A man. A knife. A girl.
I'd seen something like this before. Just never this close.
The alley walls pressed in on three sides,
bricks sweating with old rain, the smell of rot and rust thick enough to taste.
She was pinned against the crates, breathing fast and sharp. Her nails scraped wood. Splinters broke under her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.
She was whispering something. Probably begging. I couldn't make out the words.
My heart was beating loud enough to drown everything else.
I should have run. That's what normal people do—what I'd always done. Stay back. Stay safe. Stay watching.
That's all I've ever been good at.
I was used to being called a kid with no future...
But something slipped.
Not courage—No way. Just a thought that didn't quite fit, like it belonged to someone else:
If I run now, nothing changes. I stay like this. Forever.
That was enough.
I moved before I could think.
The man didn't react. Didn't even turn. The knife went into my ribs like I was nothing—just something in the way.
For a second I didn't feel it.
Then the cold came.
It spread outward from the wound, slow and heavy, wrapping around my chest and pressing into my lungs. Breathing became something I had to remember how to do. Something warm soaked through my shirt.
Oh. That's blood.
My knees hit stone. The impact knocked the air out of me. My vision flickered at the edges, going dark in pulses that matched my heartbeat.
The girl screamed.
He didn't stop. Didn't look at me. I was just something to be removed.
My fingers dragged against wet stone. I think I was trying to crawl. It wasn't working.
"Pathetic," I managed.
The sky above the alley was dull and empty. No stars. No clouds. Just nothing.
So this is it. Figures.
Then—
Something appeared in front of me.
Bright. Wrong.
[The Judgement System Activated.]
I blinked. The words stayed, burning against the dark.
[Condition Met: Moral Intervention (Self-Sacrifice).]
[Instruction: Establish contact with target to initiate Judgement.]
Contact...?
My hand twitched. Every nerve screamed against the idea of moving.
I could stop. I could let go. It would be easier.
"...No."
The word barely came out.
If this is all I get—then fine. I'll take it!
I forced my arm to move. Muscles fought me. Bones resisted. Something deeper tried to hold me still. My vision pulsed black as my hand closed the distance.
I grabbed his head.
Everything broke.
The world folded inward. Light twisted and collapsed, dragging sound and space with it, until nothing remained but pressure—cold, thick and suffocating.
[You have been selected as one of the 100 candidates.]
[Mission Issued: Judge the soul.]
"Judge?" I let out something that might have been a laugh. "I couldn't even save one person."
Something formed in front of me. Pieces. A blade—broken, incomplete, humming with something that felt like hunger.
[Attribute Acquired: Fragment of the Sword.]
[(Forged between condemnation and salvation.)]
I grabbed it.
Pain followed immediately. Like something was digging through my thoughts, weighing them and deciding if I deserved to hold this at all.
The fragment pulsed. It matched my heartbeat.
A scream cut through the dark—high and wrong. Shapes moved in the shadows, close enough to make it worse.
[Manifestation initiated: Ideology of the Soul.]
I stared at the broken thing in my hand. At the shapes getting closer. At whatever this place had become.
I should have been terrified.
I wasn't.
"I see." My grip tightened. "So that's how it is."
The fragment pulsed again. Hungry.
"I don't get to watch anymore."
Something inside me settled into place—not peace, but certainty.
"I choose."
The shadows rushed me.
This time, I moved first.