Well, look at this mess. Practically the entire solar system obliterated, that little kid seemingly erased from existence, and a low-ranking apostle acting like he owns the universe just because he managed to pull off the "Jacob's Ladder" trick. What a ridiculous scene.
I've seen everything in this divine game they call reality, but this battle… I'm not even sure it was worth my time. The kid fought well, of course, considering he was basically a nobody compared to the true titans of this board. But still, he achieved something. Cracking part of that golden bastard's armor? Impressive. Holding on so long without being erased right away? Admirable. But in the end…
Poof. Gone.
Well, it was expected. Who the hell can withstand an attack that spans the entire scale of the solar system? Even the big names would struggle. But you know what? Something tells me this story doesn't end here. I've seen enough strange things to know that when a little worm like that refuses to die, he ends up coming back somehow. And if that boy managed to catch the attention of even the shadow that followed him, then maybe—just maybe—he hasn't vanished completely.
Might be interesting to keep watching. Who knows? At the very least, it could be entertaining.
BEEP
The moment the screen appeared, a sharp chill ran down my spine, and the void around me seemed to contract. The golden light emanating from the message was oppressive, suffocating—not because it was bright, but because it carried presence.
My body froze on reflex, and my throat went dry before I could even read the words. I didn't need to. I already knew who was calling me.
The screen flickered slightly, as if something on the other side was… watching me.
Then, the words etched themselves before my eyes:
"COME."
That was all.
But in that instant, an absolute terror overtook me. It wasn't ordinary fear, not the fear of death or pain. It was a primordial fear, as if my soul knew that even the mere attention of that entity was a burden I was never meant to bear.
The space around me began to distort. The stars—what remained of them—became blurry lines, and everything lost meaning. I was no longer there. I was going.
Where?
That didn't matter.
I simply obeyed.
Before everything vanished around me, I cast one last glance at that torn-apart space, at the fragments of what was once a stellar system, now reduced to an identity-less void.
I let out a bored sigh. In the end, it was always like this.
Copies, simulations, experiments… universes like this were ephemeral, disposable. Like hollow shells that believed they had a purpose, but in the end, served only to be undone.
The boy? What would happen to him? That wasn't my problem. Whether he survived or not was irrelevant.
And with that final thought, the call pulled me in.
And I left.
_________________________________________
The Nothing.
I could no longer feel my body. There was no cold, no heat, no pain—nothing. Only absence. Only darkness.
The void.
My consciousness seemed to drift aimlessly, as if it had been reduced to nothing more than a stray thought floating through the vastness. Was I dead?
Was this the end?
I had always wondered what came after death. Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? Or maybe just eternal rest? Something… something that at least made sense.
But no.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel. No angel or demon to guide me. No welcoming voice or flaming abyss calling to me.
Only the suffocating silence of nonexistence.
If I was nothing, then why was I still thinking?
Why did I still exist?
A thought cut through my mind like a cold blade.
My family.
My home.
The world.
My chest should hurt, but there was no body to feel pain. No air to breathe, yet my despair spread like poison.
The Earth…
Did it still exist?
I saw the Moon being shattered. I saw that damned golden circle expanding, devouring everything in its path. It stretched beyond the solar system, dissolving planets, consuming the reality around me like none of it ever mattered.
And the Earth?
Mom...
Lucas...
My stomach would have twisted—if I still had one. But all that was left of me was that suffocating thought.
They were dead.
There was no chance they had survived. Not after that.
I tried to deny it.
Tried to think that somehow, it could've been avoided. That someone—anyone—might've saved everything before that golden hell erased my existence.
But who? Who could save the world from something I couldn't even stop?
There was no resistance. No heroic struggle. No final effort from humanity to survive.
There were no goodbyes.
The attack came like a final judgment and crushed everything without hesitation.
And now, what remained?
Nothing.
The void.
I had lost.
Lost in a way no nightmare could ever compare to.
I wanted to scream. But there was no mouth. No voice.
The only thing left was my mind trapped in this endless darkness, trying to process the impossible.
Was this my end?
Was this the end of everything?
It was ironic.
Days ago, I was at Hycaros' house, laughing, arguing about dumb things like waifus and whether it was morally acceptable to date a fighting game character. My biggest worry was winning that Melty Blood tournament, proving my Arcueid was better than his Aoko.
And now?
Now I was here.
Alone.
No body. No voice. No ground, sky, or horizon. Just an existence floating in the vastness of nothing.
The void had no color, no scent, no sound. Just me and my thoughts, echoing in a space that didn't even feel like space. A vastness with no beginning, no end, no shape. An abyss where my consciousness was sinking, trapped in something even I couldn't comprehend.
Maybe it was punishment. Maybe it was what I deserved.
After all, I failed.
And no matter how many excuses I tried to find, that was the truth: I failed.
My battle against that angelic being didn't end in glorious victory. There was no heroic twist. No last-second moment where I surpassed my limits and saved everything.
No.
The world was erased. My family was erased. I was erased.
I was a memory stuck in the dark, waiting for even my final thoughts to be devoured by the void.
If this was the end, it was a pathetic one.
If only I had known… If only I had one more chance...
But there's no second chance when the entire universe has already been condemned.
True love.
That was one of the things my father always talked about, like it was some kind of universal truth that I would one day, inevitably, understand. But he never really explained it. He spoke about it with a glow in his eyes, like it was something too precious to be reduced to mere words. As if it was something that could only be understood by living it.
But I never lived it.
I never knew what the hell this true love was.
To me, love was just… something distant. Something I saw in movies, anime, melancholic songs I listened to late at night while staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts that led nowhere. It was a blurry concept, something that seemed important to others but had never made sense to me.
If I had another chance… could I understand it?
Could I find it?
Funny. I had never really worried about it before. Life, for me, was just a whirlwind of things happening around me, and I was just trying to get through without drowning. My days were consumed by distractions—games, silly arguments with Hycaros, the fleeting thrill of winning a tough match. But love?
It was never something I truly sought.
And now, in absolute emptiness, with no time, no body, no world… that thought haunted me.
My father always talked about true love as if it were the answer to something. As if it were the missing piece inside me. But he never gave me a manual, never explained what I should feel or look for. He just said:
"One day, you'll understand."
But what if that day never came?
What if I missed my only chance to understand?
If the universe is over, if I was erased along with everything I knew, then what's the point of seeking something like that now? Why was that thought haunting me here, in the darkness?
Maybe because... deep down, even if I never admitted it to anyone — not even to myself — I wanted to know.
I wanted to feel this so-called true love.
I wanted my father to be right.
But was there still time for that? Was there still a me to find that answer?
But it didn't matter anymore.
I had died, after all.
There was nothing waiting for me. No grand purpose, no happy ending, no hidden truth about to be revealed. Nothing but this crushing void, where neither time nor space seemed to exist. No voice calling my name. No chance to start over. Just the absolute darkness and my own thoughts.
And you know what? Maybe that was for the best.
Stories always talk about glorious reincarnations, incredible second chances, worlds full of adventures and impossible harems where the protagonist is loved unconditionally by women with strong personalities, incredible powers, and superhuman beauty. But let's be realistic: I would never fit into something like that.
Just thinking about the idea of a harem already made me tired.
I mean, dealing with one person was already hard. I could barely hold a normal conversation without getting lost in my own thoughts. Now imagine an entire group of women, each with her own story, desires, emotions, and intense personalities, constantly demanding my attention. That sounded less like a dream and more like a life sentence.
And besides... I was never really good at dealing with people.
Maintaining relationships was already a monumental effort. Understanding what people expect, what they feel, what they don't say out loud... it was exhausting. The idea of a bunch of people throwing their expectations on me sounded less like a privilege and more like a trap.
Besides, why would they even like me in the first place?
I was never a hero. Never someone great. Never the type of person who naturally attracts others. My life was a mess of mistakes, doubts, brief moments of joy mixed with long periods of boredom and frustration.
And now... now I was just a thought floating in nothingness.
So it didn't really matter.
If I ever had a life again — which was ridiculous even to imagine — I'd prefer something simple. Something I could understand. Something that wouldn't leave me so drained.
But that didn't matter anymore.
I didn't exist anymore.
But then... that shadow.
Why did it help me so much?
I never really understood what it was. From the beginning, it presented itself as a part of me, a reflection of my thoughts, of the things I ignored or didn't want to face. At the time, I accepted it without questioning much. It felt like something straight out of a fantasy story, and I was already so lost in that strange world that I just went along with it.
But now... now that I was alone in this absolute void, it almost felt laughable.
If it was just a manifestation of my thoughts, it didn't make sense that it helped me so much. Because, let's be honest, I was never very reliable. My own thoughts were chaotic, indecisive, contradictory. They shouldn't have been a source of strength or support. If the shadow really was just a reflection of me, then it should have been as useless as I was.
But it wasn't.
It saved me.
It spoke to me when I was about to give up. It healed my wounds, gave me strength when I had nothing left. It even handed me Caliburn. That went far beyond being a simple reflection.
It had a will of its own.
But why?
If it was me... then why did it seem more determined than I was?
And now that I thought about it... what was the right pronoun to refer to it?
I always referred to it as her, in the feminine, maybe because its voice sounded like that to me. But at the same time, it was part of me. And I'm a guy. So technically, shouldn't I refer to it in the masculine?
...Or maybe that didn't matter.
Maybe it was something beyond gender, beyond any human concept.
Or maybe I was just trying to distract myself from the fact that I was dead.
What a pathetic thought.
I laughed, or at least I thought I laughed. I had no body, no sound, nothing. Just my thoughts floating in the darkness.
If only I could ask the shadow directly what it really was...
But to do that, I'd have to exist again. And that, unfortunately, didn't seem to be an option.
So, I wondered...
Would it be possible to "sleep" here?
Not that I was tired, because technically I didn't even have a body to feel fatigue. But you know that feeling when you're awake in the middle of the night, tossing in bed, unable to sleep, and then, without noticing, you just pass out? You don't remember the exact moment you fell asleep, only that suddenly it's another time, as if time had jumped forward.
Maybe I could do that here.
Maybe I could just... fade out.
I didn't have a watch, no reference point, but... what if I just relaxed my consciousness? If I stopped thinking, stopped trying to understand, and just let everything go?
Would that be the equivalent of death?
Or would I, after some time, wake up again, as if it had been a nap in absolute nothingness?
And if time didn't really exist here, then wouldn't sleeping and waking just be illusions?
These thoughts started to tangle in my mind, and for a moment, I felt like I was slipping... drifting into a state where even my thoughts were starting to dissolve. As if my existence was being slowly erased.
That was it. The end.
And I didn't know if it scared me or if it was exactly what I wanted.
I felt something different.
In the middle of the absolute nothingness, where there was no color, no shape, not even time, something broke the monotony of the void. At first, it seemed like a distant whisper, an indistinct sound, as if it were just a lost thought in the vastness of my own mind. But then it came again, clearer, more real.
A voice.
— Hey, wake up already. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a proper body for you?
The sound pierced my consciousness like a cold blade. It was strange. Until that point, I had just been... existing. Or maybe not even that. I had no body, no pain, nothing but thoughts wandering in the darkness. But now, suddenly, something was pulling my existence somewhere.
The voice continued:
— Come on! You've spent enough time drifting through the void.
I tried to move. Nothing. It was like I was floating without form, without direction, without meaning. But at the same time, a sensation started to spread—weight. As if the concept of gravity was becoming part of my reality again. As if, for the first time since I was erased from existence, there was an "up" and a "down" once more.
"Find a proper body?"
What the hell did that mean? I died, didn't I? There was nothing left. My body, my flesh, my bones—everything was destroyed along with the solar system. So who was talking to me? And what do they mean by "finding a body"?
A strange wave passed through my mind. It was as if something was trying to shape me again, to fit my consciousness into a form I didn't recognize. It wasn't exactly painful, but it wasn't comfortable either. It was like trying to wear clothes that weren't made for me.
My first reaction was to resist. I didn't know what was happening, and all of it felt wrong. But at the same time... part of me wanted to know. Needed to know.
What was happening to me?
And who the hell was calling me?
Suddenly, I felt something.
It was subtle at first, like an invisible current wrapping around my formless existence. It was different from anything I had felt in that colorless, soundless void. It was... gravity. As if my very presence was being pulled somewhere, dragged by an unavoidable force.
The sensation grew stronger. First came the weight, something I barely remembered. Then came a strange warmth, a tingling sensation that ran through what seemed like my skin—but I didn't even know if I still had a body.
Then, light.
At first, it was just a blinding flash. White. Too bright. Like I had spent an eternity in darkness and was now being thrown straight into the center of a sun. My eyes—if I even had eyes—shut instinctively, but the light cut through everything, burning my perception.
But gradually, the light began to fade.
Shapes started to emerge. First, blurred outlines, scattered shadows, contrasting against that infinite brightness. My vision slowly adjusted, like a blurry camera trying to find focus.
And then, finally, I saw.
A ceiling.
Plain, white, smooth. A lamp hanging in the middle, swaying slightly, as if the place had trembled moments ago. The dim light flickered faintly, casting small shadows around.
And I was there.
Breathing.
Feeling.
Alive?
Before I could process everything, the voice returned, now much closer, coming from my left. Unlike before, when it felt distant and ethereal, now it had a firm and real tone—something human. Feminine.
My mind was still hazy, but one thing became clear in that instant: I wasn't in the same body as before.
The sensation was strange. My limbs felt... different. As if I was inside something new, something that wasn't originally mine. Like wearing clothes tailored for someone else.
Instinctively, I moved my left arm. It responded immediately, but the touch against the sheet was enough to alert me to something unusual. The skin's texture felt different. Rougher. Warmer.
I pulled the dark sheet aside and looked at my arm.
That's when I noticed.
My skin was darker than before. Not by much, but enough to be noticeable. What really caught my attention, though, were the markings. Tribal tattoos ran the length of my arm, forming intricate patterns that seemed to hold hidden meaning. They were bold, precisely drawn, as if etched there with a greater purpose. Some intertwined in spirals, while others formed unknown, almost ritualistic symbols.
My heart sped up a little. This definitely wasn't my original body.
The bed I was lying on was large and comfortable, but unfamiliar. The mattress sank slightly under my weight, and the sheet covering my leg had a texture I wasn't used to—it was soft, yet firm, like something of high quality.
My mind started racing, connecting the dots. I was alive. But... in another body? Who was that voice? And where, exactly, was I?
Slowly, I turned my head to the left, where the feminine voice had spoken. My body was tense, my breathing uneven. What the hell was going on?
And then, I looked at the owner of the voice...
My thoughts vanished the moment my eyes finally met hers.
Standing beside the bed was a woman who radiated authority. Her short magenta hair was slightly messy, with bangs parted in the middle that framed a serious, determined face. Her eyes—deep, intense red—burned like embers, contrasting sharply with her pale skin and reinforcing her striking presence.
She wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit with a pristine white shirt underneath and a precisely tied red tie. There was something imposing about the way she carried herself, as if she was used to leading, to handling high-risk situations.
But what stood out the most were the black gloves covering her hands. They weren't just an accessory—they seemed like an integral part of her identity. Elegant, yet hinting at a deeper, more purposeful function beyond aesthetics.
Then my gaze dropped slightly, and I noticed something even more intriguing: strapped to her back by an adjustable harness was a large black holster. The shape suggested it carried something significant—a weapon, perhaps?
The woman kept her stern expression, analyzing me intensely. There was no surprise in her gaze, only a cold, calculated expectation.
The silence between us was almost suffocating.
Who was she? What did she want with me?
And more importantly… where the hell was I?
Before I could even open my mouth to ask what the hell was going on, the woman in front of me smiled.
But it wasn't just any smile.
It wasn't mocking, nor was it an empty show of kindness. It was precise—intentional—like she'd been waiting a long time for this moment. Her lips curved subtly, her crimson eyes gleamed with a mix of satisfaction and a hint of nostalgia, like someone finding something they thought was lost forever.
"It's good to see you again, Rodrigo."
Her voice, steady and composed, carried a strange familiarity, though I had no idea who she was. The tone was warm enough to seem genuine, but there was a hidden weight behind it. As if those words carried a history I didn't yet understand.
My mind, still fogged with confusion, tried to make sense of the situation. She said "again." That meant we had met before? But how? I didn't remember her. Stranger still—she seemed to know me deeply, beyond the surface, like someone who had watched my entire existence unfold.
I swallowed hard, unsure how to react.
The room around us felt small but tidy. The walls were painted a neutral tone, bare of decoration, as if this place wasn't a home but a space between places. The lighting was soft and yellowish, giving everything an uncomfortable sense of reality. Unlike the dark void I was in before, this place had substance. Here, I existed again.
I gripped the dark sheet covering me. My fingers felt the fabric's texture. My left arm moved, responding to my will, and my eyes instinctively shifted toward it.
What I saw made me hold my breath.
My skin… was different. Darker than before. And now, my arm was covered in intricate tribal tattoos, almost ritualistic, as if they carried a meaning far beyond simple aesthetics. The symbols spanned its length, some seeming to shift subtly under the room's light, as if they were alive.
What had happened to me?
The woman kept her eyes locked on me, waiting for my reaction.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. Everything felt like a flood of information crashing against my mind—but one thing was certain.
Something far greater than I could understand was happening.
She let out a heavy sigh, as if she'd been expecting any reaction from me—anything besides my dazed, confused stare. She tilted her head slightly to the side, studying me with those intense red eyes that felt like they could pierce through my skin and reach something I didn't even know was there.
"Did you get stupid, or is it just because you only saw me when I was a mere shadow?"
The question was asked in a casual tone, but something sharp lingered beneath it—an undercurrent of impatience and restrained frustration. It was as if she had anticipated this reaction but was still slightly disappointed.
I blinked a few times, trying to process the words. The echo of that sentence reverberated in my mind like distant thunder.
Shadow.
My mind snapped.
It couldn't be…
My eyes widened slightly, my breath caught in my throat. My body, once stiff and unresponsive, now began to move on its own, as if a buried truth was rising from some deep abyss within me.
My shadow.
The one who was with me at the edge of existence. The one who helped me in the fight against the Apostle, who spoke to me, who healed me, who manifested as a reflection of something I never fully understood.
And now, she was here.
Physical. Present.
Her magenta hair shimmered softly under the room's light, the contrast between the vibrant color and her serious expression hitting me like a punch.
I looked at her again, now seeing every detail that had once been just a silhouette. The defined shape, the confident posture, the dark suit perfectly tailored to her body, the red tie aligned flawlessly. The black gloves that hid her hands, as if still guarding the mystery of what lay beneath.
My heart beat faster.
If before I questioned where I was, now I questioned what I was experiencing.
She noticed my hesitation, and her expression softened a little—just for a brief moment—before regaining that slightly impatient air.
— Don't tell me you still haven't realized.
Her voice carried something between sarcasm and fatigue, as if she were dealing with a child who couldn't see the obvious.
I wanted to respond, to ask, to demand answers, but the truth was that my mind was still processing.
The shadow… was standing before me.
And she looked more real than ever.
My throat dried up. I wanted to ask, to demand an explanation, but my mind was a mess. My eyes bounced between the tribal tattoos on my new arm and the woman in front of me, whose red eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and impatience.
— Y-you... — my voice broke midway through the sentence, and I swallowed hard before trying again. — You... are the shadow?
The woman tilted her head slightly, a mischievous smile forming on her lips.
— What's wrong? Were you expecting a different appearance? Something a bit more... masculine?
Her tone had a teasing edge, as if she were enjoying my confusion. My heart skipped a beat—not because I was embarrassed or anything—but because the feeling of losing control over everything was unbearable.
She crossed her arms and observed me with that mix of patience and impatience, like someone waiting to see how long I would take to put the pieces together.
And me? I just stood there, processing the absurd truth unfolding before me.
The woman approached without hesitation, her firm steps echoing in the silence of the room. Before I could react, she was already climbing onto the bed, her presence filling my field of vision with intensity. My muscles tensed up, a mix of surprise and something indescribable growing inside me.
She knelt beside me, lightly resting on the mattress, her expression now more serious. A sigh escaped her lips as she spoke:
— Fixing you was hell. The damage we took to the soul... — Her red eyes glowed briefly under the dim light of the lamp. — I can barely feel the power I once had.
Her fingers, cold and precise, touched my face with unexpected softness. She slid her hand along my jaw, slowly moving up to my temple, as if analyzing every detail of me. A chill ran down my spine, and I swallowed hard. Her touch was firm, yet meticulous, like she was testing something... Or testing me.
— Unfortunately... — she continued, without taking her eyes off me — I had to put you in a body that isn't as strong as the ideal. I didn't know what could happen if I threw you into something extremely powerful or too different from what you were before.
She paused for a moment, observing me, maybe gauging my reaction. I, on the other hand, could only focus on the warmth of her hand still on my face and the way her steady breathing seemed to fill all the space between us. My chest tightened, a strange sensation beginning to settle deep inside me.
Then, with a sly smile, she dropped the bomb:
— But I had to act fast... and, well... you're now in the body of Angra Mainyu.
My mind stopped. My heart jumped in my chest.
What...?
Angra Mainyu...?
The words echoed in my mind like a distant thunder, reverberating with suffocating weight. My brain worked fast to process what she had just said, trying to fit the pieces together, but something inside me refused to accept it.
AngraMainyu... The name wasn't unfamiliar. No, it carried a dense, heavy meaning. In Zoroastrianism, he was the personification of absolute evil, the lord of destruction, darkness, death. But my mind went further. Amid the chaos of thoughts, another memory surfaced—something more mundane.
Fate...
Fate/Stay Night.
I had seen that name before, in a completely different context. Angra Mainyu... The cursed spirit. The ordinary man who was forced to carry the sins of an entire civilization, turned into the vessel of evil by sheer human whim. A being that wasn't supposed to be powerful, but whose concept was distorted by the weight of collective belief.
My hands trembled.
My hands...
I raised my left arm, which had been resting motionless under the dark sheet. The dim light from the lamp cast dancing shadows across my skin, revealing black, tribal markings that snaked along my forearm, climbing all the way to my shoulder. Ritualistic markings, enigmatic symbols that seemed to pulse with an ancient and unknown meaning.
No...
I tore the sheet away with a sharp movement, my heart pounding in my chest. My breath quickened as my eyes scanned every inch of my marked skin, desperately trying to find something—anything—that could prove me wrong. But it was undeniable.
It was him.
It was the body of Angra Mainyu.
A lump formed in my throat. The air felt heavy, like it was suffocating me. My muscles tensed involuntarily. My vision blurred for a moment, thoughts crashing into one another.
I...
My God...
What the hell happened to me...?
Before panic could completely overtake me, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. A comforting pressure, yet undeniably strong.
— Hey. — Her voice came soft, but carried authority. — Look at me.
My hands, which had begun to tremble, froze midair. The weight of those words pulled me back, forcing me to look up. And then, I saw her.
I saw her.
The woman in front of me wasn't a stranger. I knew her. Her magenta hair, cut short and slightly messy, bangs parted perfectly in the middle, deep red eyes, intense like glowing embers. Her expression was serious, but not cold—there was something in her gaze, a mix of determination and... concern?
She wore a perfectly tailored black suit, the red tie standing out against the pristine white shirt. Black gloves covered her hands, reinforcing her professional and combative stance. Strapped across her back, a black holster held something large and heavy, yet her posture was so natural it felt like an extension of herself.
I knew that look.
It couldn't be a mistake.
Bazett Fraga McRemitz.
The name surfaced in my mind like a blade cutting through the fog of panic.
She was a character who, as far as I knew, only existed in Fate/hollow ataraxia. A discarded master, betrayed before the war even began, reduced to an endless cycle of death and rebirth. A woman of incomparable strength, of unbreakable loyalty. And, above all...
She was Angra Mainyu's master.
I swallowed hard.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
This wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.
Slowly, I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. My mind swirled with questions, but deep down, one truth echoed above all the others:
I wasn't just in another body.
I was in another world.
My body gave out under the weight of everything, and before I knew it, I collapsed back onto the bed. But what truly made me hold my breath was what happened next.
She fell with me.
The woman—the Shadow—Bazett, or whatever name I was supposed to use now, was on top of me. Her knees rested on either side of my hips, her gloved hands trembling slightly.
The heat of her body seeped through the tight fabric of her suit and blended with mine. It was a strange feeling, like her presence was something familiar and, at the same time, something I had never experienced this way before.
Then, a lock of her magenta hair slipped forward, falling over my eyes. Her scent—something faintly woody, subtle, almost ethereal—lingered in the air between us. The silence was heavy, dense. I could feel her warm breath against my skin, and each heartbeat pounded like a drum inside my chest.
And then came the voice. Faint.
— ...Damn it...
It wasn't the confident tone she used before. It wasn't the teasing voice of the Shadow, nor the calm, strategic one she had when talking about the fight.
— I was desperate...
My gaze met hers. Intense red. Eyes that had always seemed enigmatic to me, full of secrets, were now trembling. Empty of answers.
— When I saw the state of your soul... — her voice broke, and I saw her fingers slowly curl into fists. — I thought... I thought I'd lost you.
My throat went dry.
She looked away.
— I did everything I could. Pulled you back. But for a moment... I thought it was already too late...
She took a deep breath, and even then her voice still trembled.
— I'm tired.
A long pause.
Too long.
"Tired of failing. Tired of accepting things like fate… or death."
The silence swallowed the room. But before I could think of anything, she spoke again.
"Like father's death…"
The final word came out almost as a whisper. As if it had slipped from her lips without permission.
And then, tears.
I felt them before I saw them.
Hot drops fell from her face, sliding down her pale skin and landing directly on mine.
My body tensed. My mind went blank.
The Shadow… crying?
The entity that had always challenged me, tested me, provoked me…
The one who laughed at my hesitation, who pushed me beyond my limits…
She was falling apart right in front of me.
And more than that.
She was crying… for me.
I should have said something. Anything.
But I simply couldn't.
Suddenly, before I could react, I felt her warmth enveloping my body.
Her arms wrapped around me with unexpected strength. It was tight. Warm. There was urgency in that embrace, like she was holding on to something she feared losing again.
My eyes widened, and for a moment, my body froze.
She was trembling.
With each passing second, her grip grew tighter, as if letting go would be enough to make me vanish.
And then her voice came, muffled against my shoulder:
"…Please don't hate me…"
My breath caught.
"I did what I could…" Her voice faltered, and the grip around me intensified. "I placed your soul in this body… because it was one of the only ways we could escape the Counter Force."
She swallowed hard before continuing.
"We're not at our full strength. Not even close… If we had returned another way, we'd be hunted down immediately."
I wanted to speak. I wanted to answer. But my mouth wouldn't move.
Because… something strange was happening.
My chest hurt.
But it wasn't physical pain.
It wasn't like when I was crushed in the void. It wasn't like when my body was torn apart by the Apostle.
It was something else.
It was… heavy.
A pressure in my chest, in my throat, in every corner of my being.
She was trembling against me.
The woman who mocked me. Who laughed at my doubts. Who told me I had to be strong.
She was desperate.
For me.
I felt a knot form in my stomach.
It was strange.
Why was this affecting me so much?
Maybe it was because, until now, I had never really stopped to think about her pain.
She was my shadow, right? A part of me. An extension of who I am.
But, looking at her now…
I realized she was so much more than that.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel something.
Something that wasn't confusion.
Something that wasn't just survival.
Something I didn't know how to name.
My hand, almost instinctively, began to move. It rose slowly, as if moving through a dense sea, every inch heavy, weighed down by something I couldn't name.
My fingers trembled.
She was still holding me so tightly, as if afraid I'd vanish in the next second.
My hand hovered over her head. Her slightly disheveled magenta hair brushed against my skin with an almost unreal softness. And then… I hesitated.
Why?
Why couldn't I just touch her? Run my hand through her hair and tell her it was okay?
She was me.
She had said so from the beginning. She was the Shadow. My projected consciousness, my inner strength, my traumas and desires. All mixed into an entity that had taken its own form.
But now… now she felt so separate from me.
She cried. She healed me. She sacrificed everything she was to save me. Even if it cost her body, even if it left us in an extremely vulnerable state…
Why?
Why did she care so much about me?
My throat tightened.
It was a kind of pain I didn't fully understand. Not physical. It was something… ancient. Something buried deep down that I had never let out.
She was me, right? So why did this embrace hurt so much?
Or maybe that was it.
Maybe she was the part of me I always ignored. The part that wanted affection, that wanted care. That wanted to protect and be protected.
The part that loved.
And maybe… maybe I had never been able to give that to myself.
My hand trembled, but it slowly came down, gently resting on her head.
She curled into my shoulder, as if melting into the touch.
I closed my eyes.
It was still hard to accept.
But in that moment, for the first time in a long time… I didn't feel so alone.
Her embrace grew even tighter.
I felt her body press against mine, as if she wanted to merge with me, as if she feared I might disappear if she loosened her embrace. It was warm. Warmer than I ever imagined a hug could be. I was never really one for hugs, never thought they made much of a difference… But now, now I understood.
She was trembling.
Her breathing was uneven, broken. Her chest rose and fell erratically, like she was still trying to process everything.
I took a deep breath and, without thinking too much, moved my hand over her magenta hair. My fingers slid gently through the strands, feeling the slightly wild, yet soft texture.
"Calm down…" — my voice came out lower than I expected. Softer.
She didn't respond, just tightened the hug.
"I… I didn't die, after all." I continued, trying to find words that made sense. "Did it hurt like hell? Yeah. Was it a nightmare? For sure. But I'm here."
I wanted to say something more, something that could ease the pain she carried. But what?
What do you say to someone who cried desperately for you?
What do you say to someone who risked everything to keep you alive?
And even more confusing... what do you say to someone who is, in a way, yourself?
Words were never my strong suit. I wasn't the kind of guy who could comfort others with beautiful speeches. But I wanted her to know… I wanted her to feel that I understood, that I valued what she had done.
So instead of trying to find the perfect phrase, I just let my hand keep gliding through her hair. Slow touches, no rush, no effort.
I felt her body slowly begin to relax. Her breathing was still heavy, but less desperate.
She didn't say anything.
But she didn't need to.
The silence between us wasn't empty.
It was a silence full of meaning, of everything words couldn't express.
I didn't know what would come next. I didn't know where we were, what would happen now, or what the consequences of being in this new body were.
But one thing I knew.
I wasn't alone.
I heard her.
Like a whisper breaking apart before even fully forming. Her voice… the Shadow's voice, failed in its attempt to sound firm, and instead, it carried fear. Genuine fear. Anxiety, anguish, insecurity—all of it mixed into three fragile words:
"Please… accept me…"
The sound pierced my mind like a cold blade. Not because it was threatening, but because it was too vulnerable. So raw, so human. It was as if everything inside her was laid bare before me — all her masks ripped away, all the strength she always showed… completely undone.
She was no longer the enigmatic figure from before.
Not the powerful guide that emerged from the shadows, nor the elegant woman with the sharp gaze and flawless posture.
She was... just someone afraid of not being accepted.
My hand, still resting on her magenta hair, trembled slightly. It was surreal. All of it was surreal. I… I was still trying to understand what I was feeling, still processing everything that had happened — from the destruction of the solar system to waking up in a completely new body. But none of that hit me as hard as those three words spoken by her.
"Accept me."
She who had been my support, my anchor in chaos, the only constant when everything else around me fell apart. The one who stitched my soul back together with her own essence when even the concept of existence seemed to be slipping away from me. And now, she was asking… begging… to be accepted.
Why?
Because she was "me"?
Because she had failed?
Because now she had form, a face, feelings so exposed that maybe not even she knew how to handle them?
I felt something rise in my chest. A mixture of guilt and tenderness. It was strange… She was a part of me, wasn't she? But now… she was something more. Something separate. Something independent. And in that moment… she wasn't a shadow. She was just a soul begging not to be left behind.
I slid my hand through her hair to the back of her neck, and calmly, I hugged her back tightly. My heart was racing, not because of the situation, but because of the weight of that moment.
I rested my forehead against hers.
"I'm here," I murmured. "You saved me. Even if all this is crazy… even if I still don't fully understand… I feel you. I recognize you."
She let out a soft gasp, as if those words broke a dam inside her.
"And yes… I accept you."
The silence returned, but now it was a warm silence. Like the end of a storm that seemed never-ending.
And for the first time, since that void, since that destruction, since the rebirth… I felt peace.
Even if just for a brief moment.
Even if everything was still uncertain.
How did it all happen so fast…?
I look up at the ceiling, but it's like I'm not really seeing anything. Just a dim light, a blurry pattern of shadows dancing over the lamp, and the muffled sound of someone's breath… someone I'm not sure is even a separate "person" anymore, or just… me, manifested in a way I never thought was possible. She's still there, beside me — or on top of me, I don't know, everything feels so mixed now.
It's strange. Confusing. Scary.
But the weirdest part... is how quickly I accepted all of this.
Seriously... I died, didn't I? I was erased from existence, watched the solar system be devoured by a divine staircase of golden light, deleted from reality like I never mattered. And now I'm here, in another body, another face, tattoos that aren't mine, with a woman crying over me like I'm the center of everything.
And I just... accepted it.
I should be freaking out. I should be screaming, asking what's going on, thrashing around like an animal caught in a trap.
But no. I just breathe. Look at the ceiling. And accept it.
I guess I've always been like this. Always swallowed everything in silence. Since I was a kid, I learned that reacting didn't help. That screaming only made things hurt more. That showing pain was an invitation for more punishment. So I shut up. And kept going. Like I always did.
And then I fell into this crazy place where my shadow has a voice, a face, a heart. And still, even with everything, I find myself thinking: "ah, okay, now I'm some kind of Zoroastrian evil spirit. Cool. Let's go."
I hate myself for that, you know?
Because the truth is... I was never a good person.
Never good at any of this.
I think a lot about myself. How to get out of a situation. How to protect myself. How to avoid more pain. It was always about that. About me. Not about others. And I pretend it's not. I joke around, act like the guy who's fine, but it's all a shield. A shield so heavy that sometimes I forget what it's like to let someone see what's behind it.
I turn to the side, look at her — at me? — and I still don't understand why the hell she's crying. Why she cares so much. Why she's holding me like I'm the most precious thing in the world, when I've spent my whole life trying to prove I'm nothing special.
And, damn… it sucks.
It hurts more than any angelic attack, more than any cosmic erasure, more than any loneliness I've felt in this cursed void.
Because deep down, I wanted to believe her.
Wanted to believe that someone could truly want me here.
Love me. Even knowing what I am. Even with me being me.
I take a deep breath. My hand reaches for her hair, magenta like the first hues of a rising sky. And I speak, or at least try to:
— I'm not someone who should be saved...
The voice comes out weak, broken. Once again, I'm just that kid, full of shells, trying not to fall apart in front of someone. But she's there. Hugging me. Holding me tight. Like she's afraid I'll turn into smoke if she lets go.
And I…
I don't know how to deny this anymore.
Maybe... just this once...
I wanted to be saved.
The dim ceiling light pulsed with a slow rhythm, almost breathing with me. The air was heavy, thick, filled with a melancholy that didn't just come from me. It came from her. From the shadow… the woman with magenta hair who stayed close — so close I could feel the warmth of her skin against mine. With every second, the reality around me felt less real and more intimate. More… quiet. Like the whole universe was holding its breath not to interrupt that moment.
Then, I felt her fingers lightly touch my chin, and with a reverence that made my chest ache, she gently moved my head. Made me face her again, with no escape. There were no more shields or masks, just two naked gazes, exposing the rawest, most honest truths.
Her eyes… were swollen. Red. The intense hue around her irises seemed to shimmer with a faint glow, dimmed by the tears still tracing crystalline paths down her cheeks. Those eyes pierced through me. Not like a blade, but like a memory of something I never understood, but that was always there. It was like looking at a version of me that refused to give up… and who, somehow, loved me more than I thought was possible.
She didn't say anything at first. Just kept looking into my eyes, like she was trying to memorize me. Like seeing me breathing was all that mattered in the world. And then, in a calm, almost hesitant gesture, she lay beside me. Stayed there, facing me, with one arm resting lightly over my chest. Her body fit against mine as if that position had always been natural — like it had happened before, somewhere, in some forgotten time.
And then she spoke.
Her voice came out low, hoarse with emotion, but filled with a firmness that shattered me inside.
— I'll always be by your side, Rodrigo… — she said, her words sounding more like a sacred vow than a promise. — No matter what happens. No matter what you do… or who you become. None of that changes what I am. And what I am… is yours. Until the end. Even at the end of everything.
The words echoed inside me like a muffled thunder in the void. There was no arrogance, no exaggeration, no melodrama. Just a deep conviction, like something etched into the roots of the soul. The kind of declaration that didn't ask for a reply. That didn't demand reciprocity. That simply was.
I felt something warm spreading inside me. A knot in my throat. A tingling in my eyes warning me that if I blinked the wrong way, maybe tears would come from me too.
How am I supposed to respond to that?
How do you deal with someone — with a part of yourself — who, even torn, wounded, and shattered, chooses to stay by your side without asking for anything in return?
I turned my face slightly, feeling her fingers lightly grasp the fabric of the sheet between us. The touch was soft, but present. Comforting, even amid all this strangeness.
Maybe I don't have an answer right now. Maybe I never will.
But for some reason, in that quiet moment, with her beside me, the two of us looking at each other under that dim light, with our heartbeats echoing softly… I felt, for the first time in a long while, that maybe I wasn't alone anymore.
The silence between us was thick, but comforting. As if time had stopped just to give us that moment — a pause between what was and what was to come. The warmth of her body next to mine, the gentle brush of our arms under the dark sheet, the way her breathing slowly synchronized with mine… All of it made it feel like, for a moment, even after so much chaos, I had come home.
My throat still burned, dry as if I had swallowed stardust, or spent too long drifting silently in the absolute void. Even so, my voice tried to come out. It tore through in a weak whisper, almost choked, but full of sincerity.
"Hey…" I murmured, feeling my tongue fight against the dryness of my mouth. She turned slightly, her red eyes still fixed on me, attentive, as if every word I said was a sacred event. "I… wanted to ask you something."
She didn't answer right away. She simply raised one eyebrow gently, tilting her head as if silently telling me she was listening — as she always had. Her short magenta hair, tousled by the moment, fell slightly over her face, casting soft shadows dancing between her bangs and the eyes that seemed to hold too many memories for a single gaze.
I took a deep breath, trying to gather strength.
"What's your name?"
The question came out softer than I expected, but full of something I couldn't quite name. A weight, maybe. Or… a deep intimacy.
"Because, look…" I continued, with a crooked, tired smile — one of those smiles made more with the eyes than the lips. "I… I don't want to keep calling you 'shadow.' It's weird, you know? You… you deserve more than that. You deserve something that's yours. Something I can say when… when I need you. When I want to thank you. When I want to say I'm here too."
She blinked. Slowly. For a moment, her face seemed frozen in surprise. As if those words — simple, almost silly — had pierced through layers of pain she didn't even know she still carried.
The silence that followed was deep, almost ceremonial.
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned in closer, resting her forehead against mine, her eyes closing with a small tremble. And there, in the warmth of that touch, in the fragility of that moment, I felt… something change.
And even though she hadn't said it yet, I knew: the name that would come wouldn't be just a name. It would be the symbol of everything we had built since I stepped into that place where my thoughts shaped reality…
It was the name of the part of me that saved me. That carried me this far. That loved me, even when I didn't love myself.
And I was ready to hear it.
The silence stretched like a held breath between two worlds. She was still there, so close I could feel the warmth of her skin, the subtle scent of something sweet and metallic — maybe a memory of blood, maybe just a memory of what we'd been through. Her forehead rested against mine as if that alone was enough for our souls to entwine once more.
Then, finally, she spoke.
The word came out with a softness that seemed impossible for the weight it carried. It wasn't an explosion, it wasn't an announcement — it was a confession. A whisper, born deep in the throat, shaped with a reverence almost sorrowful.
"Nyx."
That sound echoed inside me like a muffled thunder, reverberating through my ribs, sinking deep into my heart. Nyx… I knew that name.
The primordial goddess of the night.
The shadow before time.
The mother of all that dwells in the veil between sleep and terror.
Nyx...
She — the part of me that had always existed there, hidden among the dark corners of my thoughts — now had a name. A beautiful, strong, tragic name. A name that was hers — not just a random word, but something with weight, with history, with essence.
"Nyx…" I repeated softly, testing the sound, feeling the vibration in my throat. My eyes still locked onto hers. "It's… beautiful. Intense. It suits you."
She smiled. Not a smile of amusement, but one of someone who, for a moment, found some kind of relief. The tears that had dried on her skin began to be replaced by something new. A silent warmth.
"It's the name I chose for myself," she whispered, her voice wavering between a childlike tenderness and an eternal solemnity. "I spent so long without form, without a face… just being a reflection, a noise, an instinct. But… now, I want to be more than that. I want to be real. I want to be… me."
The word me trembled on her lips like a child learning to speak for the first time.
And I felt it. Felt like that name, that simple sound, connected not only our story but everything left unspoken in what we lived: the fear, the pain, the anger, the silence… the loneliness.
"Then…" I said, slowly running my fingers through her magenta hair, feeling the living, warm texture like a strand of dawn before sunrise, "nice to meet you, Nyx."
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then… nestled even closer. As if, now with a name, with an identity, she had finally allowed herself to exist. Not just as a shadow. But as someone who had always been with me, and who now had the right to be called...