The stone beneath the pillar rose on its own. Slowly, methodically, it lifted Chris as if he were weightless, though every nerve in his body screamed against the movement. His hands scraped against the metal, blood streaking the pillar, but the object did not waver, did not relent. The entity hovered silently, its shadow stretching impossibly long, black tendrils licking at the edges of the desert, swallowing even the fading sun.
Behind him, a sound rose a low, wet, grinding moan. Chris's stomach turned violently. He could see the faint outlines of his companions beneath the black shadow.
Juno.
Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated in terror. Bones bent unnaturally as invisible forces coiled around her body. She screamed, her voice breaking into a high, piercing wail as her limbs were twisted, crushed, and torn. Flesh and blood tore apart, the sand beneath her turning into a dark, viscous slurry of what had once been her life.
Malik.
He tried to move, tried to draw his weapon, but the same invisible hands wrapped around his spine and shoulders. The sound of cracking filled the desert, echoing unnaturally, as if the air itself mourned. His ribs caved inward one by one, organs rupturing in silence except for the gurgled, choking sounds that escaped him. He fell limp, leaving a stain that sizzled where it touched the blackened stone.
Lina.
Her scream was sharp, short, terrified. Her skin peeled in layers, revealing nothing but shadow beneath, and she clawed desperately at the ground, but the desert refused to release her. Her hands sank through the blackened sand, blood and darkness mixing as she vanished layer by layer into the stone itself.
Rafe.
The pillar's chain lashed out, wrapping around his chest and arms, pulling him toward the base. His eyes widened in disbelief, body contorting impossibly as if gravity had betrayed him. The chain constricted slowly, painfully, until he was nothing more than a hollowed shell, a lifeless husk that tumbled in the black sand, leaving only blood and sinew behind.
Chris's scream was torn from his throat, raw and ragged. He wanted to move, to fight, to stop it—but the pillar held him in place. His arms shook violently as he tried one last desperate pull, veins standing out like cords under his skin, muscles tearing beneath the strain. Every fiber of his body cried out, but the metal did not budge.
The entity spoke, its voice calm, almost clinical, though each word vibrated with the weight of inevitability.
"Do you see now, Ant?"
Chris could barely lift his head. He watched the last of his squad being erased before him, their lives snuffed out like candles in the wind.
"You are weak. Too weak to save them. Too weak to rise. Yet…"
The entity hovered closer, wings folding slightly, as if curious about the destruction it had wrought.
Chris's vision blurred with tears and blood. His chest heaved. Every breath burned. Every thought screamed in despair. He was broken.
He looked lifeless, a husk of the man who had walked into the desert hours ago. The desert's heat, the blood, the pain, the overwhelming sense of helplessness all of it weighed upon him.
The demon saw him and smiled, amused by the utter despair etched into his form.
"I don't have time to waste here," it said, its voice echoing without sound, filling his mind with cold, suffocating dread. "Since I'm done toying with you… you should also go and meet them."
Suddenly, Chris felt his body begin to vanish. Every limb, every scar, every drop of blood evaporated from existence. His life flashed before him—moments of struggle, of hope, of trivial happiness but the only pain that pierced through was the image of his helpless squad, the echoes of their screams, the futility of failing to save them. His mind screamed, but there was no one to hear it.
What a useless body.
What a useless life.
And then, darkness consumed him completely.
Chris opened his eyes.
He was no longer human. Not fully. Not in shape, not in form. The desert, the pillar, the blood it was gone. A pitch-black void stretched infinitely in every direction, pressing against him, cold and absolute.
He spoke aloud, though his voice sounded hollow even to himself. "Is this the afterlife…? What a sad life to leave behind. To die so… uselessly. To fail when it mattered most…"
Memories flooded him: the first gate, his family, his failures, the fleeting victories that now seemed insignificant. He imagined the people he had loved, the friends he had sworn to protect, and felt the emptiness of it all. The despair was absolute. There was no warmth, no comfort. Only the echo of loss and futility.
The darkness shifted. From it, a figure emerged. Chris could not see the face. Its features were hidden, obscured by a shadow that seemed solid yet impossibly delicate. Yet even from this distance, Chris could feel its authority. Its presence radiated power, command, and wisdom beyond comprehension.
It was seated on a throne, a crown resting atop its head, a gleaming halo of light that framed it like the sun itself. The throne was carved from a substance that looked like obsidian and gold fused together, intricate patterns crawling across its surface, almost alive. The entity's body was bathed in divine light that cut through the blackness around them, radiating power and calm in equal measure.
Chris stared, feeling a hollow emptiness in himself. He had been erased from life, but somehow, some part of him remained a spark, faint but stubborn. His limbs ached with memories of failure, his mind throbbed with the horror of what he had witnessed, and yet he was here, before this divine figure.
"My fate as a human was miserable," Chris said finally, voice raw. "To live, only to die without power, without strength, without even the chance to protect those I care about…"
The figure tilted its head, as if studying him. Its light did not falter, its gaze piercing the very core of his being.
"I am not here to harm you, Chris," it said finally, voice deep, resonant, carrying a weight that made the void itself tremble.
Chris swallowed, still trembling. "Then… what do you want from me? And who are you?"
"You do not need to know now," the figure replied. "Moreover, you are not in any afterlife at all. This is not your end. This… is a place of potential."
Chris frowned. "Potential? You mean… you can bring me back? Resurrect me?"
"Yes," the figure said simply. "But with a condition. You can return to your world, to life, but only if you grow stronger. You may live, but only through your own effort."
Chris's mind raced. "You know how weak I am… and you expect me to become stronger? How…?"
"You do not need to worry about weakness," the entity said. "That is your current condition, not your future. There is an opportunity here, one that must be earned. But it will not be easy. Nothing of value ever is."
Chris hesitated. His chest ached with the memory of his friends, of failure, of the desert and the demon. He wanted to collapse into despair again, to surrender to nothingness.
The figure's crown glinted, each jewel a miniature sun, each ray of light a silent command. "What is your condition? Nothing is free. You understand this."
Chris swallowed, blood and saliva mixing in his mouth. He clenched his fists. "I… I accept. I will take responsibility. I will not remain what I was. I will bear whatever burden is necessary."
The figure inclined its head slightly, and with a single motion, extended a finger toward him. A stream of golden light shot from its fingertip, striking Chris in the center of his forehead. Heat and energy flooded him instantly, surging through every fiber, every memory, every broken hope.
He screamed not in pain, but in the overwhelming sensation of being remade, of possibility stretching before him like a horizon he had never dared to imagine.
Then, just as suddenly, both he and the golden light disappeared.
The void remained silent.
The figure spoke one final time, its voice a low whisper that carried like a drumbeat in Chris's mind.
"There is not much time left. You need to grow… faster."
And with that, the darkness swallowed him completely, leaving nothing but anticipation and the raw, unformed potential of a new life, a new strength, and a new path filled with paintffddswsswwwasç, determination, and the weight of all he had lost.