What does it mean to be a hero?
I have asked this question more times than I could count. Is it to save those in need? Does being a hero of the people mean that you must obey a code of honour, putting your life on the line for a greater purpose? or does it simply mean to enclose oneself in flamboyant clothes and pretend to be someone you are not?
Please, I want you to know that I fully understand the meaning of a word so comically used in old children's tales, it's embarrassing for an adult to claim that title. That fact aside, I learned it the hard way, that no matter how strong your beliefs are in the sanctity of your adolescent dreams, they're easily shattered.
I know this fact, I know it yet... I still can't understand... why?
I gave everything I had when I recognized the futility of my dreams. I threw myself into battle after battle, one gruelling campaign to another. I crawled through mud and fire and came to lead my own men into battle after showing the qualities of a good leader. Once I realized that I could not be the hero my family would be proud of, I threw away everything I had for victory, to save humanity!
My men... they died a dog's death under my command. There was no doubt that their willing deaths achieved our objectives, but it cast a shadow above my soul and chipped away from what little was left of my dream, until nothing but my code of honour was left.
Yet, that too was taken away...
"Why?" asked the senile man, his face showing confusion and shock. The once herculean man who once dealt death to a horde of mutants and demons all by himself was gone now, replaced by an old soldier bleeding on the ground, stripped of his prized victory by the one he trusted the most.
Tears began to form under my eyes, slowly dripping down my wrinkled and scarred face. I never thought I could cry again, the source of my tears, I thought, had dried up as the man within me died.
"I'm sorry... I-I have to do this." There was a pain in my chest, so strong in intensity, that felt like it would rip my soul apart. A paralysing sense of guilt.
Shin wanted to retort, rightfully resentful of my betrayal, but I was a coward, I could not face his righteous fury. So I slit his throat, forever damning myself as a kinslayer.
Shin's head hit the ground and died soon after, leaving me with pain so severe that it shook the world. I heard a terrible scream as the single thread keeping my sanity intact snapped. I looked for the source of it at the edge of my vision, finding it to be the same head whose life I cut short.
Shin's face formed an inhuman grin, his once beautiful eyes taking a shade of black, "I saw what you did, Kinslayer."
A gust of wind touched my face and formed a whirlpool, surrounding me. The vortex began to consume the light that touched the Citadel from an uncaring sun, creating a phosphene of black and white that was being conducted into my soul.
"Brother..." I let out a weak cry. Uncaring of my cry, the light faded and the darkness returned.
Open one eye, darkness. The other eye... darkness again.
In the abyss, a man struggled in search of light, yet his squirming and quivering were not due to fear of the dark and the void around him, but it was caused by pain.
Jernai grabbed his chest, the guilt felt as though it was crushing his chest. He could still breathe, and despite the dark, he knew he was in a dark room and not under the ocean, but the knowledge of it brought little comfort. He was, for all intents and purposes, locked in a dark room with no simulation available with the exception of the recent memories, that kept reliving themselves in his eyes, adding more stress to the pain in his heart.
This was hell, Jermai knew that, why else would he be here, in a place that was tailored in a way to inflict him pain?
"Urgh!" he groaned, his hand clasping his chest so tightly that his nails began to bite into the flesh. The sharp sensation of physical pain in his chest was followed by gasps for air, and as the blood began to drip down from his chest, his hands went limp and his consciousness faded.
Jermai couldn't tell when his consciousness returned or whether he lost it in the first place. In the dark, there was no sense of time nor direction. Hell, Jermai couldn't even tell whether he was alive or dead. He couldn't breathe, the pain in his chest was constant, and he kept going unconscious, if he lost consciousness at all, he couldn't find his answer in the dark.
The hours passed in a blur or maybe he had been in here for only a few minutes, again, there was no answer. Maybe it was around his sixteen's time when he woke up again that he realized the hard cold marble floors he was lying on, paralyzed in this personal hell, it reminded him of the citadel, but that couldn't be true, the dark tower was destroyed by his hands, humanity was saved, or maybe that's just another illusion created to mess with his sanity? as far as he knew, the Citadel's master's genius was not too far off from coming up with such elaborate ways to torture him.
"Or maybe you're here because this is what you deserve?" a Voice rang in his ear.
Jermai questioned his sanity, was he finally going insane and hearing voices? even if he didn't, he couldn't turn his head to confirm it, he lost his ability to move shortly after losing his ability to breathe. So he lay there, uncaring of the voices in his head, not that he could do anything about them.
"I wonder what would Shin think if he saw you like this?" the voice asked, and the pain in his chest intensified with the thought of his brother. "You killed him right? So naturally, he would gloat at your sight, he would feel as though justice has been served, just like all the others."
'He is right.' Jermai thought, as the images of his men began to flash before his eyes. In his mind, he saw them looking down at him from the corner of the dark cell, clad in ragged uniforms, blood gushing down from their eyes and bearing all kinds of injuries. A few were torn to shreds, their flesh barely holding together by a few threads of tendons and strings of half-torn tissue. Some were shot, some were crushed and some were drowned. Jermai recognized all of them as they once served under him, the corpse closest to him was Jonathan Keith his second in command during the Caspian campaign, he was covered in mud, just the way he died, shot in the spine and left to drown in a few centimetres of mud without being able to move.
Had Jermai given the order to retreat, he might've survived to see his newborn son.
Had it been his old self, Jermai might've sensed dread with the sight of corpses stalking him in the dark but surprisingly he felt... nothing. Of course, the sense of guilt was there, more intense than ever, but nothing akin to fear, and in a way, it made sense: Why fear the unjust punishment when he clearly deserved it?
"The sinners deserve to be punished." The voice spoke again, "The pain, the dark, the fresh memories of the dead and an eternity is your verdict."
'A well-placed sentence.' Jermai thought, agreeing with the voice.
The voice broke the silence again, but this time only as a whisper, "Jermai, son of a traitor and a kinslayer, embrace the dark." the Voice ordered, and Jermai obeyed.
In the distance, a long way from the misery of the dark cells, in a place so lavish as to be a different world entirely, soft music enveloped the young man's senses.
But who could tell such a man's true age? he was an aristocrat of an ancient family that dated back to when humanity first travelled the stars. His ancient lineage opened him to a path available for a few: Blood rituals, technomantic rites of ascension, rejuvenation treatments, and mechanical augmentations. His kind outlived generations.
"And the recruits? are your disciples ready?"
"Our sects have filled their quotas six months ago." A crimson-haired man replied, his face obscured by his double-faced robes, a red fabric covered by a layer of black lenin. "Some of the recruits from B9 and A1 are promising." He offered the datapad to the governor who studied it carefully.
Malos allowed himself a grin, so far thirty of the candidates had survived the first trial, and the mission was as good as over. When the commission ends in a satisfactory term for the governor, he can recruit the survivors for the cause.
Though the governor looked dissatisfied with the result, "A mere five hundred from a pool of fifty thousand?" he threw the datapad and the small cogitator cracked under the force. The governor frowned, "I paid for an army, not a jester to entertain me."
'Tch' Malos grunted under his breath, the fool in front of him was incapable of understanding the magnitude of success, such numbers are. Their training has proven themselves time and time again, to be capable of rivalling the Imperium's best. Such abundance of initiates with such quality was unheard of. This fool of a patron didn't know the quality of the stock on his planet, the previous planets resulted in less than a hundred recruits from a far larger selection. Five hundred was a godsend!
"Please Governer, each of these survivors will outperform any foe we may come across. These stock are refined to meet your standards and more."
"We'll see about that." Governer huffed, a gesture which irritated the Agent.
'We'll see indeed.' Malos whispered as he knelt to retrieve his Datapad, the device may be limited in its capabilities, but it was still a piece of archeotech, far superior to mechanicus replications.
"Our trainees with be to your satisfaction, no doubt. And since we have shown a far exceeding result than originally intended, my superiors require a greater compensation to continue the operations."
"You call this "Exceeding"? a band of half-starved rabble?" he sneered, though relented in the end.
A servitor from the governor's staff brought the case and promptly gave it to Malos. Within the case were three vials filled with a red glowing fluid.
The Agent smiled, "One more vial, for the consolation given to me by your sect leader." Malos's eyes widened as he heard the news, "He assured me that there will be no failures this time." The governors grew cold at the reminder of the previous failure.
Malos gulped, "The mission will succeed, you have my word."
"For your sake and I, I hope you're right, Agent." The governor took a deep breath then narrowed his eyes at Malos, "Now, you can see yourself out, my fate may be sealed, but until then, I have a planet to manage."
How many days has it passed since he was first trapped in this hell? He counted the times he had died but lost interest once the numbers passed two thousand.
He got used to the figures by now, and he was numbed to the pain. It was still there, deep in his chest, but learning to ignore his problems was one of his particularly honed talents. You couldn't survive the trials of the officer corps without being able to ignore the horrors around you. This is particularly true for the officers of the United Front.
Though however much he could endure the pain, he couldn't ward off everything, especially... that thing...
It was a stalker that appeared in the corner of his vision once his eyes got used to the dark enough to see the room's building blocks. It was a slithering creature that glowed ever so slightly in the dark and disappeared before you could fully lay your eyes on it, always at the corner of your peripheral but not fully in sight.
Jermai drew his attention away from the escaping creature and looked at the ceiling, the same thing he had been doing for god knows how long. He kept his eyes on the colourless roof and listened, He listened to the curses heralded at him by his illusionary comrades, describing every sin he has committed in his life amplifying the pain in him.
Strangely, it was slightly comforting to have justice be served, even if it ended at Jermai's expense.
Jermai's ears twitched as the sound of tapping feet was heard. It was silent, so much so that detecting it would be nearly impossible under normal circumstances, but Jermai was deprived of sounds for so long that even the most delicate of whispers was irritating to his ears. Whoever the footsteps belong to must be trained well in the art of a saboteur.
Scratch that, what he was or who he was of no importance, where was he to hear from another person? Was he not in hell? was he not dead, if not then why couldn't he breathe yet still conscious? Why couldn't he move?
His thoughts were interrupted by a ray of light and the sound of a small metal door opening.
Jermai, kept in the dark for so long, closed his eyes lest he could be blinded. The footsteps also stopped but Jermai still couldn't open his eyes to look upon his captors, the light was too much.
"Etiam hic mortuus est." Jermai heard the man speak, his language was foreign, it sounded like Spanish but he couldn't be sure. "Sectio A2 ad A9... omnia vacua..."
The other captor huffed, "Omnis e secundo gradu mortuus est, nescio quid etiam tentasti."
The first man spoke again, "Nulla pulsatio, nulla corporalis operatio ad duos annos." He stopped, writing something down, "Etiamne cibum relinquere? Hominem dico ... mortuum esse."
"Non curo cur nos etiam mortuis commeatus dare velint, et ingenue amplius non curo. Hoc solum volo mercedem ac locum relinquere priusquam me bestiae." The Captor took something from his colleague and threw it on the cell's floor, the sound of a bronze plate hitting the floor was followed by the sound of the door closing.
"priusquam nos mordeant angues."
And with that, the maddening silence of the dark returned.
'Jermai was not in hell' The knowledge hit him like a train, the realization that he was somehow still alive after the incident in the citadel should be of good tidings, yet his mind was restless. If he was alive and kept prisoner, it meant that he had not faced the justice he deserved, he wasn't atoning for his sins. The process of his soul's purification was a false lie he came up with to justify his past, that everything he did was right because he was atoning for it now.
He gritted his teeth and his face, despite his paralyzed state, contorted to showcase his anger and despair, not against his captors but against himself. He was furious at himself, constantly berating himself in the dark for convincing himself, even for a moment, that he was free from the guilt, that all lives lost under his command could be compensated with the weight of his suffering. He thought himself a redeemed man, yet...
...he was wrong.
Jermai felt despair, he wasn't truly alive and free to set a course for his redemption, instead, he was trapped in a cell that resembled hell so closely, yet it wasn't the hell he wished to be in. For the veteran soldier of Earth's united front, hell was eternal, without hope, and most importantly, redeeming. Hell was the ultimate form of judgment, the only thing capable of purifying his soul. He thought this darkness was hell, yet...
...he was wrong.
The worst part in all this, however, was the fact that he was alive meant that his mission had failed. He never truly destroyed the citadel, the earth and humanity weren't saved, and he was captured by the traitors to tortured under the citadel's walls.
Jermai adhered to the guidance of Perfection, the being he thought to be the pinnacle of what he could be, his ultimate potential, and for that potential, he sacrificed everything, even his brother. He thought he could save humanity by spilling his brother's blood, yet...
...he was wrong.
He was wrong. Again and again, the three words reverberated in his head. Only three words were even more insanity-inducing than even the whispers of the dead, the cries of the innocent, and the unheard screams of hundreds of nations and cultures genocided in the great war for survival.
His life's memories began to replay in his mind, of countless times he judged his ruthless actions to be the right course because he thought he was right, that victory can only be achieved through the blatant blithe of the losses that may occur.
It was the right thing to do because victory brought peace and achieving peace was the correct thing to do. If the peace was achieved, his actions could be justified, his sins be washed away, but he didn't achieve victory, did he?
The citadel was still there, all his actions, all his pride and vanity were for nothing, Jermai was wrong in the end, just like his father, just like how his mother told him, just like how Shin told him...
"Pfft!" Jermai couldn't help but laugh hysterically at his own life's irony, it was something he thought he couldn't do, considering how there was no air in his lungs, he lost the ability to breathe the first day he was thrown into this cell. Or maybe he wasn't laughing, and was only imagining this in his head, his ears were filled with the voice of the dead, why not his own mad laughter?
"You were right Shin, you always were, brother!" His body began to twitch slightly as tried to move it, "You were always right, and I was a fool. I did everything without a second thought." Jermai forced his arms to move, and the pain in his chest intensified, "I... I can't even atone, what kind of life is this?" Tears began to form under his eyes, and his hands began to shake as he wrapped his hands around his neck.
"If... If this isn't hell... If justice isn't served, then... then I'll make it right. I'll make up for what I did, Shin, Mother, my comrades." Jermai's nails began to push into his flesh, blood spilling out as he increased the force.
Jermai hesitated, his primal survival instincts were screaming at him to stop as his fingers pierced deeper into his neck, but he didn't stop, he had to see it through, to see the justice served. His eyes searched around the room, amidst the illusionary ghosts of his dead men, hoping to find someone he felt his closest. Jermai stopped his search as he saw the man beheaded by his hands, Shin, "I won't keep you waiting in hell, brother."
His fingers dug deeper into his neck, wrapped around the vital veins and the thyroid glance and pulled them out with such force he never thought he could muster. Jermai's eyes never looked away from the dead as he bled out, their faces were contorted into an inhuman grin.
It was a painful death, heightened by the pain in his chest, but it was quick, quicker than what Jermai thought he deserved. But a death was death, it didn't matter how he embraced his journey to the true hell of the afterlife, only that he did.
Open one eye, darkness. The other eye... darkness again.
How many times has it been? how many times has he killed himself? Can he even die?
So much time had passed that Jermai no longer cared, whatever shred of sanity he had was long gone. Now, he simply wondered his cell with eyes devoid of life, unable to live, unable to die, neither in hell nor in heaven, not even the void welcomed him into its embrace.
It was after his fourth death he realized that he no longer had a heartbeat, his heart had just... stopped. He didn't know why or when, he just realized it as he bit into the vein in his hand, the blood didn't flow as it should. Jermai was a soldier, he knew the difference between a bleeding corpse and the bleeding from a live creature with a heartbeat, all that was needed was the application of the practical and check for his own pulse, of which there was none.
His heartbeat, or lack thereof, had negatively affected his motion: A persistent pain in his chest, his head and his muscles as he tried to move around. Sluggish, painful and lethargic movement, unabling him from reaching his full motor function. And the inability to breathe, causing multiple short-term comas throughout the day as his brain couldn't supply oxygen to itself and shut down. The same was true about his other organs which also failed constantly.
When Jermai first stood up, he was met with a large pile of rotten food that his captors must've given him every day, but he was unable to move for god knows how long, so his rations were all spoiled. For reasons yet unknown, Jermai couldn't die in this cell, whether by suffocation, bleeding or starvation, but he could feel pain. Thus, his first attempts at quenching his starvation began and ended as quickly as it began.
The foul taste of the pig's food did little to help his neglected stomach. Thanks to constant organ failure, which in turn, was caused by a lack of oxygen and fresh blood supply, everything Jermai ate found its way out of his stomach.
But at the very least, there was a silver lining, "At least I don't need to shit." Jermai whispered, not eating meant that he produced no excrement, meaning he didn't have to crawl in his own shit while trapped inside a tiny cell.
Jermai sat, his back leaning against the wall. The taste of the food he threw up was still fresh on his tongue. His eyes were locked on the door, barely visible ever since his eyes got used to the total dark. He could, after so long, see the stone trims that formed his cell. From the little information, he could gather, he discovered the material to be black marble, a hardy material used in the construction of demonic portals, as hard as tungsten and impossible to make something other than a wall with, yet somehow, the demons made their towers so that they would touch the skies.
"It's concluded then? am I in the Citadel?" The starved man questioned and gazed at the door as if expecting it to answer. He shook his head, there was no point in answering the question. What the current epoch of his life necessitated from him was to escape, and whether he'll resume his failed attempts at ending his own life... well, only after escaping can he answer it.
For now, however, he must rest. It's been a while since the last time his consciousness faded, and despite his brain's attempts at adapting to his new state, it was failing.
"Death number 34009." Jermai inscribed on the wall, and there was no sign of consolation as of yet.
In harsh conditions, homo sapiens adapt and try to make do with limited resources or human interaction. Jermai's only reliable way to calculate time was death, occurring regularly but less frequently as time passed. Yet, they bore the same pain... every death...
Jermai shook his head, disregarding the thoughts that had occurred to him a thousand times before - and that he knew would surely occur to him a thousand times more.
'Now is not the time,' the voice in his head told him. Reminding him that he couldn't let the questions consume him, or else he would lose himself. He had to keep his mind clear, and train, train for the day he would have to leave and face what was to come. If he wasn't prepared, then he would be lost, and that was not an option. He had to continue, he couldn't give up... Not yet.
Jermai dropped to the ground, doing pushups - one of the few physical exercises he could perform in the confines of his cell. He did so, to ensure he would be strong enough to escape if the opportunity presented itself, but he mostly did them to occupy his mind. To ignore the ghosts that haunted his thoughts and keep the voices of madness at bay. He couldn't let them devour him, not yet.
"That pitiful attempt of yours, won't help you, Brother," a small head called from the corner of the cell's door, its dark silhouette a mere shadow within the gloom. The voice in his head was one he recognized well, its words biting at his soul and striking deep. "No matter how much pain you inflict upon yourself, no matter how much you try," it croaked, its tone filled with hatred, "You cannot wash your hands of the blood." The words hung in the air, haunting Jermai as he listened to the phantom's words
Jermai chose to remain silent, ignoring the phantom as it shouted its insults at him. It wasn't the first time they'd tried to talk to him, so he saw no need to respond. He took note of the increased hostility in its tones, however. They were using insults and slights as their preferred method of communication now, and it suited him, at least in that it was easier to ignore than the wailing and crying they'd used previously. He felt a slight sense of relief knowing that he was being punished, that justice was being served... Even if he didn't particularly enjoy it. The voice continued to insult him, but in some strange way, Jermai felt like he was doing the right thing - to allow them to vent, and to at least try to make good on his past mistakes. He didn't like the insults, but if this was the only way he could redeem himself, then it had to be done. So he took it, and he took the pain and the guilt, and he took it without a word or a sound.
Jermai continued his exercises day and night, pain accompanying his every step or movement. Since he couldn't breathe, nor did his heart beat, he was in constant pain - every movement made him ache, and his muscles burned. Despite the intense exhaustion that came with the exercise, and the times where his limbs would go limp from overuse, he did not stop. Jermai couldn't die in this cell, that blessing was stolen from him, so he pushed himself beyond his limits, again and again, to punish himself for his sins. It felt as though the pain kept him alive, the only emotion that felt right, the only thing keeping the voices at bay.
His body collapsed again as his muscles couldn't bear the weight of the exhaustion. He hated these moments, the moments where he couldn't do anything but wait for his muscles to recover enough to continue with his exercises. In times like these, he was forced to listen to the sounds again, the phantoms, and as of late, some other dark voices like alluring choirs in the dark void.
The new voices clashed with the voices of the damned - The name he chose for the ghosts of his comrades that now haunted him - whilst the damned demanded justice, the dark whispers promised redemption and an eternity of pleasure.
The first whispers, strong and rugged, appealed to Jermai's sense of valour, of how he had fought well, and there was no need to torture oneself unless on the field of battle with a sword in hand and bathed in enemy's blood. The Whisper promised him power, enough to slaughter the ghosts that were so arrogant as to punish a war hero like Jermai.
It appealed to the commander within him, and the promise of revenge against Citadel's daemons that invaded Earth and destroyed more than half of it was appealing, but he had failed, he was unworthy of commanding another regiment.
...So he chose to ignore his bloodlust.
The second whisper, soft and elegant, sang him a beautiful lullaby. He whispered sweet dreams in his ears, promising an eternity of pleasure and festivities. The Voice told him that his past didn't matter, neither did the future, only now, only the present mattered, and that he should live his life to the fullest, if not for himself then for his comrades who cared for him, they wouldn't want the person they cared for to suffer, did they?
The second whisper appealed to his desires, to his desire to forget the past and trust his instinct. But it also told him to forget about his comrades and the injustice Jermai committed against them. There was not an ounce of doubt in his head that he was guilty and had to be punished, thus, making the Whisper nothing but nonsense.
... So he ignored his desires.
The third whisper, caring and reassuring, was harder to ignore than the other two before it. It spoke to something deep within Jermai's mind, to his desire to find peace, something he wanted more than anything ever since he was abducted into this cell.
It shamed him to admit it, but Jermai wanted peace in death or in life, to be rid of this purgatory. But alas, his guilt proved itself too mighty, so he chose to decline peace.
The fourth whisper, cunning and wise, more potent than anything before it, appealed to Jermai's younger days, to the curious child who tried to gain his mother's approval by succeeding in life yet, he never achieved this feat...
Jermai relived his life from childhood til the day he became an adult, the dark days of his life that were simultaneously the best days of his life also. Back then he wanted to be a scientist, a doctor, a pilot, an entrepreneur, anything that may please his mother. So he studied, excelled in all subjects, and received scholarships from the most prestigious academies across the world. Yet none warmed the grieving heart of his mother. Then, the war came and engulfed the world and dragged him from the comfort of the academy to the mud-filled hell of the battlefield.
The whisper spoke of the most vulnerable parts of his memories, and it gave him an offer he wanted more than anything, a chance to change everything, to never repeat the same mistakes ever again, all he had to do was to leave this place behind, to forget his sins... but he couldn't, could he?
Jermai shook his head, reminding himself of his duty to repent, so long as every ghost within his mind wasn't satisfied with the suffering he endured, he would never forgive himself, and neither would he look for a better life.
So, in the end, he chose to leave his dreams behind...
Jermai lay in the corner of his room, exhausted and defeated by the voices in his head. His mind was a battlefield where the voices constantly fought for control. Suddenly, the voices went silent, and Jermai felt a sense of clarity come over him. He slowly pulled himself up and leaned against the wall, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He had survived another day, but the voices will return, they always do.
He had hoped he would get used to the voices by now, but they always managed to surprise him. Every time they approached him, it was different, as if they knew exactly how to torture him.
Jermai rubbed his eyes and shook the thoughts away. It didn't matter how many times they tried, he could endure it, he always did. But now, he had to continue, he had to make sure he was ready for his escape.
"Death number 39039" the numbers rose but at a lesser rate, and I don't know whether should I feel joy at my body's adaptability or feel concerned of losing my sense of time.
The rotten food in the corner of my room is piling up. I don't know when my wardens put the food in my cell, I never caught them aside from the very first time I saw them in Gods know how long ago. Even if I could eat the food, where do they expect me to shit? they want me to crawl in my own filth?
I can't catch them off guard to make my escape, they're too skilled, too professional to leave an opening. They never even showed themselves to me.
For now, I must train, I must be ready to make my escape.
"Death number 39934"
The constant cycles of death and life were a blessing I was too foolish to appreciate, but I guess anything is a gift from the heavens in this god-forsaken place.
I'm starting to lose my mind, I am losing my sense of time and writing my thoughts on the walls with my own blood isn't helping the situation.
I can hear the whispers, they speak of others not far away from my own prisons, cells other than my own. Many of the cells are now quiet, and the slithering one is in search of new prey. They told me to accept their gift, they told me that they could save me from myself and from the beasts. But the damned... They demand more suffering.
For now, I pray that I may not be the next.
"Number 40101"
Who have I been listening to all this time?
Shin won't speak to me, the bodiless head in the corner of my cell is merely a silent observer. His blank eyes, devoid of any expression, reflect the darkest moments of his life. They mock me, laughing at my futile attempts to communicate with Shin, to gain his trust and get him to speak. He remains stubbornly silent, refusing to give me what I so desperately crave...
"41120"
The long silence began, there was something outside. The whispers told me that the other cells were nearly empty, only three remained.
The beast was coming...
"41300"
The cells are silent at last, the damned don't utter a single word let alone an insult as they used to once before. Maybe they noticed the approaching void too?
"41320"
I cursed the whispers once but now, I wish them back. The silence is killing me.
I kept trying to talk to them, the damned, but they won't reply. I tried to break the door but ended up breaking myself.
I feel my strength waning, my mind which I once thought unbreakable, was rusting away with the passing of time.
I will... for time...
The beast is inside, and with it the end of my torment.
Mother, Shin, I have never forgotten you, I...
...Forgive me...
The child opened one eye... darkness. Open the other... darkness again.
He gasped for air as panic set in but quickly calmed down as he surveyed his surroundings. He was in a forest, it was all a dream, a bad bad dream. The air was alive with the sounds of buzzing insects and chirping birds. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a figment of his imagination, that he was still in that dark cell and gone insane. But the rustling leaves on the ground and the trees swaying in the wind reminded him that it was all too real.
He had escaped from his home again, seeking refuge in the woods near his house. Jermai couldn't recall the reason for his departure, but considering his mother's current mental state, it wasn't far-fetched to assume that he had fled to be alone with his thoughts. The woods provided a sense of peace and serenity that was absent at home, and he welcomed its tranquillity to clear his thoughts.
The sun had long since set, and dawn was still far away. The forest at night was no longer as frightening as he once imagined. He had been there several times during the week, and the sounds of buzzing insects, chirping birds, and rustling tall grass in the wind would always take his thoughts away from work. The quiet atmosphere of the forest provided a welcome respite from his daily life. He could forget his worries and enjoy the serenity of the forest, free from the constant distractions and responsibilities that often overwhelmed him.
This was the one place that Jermai had when work became too taxing on his young mind, or when he didn't feel like going to school on a certain day. And why shouldn't he? The principal didn't seem to mind, having given him plenty of leeway after he placed first in the national mathematics competition. With his grades, he could simply stop attending school and the teachers wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. It was as if the school recognized his exceptional talent and had little interest in forcing him to take classes that held little interest for him.
Jermai hugged his knees tightly as the wind blew harder, wishing that he had worn warmer clothing before leaving home. But what could he do? He couldn't stand being in the house, not even for a minute, and had rushed out as soon as his mother's anger escalated. He could tolerate the cold as long as it meant escaping his mother's wrath, but now he was beginning to regret his impulsive decision.
'Now she's going to be even angrier', Jermai had thought as he looked at the moon, having never stayed out this late before. Every time he escaped, he would return before sunset. But this time, he had fallen asleep under an olive tree due to fatigue, and now his mom was going to scold him yet again. He felt a flicker of regret, knowing that his mother's anger would be even worse this time.
Tears began to pool under his eyes as his nose watered. Why did she always take out her anger on him? Why was he always the one to blame for everything in her life? Why was he always the one who had to suffer, while everyone else was living their lives freely as if their world was perfect? It just wasn't fair. He tried so hard to be a good son, but it was never enough for her. She always had reason to yell at him, to berate him, to make him feel as if he was the source of all of her problems.
'She always blames you because you ARE the problem', the voice in his head told him, and the thought got him wondering. What would his mother's life have been like if he had never been born? What if her other children had lived instead of him? Would she have been happier? Less stressed? Would she have been a better mother, a more patient woman? The questions haunted him and gave him a new perspective on his existence. Was he a burden to the people around him? Were they forced to bear the consequences of his actions?
Yes, he was the problem. And he knew that no matter what he did or how much he accomplished, he would never be equal to his siblings - the mother's true children - not in her eyes. They were her prized possessions, and his achievements paled in comparison. No matter how much he strived for her love and approval, it was never enough. He was the black sheep of the family, the unwanted child, the mistake that should have never happened. It was a painful reality, but it was also true.
'Perhaps I should remain here, die here of starvation or wolves or whatnot.' The Child thought, thinking that maybe his death would relieve pressure from his loved ones.
The bushes around him rustled, and a large dark shape could be seen in the distance, near the source of the sound. Wolves already? Jermai instantly panicked, his previous statement burning in his throat.
Wasn't this what he wanted? Yes, it was.
Didn't he want to die? Yes, he did.
Mother would be happy if he was gone, wouldn't she? Yes, she would.
'Then why?' Jermai asked himself, 'Why am I afraid?' There was a lingering fear in his heart, a primal fear of death which, despite his previous resolve, was too overwhelming.
The beast drew closer, and the child began to shiver, his hands and kneels shaking.
'Calm down Jermai, calm down!'
The dark figure grew larger with each step.
'This is for the Mother, this is for her!'
Jermai shut his eyes as the being emerged from the tall grass. He covered his head with his hands and shrunk down to be as small as possible. He could hear the approaching footsteps, and he felt something wet in his groin.
'You will be fine, it will be over in a minute!'
Now the beast was right next to him, its laboured breathing making Jermai shiver. It was only a step away, close enough to touch, its breath hot and heavy. It must have run a long way to find food, it must be immensely hungry. He felt a small trickle of urine run down his thigh as the fear and uncertainty took over. Was this really what he wanted? He had wished for death, hadn't he? But now it was too real, too close, and the thought terrified him. There was no going back.
'It's over now', Jermai thought, bracing himself for the sharp teeth and impending demise. But to his surprise, instead of sharp, ravenous teeth, he felt a gentle hand, and a smell that was familiar to him
"There you are." Jermai's mother spoke softly, and he slowly opened his eyes. He felt a rush of emotions as he saw her, his childhood icon of safety and comfort. Seeing him so confused, she took him into her embrace to comfort him. "I was worried sick about you", she told him, her voice shaking. Could it be true? Was she really worried about him? It was hard to understand what was real anymore, but he took comfort in her embrace and the warmth of her compassion.
Once they separated, his mother took a good look at her child, making sure he was unharmed, once it was over, Jermai finally managed to see his mother's face, which was blurry due to his tears.
"Are you ok? Are you hurt?" She hugged him again, tightly, "I'm so sorry for yelling at you like that, I'm so sorry." Jermai felt water drops on his back, was his mother crying?
"Mom was mad, she was dumb, she was an idiot." His mother's voice cracked. She had worried about him, cared about him, but it was hard to reconcile that thought with the coldness and indifference she showed him on most days. Still, what did it matter? She had come to find him and hugged him, and the feeling of being cared for warmed his heart. Maybe she truly loved him but was unable to express it?
'Mother loves me,' The voice in his head said and Jermai was compelled to accept it. It was what he wanted after all.
His mother loved him...
The scene changed with static, and the next thing Jermai knew, he was walking down the path, his right arm firmly held in his mother's hand. She had apologized for being so harsh, and promised to take him to the carnival in the next city to make it up to him. They were going to have fun. The thought made Jermai happy, and the memories of his mother's harsh words faded as he looked forward to a nice outing with his mother. Maybe she did really cared after all, he thought, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his heart as he held his mother's hand.
But when did she promise? Jermai couldn't remember. The carnival tickets were expensive, how could she afford it when they barely had their ends meet?
Jermai sighed happily on the way back home, his mother at the wheel and him riding in the backseat. They had won the tournament at the festival, a victory hard-fought and earned. The telescope in the backseat was proof of this achievement, a thing Jermai had always wanted. He felt a surge of pride, and this small victory with his mother helped erase some of the painful memories of his childhood.
When did he win? The festival was happening on the day of his work, and he couldn't remember taking a day off. How did he make time to join the tournament?
"For my son Jermai, who brought pride to our country by earning the gold medal in the International Mathematical Olympiad", his mother raised a toast as the crowd cheered. Jermai's face turned red at the sudden attention, and he was unable to control his smile. The feeling of pride and victory washed over him, and the words of his mother filled him with joy. It seemed the years of hard work and dedication had finally paid off. He was finally the son his mother could take pride in, and he couldn't have been happier.
Their once plain and filthy house had been cleaned and decorated for this occasion, and everyone was present to celebrate the achievement. The atmosphere was festive and lively, and Jermai felt immensely proud as his mother raised a toast in his honour. They were celebrating his victory, his accomplishment, his glory, and he could almost feel the love and admiration in the room. This was the moment he had been waiting for, when his efforts would finally be recognized and he would prove himself worthy of his mother's love, and he couldn't be more ecstatic.
But when did they get the time to celebrate? the demons had attacked Earth the day after he was declared the victor, and all the nations of the earth were on fire.
"Ahh, what a shitty illusion." Jermai heard a voice so familiar yet unrecognizable. He searched the room for the source of the voice but was unable to find it.
His distress did not go unnoticed by the people around him. "Are you ok, Jermai?" someone asked, and when he looked into the face of the speaker, he was stunned to find it empty. A look of shock and panic rose in his mind as he tried to understand what he was seeing. The face looked real, too real, and yet for some reason, it was blank. No eyes, no mouth, no emotion. Just a void where the person should have been.
Jermai took a step back in fear as he bumped into someone behind him. The juice in the person's hand spilled on Jermai's shirt, and they turned to look at Jermai. But when Jermai looked at the person, he was terrified to see that their face was empty. Almost like a blank page in the colour of the person's skin. Jermai gasped in shock, his mind racing with confusion and fear.
Jermai's heart beat faster, his breath becoming heavy as if he was about to faint. He looked around and saw the same scene playing out all around him. People he didn't recognize, all with the same blank, empty faces. He felt his breath catching in his throat as his heart continued to pound with fear.
Jermai ran towards the stairs, bumping into several of the monsters but gave them no heed. He heard them call his name but ignored it in favour of hiding in his room and locking the door shut.
He had tried to escape the faceless monster by taking refuge in his room yet, he wasn't alone, there was something more disgusting that rolled out from under his bed, the rotten head of a person he could not recognize. "You didn't think you could escape from your past brother, did you?"
720/05/16 of M31
Subject: Report for Project Hidden Blade
From: Carmellion Heish
Honourable sect leader Malos Sullivan, it is with great pleasure that I inform you that the Project has met with great success in sections C, B and A1, with the latter two showing great promise.
Hence, I would like to request an early clearing to open the cells in order to begin the second phase of the training, considering the loss of effectiveness as we go further into the first phase. Recruits simply cannot endure further tests lest we danger insanity as was prominent in section C.
The second matter which I wish to inform you, however, does not bode well. We have managed to close off area A1 from the rest of the A section, but the beasts persist, and our agents are constantly attempting to drive them off to save our most promising recruits, however, the beasts have proven themselves to be dangerous even to our agents.
As I suspected, the rumours among the guards were not from illusions of the inebriated but a real and hazardous native parasite feared by the locals. They are, as the name "Slithering devils" suggests, a type of serpent with white scales and red eyes, who have been shown to possess some psychic properties.
The serpents have shown themselves especially harmful for psykers, as they can feed off of their memories as a source of nourishment, leaving behind an empty body once they devoured the victim's mind. No less than three of our guards have fallen victim to the parasites and are in a vegetated state at the time of my writing.
Honourable sect leader, these parasites are a real danger, we must end the first trial as soon as possible and save as many initiates as we can. If A1 is also lost, the very success of our mission on this planet will be in danger.
Your faithful servant, Carmellion Heish of the third temple.
I was pressed against the wall, facing the abomination before me. My mind tried desperately to recognize the eerily familiar face, but was unable to do so. I searched through every memory and file in my mind, trying to make sense of the impossible sight before me. But I came up empty-handed. It was like I was looking at a stranger, and yet there was this deep feeling inside of me, like a tug in my heart, that it was someone I knew. I couldn't grasp it, and it left me feeling rattled and uneasy.
"You won't find anything in your head, Brother, so dictates the nature of this illusion." The head looked annoyed, "Unfortunately, I can't tell it to you either."
Brother? Did it say, brother? Just thinking about it makes me feel as though my head is going to burst, "W-what are you? what are you doing in my room?" I asked berating myself for the fear in my voice. The creature remained silent, simply observing, "I asked a question!" I yelled, but it didn't answer yet again.
It took a minute for it to think about a reply, "I am your brother, Jermai, the only person who truly loved you, yet you betrayed me." His words hit me like a bullet, it felt like a weight had been added on my shoulders.
Although his words felt like a boulder, I couldn't recall who he was or what was he talking about, I was innocent of the crime he had accused me of, "I'm not the one you're looking for, I don't know you!" I said under the pain.
The creature grinned, its features more crooked than ever in its twisted smile. "Do you also not remember your brothers?" it said. "The real ones, connected to you by the blood of your mother, the ones whose picture you so arrogantly removed from your illusions because you wanted the love of your mother all to yourself?"
My knees gave out, and I collapsed as a strange heaviness settled on my back. My breathing became laboured, and I found myself fighting for breath. The creature's words were taking a toll, and as it spoke, I felt the weight on my back grow even heavier.
I clutched my chest, feeling the heat burn inside as memories began to flood in. Within them, I saw a picture of a young family, a mother, a father, and two small sons. They were smiling, and a forest was visible in the background. The mother was my own, and her sons clung to her legs instead of the father's. The mild jealousy of the father seemed to amuse the mother, and yet her own sons were her whole world. She loved both her sons equally, and it was heartwarming for outsiders to see how close she was to them.
My head met the ground as the weight on my shoulders grew to unbearable proportions. This new, painful and unpleasant sensation of guilt was eerily familiar as if I had lived a whole lifetime enduring it.
"Jermai!" a voice exclaimed, and his mother rushed over to him, pulling him up to his feet. The intruder, the creature that had been speaking, seemed annoyed at the interruption. "Are you ok?" his mother asked, her eyes filled with concern. Jermai was shaken, unsure of what to say or think. The new memories of some kind were growing clearer and clearer inside his mind, the illusions melting away, as the new and old clashed with one another.
"M-mom...help-" Jermai's voice died in his throat as he finally realized his mistake, his mother... she was one of them.
"Are you ok?" the being, once his mother asked, trying to pull him into a hug. However, Jermai instinctively pushed her away, feeling a sudden spike of fear and disbelief. "What are you doing?" her voice distorted into a growling, misshapen mess. Jermai's eyes widened in shock as he took a step back, searching the creature's face for any flicker of his mother. He saw nothing but a monster staring back at him.
It was then that he realized the truth of it all. His old self, with all the memories of a lifetime, returned to his mind, battering his mind like a hammer. This world was not the real one, but a dream, a fantasy, made to escape the void and reality. The guests and all other entities in his life were not human but puppets built to satisfy the deep hunger in his heart, his unquenchable desire for acknowledgement. He was not a nobleman, not the pride of the nation. But a war criminal.
And mother... mother never...
The world crumbled around him, the walls of lies and fantasy tumbling away to reveal the cold and dark reality behind them. There was no beautiful city celebrating his accomplishment, no proud nation cheering his name. It was all a sham, an illusion created for him alone, a bubble to protect him from the hell that awaited him beyond. He had betrayed the trust of his comrades, and he was a war criminal. Now, the bubble was bursting, and he could see the hell he had long been running from.
Behind these walls of lies, he now saw the truth—a hell, a place of despair and fear. The world he had been so proud of, the world he had thought was full of joy and beauty, was really filled with horrors beyond comprehension. The realization hit him like a hammer, forcing the air out of his lungs. No, he didn't want this! He wanted to go back, to forget everything, and live in his sweet delusions.
"Welcome back, Brother." the bodiless corpse smiled, as Jermai was pulled into the dark.
Now that he was back, he should return and not live, until every sin was accounted for.
Open one eye... darkness, open the other... there was something, slithering beside him.
Jermai's hand snapped towards the creature, grabbing it by the throat. It was a cold creature, covered in white scales and crimson red eyes, a snake of sorts. It hissed at being grabbed, its fangs attempting to bite down on Jermai's arm but failing to penetrate the skin. It felt as if the creature was trying to speak, to tell him something, but the sound came out as a distorted hiss. Jermai tightened his grip on the creature's throat, attempting to kill it, but the creature wasn't what he expected.
The serpent opened its mouth and let out a shriek of sorts, not with any tangible sound, but something that echoed in the prey's mind. Jermai's grip on the creature loosened as he let out a yelp in pain. The creature had found its opportunity and lunged forward, burying its fangs deep into his flesh and releasing its venom.
Jermai felt the pain in his arm, which seemed to spread to various parts of his body, as the snake's venom coursed through his veins. Even though he tried to crush the snake again, the deed had already been done, and the poison was already in his system. With no other option, he curled into a ball on the ground and writhed in pain. The poison's effects were more than just a physical pain, it was an attempt to trap Jermai's mind into another illusion.
Jermai battled for days, fighting to resist the venom of the snake and keep his mind his own. After what felt like an eternity, the venom began to dissipate, and as it did, Jermai felt as if he was once again the master of his own mind. There was an intense sense of relief, knowing that he had overcome the poison and its attempts to trap him inside a false reality created by the snake's venom.
He took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings, the same dark, the same cell, the same phantoms. In a hand's reach away, lay the corpse of the white-scaled serpent, so he grabbed it and studied the would-be predator. It seems to be a mutated creature with the ability to invade the victim's mind, not unheard of in the world after the great war but a new creature nonetheless.
He had noticed that he had developed some sort of resistance from the snake's venom, the second time proving to be much more manageable. This made Jermai wonder, could he perhaps use this unique resistance to his advantage? What kind of edge might it give him, and could he use it to break the illusions and control the false reality the snake was trying to trap him within?
I wrapped my arm around the snake's neck and crushed it like the others. After some point, they became a nuisance more than they were dangerous. I had already killed thirty or so of these... mutants? but they kept coming through the cracks in the walls, their venom was not ineffective.
I threw the latest corpse beside the others and let it rot, it was no longer of use for me.
I was about to return to my daily course when I realized something in the corner of my eyes, the cell's door was open.
The human author here(Blessed is my name).
This is the adoption and change of the story "Reincarnation in 40k" by the author "The Great Saint" who is currently living his life and no longer able to return to his duty(May the emperor bless his honourable discharge).
So to make the long story short, I contacted him and asked him for permission to rewrite his story as I saw fit, and he gave me his notes and informed me of his regrets about how he wrote the story(Bad plot, bad writing and so on and so forth).
So we talked and I liked his plot but disagreed with how it should be written(I wanted a Beserk/Re:Zero themed story, and he wanted a more light-hearted story that didn't focus on the grimdark too much.), so in the end, I got his plot and got permission to use my own theme on the story with a bit of his.
The changes include:
1 - The origin story is changed from a salesman to a war hero/ criminal.
2 - The theme and the characters that are important to the plot have changed.
3 - The way MC has been introduced to the Warhammer universe has changed drastically with the way he masters the psychic powers.
4 - The MC's real name used to be Anon while his fake name was Jermai. His real name has changed while Jermai will remain his second name.
5 - Anon apparently means "They in the past" in the Author's local language and not "Anonymous" but we decided to change it anyway, but I like what Jermai meant so I will be keeping it.
Jer = The man & Mai = Walking the path designed by God. Basically means "Chosen by God".
I will leave some other notes about how the story has changed in the new version later, I don't want to spoil the new story.