People revel and live in terror of the concept of hell, eternally entranced by the possibility and faith in its existence.
People want to believe in the concept of karma and natural justice but,
How can one ever wish something so horrible on another man?
How can infinite punishment for a finite crime be just?
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One step, two steps. Reginn enters the city once again, different from the Reginn of yesterday. He plugs his nose, the filthy stench of demons still present in the air. However, he had promised to Elem that he would give the modern Avangarden — not the demons — a chance to prove the worth of its system. His brother told him that diversity was strength, but Reginn still could not comprehend how any positives would outweigh this stench.
In order to forget this smell, he focuses on other things.
The sound of footsteps, conversations.
The smell of freshly brewed brown drinks.
Small rings and jingles from strange electronic devices.
He is a sensitive person in all senses. Reginn sees more than others, smells more than others and hears more than others. This is a gift from the Goddess as well as a curse, a burden for him to bear for the rest of eternity. No one will ever understand his perspective, and he is unsure whether he will understand anyone else.
The guards switch shifts with his friend.
A bird lands atop the city wall, its nest bound between the bricks.
Sound of screaming.
Reginn turns to face the source, no others following his lead. This is something only he can hear — a part of his curse. He walks closer. It is an apartment building, standing tall around eight floors.
Sound of fear, whimpers, pain.
The law of privacy — no such thing existed for Reginn for he is the all-encompassing justice. He is the incarnation of the brutalities humans have craved for — that the Goddess craved for. He is a weapon to smash the enemies’ skulls, to execute criminals. A primal instinct rises within him, and his eye unconsciously enters mana vision.
Two, no three humans. One male, one female, one a child. A timeless domestic tale, he has seen this play a dozen times. Of course, there are alcoholic substances present, a gift of the Goddess misused — though there are also some other foreign medications, perhaps the work of a demon.
To draw blood is the simplest solution, and the simplest solutions tend to be the best.
Reginn concentrates his mind on the mana of the male human. Since it is not a magical creature and does not have much control over mana, it is elementary to take authority over his mana flow.
It is like blood and air, it circulates through your body. It reflects emotion and the state of mind, but it can also affect them.
“Fall”
A chaotic movement of mana, it cannot comprehend it. The mana moves like a torrent, a raging sea full of anger and despair. This is a god’s wrath, and it brought the human to his knees. However, it is not yet over.
After letting the human revel in pain for a few minutes — a new kind of pain it had never felt before, a feeling in their bones, their skin, their muscle, their brain. Shattering, shaking, ripping, burning, shocking. Then he simply turned all mana particles in its body to iron, instantly killing it.
The body of the victim is filled with a million small iron spheres, oriented in a chaotic wave. The child and the woman freeze, then push against the wall as if the corpse is a danger to them in any way. They do not scream, and the mother immediately contacts the authorities and her child.
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Reginn does not feel particular vindiction or rage against the man, but a sense of duty. This was what he had done in the past, and he will do so as long as there is evil in this world.
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No reply.
Sivrit wasn’t too worried then, it was the morning after all. Perhaps Attila was getting ready for her training, or eating breakfast.
It was only when she received the news from an officer that she realized.
Sivrit simply stood still.
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Sivrit did not leave the house that day, and Ayn stayed with her, worried for her wellbeing.
Attila had been killed, or so it was equivalent.
Possessed, but all those possessed before had perished.
Even worse, Attila’s mother…
Sivrit threw up a bit in her mouth. She felt sick to her stomach.
Attila possessed, had killed her own mother.
Sivrit wondered how Attila’s father must feel.
Three knocks on the door.
“Sivrit…? Could I come in?”
Her father called her ‘Sivrit’ instead of ‘Siv’, a rare serious expression on his face.
“...Attila’s father called. He’s… Well, he’s my dear friend, so he’ll be staying here for a bit. I just wanted to let you know.”
No reply, only a nod.
Sivrit’s father noticed dried tears on his daughter’s face. His heart squeezed and his entire body felt heavy, but he still found strength to at least offer some tissue.
“...We should trust in the authority and the royals. Your friend Attila, there’s still some hope—”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Gram could not think of any words. Was this the limit of language, or simply his personal limit of connection between a father and daughter? No matter how many times they spoke, ate together, laughed together, and cried together, he knew in his heart that people were complex, and it would be impossible to understand his daughter completely. He knew better than most but still knew so little. What did she need? What was the best thing he could do right now?
Silently, Gram embraced his daughter. There were no tears, as the well had dried up.
As he looked back at his daughter one last time before leaving the room, Gram could tell that she would never forget this moment. A loss of a friend, another victim of a million to evil. Death was as common in this era, and he had hoped his daughter would experience few and far between, but fate was a devil.
The father noticed Ayn and kept the door open. Perhaps a girl of her age would understand his daughter better. Even though they met recently, it seemed that she had inherited his genetics for making friends quickly. It was a good thing in this cold, cold world.
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“...Are you alright?”
The same question. The answer is obvious, and the same every time. However, you do not feel annoyance, anger, or sadness. You feel nothing. You have burnt to ashes, nothing left to burn.
“...I believe that Reginn and I may have been brought here for a specific reason, and it is fate that brought us to you.” said Ayn, “Please, let us help. I believe we can still save your friend.”
You turn to face Ayn. In this distorted state of mind, you cannot quite understand his expression. It is foggy. Pity? Confidence? Sadness? Was it approporiate or inapproporiate? You cannot tell.
“I know you won’t remember everything I say to you now, but I fully believe in your faith for justice now. It isn’t stupid, it isn’t illogical — because we’re here. Heroes are here exactly to fulfill the wishes of the people — to bring justice, that is the purpose of our existence. You said whether justice is true or not doesn’t matter, only your faith in it, but you don’t have to lie to yourself anymore.”
Ayn walks toward the curtain, and opens it wide, allowing the morning light to enter the room, flooding it with warmth and brightness. You initially guard against the blinding light, but you can then see the hero’s silhouette.
“In the name of the Goddess, I promise to return your friend!”
You thought that the well was dry, but it seems that you were wrong.
You empty your heart, finally removing yourself from burdens.
You are not alone,
The sun shines bright today.