Warning: This story contains heavy elements of depression and suicide. I've had a lot of experience dealing with similar emotional states, and I wrote it as an example of the mindset of someone with severe depression and thoughts of suicide. Please do not take this as an example of suicide being the correct choice, because there is always hope on the horizon.

That being said, I hope that you find the story interesting. This is a standalone short story that takes place within another one of my works, Re:Imagined.

For those of you hardcore Re:Zero fans who will undoubtedly have tons of canon arguments against why this would never happen, I'll be posting a Chapter 2 (already written) with my explanations/reasons/arguments for why such an event could potentially take place with the constraints of the canon magic systems.

(spoilers for Re:Imagined)

This short story takes place during Chapter 10: Apocalypse Awakened. It is written as a response to some comments questioning how Reinhard the Invincible could ever possibly die, and this is the answer.

Death of the Hero

Reinhard slammed into the fractured ground, pulverized splinters flying into the air around him as the building he had collided with collapsed around him. The muffled scream of yet another civilian cried out in confusion and terror. Their cry was cut off abruptly, accompanied by a sickening 'CRUNCH'.

Reinhard turned his head to the side, desperate to save them- desperate to save even a single person in this doomed city. He flew through the rubble, knocking aside stones and timbers as if they were nothing. In an instant he had arrived at the source of the scream- only to find yet another lifeless corpse, the child's empty eyes staring blankly up into the sky.

Cradling the child in his arms, Reinhard frantically called out for help- for someone, anyone. No one answered, and images of Reinhard's friends coursed through his head. Felix, a Cultist's knife embedded in his head, blood running down his face and staining their frilly outfit. Subaru, with deep cuts criss crossing his body, unconscious eyes staring into the sky as his lifeblood dripped onto the ground. Crusch, striding confidently off into the plains at the head of a mighty army- only to be crushed one at a time by the monstrosity of the White Whale, her blood and bones pulping under its malevolent mass.

A single crystal clear tear fell onto the child's face as Reinhard knelt above her. Frantically cycling through the dozens if not hundreds of Divine Protections that empowered his body, Reinhard cursed each and every one as they failed to save the child.

[Greed] "What a pathetic display."

As the Sin Archbishop's malicious tone drifted down from above the wreckage, one of Reinhard's Divine Protections activated, alerting him to a deadly attack headed straight towards him. Standing up, Reinhard prepared to dodge, his legs shaking beneath him. It wasn't from physical exhaustion- no, despite the 10 hours of constant, nonstop fighting and dying, he still wasn't physically tired. This exhaustion came from a much deeper source.

Reinhard stood there, paralyzed by his own apathy. What did it matter if he died once more? What, would he disappoint his friends? No. They were all dead, scattered limbs decorating this charnel graveyard that was Lugunica. Would he disappoint himself? Ha! Why would he EVER bother mourning the death of a monster- a monster like himself. No. No one would care if he died.

Trapped within his mind, Reinhard could only look up with a fatalistic, apathetic look in his vacant, empty eyes. A thin line moved with incredible speed, cutting through the stone and wood like they were paper, headed directly at him.

And yet Reinhard still didn't move. The blade came ever closer, feet, then inches away. Reinhard closed his eyes, feeling the sickening, all-too familiar sensation of a searing pain- then the horrifying sense of disconnectedness, of complete numbness as his body fell to the ground, cut in two.

The part that Reinhard had learned to dread most was the return. Drifting within the comforting void that always seemed to proceed his death, the moment he had learned to dread the most was the return. The feeling of sensation flooding through him as his body reconstructed itself, his Divine Protection of the Phoenix activating once again.

Opening his eyes, he surveyed the burning wasteland. In the distance one of the spires of the Royal Castle collapsed with a silent echo, a final requiem to the tomb that was Lugunica. Reinhard had long since lost track of how many times he had died. Not that any of them had meant anything.

From behind him an angry roar sounded, an obsidian dragon rising from the ashes, sending soot and smoky ashes rising in its wake. Not far off Greed strolled casually through the streets towards him, his steps confident and measured.

Looking down at them, Reinhard felt only despair at the thought of yet another meaningless confrontation- of yet more pointless destruction. Even he was no more than the shallow, empty husk of a human being- he had been for a long time now, but only now realized the true depravity of his existence.

Looking down towards the rubble, a glimmer caught his eye. The soft gleam of a golden hilt shone out- and Reinhard recognized it for what it was. The Dragon Sword Reid, the most useless blade in all existence. Within it was contained the power to end this conflict- yet despite his many attempts, Reinhard had utterly failed to draw it, even when faced with such opponents as Greed and Lust.

The blade lay in a pile of rubble, cast off in a fit of rage at his own impotence earlier in the day. As Reinhard looked down into the softly glowing metal of its sheath, he saw himself in its reflection. A seemingly endless series of deaths passed before his eyes, and in that moment, looking at the his ragged and battered reflection, Reinhard felt like he could see his future in the reflection- an endless cycle of fighting and dying, again and again and again, all to accomplish nothing.

Looking down, Reinhard felt a flicker of hope break through his apathy. If the damned blade wouldn't accept the Archbishops as 'worthy'- then perhaps there was one it would accept. Frantically wracking his brain for any other option, any other possibility- Reinhard saw none, naught but darkness and hopelessness stretching out far into the future, farther than his eyes could see. Desperation gripped him, a desperate need for rest, for release- and with that, his choice was made.

Picking up the sheath, Reinhard held his breath as- inch by inch- the blade slowly revealed itself. The silvery metal flared in the light, and within its deadly curves Reinhard saw finality- an end of the type that only a monster such as he deserved. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Reinhard attempted to calm his raging fears, the persistent thoughts, the demanding doubts.

With a savage growl he shook his head, dispelling all doubts from his mind. Looking into the blade for one last time, he saw himself- his tattered reflection backlit by the dancing flames of his failure, highlighting every inch of his broken vows, his all-consuming inadequacy. Then, closing his eyes, he swung the blade.