When I was just five, life swung its hammer. My dad—my hero, my laughter-maker—got sick. Not a sniffle or a cough; it was the kind of sickness that steals people away. He left me with questions—big ones, like why the sky was blue and where dreams went when we woke up. But no answers. Just an empty chair at the kitchen table. His death left a gaping hole in my life, one that I could never fill. I never got to know what it felt like to have a father, never felt his love or guidance. The void he left was immense, and it shadowed my every step.

Seven candles on my birthday cake, and my mom pulled her own disappearing act. Maybe she had a secret door to another world, or maybe she just got tired of ours. Either way, she left me with a hollow chest and a house that echoed like a lonely cave. I'd sit on the stairs, waiting for her footsteps, but they never came. All I knew was that she was gone, and I was utterly alone.

My grandparents shuffled in, all wrinkles and sensible shoes. They fed me—soup, mostly—and gave me a bed. But love? Nah, that was a foreign language to them. They spoke "practical": how to fold laundry, how to fix a leaky faucet. But they never taught me how to mend a broken heart.

By ten, my friends were like sand slipping through my fingers. We used to build castles together, but they wandered off to other shores. I sat alone in the schoolyard, watching their laughter from a distance. The world felt cold, there was no one to guide me, no one to tell me when I was doing something wrong. I was lost and alone, wandering through a world that seemed to have no place for me.

When I turned twelve, the loneliness became unbearable. I would often sit by the window, watching other children play with their parents, feeling a pang of envy and sorrow. My grandparents, though well-meaning, were distant and cold. They didn't understand the emotional turmoil I was going through. I started to withdraw into myself, creating an impenetrable shell around my heart.

At thirteen, I discovered books. They became my escape, my sanctuary. I would lose myself in stories of heroes and adventures, imagining a life far removed from my own. But even in the pages of those books, I couldn't escape the gnawing emptiness inside me.

Fifteen candles flickered on my grandfather's coffin.. His death was another blow, another reminder of the fragility of life. A year later, my grandmother followed him. They left me the house and my parents' inheritance, but it felt hollow. I survived on that money, but I felt more alone than ever.

Seventeen—the age of boiling anger. I hated myself for being helpless, my parents for leaving, and my grandparents for being more like statues than family. But most of all, I hated the world. It felt like a bully, kicking me when I was already down. Colors faded; life turned gray.

And then, on my 18th birthday. I was just a guy, minding my own business, when life decided to throw a curveball. You know, the kind that smacks you right in the gut and leaves you gasping for air.. I stood in a pizza line, and there she was—a girl with hungry eyes, craving a slice. She counted her coins, falling short.

I could see the sadness in her eyes as she realized she didn't have enough. She must have loved pizza so much; it was clear in the way she looked at it. I recognized that sadness because I had felt it too many times before.

Without thinking, I stepped forward and handed her the money she was missing. Her eyes widened in shock, then filled with happiness. She thanked me profusely and promised to repay me someday. In that moment, for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of warmth in my heart. It was a small act, but it made my heart race. Unable to find the words, I simply nodded and left immediately.

Coming back home that day, I couldn't sleep. Thoughts of her consumed me until exhaustion finally took hold. The next day, I returned to the restaurant, hoping to see her again. I didn't want her to repay me; I just wanted to see her face. But she wasn't there.

As I stood in line and my turn came, I ordered the usual. While handing the money to the cashier, another hand reached out before mine, paying for my meal. I turned around, and there she was—a girl with beautiful yellow hair that shone like the sun. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and her smooth, fair skin had a gentle blush. She had a warm, inviting smile and said, "I told you I would repay you, didn't I?" Then she smiled, revealing her white teeth.

I stood in front of her, shocked. In that moment, she added her favorite—a Margherita pizza—to my meal and reserved a table for two. It felt like time stopped. She took my hand and said, "Let's take this table," then gently led me to it. As we waited for the food to arrive, she introduced herself, "I'm Cinthya," she said. "And what's your name?"

With every word that came out of my mouth as I answered with my name, I started to see colors. We talked and talked, ate, and talked some more. I had never spoken this much with anyone before. She read me like an open book. I felt something I had never felt before. I didn't even know this emotion existed. Is this what they call.....

Two years have passed since that unforgettable day. I remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. I was 18, lost in a world that seemed to have no place for me. Then, I met Cinthya. She was a beacon of light in my dark, chaotic life. We met at a small café, where she worked part-time. Her smile was the first thing that caught my attention, a smile that seemed to promise warmth and kindness.

We started talking, and soon, our conversations became the highlight of my days. She had this incredible ability to make me feel seen and understood. Slowly, we grew closer, sharing our dreams, fears, and secrets. She learned about my troubled past, the pain and betrayal I had endured, and yet, she chose to stay. Her acceptance and love were like a soothing balm to my wounded soul.

Now, at 20 years old, Cinthya lives with me. We've fallen deeply in love with each other. Every day, I wake up to her smile, feeling a warmth that I never knew existed. Our bond has grown stronger with each passing moment, filled with shared laughter and memories. I love her more than words can express. She is my confidante, my partner, my everything. Despite knowing all my flaws and imperfections, she loves me unconditionally. I often find myself wondering how I got to have her in my life.

Until one day, she asked, "Do you want to have a baby?" A wave of shock hit me like a tidal wave. In that moment, my entire life flashed before my eyes like an old videotape. I saw myself, I saw how this world had treated me, and I saw how I had grown to despise its tricks and deceptions. I couldn't bear the thought of bringing a child into this world.

"No," I said firmly, my face set like stone. Her eyes filled with sadness. "Don't you want to start a family?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The only family I have is you and no one else," I replied, my voice softening. She looked at me, confused and hurt. "Why?" she whispered, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I hadn't seen her this sad since the day she was short on money at the restaurant. If I could, I would take back what I was about to say, but the words were already forming on my lips. "Do you desire to burden others with suffering and justify their pain by their existence?

"What?" she gasped, her face a mix of shock and sorrow, her eyes widening as if she had been struck.

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"Don't you see?" I pleaded, my voice desperate, trying to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding between us.

"I don't understand," she replied, her voice trembling, her confusion palpable.

"Life is just a circle of pain and regret imposed on us," I said, my words heavy with the weight of my own despair.

She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief, her lips quivering. "You can't just blame others for existing. It's your responsibility to shape your own destiny," she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and determination.

"No, it's not," I yelled, my voice echoing with the pain I had carried for so long.

She took a step closer, her eyes filled with a fierce resolve. "No one forces you to suffer; it's your choices and how you view life that matter. We're not just living out the desires of those who came before us," she insisted, her voice breaking but her spirit unyielding.

I continued, my voice growing firmer, my eyes darkening with the shadows of my past. "Do you deny the existence of pain in life?" I paused, my breath catching. "This world won't let you," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I know because…"

She interrupted me, her voice trembling, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We are independent beings, capable of breaking any cycle of pain and redefining our existence by our will!" she yelled, her voice cracking with emotion.

My voice tinged with bitterness, my face darkened with the weight of my convictions. "But non-existence seems better than existence because it spares us from pain." I forced a smile, a hollow gesture. "Life is full of suffering, so why should we prolong it when non-existence is our ultimate destination?"

Her tears fell, each drop a testament to her heartbreak. "How could you…" she whispered, her voice breaking, before she turned and left.

I know silence; I have lived with it. But the silence when she left was different, eerie. It was a silence that echoed with the absence of her presence, a void that swallowed the room whole. The air felt heavy, as if it was mourning her departure.

My worst mistake was not the words I said, nor my understanding of the situation. My worst mistake was that I didn't follow her right away when she left. I stood there, paralyzed by my own stubbornness and fear, watching the door close behind her.

Because after she left, within only a minutes, a shock wave struck the whole earth. It was as if the universe itself had responded to our argument, a cataclysmic event that mirrored the turmoil inside me. The ground shook violently, windows shattered, and the sky darkened as if night had fallen prematurely.

In those moments of chaos, I realized the true depth of my mistake. The world outside was crumbling, but the real devastation was the loss of her. The shock wave was a physical manifestation of the emotional earthquake that had just torn through my life.

I rushed outside, my heart pounding, desperate to find her amidst the destruction. But she was gone, lost in the chaos, and I was left to face the consequences of my words and actions alone.

Demoralized, I hated this world even more. Each passing day brought more problems, more destruction, and more hate. Powers began to appear, and people went mad. War erupted, and many died. For what?

I couldn't understand if it was the world or humanity that shaped this chaos. Every day I woke up, I found a hundred reasons to be angry, and humans were at the center of them all. The more the days passed, the more problems arose, the more destruction occurred, and the more my anger grew.

I searched and searched for her, but she was nowhere to be found. I feared she had died, especially after hearing about an organization called Heaven. They capture people, subject them to something inhumane, and then they either die or turn into an Anathema. I didn't know why or how, but it wasn't human.

Human… could I even call myself that anymore? Whenever I got mad, my hand morphos into a long sword, a grotesque extension of my arm. It was a massive, blade-like appendage with a sleek, dark surface marred by veins that pulsed with molten lava, dripping ominously from the sharp, elongated edge.

The more the days passed, the more problems arose, the more destruction occurred, and the more lava dripped from every vein I had.

Hate and wrath grew more each year. My blood boiled.

They came for me. I killed many, and they killed many. But I was stronger. I survived, and they did not.

Ten years have passed. No more days, no more problems, only destruction. Only anathemas wander. Conscience is dead, and only my hate and wrath keep me alive. I am now a red man walking.

I walked until I found an anathema with a massive horde, an anathema so dark it devoured light. I was intrigued. Would this be the end of my torment, or just another chapter in my endless suffering? the same as the last ten years?

I followed it, my mind racing with thoughts of the impending battle. Just as I was about to strike, a footstep and a voice stopped me. "She's alive," he said. "I see you both together, holding hands, growing old until death takes you both."

For a moment, hope flickered within me, but it was quickly extinguished by a surge of anger and hate. My body pulsed with crimson veins, radiating heat like molten lava. The air around me shimmered with the intensity of my rage.

With my gaze fixed on the approaching horde, I demanded, "Do you blame the world? Or is it the hearts of humankind that bear the blame for all of this?"

He replied calmly, "I blame no one, not even you. It's those who lurk in the shadows who are to blame."

I felt a pang of recognition as I responded, "I, too, slipped through the shadows, drawn by an inexplicable urge."

He then added, his voice calm yet powerful, "With this power, I still see the good in you. Even if it is a curse, even if it brought you to where you are now, life is still waiting for you to accept it."

His words ignited a fury within me that I had never felt before. My hand morphed into its monstrous form, claws extending and muscles bulging. I turned to him, my eyes blazing with rage, and declared, "The burden of this cursed power—let me relieve you of all of it."

As I struck him, the sound of our clash echoed through the air, a sharp hiss as our blades met. His hands had transformed into claw-like blades, shielding him from my attack. His eyes shone a brilliant blue, piercing through the darkness. Who is this man?

He then said, his voice unwavering, "Accept life and she'll accept you."

When he said that, my mind went blank. For a moment, my entire life flashed before my eyes. I saw the moments of joy, the pain, the love I had found and lost. I really lived life when I met her, huh… I'll do anything, anything to have her back.

I then said, my voice filled with bitterness, "You hold on to a world that crumbles, cursed one." I paused, then asked one last question, "What is your name?"

At that moment, he seemed shocked. His hands returned to their normal form, and his eyes softened, looking almost human.

I warned him, my voice low and menacing, "You won't bear the torment you'll bring upon yourself."

Then, for the first time in a long while, I broke into laughter. It was a sound that felt foreign to me, yet liberating. "Very well…" I said, turning to face the horde that awaited.

For a whole hour, I sliced through them with ease. I aimed for their leader, but their numbers were overwhelming. They protected him fiercely, devouring the light as they approached me. My wrath intensified, causing the lava to drip even more. I was bathed in red as I cut through them, determined to reach their leader. An imposing Anathema, towering twenty feet tall, stood before me. Twisted horns crowned its head, glinting menacingly. Its eyes burned with fiery red intensity, piercing the night. I cut its leg, and it fell, roaring in agony. The horde converged on it, fusing with it, morphing into a shadow that fled from me. But I followed; it wouldn't escape.

With every ounce of strength, I struck it. Shadows and people exploded outward, pushing me away.

I stood up, surrounded by lifeless bodies. They were like me—unable to grieve, unable to feel sorrow.

I looked up at the sky. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Were my eyes watering? Then I saw something—a body with yellow hair. Could it be…?

I approached and gently turned her over. My eyes were indeed watering, tears falling but evaporating on my cheeks.

Cinthya... is this really....

Right at that moment, a light appeared in the sky. My anger surged, and the lava within me stilled.

I cradled her and walked towards the beam of light. With each step, I began to see colors beyond red.

With each step, my heart started to beat again.

We reached a city with towering walls and a gate. At the gate, I met a man. "Help her… please," I begged.

He extended his hand, and a glowing shard emerged.

I followed it to a building. I climbed to the fifth floor, which seemed equipped with medical supplies. The shard led me to a room, and I followed, holding my life in my arms.

Inside, I saw a woman. Once more, I pleaded, "Please, help her… she's…"

At that moment, I looked at Cinthya. Her eyes opened, glowing red. But wait, her eyes were supposed to be green.