“I want to kill myself.

Why do I hold on?

Because I fear the pain? Fear that I might regret it? Because I don’t want to hurt others?

Maybe it’s the hope, no matter how small, that things might get better? Or is it just instinct—this primal urge to survive that claws at me even when everything feels pointless? Is it the fear of what comes after… the unknown?

Am I too scared to leave behind the things I know? The people, the places, the memories... even if they’re broken? Or am I afraid of being forgotten, like I never even existed? What if this—this endless, hollow aching—is all that’s left to prove that I was ever here at all?

Maybe it’s the guilt. The thought that if I let go, I’d be abandoning the few who still care, leaving them with questions and pain that would never heal. They’d never understand why, because I don’t understand it either.

Am I clinging to some illusion of control? That by staying alive, I have the power to end it whenever I want, but I choose not to? Does that make me strong or just a coward who’s too weak to finish it?

Because it’s too risky? Because I might fail?

Or is it just the sheer exhaustion of it all? Holding on because it's easier than the final plunge, because I've spent so long hanging on this edge that letting go seems like more effort than I can muster.”

Cav stared into the dark, his hands trembling as he clutched his knees to his chest. The thoughts circled like vultures, slow, deliberate, waiting for him to break. He was so close now. The abyss beneath him whispered promises of peace, of an end to this ceaseless weight pressing on his chest, this emptiness that swallowed his heart whole.

Yet something held him back. Not hope, not anymore. Whatever had been left of that was long gone, scattered in the wind like the ashes of all the dreams he’d once had. No, it was something else. Something he couldn’t name, some invisible thread that bound him to this world just enough to keep him breathing, even if every breath felt like a betrayal.

His mind wandered, pulling him deeper into the void. Each thought was heavy, dragging him down. He was tired—so tired of fighting. It felt like he was drowning, yet the surface was just out of reach. Always there, but never close enough to touch.

He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling, as if the answer could be found in the cracks and shadows there. Why did he hold on? What was left for him here? What was he afraid of losing, really?

He didn’t know anymore.

But the worst part—the part that kept gnawing at him—was that he was almost ready. He could feel it, like a weight lifting ever so slightly. The familiar ache wasn’t enough to keep him tethered anymore, and the thread that held him here was fraying.

Cav closed his eyes, feeling the cool air against his skin, trying to find a reason, any reason to stay. And for a moment, there was nothing.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe nothing was all that was left for him.

And yet… still… he held on.

But for how long?

Cav sat in silence, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He barely noticed the sound of heavy footsteps approaching until they stopped right beside him.

“Why the hell are you sitting here like that?” a voice growled, rough and angry.

Cav looked up, blinking against the sudden harshness of the words. A man stood there, his eyes burning with fury. His clothes were torn and dirty, his knuckles bruised and bloodied—the kind of guy who had been through one too many fights and came out the other side with nothing but rage.

“What’s it matter to you?” Cav muttered, exhaustion evident in his voice.

The man spat on the ground and let out a bitter laugh. “Because you look like you’ve already given up. Like the rest of these cowards,” he snarled, waving his hand dismissively at the dark alley around them. “You think the world gives a damn if you sit here and rot? Nah. The world’ll just take everything from you and keep going like you never mattered at all.”

Cav could feel the anger rolling off him in waves. “And what’s your point?”

“My point?” The man leaned in closer, his voice low and venomous. “You think if you die, the pain stops? You think the world feels anything for you? No. It just takes. Takes and takes, until there's nothing left. So why the hell should we sit back and let it? Why shouldn’t we take it all back? Why shouldn’t we make them suffer like we did?”

Cav felt something stir inside him. It wasn’t agreement or understanding—it was something colder. “And then what? What do you get out of it? Revenge?”

“Damn right,” the man hissed. “If I can’t have anything, neither should they. I’ll burn this whole world down, if I have to.”

Cav stared at him, the silence between them growing thick with tension. “And when it’s all gone? What’s left?”

The man’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, Cav saw something beneath the anger—a hollow emptiness, not unlike his own. But it was quickly buried again under layers of rage.

“What do I care? If I’m gonna go out, I’m gonna go out fighting. Not lying down, not giving up. You can sit here and cry about it all you want, but me? I’m taking the fight to them. To the ones who think they can take everything from us and get away with it.”

Cav shook his head slowly, weariness deepening his voice. “That fight… it’ll never end. The world won’t stop, no matter how many bridges you burn.”

The man sneered. “And you’re just gonna sit there and let it take everything? You’re pathetic.”

“Maybe,” Cav said quietly. “But I’m not about to destroy what little’s left just because it’s broken.”

The man glared at him, fists clenched tight, but something in Cav’s words made him hesitate. He turned away abruptly, muttering under his breath. “Whatever. Stay here and die, if that’s what you want. Me? I’ve got bigger plans.”

Cav couldn’t help but ask, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Ziho,” the man spat, as if it were a curse.

“Cav,” he replied, trying to mask his weariness with a hint of defiance. “And good luck with those plans, Ziho.”

Ziho shot him a final glare, then disappeared into the shadows, leaving Cav to ponder the weight of the world pressing down on him once more.

Cav watched as Ziho stalked away, the fire of anger still crackling in his eyes. Something compelled Cav to follow him, an urge to understand the rage that fueled this man. He trailed behind, keeping to the shadows, observing the chaos that unfolded as Ziho moved through the alleys of the city.

As they turned a corner, Cav saw Ziho confront a group of street vendors—men and women trying to make a living in this harsh world. Ziho's voice cut through the air like a knife. “You think you can just sit here and profit off the misery of others?” he snarled, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The vendors recoiled, their expressions shifting from confusion to fear.

Before Cav could process what was happening, Ziho lunged forward, knocking over a cart of fruit. The vendors scrambled to gather their goods as Ziho's laughter echoed in the alley, a harsh sound devoid of joy. “You want to take from us? Let’s see how it feels when you have nothing!”

Cav's heart raced as he watched Ziho's actions unfold. He wanted to intervene, to stop the violence, but something rooted him in place. He realized that this was the darkness he had sensed in Ziho—a desperation to strike back against those who dared to hold power over him.

But the moment didn’t linger; Ziho continued down the alley, and Cav followed, his resolve hardening.

They soon reached a more crowded section of the city, where a group of gang members loitered, their laughter ringing out in the cool air. Ziho approached them, his eyes glinting with a mix of anger and challenge. “You think you’re tough?” he spat, stepping forward. “I’ve seen your kind bully the weak, and I’m not standing for it anymore.”

The gang members turned, surprise morphing into amusement. “Look at this guy,” one of them jeered, stepping forward. “What are you gonna do? You’re outnumbered, and you’re alone.”

Ziho didn’t flinch; he squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. “I’m here to make sure you know what real pain feels like.”

With that, the confrontation erupted. Ziho threw the first punch, connecting with a gang member’s jaw. Cav watched, his heart pounding as he saw the man take a brutal beating from the four attackers. But Ziho didn’t crumble. He fought back, each blow fueled by a mix of desperation and rage. He took hit after hit, but his spirit remained unyielding.

Cav felt a surge of admiration and concern as he watched Ziho hold his ground. The gang members grew frustrated as their punches landed with less impact, while Ziho’s resolve only seemed to strengthen. With one push, he swung wildly, connecting with another gang member’s side. The man stumbled back, and in that moment of distraction, Ziho rallied, striking out with renewed ferocity.

After a chaotic exchange, the last of the gang members fell to the ground, groaning in defeat. Ziho, breathing heavily and battered, stood amidst the chaos—bruised but unbroken. Cav couldn’t help but feel the weight of that resilience.

It was then that Ziho’s gaze fell on Cav, who had been watching from the shadows. His expression twisted into a mix of surprise and anger. “Why the hell are you following me?” he shouted, voice laced with aggression, his breath heavy from the fight.

Cav stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I just wanted to understand. What drives you to this?”

Ziho’s anger flickered, and for a moment, vulnerability seeped through. “You think you can just watch? You think you understand?”

“I don’t,” Cav admitted, his voice steady. “But I see something special in you, something that refuses to break.”

Ziho stared at Cav, his chest still heaving from the fight, but something in Cav’s words gave him pause. He shook his head, his eyes flickering between disbelief and anger. "Special? You don’t know anything about me."

"Maybe not," Cav said, stepping forward carefully. "But I see something in you, Ziho—something worth fighting for. Not like this, not out of rage. What you did back there? That wasn’t just destruction. That was survival. You’re still standing, still fighting, even when it seems hopeless. There are people out there who can’t do that, people who need someone to fight for them."

Ziho scoffed, glancing at the bodies groaning on the ground. "And you think you’re gonna make the world a better place by playing hero? You think anyone cares about some noble cause?"

Cav’s expression hardened, his voice steady but resolute. "I’m not talking about being a hero. I’m talking about giving people a chance. You’ve seen how this world works. It’s cruel, yeah, but it’s not broken beyond repair. You can’t just burn it all down because you’ve been hurt."

"Why not?" Ziho spat. "What else is there? What else do we have except the rage? It’s the only thing left that makes sense."

"Because there’s still hope," Cav said, almost pleading now. "It’s not about fighting for yourself. It’s about fighting for those who can’t, for the people who are crushed by this world every day and need someone to stand up for them."

Ziho’s eyes narrowed, skepticism warring with something deeper. "And you think you’re the one to do that?"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"I’m trying," Cav admitted. "But I can’t do it alone. You could help, Ziho. We could help people. Together."

Ziho looked away, his jaw clenched, as if he didn’t want to believe Cav’s words. He opened his mouth to respond, but a voice cut through the thick tension.

"Or," a soft, calm voice said from the shadows, "we could save them from their suffering altogether."

Both Cav and Ziho turned toward the sound. A figure stepped into the dim light of the alley, his movements deliberate, almost graceful. De’s expression was calm, but his eyes held a strange intensity as he regarded both men.

"De," Cav murmured, surprise flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I’ve been looking for you," De said, his gaze settling on Cav for a moment before shifting to Ziho. "And it seems I found something more interesting than I expected."

Ziho frowned, his instincts on high alert. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone who understands your pain," De said smoothly, stepping closer but not threateningly. "I heard your conversation. Cav here wants to save people. He thinks there’s still hope, that the world can be salvaged. But I see something different in you, Ziho."

Ziho raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms defensively. "And what’s that?"

De’s voice dropped, becoming almost conspiratorial. "I see someone who understands that this world is beyond saving. The cruelty, the pain, the suffering—it’s never going to end. But you can help put an end to it."

Cav stiffened, recognizing De’s intent immediately. "Don’t listen to him, Ziho."

De ignored Cav, his attention fixed on Ziho. "I’m not talking about revenge or burning the world down. I’m talking about giving people a way out, a real solution. They don’t have to suffer anymore. We can save them."

"By killing them?" Ziho asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

"Not killing," De said softly. "Releasing them. From the pain, the struggle, the endless fight. It’s mercy, not murder. Think about it—how many people out there are just waiting for an end they can’t bring themselves to reach? How many are trapped, too afraid to take that final step?"

Cav’s voice was sharp, cutting through the murky air. "You’re talking about death, De. You’re not saving them. You’re just giving up."

De’s eyes met Cav’s, his voice calm but unyielding. "I’m offering them peace, Cav. You’re the one who wants to prolong their suffering in the name of hope that doesn’t exist."

Ziho glanced between them, his confusion mounting. "So what, I’m supposed to pick between you two? One of you wants me to fight for some dream of saving people, and the other wants me to help put them out of their misery?"

Before either Cav or De could respond, a low chuckle echoed from the shadows nearby. Ziho tensed, turning toward the sound. Out of the darkness, another figure emerged—Rif, his expression a mixture of amusement and disdain.

"Fight for others? Save people? Or give them peace?" Rif’s voice dripped with contempt. "You’d be a fool to waste your life on people who don’t matter."

"Rif," Cav muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Not you too."

"Oh, I’m not here to play philosopher like you two," Rif said, his tone light but laced with venom. He sauntered closer, his gaze locking onto Ziho. "I’m here to tell you the truth."

Ziho frowned, his fists clenching. "What truth?"

Rif grinned, his eyes cold. "That the only thing that truly exists is you. This world? It’s chaos. And the only thing you can rely on is your own strength, your own will. All these people Cav wants you to fight for? They’re nothing. And De’s promise of peace? It’s just another lie to make you weak."

De watched Rif silently, his expression calm but calculating, while Cav’s jaw clenched in frustration.

"You’re angry, Ziho," Rif continued, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. "And you should be. You’ve been beaten down, betrayed, left with nothing. So why would you waste your time fighting for others? They didn’t fight for you."

Ziho’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but Rif pressed on, his words sharp and deliberate. "There’s only one thing that matters in this world: yourself. Your revenge, your power. Everything else is just a distraction."

"Revenge?" Ziho echoed, his voice strained.

Rif nodded, his grin widening. "Sweet, isn’t it? That fire you feel in your chest, the rage that keeps you going? That’s what you live for. Don’t let these fools trick you into giving it up. You’ve been wronged, and the world owes you. Make it pay. Make them all bend to their knees."

Cav shook his head, his frustration spilling over. "That’s not the answer, Rif. Revenge doesn’t lead anywhere. It just—"

"Shut up," Rif interrupted, his tone sharp and dismissive. "You think he should waste his life chasing after your dreams of saving people who would stab him in the back the first chance they get? Don’t be naive, Cav. You’ve seen this world. You know better than to believe in hope."

Cav’s fists tightened, but he didn’t back down. "You’re wrong, Rif. Ziho isn’t just some weapon for you to manipulate. He’s better than that."

Rif’s grin faded, replaced by a cold, hard look. "Better? There is no ‘better.’ There’s only power. You take what you want, or you’re left with nothing. The only thing that’s real, Ziho, is your will. The people Cav wants you to save, the world De wants to end—they don’t matter. You matter. You fight for yourself, and no one else."

Ziho stood frozen, his mind swirling with the conflicting voices around him. De’s quiet promise of peace, Cav’s desperate call for hope, and now Rif’s brutal insistence that only he mattered.

"Look at them," Rif said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Cav wants to use you to fight some hopeless battle, De wants you to do his dirty work. But me? I’m offering you something real. Freedom. Power. Revenge."

"You can’t trust him, Ziho," Cav warned, his voice steady. "Rif only cares about himself."

"And that’s exactly the point," Rif shot back, glaring at Cav. "He’d be a fool not to. We all know this world doesn’t care about anyone. If you want something, you take it. If someone wronged you, you make them pay. That’s the only way to survive."

Ziho looked down, his fists trembling. The fury that had fueled him moments before was still there, burning, but now it warred with the confusion and doubt planted by all three men.

De stepped forward again, his voice quiet but unwavering. "Revenge won’t heal you, Ziho. It won’t end your suffering. It only spreads more pain. I’m offering you a way to end that cycle, to bring peace to yourself and to others."

"Peace through death," Cav snapped, frustration cracking his calm facade. "That’s not an answer. Ziho, you don’t have to give in to this. You can make a difference without becoming what they want you to be."

Ziho looked up, his eyes meeting Cav’s. "And what do you want me to be, Cav? A hero? A martyr?"

Cav took a breath, his voice softer now. "No. I want you to be yourself, but I believe that deep down, you want more than just destruction. You’ve already survived so much. You can help others survive too."

"And what if I don’t want to?" Ziho asked, his voice quiet, haunted.

"Then you’ll have nothing left," Cav said, his voice barely a whisper. "But the pain."

For a long moment, Ziho stood there, the weight of the three men’s words crushing down on him. The fury still raged inside him, but now it was tangled with doubt, with the desire for something more than just violence.

He turned his gaze to Rif, the man’s cold logic pulling at the darkest part of his soul. "And if I choose revenge?"

Rif’s grin returned, sharp and full of promise. "Then you make the world bleed for every drop of pain it’s caused you. And you make sure it never happens again."

Ziho’s fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white. He could feel the pull of Rif’s words, the seductive power of revenge whispering in his ear. But somewhere, buried beneath the anger, Cav’s words lingered—a chance, a fragile hope that he could be more than just the sum of his rage.

The alley was silent, each man waiting, watching, as Ziho stood on the edge of his decision.

Finally, Ziho spoke, his voice rough but firm. "I won’t be anyone’s pawn. Not Cav’s, not De’s, not yours, Rif."

Cav let out a quiet breath of relief, while De remained silent, watching Ziho with the same calm, inscrutable expression.

Rif’s eyes darkened, but he shrugged, stepping back into the shadows. "Suit yourself. But don’t come crawling back when you realize how sweet revenge could’ve been."

Without another word, Rif turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Ziho standing between Cav and De. Ziho took a step back, glancing at Cav, then at De, before finally turning away and walking into the shadows, the echo of his footsteps fading into silence.

As Ziho vanished, a silence lingered, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city.

As silence settled, De broke the stillness, his tone sharp. “He’s gone. You think you’re saving people with your ideals, but look where that’s gotten us. He didn’t even consider what I offered.”

Cav regarded De coolly. “He chose his path. Isn’t that what you want? A person to decide for themselves?”

De crossed his arms, his voice calm yet firm. “But do people really know what’s best? If we let them choose, knowing the pain ahead, won’t they always opt for escape?”

Cav responded steadily, “That’s true, but if we decide for them, we assume a level of certainty we don’t possess. Each person’s understanding is unique. If we intervene, we risk imposing our perspective.”

De tilted his head, calculating. “Isn’t it rational to choose relief over suffering? If the path to peace is clear, we should facilitate it. Why allow pain?”

“Because every choice has consequences,” Cav countered. “By opting for death, you deny any possibility of recovery. You assume you know better than they do, which is dangerous. Who gives us the right to determine when life is no longer worth living?”

De straightened, insistent. “This isn’t about authority; it’s about responsibility. Allowing someone to suffer is negligent. Shouldn’t we act if relief is an option?”

“It’s not negligence; it’s respecting agency,” Cav replied. “Suffering is a part of life. Our role should be to support informed choices, not dictate them. To intervene is to assume knowledge we lack.”

De paused, considering. “So, your position is to stand by and let suffering unfold? That seems impractical. You can’t claim to care while allowing individuals to navigate their pain without guidance.”

Cav met his gaze, unwavering. “I’d uphold their right to choose, even if they make decisions I disagree with. Every choice carries weight, and we must respect that—even if it leads to paths we wouldn’t choose.”

The silence hung in the air like a thick fog, wrapping around them in a heavy embrace. It was a silence that felt tangible, each moment stretching out indefinitely, filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and doubts. The faint rustle of leaves in the wind was the only reminder of life beyond their debate, a gentle reminder of the world still turning despite their internal struggles. The night sky above them shimmered with distant stars, each one a witness to the conflict brewing below—a silent audience to their philosophical standoff.

Finally, De broke the stillness, his voice low and heavy with contemplation. “You know,” he began, “when I offered someone a way out, I felt a pang of doubt. It crept in like a shadow, whispering that maybe—just maybe—I was doing more harm than good.” He paused, searching for the right words. “By making that escape so accessible, I worry I’m tempting those who wouldn’t choose it under normal circumstances. Those overwhelmed by fleeting emotions could easily fall victim to their own distorted perceptions, mistaking temporary pain for an irreversible choice.”

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “And that’s where my belief in free will falters. If it exists at all, it’s so insignificant, so easily manipulable. People don’t know what’s best for themselves, and the overwhelming evidence shows that most will live lives filled with pain and misery. They wouldn’t wish to be born at all. In that context, my responsibility is clear: I must act to eliminate suffering, even if it means challenging their resistance to the solution. Sometimes, intervention is necessary, even if it means stripping away their choice.”

Cav studied De in the moonlight, his face unreadable but his mind churning. “But that’s the danger, De,” Cav replied calmly, his voice quiet but firm. “By taking away their choice, you’re deciding for them. And you’re just as prone to error as they are—human, flawed, and limited. Who’s to say you won’t be wrong? That your intervention doesn’t create more suffering than it stops? Killing someone to ‘save’ them—that’s not just a mistake, it’s irreversible.”

De’s eyes hardened. “The alternative is letting them suffer endlessly. You act like inaction is harmless, but standing by is just as much a choice as intervening. If you could stop a train wreck before it happens, wouldn’t you?”

“And if I destroy the track, only to realize it wasn’t going to crash?” Cav countered. “You don’t know what the future holds. No one does. You think you’re preventing suffering, but you could be ending something you don’t fully understand—someone’s future that might hold something beyond the pain they feel now.”

The two stood in a tense silence, the weight of their arguments hanging in the air between them. Each knew the other wasn’t going to be swayed. They had reached an impasse.

In the stillness, something darker stirred in Cav. A voice, barely audible in his mind, whispered: Maybe De can’t be reasoned with. Maybe the only way to stop him is to kill him—before he kills others in the name of mercy. Cav swallowed the thought, pushing it back down, but the idea lingered, unsettling and persistent.

De exhaled slowly. “We won’t agree. But that doesn’t mean I’m stopping. I know what needs to be done.”

“And I’ll stop you if I have to,” Cav said, his tone cold, final.

Without another word, De turned and walked into the shadows, leaving Cav standing alone beneath the stars. Cav’s hand twitched at his side, but he stayed still, watching De disappear into the night.

Ziho wandered aimlessly through the darkened streets, De’s words, Cav’s arguments, and Rif’s taunts still spinning in his head. The world felt more complicated than ever. Every direction seemed fraught with impossible choices—fight for the people, end their suffering, or bend them to his will. What was right? What would give him peace?

His fists clenched and unclenched as he walked, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn’t know what to do with it anymore. The streets stretched on, unfamiliar and empty, until a shadow moved in the corner of his eye.

"Looking lost," a voice said, smooth but firm.

Ziho stopped in his tracks and turned. A man stood at the edge of the dim light, calm and composed. His sharp gaze held a quiet intensity, not threatening but assessing.

“I don’t know you,” Ziho replied, his voice defensive.

“No,” the man admitted, stepping closer, “but I’ve seen that look before. You’re searching for something—meaning, direction. I know that feeling.”

Ziho scoffed, crossing his arms. “What makes you think you know anything about me?”

Hart remained composed. “Because I’ve been where you are. Angry. Directionless. Feeling like there’s no place in this world that fits. But there is a way forward.”

Ziho narrowed his eyes, still unsure. “And what’s that?”

Hart took another step forward, his voice steady. “This world is broken. You don’t need me to tell you that. But what if, instead of choosing between fixing it or running from it, you could create something new? Tear down what doesn’t work and build something better. Something that doesn’t force people to choose between suffering and survival.”

Ziho’s jaw tightened. “You think it’s that simple? You think you can just tear everything down and start over?”

“No,” Hart replied calmly, “it’s not simple. It’s hard, messy, and will take more than any one of us. But it’s possible. And it’s better than standing by while the world keeps spinning out of control.”

Ziho stared at him, still conflicted. “Why do you care what I do?”

Hart didn’t flinch. “Because you’ve got something in you—rage, conviction, potential. It can tear you apart, or it can be the spark that ignites real change. You don’t have to let this broken world dictate who you are. You can fight to shape something new. You can fight for yourself.”

Ziho’s skepticism remained, but Hart’s words resonated with the storm of emotions inside him. "What do you want from me, then?"

Hart smiled slightly, though not triumphantly. “I want you to help me build a future that’s worth living in. One where suffering doesn’t rule over people, and where choice isn’t a false promise. It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

Ziho hesitated, Hart’s words swirling with the philosophies he’d already heard. There was something different here, though—a promise not of easy answers but of a real fight. A chance to channel his anger into something beyond destruction.

“You can fight for a better world,” Hart said, his voice unwavering, “a world without suffering, a world with choice—and for yourself.”

Hart’s eyes hardened slightly. “There will be pain. But it’s the price for progress. You can’t build a world without sacrifice. Not if it’s going to be a world worth living in.”

For a moment, Ziho stood in silence, weighing the offer. It felt dangerous, uncertain, but somehow, it also felt right.

Finally, with a slight nod, Ziho said, “I’ll hear more.”

Hart didn’t say another word, just turned and walked into the night. After a moment, Ziho followed.