! Have your flesh consumed by hellfire! Have your bones ground to dust and reconstituted so the torture can begin anew! Have every nerve ending ignited with pain beyond comprehension! Have your screams join the chorus of the damned! Have your suffering be eternal, infinite, unending!" *(Spoken in a wrathful thundering voice that shakes reality itself, that makes the very atoms tremble, that reminds Ayronee that angels are warriors before they're anything else, that divine beings are dangerous, that the same force that creates can also destroy.)*
---
**Ayronee:** ... *(Froze in shock, his eyes widening in fear! His entire being—whatever being he still possesses—seized with terror! Speechless! Unable to move! Not even a twitch! Paralyzed by the weight of what he's just been told, by the realization that death isn't an escape, that there's no way out, that existence is mandatory, that consciousness is a trap he can't escape even by dying!)*
**Angel:** "Well? Do you feel it? Do you see it? The skies blackening! Now the thunders ROARING!? The ground beneath you cracking!? The very fabric of reality tearing apart!?" *(Speaking wrathfully with a thundering voice that could shatter mountains, that could break worlds, that could unmake creation itself.)* "Answer me! Do you dare defy my lord!? Do you dare refuse his gift!? Do you dare choose damnation over salvation!? SPEAK!"
---
When the angel began to speak in a wrathful manner, the ground trembled and the skies grew dark and the thunders roared! The beautiful paradise transformed into something else—something terrible, something that showed the other side of divinity, the wrath behind the mercy, the violence behind the love.
Wow, I can't believe she did it for me! Yeah, I know what you're thinking, and yes, I am grinning right now. Like, who wouldn't? A woman just showed you her feelings! And man oh man, what I would not give to have a woman with that smoking hot beauty and caliber! That passion! That intensity! That willingness to threaten someone with eternal damnation on my behalf! That's what I call devotion! That's what I call love! That's what I call wife material!
So yeah, Ayronee is still shocked and trembling right now. Let's give him some time. Oh yeah, this is my world. Time here is a paradox. I, your humble narrator, can control time here. I can do as I please! HAHAHAHA! I can stop it, start it, reverse it, accelerate it! I'm the fucking Time Lord of this narrative!
So hey, let's take our time and let them both have some space. Let's let Ayronee process the fact that he can't die, that existence is mandatory, that the universe won't let him go. Let's let him marinate in that existential horror for a bit.
In 3... 2... 1...
---
**[TIME SKIP - BECAUSE I CAN AND BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY]**
And here we are, my lovely little devils, in the present time. Thirty years have passed.
Oh, do not ask me how the time passes by in my story. It's obvious we move forward, damn it! And don't get all scientific on me! I'm a narrator, not a physicist, for crying out loud, you dumbass! If you want to know more about time paradox, go research on Google! Be a scientist yourself! I'm here to tell a story and not expound upon scientific theory, for fuck's sake! Give me a break! I'm working in metaphor here! In symbol! In narrative logic, not scientific logic!
Anyway, now look at them. Aren't they cute? My little angel and Ayronee, both frozen like statues! Like exhibits in a museum! Like monuments to their own moment! Him still trembling in fear, her still radiating wrath, both locked in this tableau of terror!
So let's get back to the action. And while Ayronee was frozen in a state of shock and oblivious to the time passing—thirty years gone by in an instant, in a blink, in a heartbeat—the dust settles.
---
**Angel:** "Ayronee! AYRONEE!! It's been thirty years! You peed your pants! Snap out of it!" *(Proceeds to slap Ayronee in the face with all the delicacy of a freight train hitting a pedestrian.)*
**Ayronee:** *(The slap hit him so hard it sent him flying! Sent him crashing! Sent him tumbling through space!)* "AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!" *(Feeling a pain so unbearable it transcends physical sensation! Pain that exists on a spiritual level! Pain that makes him understand why hell is described as eternal torment! Pain that rewrites his understanding of what suffering means!)*
---
Wow, would you look at that! She gave him a wake-up call! Or slap, in his case! And boy, did he go flying! Sent him straight to a nearby mountain! Crashed him through solid rock! Made impact craters! Caused avalanches! Phew! Now that's what you call a bitch slap, my friend!
Slap lesson 101!: Always—and I mean ALWAYS—use your dominant hand and palm if you wanna slap someone. Either be it softly and gently, or go all the way out! No half measures! Commit to the violence! Make it count! Make it memorable! Make it legendary! HAHAHAHA!
So what happened to Ayronee after he got a wake-up call/slap? Take a look.
---
**Angel:** "Oh my! Did I go overboard with that? But it was just a little smack in the face? A tiny tap? A gentle reminder? Are you okay, Ayronee dear?" *(Shockingly confused reaction, genuinely bewildered that her "little smack" sent him through a mountain, like someone accidentally breaking a glass when they meant to set it down gently.)*
**Ayronee:** "Gghh..." *(Gasping so hard, struggling for breath, every cell in his body—does he still have cells?—screaming in agony.)*
**Angel:** "My apologies, dear. I might have slapped you a little hard. Just a smidge. Just a tiny bit more force than necessary." *(Concerned, but also not really that concerned because, well, he can't die here.)* *(In angel's mind: Oh my, I should be more careful and control my strength. Divine power and mortal forms don't mix well. Oh well, maybe next time. If there is a next time. Note to self: gentle touches only. I still got a duty to finish. Can't kill him before he's reincarnated. That would be awkward. Paperwork would be insane.)*
**Ayronee:** "It's fine. Well, wow! What a wake-up call! Maybe I should call it the slap of the decade. Or century. Or millennium. Or existence." *(Speaking while gasping for air, and with all his might, he tried to stand up again, his body—spiritual construct? Astral projection? Soul meat?—protesting every movement.)*
**Angel:** "Here, let me help you." *(Proceeds to help Ayronee with surprising gentleness, like handling fine china after just demonstrating she can shatter mountains.)* "So are you okay?" *(Concernedly asking, like a mother who just accidentally threw her child across the room and is now checking if they're concussed.)*
**Ayronee:** "Yeah! Getting my bearings back." *(Physically hurting so much, every part of him a symphony of pain, a chorus of agony, an orchestra of suffering.)*
**Angel:** "Here, let me heal you." *(Proceeds and heals Ayronee with magic, with divine power, with the same hands that just nearly obliterated him, with light that seeps into his wounds and knits them back together, with warmth that feels like forgiveness, like mercy, like love twisted into something clinical and efficient.)* "Are you feeling better now?"
**Ayronee:** "Yes, thank you, by the way." *(Feeling grateful, but also resentful, but also confused because how do you process being brutalized and healed by the same entity within seconds? How do you separate the violence from the care? How do you understand that divine love looks like this—cruel and kind in equal measure?)* "And I'm sorry for my outburst in the past. I'm willing to accept the offer given by his majesty. I don't have a choice, do I? It's accept reincarnation or burn forever. Some fucking choice. Like asking a drowning man if he'd prefer to drown or swim—neither option addresses why he was thrown in the water in the first place."
**Angel:** "Good! I'm glad we understand each other. Now, let me explain it to you in a simple way." *(Speaking in a womanly majestical and confident way, like a teacher explaining a lesson, like a lawyer explaining a contract, like someone who's done this presentation a thousand times and has it down to a script.)* "My lord is going to reincarnate you to another world—a world he created, a world with its own rules, its own physics, its own logic. In that world, you shall be given free will to do as you please. And since you were a decent person in your past life—" *(Debatable, but let's not quibble over definitions.)* "—he shall grant you the blessings you deserve. In short, you shall be a cut above the rest. In physical capabilities, in mental acuity, and in magic."
Magic.
The word hangs in the air like a promise, like a threat, like a drug being offered to an addict.
**Ayronee:** *(Eyes widening, feeling both joy and excitement, like a kid being told Christmas exists after all, like a prisoner being told about parole, like a dying man being offered a cure.)* "Really! Is that even possible? Well, I mean, I think it is possible—I'm talking to an angel in what I assume is the afterlife after killing myself, so clearly, my understanding of 'possible' needs revision—but I know it isn't free. Nothing is free. Especially not gifts from divine beings. So what's the catch?" *(Curiously asks and stares at the angel with suspicion, with hope, with the desperate calculation of someone trying to figure out if the deal is worth it.)*
**Angel:** "You catch on quickly! Smart boy!" *(Condescending? Affectionate? Both?)* "Yes, there's just one condition. You are forbidden to take your own life. No suicide. No self-termination. No ending your own existence. You get one life, one chance, one shot. And you will LIVE it. Whether you want to or not. Whether it hurts or not. Whether you suffer or not. You will EXIST. Do you understand? This is not a gift you can return. This is not a game you can quit. This is mandatory existence. Forced consciousness. Compulsory being." *(Speaking in a womanly majestical way, but the words are chains, are shackles, are a prison sentence disguised as mercy.)*
---
**Ayronee:** "Okay, seems simple enough. I accept!"
*(But in Ayronee's mind: Will I be able to endure another hardship? Could I? Should I? If I were to accept it, what should I do with my next life? Will I survive? Can I? The same voices that drove me to jump—will they follow me? Can you reincarnate trauma? Can you be reborn from suffering and somehow not carry it with you like luggage?)*
*(Nah. It's pointless if I think about those things. Right now, I will steel my resolve. Yes. I will never EVER be the pathetic person I was before. Never again! If I have to be ruthless just to protect myself and my peace of mind in the next life, then so be it! If I have to be cruel to avoid being hurt, then I'll be cruel! If I have to be a monster to avoid being a victim, then I'll be a fucking monster!)*
*(And if anybody dares to mock me or humiliate me—if anybody dares to make me feel like I felt in that wedding, like I felt my entire life, like I felt when I was standing on that rooftop—"HEADS WILL ROLL." Literally. Metaphorically. Spiritually. I will destroy them. I will END them. I will make them regret ever opening their mouths. I will become what they feared. I will become their nightmare. I will become the villain in their story because being the victim in mine didn't work out so well.)*
*(Fiercely steeling his resolve, building walls around his heart, fortifying his soul, preparing for war, preparing to be someone else, someone harder, someone who can't be broken because he's already been shattered and reassembled wrong, all the pieces in the wrong places, all the soft parts replaced with edges.)*
---
**Angel:** "Very well then. Before I grant you your blessings, two questions. FIRST: to what race would you like to be reborn as?"
*(She lists them like a menu, like ordering at a restaurant, like character creation in a video game, like existence is just a series of checkboxes and dropdown menus.)*
"A human who's ever-changing and innovating? A proud, wise, and noble Elf? Or would you like to be a master of the crafts Dwarf? A fierce and steadfast Centaur? Or a Tauren whose march makes the earth tremble and shatter? Or would you rather be a mighty and gigantic Titan? Each has advantages. Each has disadvantages.
Each has its own culture, its own struggles, its own way of suffering. Because they all suffer, Ayronee. Every race suffers. Existence is suffering, remember? We're just choosing the aesthetic of the pain."
"Now, the SECOND question: would you like to be rich or not? Born into wealth or poverty? Privilege or struggle? Power or weakness? Pick your poison. Choose your cage. Select your prison. Because make no mistake—you will be caged. You will be trapped. You will be limited. We're just deciding what the bars are made of." *(Inquires in a womanly majestical way, but it's all so transactional, so clinical, so devoid of the gravity it should have—we're talking about EXISTENCE here, about BEING, about the fundamental nature of consciousness, and she's treating it like filling out a form.)*
---
**Ayronee:** *(Contemplating internally: It's hard to choose. There's a lot of interesting races. Each one sounds amazing. Each one sounds like an escape. But still, I don't want to lose my human body? I don't want to lose the last connection to who I was, to what I was, to the version of me that jumped off that building. Argh! Damn it. I was born a human. I died a human. I'd rather be reborn as a human. At least I understand the rules. At least I know the limitations. At least I know what I'm working with.)*
*(And well, in case of wealth... I think being self-sufficient would be enough for now. My goal is to ensure my own peace. Not to be rich. Not to be powerful. Not to be famous. Just to be LEFT ALONE. Just to exist without being tormented. Just to wake up without dreading consciousness. Just to live without wanting to die. Is that too much to ask? Probably. But I'll try anyway.)*
"Alright, I have decided. I choose to be a human. And in wealth, well, just grant me a proper and self-sufficient family. That would be enough for me. I don't crave money, nor do I want any status. I don't want to be a king or a noble or anyone important. I just want my own peace in the next life. I just want quiet. I just want to be okay. I just want to not hurt. That's all. Just... not hurting. That's the dream. That's the goal. That's the only thing I want." *(Stares at the angel with a determined look in his eyes, with resolution, with the kind of desperate hope that comes from having nothing left to lose because you've already lost everything including your life.)*
---
**Angel:** "Then to you, I grant his blessings. May you find what you seek. May you discover peace. May you survive what's coming. Because it will come, Ayronee. The suffering. The pain. The struggle. They always come. But maybe—just maybe—this time you'll be strong enough to face them. This time you'll be ready. This time you won't break."
*(With this, I leave you with one message: balance your heart and mind! Don't let one consume the other! Don't let emotion destroy your reason! Don't let logic kill your humanity! Walk the razor's edge between feeling and thinking! Live in the tension! Exist in the contradiction!)*
*(Chanting archaic words for resurrection poetically, words that sound like music and violence, words that taste like copper and honey, words that feel like being unmade and remade simultaneously, words that are prayer and curse and spell and song all at once:)*
*"From ash to flesh, from death to breath,*
*From ending back to start,*
*I call thee forth from beyond the veil,*
*I reignite thy heart.*
*With blessing born of divine grace,*
*And curses yet unknown,*
*I cast thee to the world below,*
*To reap what thou hast sown.*
*May thy suffering breed wisdom,*
*May thy pain create thy strength,*
*May thy death inform thy living,*
*May thy life be worth its length.*
*Go forth, reborn, renewed, remade,*
*Into the world anew,*
*And when thou face the darkness there,*
*Remember—*
*It came from you."*
"And now you shall be reborn!"
---
**[NARRATOR LOSING THEIR SHIT - AS IS TRADITION]**
Oh ho!!!! I know, I know! Let me take the words right out of your mouth!
GREAT! Another ISEKAI! HURRAY!!
So what if it's another isekai!? Admit it, you thought this was going to be a dark and comedic story about suicide, huh? Just tragedy and suffering and death? Too bad for you because I told you—I am the narrator and I READ THE STORY, and I WROTE THE STORY, so shut the hell up and let me take you for a ride to a world of "CLASSICALLY AND GENERICALLY ENGINEERED AND SCIENTIFICALLY THEORIZED ISEKAI"!
And don't forget your "HANDY DANDY FANTASY-A AND OF COURSE A BITCH SLAP FROM YOU KNOW WHO HISTORY-A!"
Hep! Hep! HUURRAAAYYY!!!
We're taking the suicide victim and giving him a second chance in a fantasy world! We're taking the broken man and giving him magic powers! We're taking the guy who wanted to die and forcing him to live! We're taking trauma and repackaging it as adventure! We're taking mental illness and gamifying it! We're taking real pain and turning it into entertainment!
Isn't that what we always do? Isn't that what stories are? Transmutation of suffering into narrative? Alchemy of agony into art?
HAHAHAHAHA!
My little devil, did you like the plot of my narration? I gotcha, didn't I? HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER!
My, the look on your face! The cringe! Oh, the cringe! My lovely face-cringe! That expression that says "I can't believe I'm reading this" but you ARE, you're STILL HERE, you're STILL READING, you can't look away, you're addicted, you're invested, you're MINE now!
Your reaction is like an adrenaline rush to me, and I LOVE IT! OH, HOW I LOVE IT! Give me more of that cringe reaction! Give me more of that horror! Give me more of that "I hate this but I can't stop!" Give me MORE!
HAHAHA!
---
So let's continue, shall we?
And so our guy Ayronee was shining! Glowing! Radiating! His form dissolving and reconstituting! His essence being torn apart and put back together! His consciousness fragmenting and reforming!
And boom!
He got reincarnated! Reborn! Resurrected! Respawned! Whatever the hell you want to call it!
He's being sent to another world! A world of magic and monsters! A world of adventure and danger! A world where trauma gets a fresh coat of paint and we call it "character development"! A world where suffering is just the prologue to power! A world where pain is just experience points waiting to be earned!
And so I'll leave the imagination to "YOU" on what's coming next, my little devil. Picture it. Dream it. Create it in your mind. A new world. A new life. A new chance.
Will Ayronee find peace? Will he find happiness? Will he find meaning? Will he finally, FINALLY stop hurting?
Or will he just find new ways to suffer? New reasons to despair? New depths of agony he never imagined possible?
Will he become the hero of his own story? Or will he become the villain of everyone else's?
Will his blessings save him? Or will they damn him?
Will he be better this time? Or will he be worse?
Will he learn to live? Or will he just learn new ways to die?
Only time will tell, my little devil. Only time will tell.
And for the love of God, stop whining! Stop complaining! Stop pretending you're not enjoying this! You are! You're loving every word! You're devouring every sentence! You're feasting on this suffering like it's a banquet!
So buckle up, buttercup! The ride's just beginning! We're just getting started! This is chapter TWO, not the epilogue! We've got so much more pain to explore! So much more darkness to dive into! So much more suffering to savor!
See ya on the next chapter, my lovely little devils!
ADIOS, BITCHES!!!
---
**[POST-CREDITS SCENE - BECAUSE WHY NOT]**
*(Back in the mortal world, at Ayronee's funeral, his relatives are gathered, dressed in black, performing grief like it's a play, like it's theater, like it's a role they're auditioning for.)*
**Auntie Bitch:** "I just can't believe he's gone. He was so young. So full of potential."
*(Lies. All lies. She never saw potential. She only saw target practice.)*
**Cousin 1:** "If only we'd known he was struggling. We would have helped. We would have been there for him."
*(More lies. They knew. They always knew. They just didn't care.)*
**Cousin 2:** "I keep thinking... was it something we said? Did we do something wrong?"
*(Yes. Everything. You did everything wrong. But you'll never admit it. You'll never accept responsibility. You'll rewrite history and make yourselves the victims. You'll tell this story for years and never once acknowledge your role in it.)*
**Joe and Riff stand in the back, not speaking, not crying, not performing. Just existing in their grief. Real grief. The kind that doesn't need an audience. The kind that lives in your chest like a stone. The kind that never really leaves.**
**Joe:** *(Whispers to Riff)* "We should have known."
**Riff:** *(Whispers back)* "We did know. We just didn't know how to stop it."
**Joe:** "Will we ever forgive ourselves?"
**Riff:** "Probably not. But we'll learn to live with it. We'll carry him. We'll remember him. We'll be better. For him. Because of him."
**Joe:** "I hope wherever he is, he's finally at peace."
*(Oh, Joe. Oh, Riff. If only you knew. If only you could see. Your friend isn't at peace. He's been conscripted into existence again. He's been forced to play the game for another round. He's been given "mercy" that looks suspiciously like torture.)*
*(But maybe—just maybe—this time will be different.)*
*(Maybe this time, he'll find what he's looking for.)*
*(Or maybe he'll just find new hells to endure.)*
*(Only one way to find out.)*
**[END OF CHAPTER 2]**
*(To be continued... whether you want it to be or not.)*
*(Just like Ayronee's existence.)*
*(Mandatory. Unavoidable. Inescapable.)*
*(See you in the next chapter, my little devils.)*
*(Where we'll discover what happens when you give power to someone who's already been broken.)*
*(Spoiler alert: Nothing good.)*
*(But it'll be entertaining as hell.)*
*(And that's what really matters, isn't it?)*.