Why? Just why?

I watched the game that I worked for, the game that I sacrificed so much for, fall apart right in front of my eyes.

Why did this happen?

What am I supposed to do?

Questions began swirling in my head, like a ravaging hurricane, and with that came sharp jolts of pain.

How am I supposed to survive?

Why should I survive?

I dropped on my knee, hands clutching my aching head, and screamed,

"WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN TO ME?! "WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!"

Many of the other players turned to me, looking at me as one might look at trash. The look of absolute distaste. However, that's not my problem. Let them think about what they want. They'll never understand my feelings.

I stood up, my legs shaking from my lack of strength, and ran away.

Where I'm going, I don't know.

What I'm going to do, I don't know.

I walked on, tripping every few steps, until, after a while, I fell and lost consciousness.

A few days later,.

I woke up, my whole body aching, and tried to recall what happened. The moment I remembered, my mind went back to questioning life.

What is the meaning of this?

What even is the meaning of living?

I walked with no destination in mind, feeling both the start of a depression, and the feeling that this wasn't the first time this happened.

Why, just why?

I pulled out my gun, which was still the training pistol, and shot myself.

Or at least I tried.

"Aren't there bullets in there? How come I ran out?"

Shrugging off the incident, I went to the blacksmith to order some bullets, ignoring his look of confusion when I asked for the order.

"Why the hell would you need bullets? Kid, the game is literally called Sword Art Online; are you stupid?"

"Stupid huh. You can call me that. Just make the bullets alright."

I didn't pay much attention; my mind was thinking of the different ways I could kill myself. I was so immersed, I didn't notice the look of pity on the blacksmith's face.

After a while, the blacksmith came back with the bullets, and I took them and walked away.

"HEY, YOU DIDN'T PAY!"

I continued walking, reloading my pistol at the same time. I pulled the trigger, and once again, nothing happened. During that moment, I didn't think much and tried a few more times, until I realized that none of the shots I took worked.

"F#CK. WHY CAN'T I JUST DIE?!"

I tried all kinds of methods, from drowning myself (I somehow woke up on the side of the river), burning myself (the fire refused to start), and even pissing people off in the hopes of them killing me (none of their attacks hit me).

"F#ck. How come I can't do anything right!? What the f#ck is wrong with me?!"

It was then that I heard a very tired and almost desperate voice. One, which seems almost like he suffered more than I did.

"Please. I beg of you. Stop killing yourself."

I looked around, but no one was in the radius.

"Who's talking?"

I continued scanning the area, but there was still no trace of the person.

It was then that I decided to continue until I heard a voice call out.

"Brother…"

Extra:

During the M.C.'s road to depression.

Michael's pov

"Watch over that man and make sure he stays alive."

That was Father's final command before he left to attend to the other worlds.

"How come Father has taken such an interest in this particular man? Of course, Father's wish is my command."

I followed the man, making sure to watch him carefully, wishing that this mission wasn't too hard.

And, of course, it was.

I watched as thousands of players fell into distress at the words of this world's creator. It hurts my soul to see such suffering.

Of course, that pain was nothing compared to the suffering I endured later.

I watched the man descend into depression and tried my best to stop his death.

Each attempt came with excruciating pain.

For bullets, I stole and injured my hands.

"F#CK. WHY CAN'T I JUST DIE!?"

For the drowning, I dragged him out and sacrificed a leg.

For the fire, I smothered it and sacrificed a wing.

For the players, I took the hits and got injured all over.

"F#ck. How come I can't do anything right!? What the f#ck is wrong with me?!"

No matter how much I stopped him, he just wouldn't give up.

"Please, I beg of you. Stop killing yourself."

During that moment, I was already half crying.

I noticed that the man stopped moving, and thinking he finally gave up, I ran away.

Forget my dignity; how can anyone survive such torture.

I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry.

(I'm now aware of the fact that the events are going rather fast, but rest assured, as I'm planning on slowing it down soon.)