"You have returned even more pitiful than before. You were given a chance—and you squandered them all. You have lost every opportunity."
"…Sigh." I exhaled softly, my voice barely audible in the vast emptiness.
I looked at Him.
A presence—immense, unfathomable, and terrifyingly calm.
I couldn't make out his face, nor even his true form.
I never have.
Not once in all the countless times I've found myself here.
There's a part of me that believes it's intentional—that his form is hidden by design. All I ever see is a silhouette, one that bleeds into the very fabric of the cosmos. Yet the power it radiated... it was impossible to comprehend. My soul trembled with every word that echoed from his being.
The Keeper.
I often wonder what it would feel like… to stand before a true god.
"Have you accepted your fate?" it asked.
And I felt it.
The weight of its words. The pull of something far beyond comprehension. I couldn't look away—I couldn't look down, up, left, or even right. For the briefest moment, my perception fractured… and I saw it.
The wailing.
The endless torment.
Eternity—twisting, consuming.
That was what awaited me.
"…No." My voice was hoarse, my fists clenched tightly.
It can't end like this.
No.
Not after everything I've endured.
What was the point of it all?
What did it amount to?
"There… there has to be another way!" I shouted, desperate, trembling.
But it said nothing.
The silence was absolute.
Suffocating.
I felt powerless.
Hopeless.
…Is this truly me?
Is this… how it ends?
"There is no other way, young one," the Keeper finally spoke.
For reasons I still don't understand, it has always called me that—young one. A title I doubt it uses for many.
Perhaps it's because I remember.
Not just after death…
Even while alive.
Unlike most, whose memories are wiped clean until death offers them a fleeting glimpse of what once was—I always remembered. Maybe not everything, not completely. Time has eroded the edges, and I'm starting to lose track of how long I've done this. But still, I remember. I remember lives no one else seems to carry.
And in a strange way… it's destroyed the identity I should have had.
A trait—a soul's signature.
People often believe personality and behavior are shaped solely by environment and society. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Every soul holds something unique—an innate essence that is entirely their own. That's why two souls, placed in identical bodies, raised in the same environment, exposed to the same experiences… will still never become the same person.
That essence, that trait—it's imprinted at the core.
Yes, traits can change. With enough willpower, with an overwhelming desire to become something different… a person can evolve. But it is rare. Often, what we see are masks—temporary personas crafted to survive.
A timid soul may seem confident one day, fierce even… but deep down, behind the facade, they remain unchanged. The mask always cracks. Life eventually pushes us to the edge, and when it does, the truth comes pouring out.
Real transformation—true change—is agonizingly difficult.
But in my case… I fear I've lost that trait entirely.
I had a theory once—maybe all souls are meant to sever their ties to past lives with each death. That way, the essence of the soul remains untouched, untainted by the weight of accumulated experience. Perhaps that's how the universe ensures we don't evolve too far… too fast.
But I've never forgotten.
I remember every life. Every single one. Sometimes I even encounter people who feel eerily familiar, mistaking them for fragments of my past. That trait… whatever it is… I've lost it.
And now? I don't even know what I am anymore.
I've reincarnated into so many damn things.
A serial killer.
An orphan.
A slave.
A prince.
A servant.
A loser.
But never… a winner.
Not once have I tasted the feeling they call "happiness." Each morning, I wake with only one goal: to die a pathetic death and chip away at my karmic debt. That's it. No dreams. No hopes. Just another tick on some cosmic scoreboard.
"Fine. Then… can you do me one favor?" I asked, voice brittle with fatigue.
I'm tired.
It feels like I've been cursed—damned to suffer through endless cycles of torment. I want it to stop. I don't want this life anymore. I'm sick of it. I'm fucking sick of it.
"I have no obligation to honor the wish of a soul walking the path of damnation," he said.
I closed my eyes.
What did I do to deserve this? It might've been easier if I'd never been made aware of my karmic burden. Maybe then, I could've lived freely—unshackled by fate. Not a slave to karma. Maybe things would've been different. No… they would have been different.
I have so many regrets. So many.
Some people never truly experience the darker aspects of life. They live without obligation, untouched by manipulation or fear. Not the 'blessed'—those are still tied to fate's web. I mean the others—the side characters of the world. The ones who just exist, without ever being caught in the grand design. I've always envied them. They make choices for themselves, unburdened by cosmic interference. Sometimes they die satisfied, other times with regrets, but each life is theirs.
But that's not my story.
Sometimes I feel like the only soul truly caged within this cycle of retribution. Why me?
I no longer seek the happiness love once promised. I've seen too many betrayals, too many lies, too many manipulations—some I willingly fell for, clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe this time it would be different. But it never was. I was always just a pawn.
Now, the happiness I crave is freedom. Peace. But I know I can't have either.
I've come to accept that.
"…However, you may speak," it said.
"Erase me."
That was all I said.
At this point, that's all I truly want.
To be erased.
To be wiped clean.
To never have existed.
To have these memories scrubbed from existence.
Anything is better than being trapped in this never-ending purgatory, waiting for redemption that will never come. I know it won't.
"It… cannot be done," it replied.
Of course not.
Sigh.
"Every soul is recorded in the eternal archives. Even as a god, I cannot erase what has been etched into the fabric of existence," it said.
Yeah. Fuck you.
Whatever.
Let the torment continue.
I can't even cry anymore.
Sigh.
FUCK!
FUCK THIS LIFE!
WHY IS EVERYTHING SO UNFAIR?!
Sigh.
"Fine then. Do it," I whispered, resigned.
I should've lived that last life on my own terms. I knew, deep down, that no matter what I did, it would only make things worse. But I did it anyway.
I had hope.
How foolish of me.
"…However," it said again, a faint flicker in its voice.
"There may still be a way, young one."
"…What?" I asked, barely daring to breathe.
"I can cleanse your karmic debt entirely."
My mind went blank.
There's no way.
There's no fucking way.
If that were possible, then—
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!" I roared, rage finally boiling over.
"Mind your tone," it snapped, its voice heavy with divine authority. "Or I may cast you down this instant."
I glared at it. Enraged.
But helpless.
"…What way?" I asked, voice tight.
"I will send you to a world. There, you must survive three trials," it said.
Just three trials?
That's it?
Three trials compared to hundreds of lifetimes?
"Why?"
"It's the only way, I, as a Keeper, can manipulate the system."
"...Tell me."