The sound of the child's scream hit him like a lightning bolt, cutting through the haze of confusion and disbelief. He immediately snapped out of his daze, heart pounding in his chest, and rushed toward the source of the scream. Floating through the dark, misty air, he darted toward an alley just beyond the crowded building. The closer he got, the more intense the pit in his stomach grew.

As he approached, the scene that unfolded in front of him made his blood run cold.

A boy, no older than six or seven, sat on the ground, trembling uncontrollably, his small hands clutching his sister's lifeless body. His crimson-red eyes were swollen from crying, his face streaked with dirt and tears. His hair was jagged, sticking up in wild spikes, matted with dust. The clothes he wore were nothing more than rags—torn, tattered, and barely hanging onto his frail, malnourished body. He looked like a beggar, abandoned and forgotten by the world.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Lying in front of him, her body twisted in a grotesque way, was his older sister. She was naked, her skin marred with bruises and cuts. The signs of torture were unmistakable—her once-beautiful body now a canvas of cruelty and abuse. Her lifeless form seemed too fragile, too broken. She had been through hell, and it showed in every gash and bruise. The cruelty of it was overwhelming, and even from a distance, he could feel the weight of the horror that had befallen her.

Her eyes were closed, her face pale, but there was something strange—a small, peaceful smile resting on her lips. As if, in her last moments, she had seen something, or someone that brought her a sense of comfort. Maybe it was Rade. Maybe it was a final vision of escape from the misery she had endured.

The boy was wailing, his sobs tearing through the air as he clung to his sister's cold body. He was shaking, his little hands gripping her as though, somehow, he could bring her back to life. The sound of his crying was unbearable—a mixture of grief, rage, and hopelessness all rolled into one heart-shattering noise.

The MC, watching from above, floated closer. His body shook as he approached, trying to hold on to a small shred of hope that maybe—just maybe—the girl was still alive. He kneeled next to her, hesitantly placing two fingers on her neck, checking for a pulse. But there was nothing. She was gone. Long gone.

His stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat as the brutal reality of the situation hit him like a freight train. He turned away from her body and started vomiting, his entire body shaking with disgust, sorrow, and anger. His mind was racing, struggling to process the sheer horror of what he was seeing. The boy, Rade, had just lost his only family—his sister—the one person who had likely protected him in this cruel world.

The MC's eyes turned bloodshot with rage. He clenched his fists, trembling as the weight of what he was seeing crushed down on him. This wasn't just a story anymore. This was a nightmare—a nightmare with no escape. The brutality of it was so real, so gut-wrenching, that it left him gasping for breath.

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He stared at the boy, who had collapsed against his sister's body, weeping uncontrollably. It broke something inside him, a part of him that had never truly been touched before. The world of "The Baby" wasn't just a cruel one. It was a world filled with unimaginable suffering—where no one, not even children, were spared from the horrors of human cruelty.

What kind of monster could do this? he thought, his mind spiraling into a dark place. The brutality, the torture, the sheer inhumanity of what had happened to Rade's sister was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He had been thrown into this world thinking it was just another story—a series of tasks to complete, a simple game to win. But this… this was different. The reality of it slammed into him harder than he could've ever anticipated. This wasn't just fiction. It felt real. It was real. And he wasn't sure he could handle it.

Tears welled up in his own eyes, but he forced them back, trying to stay strong. For the boy. For Rade. He had to pull it together. He had to help Rade. But deep down, he knew the scars of this night would never leave him. The image of Rade's sister, broken and abused, lying there with a final, tragic smile on her face, would haunt him forever.

He wasn't ready for this. But he didn't have a choice. Reality had hit him like a truck, and there was no way to turn back now.

As he turned away from Rade's lifeless sister, wiping the bile from his mouth, he noticed something in the darkness of the alley. A hand. It was barely visible, hidden by the shadows, but unmistakably there—pale, cold, and motionless. His heart skipped a beat, dread creeping into his chest. He had thought the horror was over, but something told him he was wrong. Very wrong.

He stepped cautiously past Rade and his sister's body, moving deeper into the alley. The shadows swallowed him whole, the air growing thick with the stench of death and decay. And then, the scene unfolded before him.

It was like he had stepped into hell itself.

Bodies. Piles and piles of women's bodies, strewn across the filthy alley floor. They were of every age—some young, barely teens, others older, withered, but all naked, bruised, and battered beyond recognition. Their skin was marred with the marks of abuse, their faces twisted in expressions of agony. The sight was so grotesque, so brutally inhuman, that even the most hardened souls would be shattered by it.

The MC's breath caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the horror in front of him. He had seen violence in movies, played bloody video games, and watched the darkest parts of human nature unfold on screen. But this… this was different. This wasn't some fictional nightmare or gore-filled horror flick. This was real. This was beyond anything his mind could handle.

His legs wobbled, and his stomach churned violently. His body gave out before his mind could catch up, and he collapsed onto the ground, retching uncontrollably. His insides twisted, his gut felt like it was being shredded apart as the bile rose up from his throat. He heaved again and again, rolling on the ground as the brutal scene imprinted itself into his mind.

What kind of sick world is this? he thought, eyes burning from the tears that streamed down his face, mixed with vomit. The image of those bodies, of Rade's sister smiling in death, haunted him. His heart was crushed—no, ripped out—and set on fire by the sheer cruelty of it all.

He couldn't stop the pain. It flowed through him like poison, mixing with his anger, his sorrow, his disbelief. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the mangled bodies. The more he looked, the more he felt like something was tearing him apart from the inside. No movie, no nightmare, no evil mind from the darkest horror stories could create something like this. Not even the likes of Hannibal Lecter could stand before this and remain unscathed. Anyone would be reduced to vomiting and despair.

After what felt like hours of agony, the vomit, the heaving, and the tears stopped. But the pain, the anger—those never stopped. His heart felt like it had been ripped apart and crushed under the weight of this cruel world. His eyes were bloodshot, and he could barely see through the stinging tears. Every breath was a reminder of the suffering he'd just witnessed.

But something inside him shifted. Beneath the agony and despair, a fire began to burn. He stood, wobbling on his feet, his body weak but his soul filled with something new—a deep, unbreakable determination. He looked up at the sky, eyes still red, and clenched his fists.

"I swear," he whispered through clenched teeth, voice shaking with conviction. "I will save this world. I will burn them all. Every single one of them—no matter where they hide, no matter how deep they crawl into the depths of hell. I'll drag them out, and they will regret ever being born."

He would make them pay. Every last one of them.

There was no turning back now.