As the torrent of consciousness slowly returned to his body, Jonathan opened his eyes with a vacant expression.
For a few moments, he remained motionless, trying to readjust to a reality that, after countless lifetimes, felt strangely unfamiliar.
He could still remember the warmth of his mother's arms, Eve's smiles, and the weight of his sleeping daughter against his chest.
Those memories remained so vivid that part of him wanted to close his eyes and return to that world, although he now understood that every one of those moments had been another piece of the prison that had nearly consumed him.
However, when he finally raised his gaze, he no longer saw the blue sky of his childhood or the peaceful streets where he had walked alongside the people he loved.
Before him stretched an immense opera house, its walls riddled with countless spatial fissures.
The structure seemed on the verge of collapse, and through those fractures, he could make out fragments of worlds slowly disintegrating, as though the destruction of his dream had begun dragging everything around him down with it.
Jonathan was still standing alone in the center of the stage. His dark gray suit had returned to his body, impeccably tailored, without a single stain to reveal the countless lifetimes he had just experienced.
Despite his untouched appearance, his expression conveyed a weariness that was difficult to describe.
It was not the exhaustion of someone who had just fought a battle, but the fatigue of a man who had lived an entire lifetime, lost the people he loved, and, after dying, been forced to repeat that same tragedy over and over again.
It had all been a dream.
An entire lifetime of memories, joys, arguments, reconciliations, and farewells had been nothing more than an illusion carefully constructed to keep him captive.
Even the pain he had felt when leaving Eve alone in that hospital bed had been part of a performance designed to prevent him from escaping.
The Crimson King had not needed to destroy his happiness. He had merely needed to grant it to him over and over again until Jonathan forgot that anything had ever existed beyond it.
Jonathan closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath.
He could still feel an emptiness in his chest when he remembered that final farewell, but he no longer mistook that pain for the reality he had left behind.
Precisely because he had loved those people, because he had suffered when he lost them, and because he had never been able to guarantee that they would remain by his side forever, those memories had meant so much to him.
The Crimson King had imitated their faces and reproduced their words, but he had never understood what made those bonds genuine.
"So this is the world you built for me," Jonathan murmured, observing the cracks running through the opera house. "So many lives, so many memories, and so much suffering wasted in an attempt to convince me to abandon my own identity."
A soft laugh rang out behind him.
"Wasted? What an unpleasant word to describe a work of art."
Jonathan slowly turned around.
A figure had materialized on the other side of the stage. Its appearance was difficult to describe, as though reality itself refused to establish a definitive form for this being.
Its presence distorted the surrounding space, shadows spreading at its feet as an invisible pressure descended upon the opera house.
It was the Crimson King, the manifestation of the Crimson King that had remained hidden behind that world of happiness.
"I must admit, you have disappointed me a little, Jonathan Belmont," the Crimson King said with a smile that betrayed not the slightest concern. "After so many lifetimes, I expected you to eventually accept your new existence. You had a family, a wife who loved you, and a daughter who would have stayed by your side until the very end. You could have enjoyed that happiness forever. No one would have forced you to fight again, no one would have asked you to sacrifice your life, and you would never have had to witness another irreversible loss."
The Crimson King tilted his head slightly, as though he genuinely regretted his adversary's decision.
"And what have you chosen instead? To return to a world filled with suffering, where everything you love can disappear at any moment. Do you really believe that makes you superior to everyone else? Or are you simply too proud to accept a gift when one is offered to you?"
Jonathan listened without interrupting.
During his captivity, those words might have tempted him to return to the illusion, but now they inspired nothing but profound disappointment.
The being standing before him had observed every one of his memories, studied his most intimate desires, and used all that knowledge to construct a perfect prison.
Yet, after all that effort, he still failed to understand the difference between making someone happy and taking away their freedom.
"Don't confuse a life without suffering with a happy life," Jonathan replied coldly. "In your world, I never had the opportunity to truly accept anything. The people I loved were always there, losses disappeared, and every mistake had a solution prepared in advance. You didn't offer me a life. You offered me a performance in which I could only play the role you had chosen for me."
Jonathan's gaze hardened.
"And the most pathetic part is that you believed making me forget my battles would also erase the reasons I had fought them. I don't need a perfect life, Crimson King. I need the decisions I make to be my own, even if I have to bear their consequences until my very last day."
The Crimson King's smile slowly disappeared.
For a moment, the opera house fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of spatial fissures continuing to spread across the walls.
Then the entity raised one hand, and a wave of crimson energy flooded the stage.
The seats disintegrated, the ceiling split open like a wound in space, and the fractures running through the structure began forcibly closing, as though the world itself were trying to obey its creator's will.
"Don't you dare lecture me about freedom!" the Crimson King roared. "I am the one who decides what exists and what must disappear! I have witnessed the birth and destruction of countless realities, and no insignificant creature like you has the right to question my will!"
Jonathan remained motionless as the pressure intensified.
The energy bearing down on him would have crushed any ordinary creature, but the exorcist did not avert his gaze.
He had recovered his memories, his identity, and the certainty that this confrontation could not end the same way as all the previous ones.
Even so, he knew that escaping the illusion did not mean he had defeated his enemy. The Crimson King was still standing before him, and the difference in power between them remained as overwhelming as ever.
Then a voice echoed in the deepest reaches of his consciousness.
"Jonathan…"
It was a barely audible whisper, so faint that for a moment, he thought he had imagined it.
However, that voice possessed something none of the dream's imitations had managed to reproduce: an imperfect warmth, genuine concern, and a familiarity that pierced his soul like a memory that had been waiting far too long to return.
Jonathan's eyes widened slightly.
"Who...?"
"Jonathan, wake up. You've suffered enough."
The voice sounded again, this time more clearly. It did not come from the Crimson King or from any of the fissures surrounding the opera house.
It emerged from somewhere deeper, beyond the barriers that had kept his consciousness isolated throughout countless reincarnations.
For the first time since his return, Jonathan felt that he was not entirely alone.
He could not make out the face of the person speaking to him, but he recognized that presence.
It was like hearing a forgotten melody, one that had accompanied him through his most difficult moments and remained somewhere in the depths of his memory even when the dream had tried to erase his identity.
"You don't have to keep carrying everything on your own..."
"You've protected so many people that you eventually came to believe your own life had no value unless you were fighting for someone else. But you have the right to come back, too. You have the right to live, to make mistakes, and to find happiness without anyone else deciding what it should be for you."
The words pierced his consciousness with a force no threat could ever have matched.
Jonathan remembered the hands that had supported him during his darkest moments, the voices that had called out to him when he was on the verge of giving up, and the people who had stayed by his side even when his decisions seemed absurd.
They were not perfect memories or promises that everything would turn out well.
They were fragments of a reality in which others could abandon him, argue with him, or even die, but they could also reach out and offer him a hand when he needed it most.
The voice paused, and when it spoke again, Jonathan felt the burden he had carried through so many lifetimes beginning to fall away from his soul.
"Come back, Jonathan. This time, you don't have to wake up just to fight for us again. Wake up because your life belongs to you, too."
Something broke inside him.
It was not his will, but the final barrier separating him from the memories the dream had tried to devour.
The images of his countless lifetimes faded, giving way to the faces of those who had truly shared his battles.
Jonathan remembered the arguments, the injuries, the moments of despair, and the promises he had made without knowing whether he would ever be able to keep them.
He remembered that he had never been completely safe, but he had also never needed artificial happiness to find reasons to carry on.
When he opened his eyes again, a different kind of clarity shone in his gaze.
The Crimson King took half a step backward.
It was an insignificant movement, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to reveal that something had changed.
The crimson energy covering the stage began to fluctuate, and the spatial fissures spread at an unexpected speed.
The Crimson King stared at Jonathan with a mixture of disbelief and fury, unable to understand what force had managed to interfere with a dream he had considered absolutely inviolable.
"What have you done?" the Crimson King demanded through gritted teeth. "What kind of trick is this?"
Jonathan did not answer immediately.
He raised his head and looked at the being who had tried to turn him into a shadow of himself.
For the first time, he no longer saw before him an omnipotent entity whose will determined the fate of everything in existence. He saw an enemy who had made the mistake of believing that knowing a person's desires was the same as understanding them.
"I haven't done anything," Jonathan finally said. "I simply remembered who I am."
The voice echoed again, though this time it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Then put an end to this, Jonathan."
At that moment, the entire opera house trembled.
The fissures running through the walls burst open, and an invisible force swept across the stage, striking the Crimson King before he could react.
The energy surrounding him contracted violently, as though a gigantic hand had closed its fingers around his very existence.
For the first time, the ruler of that prison felt something beyond his control imposing its will upon him.
"Impossible!" the Crimson King shouted, struggling to regain control. "This world belongs to me! Everything that exists here obeys my will!"
He extended both hands and unleashed a wave of energy capable of tearing space apart, but the attack disintegrated before it could reach Jonathan.
The fractures in the opera house began to glow, and from the other side emerged a pressure that belonged neither to the dream nor to the rules the Crimson King had established.
The voice spoke one last time.
"Your mistake was believing you could turn a life into a prison and still call it happiness. Now you will understand what it means to be trapped in something you built yourself."
A light swept across the stage.
The Crimson King tried to retreat, but he could no longer move. A series of luminous cracks spread across his body, separating his figure from the reality that sustained him.
His expression changed completely when he realized that this force was not trying to destroy the opera house, but to wrest it from his dominion and seal every path through which he could escape.
"No! You can't do this to me! I am the Crimson King!"
His scream echoed off the walls as the energy surrounding him disintegrated. He tried to cling to the stage, the fissures, and the last fragments of the dream, but everything slipped away from him, as though the universe had decided that he no longer had the right to remain there.
Jonathan watched in silence.
He felt neither joy nor satisfaction at his enemy's terror.
After all, the voice was the one that had tipped the scales, and he still did not fully understand what had just happened.
He only knew that, for the first time since opening his eyes in that world, the Crimson King no longer seemed capable of deciding his fate.
The ruler's figure began to disappear amid crimson flashes. His final scream became a distorted roar that tore through the fissures in the opera house before fading completely.
Then an invisible force dragged him into the darkness opening behind the stage, sealing the space around him until nothing of him remained in that place.
Silence slowly returned.
Jonathan remained motionless for several seconds, staring at the empty space where his enemy had stood.
The opera house continued to crumble, but the pressure that had oppressed him since his arrival had disappeared.
He could no longer feel that monstrous presence trying to invade his mind or the need to defend his memories against a will intent on stealing them away.
"Is it over...?" Jonathan murmured softly.
There was no answer.
The voice that had awakened him had also disappeared, leaving behind a sense of warmth that Jonathan could not explain.
He wanted to ask who it had been, why it had helped him, and how it had managed to defeat the Crimson King, but he realized that he would not find those answers in that place.
He looked at his hands and slowly clenched them, confirming that he could still feel them.
Then he raised his head and gazed at the fissures spreading throughout the opera house, realizing that the world of his captivity was nearing its end.
He thought of his mother, his father, Eve, and the daughter he had held so many times within that illusion.
Although he knew those lives had not been real, the pain he felt when remembering them did not disappear.
He had loved those people, even if their faces had been constructed from fragments of his own memories, and he needed to accept that he had to say goodbye to them, too.
For a moment, he wished he could return to that hospital room, take Eve's hand, and tell her that he still wanted to see the ocean with her. However, he no longer tried to cling to that possibility. He understood that the happiness he had experienced in the dream could not justify the price he had been asked to pay for it.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The stage cracked beneath his feet, and an immense light began to envelop him. Jonathan did not know what he would find on the other side or how much he would have to fight to return to his true life, but he no longer needed to know all the answers before moving forward.
He had recovered his memories.
He had recovered his identity.
And although he still did not know who had spoken that voice, he knew he had not awakened just to continue living inside a lie.
When the light completely enveloped him, Jonathan closed his eyes and accepted the end of that dream.
Far away, in the depths of the Dark Tower, something waited in silence.
No one witnessed the death of the Crimson King.