"Why do you seem so lost?"
A voice. It was the Keeper—the very first time I saw him.
My figure was bound, as always. I could only look at him, but I said nothing.
"You've accrued quite the karmic debt… Do you know what that means?" it asked.
I remained silent, staring blankly. The memories burned inside me. I had become a monster. I'd killed my only friend—my only love—because of my own stupidity.
All I wanted was one thing. Just one thing.
"Kill me," I mumbled.
"Hmm?" The Keeper stared intently at my soul.
"Your past is your past. It isn't the end—"
"JUST FUCKING DO IT! I SAID… DO IT!" I snapped.
I had lost the will to live. I just wanted nothingness. I couldn't live with this memory. I wouldn't be able to sleep, to be normal. I'd lose it every single time and…
Do something I'd regret.
But I don't regret killing those bastards.
Not one bit.
The Keeper stared at me, amused.
"I cannot do that," it said.
"Useless," I spat—and then I felt it. Pressure.
"Do you know you stand before a god?"
"Fuck you. God, my ass. Kill me if you're really a god. Erase me," I said, desperate.
"Fine… I will grant you that. But on one condition."
"Condition?"
"I will reincarnate you through the devices of fate. All you have to do… is die a horrible death."
"More horrible than what I just experienced?" I spat.
"Pathetic. A pathetic death," he said, and I understood.
"No."
"It would only be once. Or do you wish to pass through the cycle of reincarnation and live as you were meant to?"
I pondered. "Why am I doing this?"
"Entertain me… and I will grant you your wish."
...
...
"How did a one-time deal turn into countless lifetimes of torment?" I muttered.
I wasn't supposed to be clearing any karmic debt.
The bastard brainwashed me.
Sigh.
Creak.
It was the door.
I turned—
And saw the figure again.
It stepped forward, holding its neck—bandaged tightly. Bleeding, but bandaged nonetheless.
"It's time you die," he said.
A knife.
Guy's got a thing for weapons.
Probably scavenged it from the school cafeteria or kitchen.
Whatever.
I cracked my neck, left and right.
"Come at me, you bastard," I said.
And he did.
The knife swung toward me. I stepped back, feeling the sharp edge cut through the air. Then I moved—
Countless lifetimes of fighting integrated into this one moment.
My arms moved.
I embedded his arm even further and spun, elbowing him in the face.
"Arck," I heard—but I didn't care.
I grabbed his wrist. Twisted it.
"DAMN YOU!"
A sudden knee to my gut.
But the knife had already fallen.
I couldn't reach it, so I dropped and did a quick 180 sweep. My heel knocked it far from his reach.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue. Spat something black. But when it hit the ground, it turned to blood.
"Hmm."
He dropped into a fighting stance—
Boxing.
I rushed in. He jabbed quickly.
I grabbed his hand, dived forward—knee to his abdomen.
"Argh." He groaned in pain.
I grabbed the back of his neck and smashed his face into my knee.
"Ugh!" Black substance poured from his nose, turning to blood on the floor.
"All right. Come," he said. This time, he looked serious.
But I didn't move.
Fuck you.
I pivoted. He noticed. I was heading for the knife.
I needed to end this.
"No, you don't!"
"ARGH!" I screamed. Pain. I underestimated him again.
I touched my shoulder—
A knife. Another one?!
Of course.
I ripped it out.
"FUCK!" The pain was worse than expected.
BAM!
A running knee—straight to my face.
But I didn't fall.
I grabbed his knee, kicked out his other leg.
He lost balance—collapsed.
I stabbed the knife into his knee.
"ARGHH!" he roared.
I aimed for his head—
He grabbed my hand.
I pushed down.
He pushed back.
"WHY WON'T YOU FUCKING DIE, YOU SHADOWY BASTARD?!" he roared.
Wait.
What?
BAM!
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!
ANOTHER KICK TO THE GROIN?! WHAT'S THIS BASTARD'S DEAL WITH MY LIL' BRO?!
"DAMN IT! GAY ASS BASTARD!" I roared, doubling over.
He was already crawling away, gasping.
He grabbed another knife. This time, I saw where it came from—his innerwear.
How the hell did he not cut IT off, carrying all these weapons around?!
"This ends it," he said.
"Wait!" I shouted.
"What?!"
"You called me a shadow, right?" I asked.
"…Yeah, 'cause that's what you are," he said.
"But that's what I see you as. A human-shaped shadow."
CRASH!
The knife hit the ground.
"What?!" he stammered. "But… the system says you're—"
"The one who forgot," I completed.
And in an instant…
It made sense.
The one who forgot.
I forgot.
I am the one who forgot.
Suddenly, I remembered the system's note:
[Note: Once YOU die, your soul will be stuck in an eternal limbo forever, as the one you fight is…]
It emphasized YOU.
It was trying to tell me something.
The torment of self.
Self.
Myself.
"As the one you fight is… You," he completed.
"YOU ARE ME, YOU STUPID BASTARD!" I cried, still holding my groin.
And then—like light shining into a dark corner—
The shadows around the figure disappeared.
I saw him.
Me.
Wearing the same clothes.
Bandage around the neck.
Bloodied nose.
Shocked face.
I knew that face.
"Larson," we both said at the same time.
And suddenly—
[DING!]
[YOU HAVE PASSED THE SECOND TRIAL]
Darkness.