The sky was red, squirming above. The stars looked like gazes, casting their sight upon hell.
The ground was being peppered by a crimson rain; the grass was dyed dark red by its harshness.
The clouds resembled blood mists, formed from violence.
"Bang!"
Lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the crimson plains with its red light.
This crimson hell felt alive—even lightning, which should be blue, had turned red here.
Only suffering, depravity, and despair filled lands like these.
Heavenly virtues? Sin? Emotions? Kindness? What was the difference among them? It was all the same here, for all were still susceptible to the whispers.
They called to you. They persuaded you. They told you to just let go.
But don't—because maybe you want to, but don't.
Don't submit. For those beside you. For those who rely on you. For them, at least, don't.
Because if you do, a fate far worse than death awaits you—and them.
The trees in this realm were dark like the night, their leaves nonexistent, as they served no purpose here. Only the branches remained, raised upward as if worshipping an unknown deity—posed toward the sky in an eternal act of prayer or begging.
In this forest of delusional believers stood a cabin. It was made from the wood of those very trees, yet it looked refined and polished by the endless rain. Its roof bore a faint red tint.
The wet sound of boots against bloody mud echoed as a tall man of regal bearing, cloaked and imposing, walked toward the cabin.
His cloak thrashed wildly in the harsh wind. When he reached the door, he noticed it was open.
"Hm. Who broke in?"
He spoke calmly, his voice devoid of fear—as if nothing inside could possibly harm him.
"Bang!"
Lightning streaked across the sky as he opened the door. His tall figure cast a shadow over a much smaller one—that of a child.
The child looked about eight years old. It was huddled in a corner, clutching something tightly as blood dripped from its body onto the floor.
It had brown hair and brown eyes, holding the object against its head.
The figure looked at the child and slowly approached in a friendly manner.
He removed his cloak, revealing crimson eyes, serene white hair flowing long, and an angular face. Long eyelashes, defined eyebrows, and high cheekbones shaped features that blended masculine and feminine beauty in perfect balance. Yet his lean, built body and broad shoulders left no doubt—he was a man.
Still, he could probably pass for a woman if he wore a dress.
A gentle smile rested on his face as he crouched and extended his hand, offering solace and protection.
The child looked at the beautiful man, still terrified. It seemed beauty held no sway in this world, no matter how gentle it appeared.
"Mommy… I want mommy," it uttered, clutching the object tighter.
The man slowly looked down—
"Boom!"
Lightning struck again, illuminating the object.
It was a severed woman's head, bearing the same hair and eyes as the child.
Her eyes were wide open and peeled back. Her mouth hung obscenely ajar, and a strand of hair that did not belong to her lay near her lips.
Even after death, certain depravities did not stop.
The man's eyes remained soft. Though he may have been startled for a millisecond, he showed no sign of it—he had likely witnessed countless horrors in this hell.
"I want mommy…" the child repeated, tears falling from its dull, lifeless eyes.
As if sensing something wrong—something higher—the man's eyes glinted.
In a level tone, he said, "Don't listen to the whisper—"
Before he could finish, he noticed the child's corneas duplicating.
White sparks formed around his hand as a gray, marble-like zweihander materialized within it.
Without hesitation, the man plunged the blade into the child's head.
Oh, the gore—brain matter, bone fragments, and blood splattered everywhere, painting the black walls red.
"Ah… forgive me, little one," the man said as he stood, brushing back his hair. "This is mercy. And, well… I was tired."
He looked down once more.
"I'll loathe myself later for the loss of an innocent being. For now, let me clean this mess up."
Though mildly annoyed by the chaos, his face remained calm—filled with sorrow.
—— — — — — — — —
The benevolent light of the sun cast down upon a bright blue sky.
Victorian-era buildings and lampposts lined the streets. Trees looked joyful and lively, and the grass shone green.
Inside a two-story building near a bakery, an emaciated man with brown hair and blue eyes lay sprawled on the floor, appearing dead.
The marble tiles were littered with papers and documents.
His hair looked rough and unwashed, yet his coat was pristine white.
Suddenly, his body stirred. He awoke, confusion filling his expression as he took in his surroundings.
He sat up and picked up one of the papers, reading its contents with ease. The glint in his eyes shifted—now filled with awe.
He sprang to his feet, rushed to the window, and flung it open. A mad, love-struck smile spread across his face.
His sleep-deprived eyes brimmed with life as he looked out.
"I got reincarnated into my favorite novel!?"
He shouted like a madman.