"Haah… haah… haaah."
Heavy, jagged breaths echoed through the ruined courtyard of the dark castle. A man with long red hair, marked with sharp streaks of silver, was gasping for air. His crimson eyes darted around erratically, taking in the impossible scale of the forces gathered against him. He was kneeling on the cracked, blood-stained stones, his body battered, broken, and pushed far past its natural limits.
He looked up at the people surrounding him. There were not just thousands. There were hundreds of thousands. No, looking out at the endless sea of armor, banners, and weapons stretching toward the horizon, he knew there had to be a million soldiers here. An entire world had united for one single purpose: to see him dead.
Standing at the front of this massive army was a woman. Her golden hair caught the faint light struggling through the ash-filled sky, and her vibrant green eyes glared down at him with a mixture of pity, duty, and deep sorrow.
"Dark Lord of the Prophecy—!" she shouted, her voice amplified by magic, carrying over the deafening silence of the million soldiers waiting for her command.
"Sylan Armada Von Noctis, surrender now! You are surrounded!"
She pointed her staff directly at his chest. The staff bore the glowing insignia of Emilianias, the Goddess of Light, a divine gift bestowed only upon the chosen one. The light from the staff stung his eyes, a harsh reminder of everything he was fighting against.
"Surrender now!" she pleaded, her voice cracking just a fraction, losing its commanding edge. "And I promise you, all the members of the Alliance will spare your life! We will put you on trial! You do not have to die today!"
As she spoke those words, he could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted him to surrender. Despite the war, despite the blood spilled, they had a past together. In a different time, in a different life, they had been close. They had shared meals, shared laughs, and shared dreams. But the cruel script of this world had drawn a thick, bloody line between them. She was the hero. He was the villain. It was as simple, and as terrible, as that.
"Hehehe…"
A low, raspy sound escaped from the kneeling man's lips. The soldiers in the front rows tightened their grips on their swords, their shields raising an inch higher.
The man surrounded by a million enemies began to laugh.
"Hahahahahahahaha…."
The laughter grew louder, tearing through his dry throat. He tasted copper in his mouth, but he did not care.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…."
He threw his head back, looking up at the gray, bleeding sky, and roared with a laughter that chilled the bones of every seasoned warrior present.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"
He laughed at the situation he was in. It was ridiculous. It was a sick, twisted joke. To experience this exact same ending again, after trying so hard to change it. He had walked this path, stood in this courtyard, and faced this golden-haired woman more times than his fractured mind could properly count.
And yet, as he felt his life slipping away, he realized he did not care about his current situation. He did not care that he was dying. Because, to him, the outcome was already written.
All their grand sacrifices, all their brave speeches, all their hard work to stop him… it was all for naught. It was just another scene playing out in a play that never ended.
He slowly lowered his head and ran a blood-soaked hand through his red and silver hair. He looked directly into the vibrant green eyes of the golden-haired woman.
"Me… surrender?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that somehow carried across the quiet battlefield. "To who?"
He slowly pushed himself up from the ground. His legs trembled under the immense weight of his injuries, but sheer spite kept him upright.
"Why would I surrender?" he asked, taking a step forward. The front line of the Alliance army collectively took a step back in fear.
"THAT'S RIGHT!" He clenched his hands into tight fists, his crimson eyes burning with a sudden, intense fire.
"AND WHY WOULD I SURRENDER?!!!!" he roared, his voice shaking the remaining walls of the ruined castle.
With a swift, violent motion, he reached into the empty air beside him and summoned his weapon. A massive, six-flange war mace materialized in his grasp, heavy and dripping with dark energy. His crimson eyes flared brighter, reflecting the dark magic pouring from his body. All around them, the massive stones and shattered debris of his destroyed castle began to levitate, groaning and cracking as they floated into the air.
He lifted his heavy mace upward, pointing it directly at the sun hiding behind the clouds.
As if answering his command, the sky darkened. A massive shadow swept across the land, and the whole sun was suddenly devoured by an unnatural, suffocating darkness. It was a total solar eclipse, brought forth not by nature, but by raw, hateful magic. The temperature plummeted. The world was plunged into a terrifying twilight.
The people surrounding him widened their eyes in pure panic. Horses reared back, soldiers dropped their weapons, and a wave of terror washed over the million-strong army.
"SAINTESS!" a Holy Knight standing near the golden-haired woman shouted, his voice thick with fear.
"ACTIVATE THE JUDGEMENT OF THE GODDESS!" another commander screamed from the ranks.
"KILL HIM ALREADY BEFORE HE DESTROYS THIS WORLD!!!"
The sheer panic in the army was palpable. They had pushed the Dark Lord to the brink, yet here he was, bending the sky to his will.
Sylan simply smiled. He raised his mace higher. This Alliance included the strongest kingdoms, the wealthiest empires, and the bravest heroes, all united to fight and defeat him. And he was going to break them one last time.
The commander of the Alliance army, a king from the northern lands, raised his glowing sword high into the dark air.
"All members of the Alliance of Hope! Follow me and kill this demon!!!"
"AAHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
Hearing their king's speech, the soldiers forced down their terror. They regained a sliver of their morale, gripping their weapons tightly, and began to charge forward. A massive wave of steel, magic, and human desperation rushed toward the lone figure of Sylan.
Sylan did not flinch. He gripped his war mace with both hands and stepped forward to meet them. As the first soldiers reached him, he swung his weapon, parrying their swords with brutal, bone-shattering force.
At the same time, the dark magic pooling at his feet erupted. Thick, shadowy tendrils shot out from the void, lashing out at the attackers.
—CLANG! His mace met a heavy broadsword, shattering the blade into pieces.
—STAB! A void tendril pierced through the chest of a spearman, draining his life force in an instant.
—CLANG! He deflected a barrage of magic arrows with a sweep of his arm.
—STAB! Another tendril grabbed a rushing knight by the leg, dragging him screaming into the shadows.
—CLANG!
—STAB!
The front lines of the Alliance suddenly stopped their charge. The soldiers pushed back against their comrades behind them, their eyes wide with horror as they looked at the devastation. They watched as the men who had charged forward slowly died. But it was not a normal death. The men struck by Sylan's magic began to rot where they stood, their armor rusting, their flesh turning to gray ash, falling to the ground in piles of dust.
The same Holy Knight who had shouted earlier pushed his way to the front. He clenched his hands around his silver sword, his face pale but determined. He looked at the terrified faces of his men and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"DO NOT FRET—!"
He raised his sword high, the blade catching a faint glimmer of the Saintess's light.
"THE GODDESS IS ON OUR SIDE! WE SHALL NOT BE AFRAID OF THE DARKNESS THAT THE DARK LORD SPREADS NOW!!"
He took a deep breath, his voice echoing across the frightened ranks. "CONQUER YOUR FEARS!!!"
He then leveled his sword, pointing the tip directly at Sylan's chest. "AND GIVE HUMANITY HOPE! A HOPE FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!!!"
The speech was good. It was exactly the kind of heroic, inspiring speech that happened in stories. Sylan glared at the knight. He felt nothing but deep, exhausting annoyance.
He raised his left hand, summoned a thin, razor-sharp tendril from the void, and flicked his wrist.
—SWISH!
A sickening silence fell over the battlefield. The soldiers widened their eyes in disbelief. The inspiring Holy Knight froze mid-stance. A thin, dark line appeared across his neck. Slowly, his head slid off his shoulders and started to fall toward the ground.
With a heavy thud, the head hit the dirt. The knight's mouth tried to open one last time, perhaps to issue one final command, but the dark magic took hold. His face began to rot rapidly, turning black and flaking away into nothingness until the head completely disappeared. A second later, his headless body swayed and collapsed to the ground with another heavy thud, his silver armor clattering against the stones.
Sylan let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"Seems your commander and the one who boosts your morale just lost his head," Sylan said in a cruel, ridiculing manner. He smirked and spat on the ground near the ashes of the fallen Holy Knight.
"YOU—YOU BASTARD!!!" one of the younger soldiers screamed, tears streaming down his face. Blinded by grief and rage, he broke formation and charged. A dozen others followed him, their fear replaced by anger.
"Tch!" Sylan clicked his tongue in displeasure. They never learned. They never stopped charging.
He ignored the rushing soldiers and looked past them, locking his crimson eyes onto the golden-haired woman. She was still standing there, gripping her staff, watching the slaughter.
"You still hesitate, huh?" Sylan called out to her over the noise of the battle.
He knew exactly who she was. She was the hero chosen by the heavens. The Protagonist of this World.
The Saintess he was looking at was none other than Emiliana Van Emilios. She was the divine savior of humanity, and, more importantly to Sylan's fractured memory, she was the main character of a Reverse Harem visual novel game he had accidentally played in a life that felt like a billion years ago.
He regretted picking up that game. He regretted it with every fiber of his being, because that single action was the cause of him transmigrating into this nightmare. That game was the reason he was trapped here, forced to regress over and over again, playing the role of the villain, doomed to die by her hand.
He watched her carefully. The Saintess was hesitating. She was warring with herself, trying to decide if she should unleash her ultimate magic and kill him right here, right now. He could see the tears welling in her vibrant green eyes.
Finally, she closed her eyes. She clenched her hands tightly around her staff, her knuckles turning white. She had made her decision. The lives of her people outweighed her past feelings.
She raised the staff high above her head. A blinding, pure white light erupted from the gem at the top, pushing back the unnatural darkness of the eclipse.
"OH GODDESS EMILIANIAS…." her voice rang out, clear and beautiful, carrying a divine power that forced the charging soldiers to fall to their knees in awe.
"….GIVE YOUR GRACE TO US, AND HELP US DEFEAT THE DARK LORD!!!"
A massive magical circle, complex and glowing with holy energy, appeared in the sky above the battlefield. The air hummed with power. Emiliana slowly lowered her staff, pointing it directly at Sylan. She opened her tear-filled eyes, looked into his, and whispered her final words to him.
"I'm sorry…"
Sylan saw her lips move, but the words did not reach him. The deafening roar of the magic, the screams of the soldiers trying to retreat from the blast zone, and the rushing wind drowned out her apology.
And even if he had heard it, it would not have mattered.
He was still laughing. A quiet, manic chuckle escaped him as he looked up at the solar eclipse he had created, and then at the massive, holy magical circle forming above it. He smiled a wide, unhinged smile.
"IS THIS ALL YOU GOT, GODDESS?!" he screamed at the sky, his voice dripping with pure defiance.
"YOU SEND ALL OF YOUR CREATION TO KILL ME?! AND YET…."
He pointed his heavy mace at the trembling army, at the kings, at the heroes, and finally at Emiliana.
"….THEY STILL STRUGGLE! YOUR HEROES, YOUR SAINTESS, AND ALL THE KINGS AND SOVEREIGNS OF THIS WORLD! THEY WILL FALL BY MY HANDS THIS DAY!!!"
He widened his crimson eyes, pushing every last drop of his life force into his magic core. The darkness around him thickened, turning into a physical, crushing weight.
"Oh Void, the endless nothingness that will devour everything…." he chanted, his voice echoing from every direction at once.
"….Devour this world by your might!"
He gripped his mace with both hands, raised it directly toward the holy circle in the sky, and screamed with all his remaining strength.
"FALL!!!!!!"
But as the words left his lips, he knew he was too late. The spell the Saintess cast had already fully activated. His eyes widened slightly as a pillar of pure, concentrated divine light shot down from the heavens. It was the Goddess's light. Her ultimate judgment. And it was going to be his end.
"Hahahaha…"
The frantic energy drained from him in an instant. The mace slipped from his fingers, hitting the stone floor with a dull clang.
"…Haaaaahhh."
He let out a long, slow sigh. He accepted the Goddess's judgment. He opened his arms wide, exposing his chest to the incoming pillar of light. He was already so tired. He was tired of resisting, tired of fighting, tired of bleeding just to live another day in this cursed world.
As the armies of the Alliance watched in awe, and the blinding attack of the Goddess rushed down toward him, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. The debris that had been floating in the air stopped moving. Time itself felt like it had come to a complete halt.
In that frozen fraction of a second, as his eyes stared up at the dying solar eclipse, his mind flooded with memories. The pasts he had lived, the lives he had lost, all rushed through his thoughts like a fast-moving river.
"Just how many times have I regressed in this world already?" he questioned himself in the silence of his own mind.
He tried to count, but the numbers blurred together. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. It was a cycle of endless suffering.
"Just how many times will I always taste defeat, after defeat, after defeat?" he thought bitterly. "All I ever wanted was to survive after transmigrating to this world. Was that really so much to ask?"
He looked at the holy light descending upon him and felt a deep, simmering anger toward the deity controlling this world.
"You know, you goddamn Goddess, you are cruel to me…."
In his first few lives, he had tried to be good. He had tried to be a hero, a scholar, a simple farmer. But the world would not allow it. The plot of the game was a living, breathing force. It demanded a villain. It demanded an Act 3 Middle Boss.
"….All I want is to return to my world. To the place where I really come from. And yet, you force me into this shape."
He looked down at his bloodstained hands, hands that had taken countless lives just to keep himself alive a little longer.
"An Act 3 middle boss like me… you make me the Dark Lord of the Prophecy… just to give your heroes a stepping stone."
"Haaaahhh…."
He lowered his head. The anger slowly faded, replaced by a crushing weight of guilt and exhaustion.
"It's my fault, though. That's right…."
In this particular timeline, he hadn't tried to hide. He hadn't tried to run. He had actively chosen this dark path.
"….It's my fault I chose this path. I chose to become the Dark Lord this time, just because I wanted revenge."
Revenge. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He had lost someone precious in the early years of this life. A kind woman who had shown him warmth when the world gave him nothing but cold steel. When she was taken from him by the machinations of the nobles, something inside him had snapped. He decided if the world wanted a monster, he would give them a monster that would shake the heavens.
"How foolish I was," Sylan whispered into the silent air.
He smiled a sad, lonely smile. He knew exactly what was going to happen next. The light would hit him. He would feel a moment of tearing agony. Then darkness. And then, he would open his eyes, look up at the familiar ceiling of a dusty inn room, and realize he was seventeen years old again. The cycle would restart.
"Haaah… I miss my life on Earth," he thought, the memory of a distant world bubbling to the surface. It was a rare memory, one he usually kept buried to stop himself from going insane.
"I lived peacefully there. Even if I didn't have a girlfriend, even if I was just a regular guy… it was quiet."
He closed his eyes, picturing the place he used to call home. He could almost smell the salty breeze.
"I miss sitting on the porch, looking at the sunset on the beach near my home. I miss the sound of cars. I miss the taste of cheap convenience store food. I miss…."
Sylan laughed softly, a genuine sound of amusement.
"…That's right. I seem to have forgotten my own family's name over the years. I even forgot my past name. For so long, I have only been 'Sylan'."
He let out one final breath, feeling the heat of the incoming light singeing the tips of his hair.
"At least that boring life on Earth was far, far better than me regressing for the 300,000,000th time."
He kept his eyes closed and fully accepted his fate. There was no fear left. Only a deep desire for rest.
"Do it already…." he muttered to the sky.
"…And make it quick."
The attack of the Saintess finally reached him. At the exact same moment, the massive pool of void magic he had summoned collapsed inward. The pure holy light and the absolute darkness of the void collided directly on top of him.
A massive black hole appeared in front of him, twisting space and time, tearing the very fabric of reality apart. The sound that followed was deafening.
—BOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!
He kept his eyes tightly shut. He felt the intense, burning heat envelop his body, and the strange, pulling sensation as his flesh began to slowly turn to gray ash. He knew, with absolute certainty, that in this timeline, his role was over.
And what was worse, he had failed. He had failed to avenge the woman he loved. He had thrown away his humanity, embraced the void, slaughtered thousands, and still, he had not achieved his goal.
He knew, deep down, that he was pathetic. He had willingly chosen the path to become the Dark Lord of Prophecy, thinking he could break the rules of the world with enough power. And yet…
…And yet he had failed to get revenge for himself, and for the one he loved. The system was too strong. The Goddess's script was too rigid.
For him, an extra villain, a minor obstacle in the grand story of the Saintess, this fate was deserved after all.
….He didn't keep his promise. He broke his promise to her, and he broke his promise to himself. He died a monster, having achieved nothing.
The Tale of the Middle Boss of Act 3 was done. His story in this loop had finally ended.
Or so he thought.
"HAAAAHH!!!"
Sylan's eyes flew open wide, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. He violently shot up from where he was lying, his body moving on pure instinct. His hand immediately grabbed his chest, clutching tightly at his shirt as his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
His chest was in deep, throbbing pain, as if he had just been struck by lightning.
"Haah, haaah, haaah."
He gasped for air, his lungs burning. His eyes rolled wildly, scanning the area for enemies, for the Saintess, for the million soldiers. His hands twitched, ready to summon his war mace to defend himself.
But as his eyes adjusted to the lighting, the frantic energy in his body hit a sudden, confusing wall.
He stopped moving. He slowly lowered his hands, his breathing hitching in his throat. He looked at his surroundings. He was not in a dusty inn. He was not in a ruined courtyard. He was not surrounded by magic or swords or blood.
He was sitting on a soft bed. The walls around him were covered in cheap wallpaper. He blinked, staring at the walls. Pinned to the plaster were several glossy posters of sexy women wearing bright, colorful swimsuits. A small electric fan sat in the corner, oscillating slowly back and forth, blowing cool, normal air across his sweating face.
His eyes widened even further. He was inside an apartment. It was a modern room. A completely normal, modern room, unlike any place he had ever woken up in during his millions of regressions as Sylan. The familiar hum of a refrigerator drifted from a small kitchen area nearby. The faint sound of traffic—actual cars, not horses or carriages—filtered in through a closed window.
His brain struggled to process the information. He threw off the thin blanket, his legs tangling in the sheets, and rushed across the small room. He nearly tripped over a pair of old sneakers lying on the floor.
He threw himself in front of a tall mirror attached to a cheap wooden wardrobe. He gripped the edges of the wooden frame, his knuckles turning white, and stared at his reflection.
His amber eyes widened to the size of saucers.
He stared at his own face, touching his cheeks, his chin, his forehead with trembling fingers. He didn't have the long, flowing hair anymore. And worse—no, better—his hair was no longer the deep crimson red with streaks of silver that marked the bloodline of the Von Noctis family.
His hair was a messy, dark amber, cut short and normal. It was the exact same color as his eyes. He wasn't the towering, heavily muscled Dark Lord. He was of average height, with an average build, wearing an oversized, faded gray t-shirt and loose sweatpants.
As he clutched the sides of the mirror, staring at the face he hadn't seen in centuries, a strange sound bubbled up from his chest. It started as a wet cough, then a rough chuckle, and then it exploded out of him.
He began to laugh.
"Hahahahahaha…."
Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision, but he didn't wipe them away.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"
His laughter bounced off the thin walls of the apartment. It was not the manic, broken laughter of a dying villain. It was the hysterical, overwhelming laughter of a man who had just been released from hell.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"
He leaned closer to the glass, his reflection shaking as his shoulders heaved with laughter.
"To think…." he whispered between loud bursts of joy.
"…I finally returned to my original world."
As the realization fully settled into his mind, his emotions surged. He tightened his grip on the edges of the mirror. His hands, still possessing a ghost of the strength he once had, squeezed too hard. The glass groaned under the pressure, slowly forming spiderweb cracks radiating from his fingers. He ignored the sharp edges pressing into his skin. He ignored the breaking glass. He was too happy to care.
He was drowning in deep, profound happiness. The fragile hope that he had guarded for 300 million lifetimes had actually come true. He was really, truly back.
He took a step back from the cracked mirror, threw his arms wide open, and looked up at the cheap ceiling.
"Finally!!!!" he roared at the top of his lungs, uncaring if the neighbors heard him.
"I AM SO BACK!!!!!!!"
He screamed the words out, pouring out centuries of frustration, pain, and exhaustion. He was so incredibly glad. He was back here. He was back to his life.
His original life. He closed his eyes and let the name wash over him, a name he had nearly forgotten. He was Max Theo Hoffman.
He laughed again, a softer, warmer sound this time. He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. He was just so glad. The endless cycle of blood, the smell of rotting flesh, the cold gaze of the Goddess, the sharp pain of the Saintess's magic… it was all gone.
His nightmare was finally over. He could now live happily. He could just exist.
"Haaaahhh." He let out a long, contented sigh. He ran a hand through his short amber hair, enjoying the normal, oily texture of it.
He walked slowly across the room, feeling the soft carpet under his bare feet. He stopped at the window, reached out, and pulled the blinds up. It was nighttime. The city skyline stretched out before him, dotted with thousands of electric lights. No stars were visible through the city pollution, but to him, it was the most beautiful sight in the universe.
He placed a flat palm against the cool glass of the window and leaned his forehead against it.
"I'm finally back, huh?" he whispered to the glowing city.
"Back to my peaceful and loner life. Though, at least this is far better than transmigrating to that fantasy world and regressing many damn times just to die like a dog."
He lifted his hand away from the glass. He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers. It was the normal, slightly calloused hand of a 32-year-old man who worked a boring desk job.
He clenched his 32-year-old hand into a fist and sighed again.
"Sigh. At least I can now live peacefully. I don't have to wake up every day fighting for survival. I don't have to check my food for poison. I don't have to sleep with a knife under my pillow."
A sudden thought struck him. The memory of how this all started flashed in his mind. The game.
His expression darkened for a fraction of a second. "Tch!"
"I swear, I'm gonna burn that goddamn game after I gather myself completely," Max said out loud, his voice tight with lingering anger.
He turned away from the window and scanned his messy room. It didn't take long to find it. Sitting on a small table near his television console was a plastic case. He walked over to it, his steps heavy.
He picked it up. It was a game tape, an old-fashioned physical copy. He stared at the cover art. A beautiful blonde girl with vibrant green eyes stood in the center, surrounded by handsome, brooding men in armor. The title was printed in elegant, golden letters across the top.
"The Adventures of Emiliana, Searching For the Truth".
Just looking at the cover made him feel physically sick. The face of the woman on the cover—the face of the Saintess who had killed him countless times—mocked him from the plastic casing.
He clicked his tongue in deep disgust. He didn't want this thing in his house for another second. He needed it gone.
He grabbed his keys from the table, grabbed a pair of shoes, and opened his apartment door. The hallway was dimly lit, smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke and cheap cleaning products. It was perfect.
He walked down the hallway, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. The physical exertion of walking down the concrete steps felt incredibly grounding. With every step, he felt further away from the Dark Lord and closer to Max.
As he turned the corner on the second floor, he wasn't paying attention. He stepped forward and suddenly bumped hard into someone coming up the stairs.
"Ahh—!" a soft voice cried out in surprise.
Max stumbled back slightly, looking up. A woman was standing there on the landing. She had bright blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and striking gray eyes. She was wearing a tight gray jogging suit, and a light sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She had clearly just returned from a late-night run.
Her beautiful eyes widened in shock as she lost her balance for a moment, gripping the handrail tightly. Realizing she had bumped into someone, she immediately bowed her head, her face flushing red with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she stammered quickly, repeatedly bowing her head in apology.
Max looked at her blankly. For a man who had commanded armies and slaughtered thousands, a slight bump on the stairs did not even register as a minor inconvenience. His mind was entirely focused on the plastic tape gripped tightly in his right hand.
He didn't say a single word. He completely ignored her apologies, kept his eyes locked straight ahead, and simply sidestepped her, continuing his march down the stairs toward the exit.
The blonde woman stopped bowing and stood up straight. She watched his back as he walked away, her gray eyes narrowing in annoyance. She raised an eyebrow, completely baffled by his rude behavior.
"What's his problem?" she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.
She watched him disappear down the stairwell, then shook her head, flicking a strand of sweaty blonde hair out of her face.
"Ughhh, whatever!" she huffed in irritation. She turned around and continued her walk up the stairs toward her own room, deciding not to let the weird neighbor ruin her good mood.
Max pushed open the heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairwell and stepped out into the cool night air. The back alley of the apartment complex was dark, lit only by a flickering yellow streetlight near the main road.
He walked directly toward his destination: a large, heavy metal incinerator drum used by the residents for burning specific types of trash. The burner sat quietly in the corner of the alley, smelling faintly of old ash.
He stopped in front of it. He looked down at the game tape in his hand one last time. Emiliana's smiling face looked back up at him.
He felt a brief, hollow ache in his chest—a phantom memory of a sword piercing his heart, of light burning his flesh, of a million failures. But it was only a memory now.
Without a shred of hesitation, he raised his arm and threw the tape into the open top of the metal drum.
—THROW!
The plastic case clattered loudly against the rusty metal bottom. Max didn't waste a second. He reached over to the side panel of the incinerator, gripped the heavy ignition switch, and pulled it down hard. He then reached for the fuel dial and twisted it all the way to the right, turning it up to maximum power.
A loud whoosh echoed in the alley as the flames ignited inside the drum. The bright orange fire roared to life, casting dancing shadows on the brick walls of the apartment building.
Max stood there, the heat of the fire warming his face. He watched as the flames licked at the plastic case, melting it down, curling the cover art, and finally consuming the tape itself in a burst of thick, black smoke.
As he watched it burn, he felt a massive weight lift from his shoulders. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted the fire to take away his pain, the horrific memories of his past life as the Dark Lord, the face of the woman he loved and lost, and lastly, the crushing despair of his painful, endless regressions.
He stood there until the plastic was nothing but a blackened lump of melted ash.
He took a deep breath of the city air. It smelled like exhaust fumes and fire, but it was real.
He turned away from the burner and tilted his head back, looking up past the buildings, searching the hazy city sky for any signs of the stars.
"Haahh…." he breathed out slowly, a smile spreading across his face.
"….It's done."
The fire crackled behind him, a comforting sound in the quiet alley.
"It's finally done."
He felt a surge of energy, a profound sense of freedom that he had never experienced before. He clenched his hands into tight fists, his amber eyes shining with determination.
He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with air, and shouted at the night sky, letting the entire city hear his promise.
"FROM NOW ON!" he roared, his voice echoing off the brick walls.
"LET'S LIVE HAPPILY IN THIS LIFE!!!"
He threw his arms up toward the sky, laughing loudly into the empty alley.
"THAT'S RIGHT! MY LONER AND PEACEFUL LIFE! HERE I COME!!!"