The last thing I saw was a truck coming towards me.
White-hot headlights burned into my eyes.
then darkness.
There was no pain. It was almost like the truck hadn't even hit.
'Wow. That's… disappointing', I thought. 'So this is it.'
No more bills. No more empty apartment. No more waking up tired for no reason.
Just quiet.
I was wrong.
Boy, was I wrong.
Pain started to seep from the darkness—slow and steady.
"Cough... cough..."
I choked on something.
And then I tasted it.
Blood.
'What's happening?'
I forced my eyes open.
My vision blurred, then slowly began to settle.
Cold stone pressed against my side as I rolled over, still coughing, still choking.
"Ah—ha...!"
The haze finally cleared.
Torches hung on the walls.
Stone pillars rose into the shadows.
And blood.
So much blood.
I froze.
Bodies were scattered across the vast hall like broken dolls. Armored soldiers lay twisted at impossible angles, weapons slipping from lifeless hands. Blood pooled across the marble floor, dark and thick.
At the far end of the hall stood a staircase.
Steps leading upward. Leading somewhere important.
I lifted my gaze.
At the top of the stairs, leaned against a shattered throne, sat a man wearing a crown.
A dead man.
I stared at the corpse for a long moment before whispering, "...Okay. So either I'm dead and this is hell... or I'm alive and this is worse."
My voice echoed throughout the vast empty hall.
I looked down at my hands.
They weren't mine.
Slimmer. Younger. Unscarred.
My clothes were different too—a black uniform trimmed with red lines, a silver symbol stitched over my chest. A red tie pulled tight around my neck.
It didn't feel like normal clothing.
Not even close.
I let out a quiet, bitter chuckle.
"I died, huh..." I muttered. "And woke up as a nobody."
I knew this uniform too well.
"I'm inside of Shards of Broken Black," I muttered.
That was when I noticed it.
A black crown rested on the head of a corpse nearby—the same crown as the one on the throne.
I looked up again.
The throne's crown was still there.
Identical.
Curiosity got the better of me.
I reached out and touched one of the pointed ends of the crown.
Pain bit into my finger.
I flinched, pulling my hand back—but it was too late.
A single drop of blood fell onto the crown.
The air shifted.
Red lines began to glow along the crown's surface, cracks spreading through the crown beneath it with a low, grinding sound.
"No—no, wait—"
Then suddenly, the crown flew and slammed into my palms, heat tearing through my skin.
Symbols flowed from the crown to my hands.
"NO—! I didn't sign up for this!" he screamed
the pain stopped.
I stood there panting, staring at the crown clenched in my hands.
I was alive.
The crown pulsed faintly.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.
I stiffened.
Voices followed—calm, disciplined, terrifyingly professional.
"Inquisitors," one of them said. "The seal is broken."
My stomach dropped.
Inquisitors.
The word felt familiar. Not from my memories—but from this body's.
Figures emerged from the shadows.
Thirteen. Maybe fifteen.
Dark robes. Masks hiding every face.
"I didn't do this," I whispered. "I swear, I just woke up—"
The massive doors swung open.
Three figures entered, clad in dark armor carved with crimson lines that glowed faintly. Their helmets hid their faces completely.
One of them raised a hand.
The air warped.
"Drop the crown," the Inquisitor commanded.
I tried.
I forced my hands to open,
but they wouldn't move.
"I— I can't," I said, panic cracking my voice. "It won't let go."
The Inquisitors froze.
"...He's holding it," one said slowly.
"That's impossible," another replied. "Anyone who touches it dies."
I looked around.
Everyone else in the room was dead.
A realization hit me slowly... then all at once.
"This thing kills its owner," I whispered.
Anyone who touched the crown died.
Anyone who wore it was erased.
I looked down at myself and faced the Inquisitors.
Still breathing.
Still very much alive.
"...Then why am I still here?"