The fleeting voice vanished, swallowed by the cacophony of explosions and the grinding clash of metal. The sky blazed a hellish red, thick with billowing black clouds. Smoke spiraled into the air from the aftermath of a massive explosion.

The once-majestic city now lay in ruins, its buildings crumbling and consumed by fire.

Towering structures of steel warped and melted under the searing heat. The twin suns, reminders of the city's former glory, slowly descended into the eastern horizon. Above, skyships waged brutal war, hurling bombs and beams, their lethal volleys tearing through each other. Below, the city suffered, its beauty reduced to ashes and blood.

Once a marvel, the city had been cradled by red mountains that glittered like jewels under the twin suns at their zenith. Now, it was a grotesque mockery of its former self, painted red with the blood of its inhabitants. Amid this devastation, a man knelt in a crater, his black suit clinging tightly to his form. Before him lay two charred bodies, their remains smoking and indistinguishable, save for the fact that one was taller, likely a parent shielding their child.

Connor knew them well. They were his wife and daughter, now reduced to lifeless husks by a rogue beam that had incinerated them in an instant.

His mind conjured the horrific image of their final moments—their screams of agony as their skin melted away, exposing raw flesh and bone to the merciless heat. It was a death too painful to imagine, and he had not been there to save them. How could he have been so foolish?

The city was gone. Everything was gone. And why? Because of his pride.

"Why did I think war was the right decision?" he muttered, his voice hollow. "It wasn't logical at all." His gaze fell upon the taller of the two bodies. "Layla," he whispered, staring at the burnt corpse that once was his wife, "you would expect a youngster to make such a failure, but not me. Not me, a man who has lived a hundred lives in a hundred worlds. How did I let myself make such a mistake? I believed in my fleeting might. My empire?"

He looked up at the blood-red sky, thick with black smoke and clouds. He remembered a time when those clouds were white, as pure as the snow on his homeworld. But now, the black clouds echoed the cries of his wife, the cries of billions who had perished. A whole world had died, consumed by his arrogance.

Connor closed his eyes, the weight of his failure crushing him. The world was silent now, save for the distant rumble of the ongoing battle in the sky.

What was left? A few soldiers still desperately fighting for some future. But what future was that?

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"All I had to do was listen to you, Layla," Connor muttered, his voice breaking. "I told you who I was, what I'd seen, and yet you took me in. And what did I do? I started a war that ended a world. A sin that would silence the cosmos!" Tears streamed down his cheeks, his lips trembling. He looked at the smaller of the two charred corpses. "Emerald? What did you say? That I should not start a war, a war that I could lose. But what did I say? I said that Daddy would win. That Daddy would survive. That Daddy would bring back glory and victory... Sorry, I have none of that."

Connor grabbed his clothes, clutching his chest in anger and despair. His failure and loss consumed him. "I'm so stupid. A hundred lives and nothing to show for it. And my heart... it doesn't even beat! How? Even now, with my daughter dead before me, I can't feel a single heartbeat. Am I even alive?"

He looked around, the dead numerous. Corpses torn apart, some still alive, missing limbs, and screaming in pain. "I'm so stupid." He returned his gaze to his wife and daughter, tears falling down his cheeks, evaporating before they hit the ground. The planet was boiling, a cauldron of war. Yet somehow, a feeling of calm washed over him. "Maybe this will be the last. If I die here, with you, my family, then it would end. No more transmigration... because it would be too cruel for me to leave again without you, my wife, and my daughter. Yes, if I die, then I will meet you again, or maybe not. I'm not worthy of that. Even the darkness of nothing may not accept me. But still, I will trouble it. I don't need to face my family, I just want nothing. To become nothing. Peaceful silence."

A smile curled up on his rough, square-jawed face. It was the look of a man with regrets, a man wanting to run from them. A man ashamed of what he had done. "Sorry, Layla and Emerald. Sorry that I came into this world and became your dad."

Connor took a hot breath. "Maybe in your next life, someone better will be your family. But for me... I want nothing. No more life. No more curse of immortality. I want nothing. I want none of it. I want silence. I'm ashamed to want anything else."

With a sigh, he released the frustration bolted up inside him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them, the charred corpses still present before his eyes. From somewhere in his thick clothes, Connor pulled out a unique gun. The gun had an unusually long and thick barrel, a magazine the size of a baby's fist. It was colored with a myriad of paints, splattered like a pastel picture. This was a bolt gun, a weapon with the destructiveness of a cannon from his home world. Connor reminisced. "I wonder how long it's been since I've seen Earth? How many lifetimes I've lived, how many deaths, how many losses."

He looked at his charred family and a sad smile appeared on his face. "I'm tired..." He raised the gun and placed it against his head. The cold muzzle sent a shiver through his nerves, causing a slight itch in his skull. "Maybe now I will have silence, no more of this pain. No more of these constant restarts. Layla and Emerald will live maybe in another world. But me... I want to rest. I don't want to be forgiven, I don't want to see them again. I just want nothing."

He gently curled his finger around the gun's trigger. "Alright now, my little Emerald. Daddy's going away. My Layla. I'm sorry." He squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

A flash of red exploded from the gun. His head was blown to pieces, scattered across the scorched crater, smoldering with intense heat. There was nothing left but charred fragments of brain matter. The vast city, embroiled in the war's final throes, boomed and echoed, the sky churning red as if mirroring the sea of blood below.

Connor slipped into a welcoming darkness. He felt no pain, even though he thought he deserved it. This was the end of his life.