"Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, you damn idiot!" Our protagonist berated herself internally. "You just had to screw up and go after him, huh? Damn idiot!"

The woman, now blind, numb, and devoid of scent, sighed internally. Trapped in her own thoughts for so long, she had already lost her mind.

Whether days, weeks, months, or years had passed since her death, she didn’t know. Stuck in an endless dark void, unable to move, speak, or even sleep, her only companion was her own spiraling thoughts and delusions.

Once a citizen of the modern era, with access to every imaginable stimulus on the internet, she had crumbled under the weight of boredom, reduced to praying to every deity she knew of—and some she didn’t.

It was torture. Who would have thought that the absolute nothingness, the lack of companionship and stimulation, would be the most excruciating thing of all?

How could someone who had barely paid attention to others in life know she'd miss hearing another person's voice so desperately?

She should have valued her friends and family more.

---

"Eenie, meenie, miney... ugh, how does it go again?" The woman pouted internally, unable to recall the childhood rhyme she was trying to use to distract herself from yet another... well, however long it had been in the void.

By now, it hardly mattered. Her mind had fractured to the point of near irreparability after spending so long in that place.

It wasn’t that she’d forgotten who she was—she still remembered, but... she just struggled to connect herself to the memories in her head, to recall details clearly.

No, the real issue was distinguishing which memories were real and which were altered. Did she actually bite that robber’s neck? Or was it just a scratch?

She wanted to die. But she was already dead.

After all the times she joked about going to hell, now that she was actually there... all she wanted was for it to end, for some god to forgive her.

---

Elizabeth. That had been her name once. She was a quiet girl, calm but far too withdrawn, never standing out, never getting close to anyone, never attaching herself to anything except her cursed smartphone.

Elizabeth didn’t like Elizabeth.

She preferred to be anyone else, so eventually, Elizabeth stopped making up stories about herself and started pretending she was Percy Jackson—a darker version, one who didn’t bow to the gods, one who knew he was terrifying, powerful.

But eventually, that grew boring too—being so strong, so divine. So, she became Harry Potter instead—hunted, manipulated, but destined to turn the tables on both Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Then Issei Hyoudou. Then Dean Winchester. Then Sung Jin-Woo, Katniss Everdeen, Luxanna Crownguard, and any other character she could think of.

Their worlds seemed so exciting... but in the end, even that lost its appeal. Even that became dull.

---

"So, I approached him, sorrowful over what I was about to do, yet certain it was necessary for victory. Today, a Master would kill their own Servant..."

And then, as Elizabeth entertained her delusions, the void trembled for the first time, shattering the illusions she had built in her mind.

Her thoughts froze for a second.

What was that? A new kind of illusion? Could she delude herself so thoroughly that the void trembled? Could she imagine a beach? Maybe that was possible too?

But then, again, the void trembled, and for the first time in forever... Elizabeth felt something.

A pressure enveloped her entire body, squeezing her in a viscous, wet embrace.

This was real.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The void was moving.

Her torture had changed.

Her hell had changed.

Thank you.

Thank you, whoever you are.

Thank you.

As she prayed, cried, and expressed gratitude internally, the void continued to quake.

And then... light.

A face—a beautiful face with thin, weary features, white hair clinging to a forehead, and heterochromatic eyes.

Elizabeth's eyes blinked, a faint, confused sound escaping her lips, unrecognizable even to her, as she gazed at the stunning woman holding her.

The woman’s mouth moved, words spilling out in a familiar language, yet one Elizabeth couldn’t understand.

Then another person, a man this time, with crimson eyes, reached out and lifted Elizabeth’s body into the air, a wide grin on his face.

And in that moment, Elizabeth understood one thing—a name.

Bell Cranel.

She blinked, confused, uncomprehending.

How did this man lift her? Was he a giant? Who was he? Who was the beautiful woman? Where was she? Why were they speaking Japanese?

Before she could process anything, a sound escaped her lips—a deep wail that filled the man’s eyes with worry and panic, prompting the woman to speak again.

And then, she realized.

A baby was crying.

She was crying.

...Eh?

...Eeeeh?!

---

Two small eyes blinked in the darkness, red as the most beautiful rose.

A child, no older than three, stood staring at the stars through a window.

Three years.

Three long years had passed since she had reincarnated into this world—three years since she met her new mother for the first time, three years since she was finally freed from the void.

She was no longer Elizabeth. Hell, she wasn’t even a “she” anymore, having been reincarnated as none other than Bell Cranel.

Not that she was complaining. Anything was better than returning to the void, but seriously, of all names, Bell?

No, no. This wouldn’t stand. The plan was already in motion. By the end of this story, she’d be Bellphegor, not Bell!

Demon names are outdated? Tell that to people named after inanimate objects!

Ah, back to the point—he had reincarnated! And even better, into the Danmachi universe, where, you know, monsters, adventurers, and gods roamed free.

Yeah, he was screwed.

At least he was the protagonist... right?

...Yeah, no. No love for Ais. No broken buffs.

He was doomed in every sense of the word. His parents had died, his aunt and uncle were destined to attack Orario in a few years and die in a futile attempt to create a hero to defeat the One-Eyed Black Dragon.

It was almost ironic. In his past life, he hadn’t valued his family. In this life, they were dead before he even had the chance to know them.

At least he still had old Zeus. As strange and perverted as he was, he was still a good grandfather.

And a surprisingly attentive one, at that.

Zeus knew what Bellphegor was—a reincarnated soul. He understood that something had happened, that the boy needed constant stimulation to avoid spiraling, so he kept him entertained—whether through stories or even manipulating tiny sparks of lightning in his hands.

He didn’t judge Bellphegor for who he was, for his problems, for his fears.

He simply stayed. He became his family.

---

— Well, well, if it isn’t a little boy up past his bedtime! — Suddenly, hands grabbed Bellphegor under his arms, lifting him into the air. He let out a surprised noise before starting to giggle softly.

— Oh no! The evil thunder god has caught me! — he said dramatically, his words clumsy in his childish voice.

—Hmph, I’m not evil! I am justice! And justice says you should be in bed, young man! —

The boy pouted as the old man pulled him close, lightly tickling his thin frame.

— That’s... that’s... that’s not fair! I’m not sleepy yet! — Bellphegor protested, unable to come up with a quick argument against the so-called villain.

— Hahaha! Life isn’t fair, little hero. Now, are you going to tell me what’s keeping you up, or do I have to tickle it out of you? —

The boy stayed silent at those words, leaning closer and hiding his face in the old man’s neck.

The old man waited patiently, adjusting his grip to hold the child more comfortably.

And, as always, it wasn’t long before the boy’s soft voice reached his old ears.

— I’m scared, Grandpa, — he said, his Rs still slightly slurred. — This world is scary, dangerous, and I’m not. —

The old man just listened, quietly comforting the boy with his hand.

— I know this world’s future, and I know Bell was supposed to save it. But I’m not Bell, so everything must be ruined now because there’s no hero, and I can’t be the hero, Grandpa. I can’t replace Bell. —

The boy knew it wasn’t entirely true—that he had already replaced Bell in some way. But the fear still consumed him. Without Liars Freese, how could he stop the Dragon?

The old man absorbed the boy’s words. He’d heard of the world’s fate before from the boy’s lips but never truly understood how Bellphegor felt about the world he was reincarnated into—or the future he was supposed to save

He sighed.

— Kid… you're overthinking this. It's true you're not Bell… but Bellphegor, no one ever said you have to be him, that you have to follow his path, — The man said, his voice tinged with weariness. — No one ever said you can't be the hero, that you can't forge your own path in this world. —

— But if I fail, this world will end. I'll die again, and I'll go back there again — the boy said, his voice trembling with fear.

— Hahaha, that won’t happen, my boy. It’s true, you’ll have to take risks, face your fear of death, and maybe even die. But this world will never end. The gods above and below wouldn’t allow it, — the man said, his voice suddenly growing serious, charged with something powerful, like a thunderclap in the air. — And my grandson, listen to your grandpa carefully: I will never, NEVER, let you suffer something that cruel again, even if I have to steal your soul back from that place myself. —

The boy whimpered into the old man’s neck but nodded. He was still afraid, terrified of dying and returning to that void. But at the same time, he knew—by the gods, he knew—that he couldn't let fear chain him, that he didn't have to be shackled by a novel that didn’t even have an ending by Elizabeth's death.

He could forge his own path. He didn’t need to be Bell. He didn’t need to be the hero.

He just needed to live.