"To be judged…"A long breath.
"...is to be freed."
William's voice trembled "J-judged..." . How did he dare speak up, even thinking of it... blasphemy.
Monster's gaze lowered, cold and absolute
"No, no one gives me the right to judge.
And also, I don't need it.
As no one has it but one,
the one to judge thyself is...
You."
The world shook.
"I see that thou art terrified…"Monster's voice was calm again.
But not kind.
Never kind.
"As such, I shall speak of one thing that terrifies even me."
He took a step forward.
No sound.
No ripple.
And the world bent around him like mist before fire.
"Humans.
Mortals.
How terrifying they truly are."
His gaze passed through them all—not just William, not just Mercy, but through everyone and everything. Even the air shivered.
"Finite lives, fleeting seconds… and yet,
in that brief spark, they will consume everything.
Willing to taint, to twist, to mix with filth or flame,
to do anything…
only for in the end,
to create..."
His eyes narrowed.
"To create monsters."
His voice dropped lower, softer, cold enough to still blood.
"Monsters like us."
A breath.
"How terrifying."
His eyes returned to William.
"Utterly… terrifying."
Then, a shift.
"But for thou…" A twitch of the smile.
Something darker than wrath beneath it.
"It should not terrify. Not yet. Soon… in a moment."
Monster raised his hand. A nonchalant move.
No flourish. No announcement.
Yet the air thickened.
And then—
From nothing, blades rose.
Not summoned. Not conjured.
Born.
Dripping, trembling—formed of congealed blood—each blade hovered beside its owner.
Every bandit, every murderer.
The blades did not touch them.
They waited.
"This is my world.
The world…
The world that drowns."
Deep inside Mercy's mind, a voice screamed—sarcastic and bitter.
"He's just fucking playing god again!"The voice—frustrated, furious.
But even she hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
The air was wrong.
Too dense.
Too silent.
Mercy… could feel it, she could speak it. But the words clung to the back of her throat.
So much blood.
So many eyes on her.
The blades. The voice in her head. The god in front of her.
She opened her mouth—but Monster's voice fell again, heavy and unignorable.
"Betrayer…"Monster's gaze tilted slightly—not to her, not to William, but inward.
"Thy fate will be decided in a moment…"
A pause.
"Until then… restrain thyself."
'You...' Mercy felt it, all of it. The voice was angry. But beneath her fury—was something else.
Fear.
"...!?" A shriek.
Then another.
Then many.
"BLOOD!"
"BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!"
"WHAT IS THIS?! AHHHHHH—"
Mercy turned. Her face paled.
The blades hadn't moved.
Not yet.
Then why did the world begun to shift again.
...
For you who could not see the moment... Let us… Go back.
Just a moment.
A breath.
A blink.
Before judgment finishes, it must first be understood.
...
The man with one ear, the bandit named Guss.
He awoke to morning light.
The scent of smoke from the hearth. A worn quilt rested over his chest. A body beside him—warm, breathing softly.
Outside, a rooster crowed. Snow fell faintly beyond the window.
"Garven...?"
His name was Garven...?
A name he didn't recognize.
Not at first.
But that changed.
"You're always awake before me," she murmured beside him, voice slurred with sleep.
"The fire needs wood," he said... why..."You'll catch your death. I told you—use the dry logs in the shed."
"Then what'll I chop tomorrow?" She laughed softly, her hand finding his beneath the blanket.
"You really are a stubborn man, Garven."
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know if he was.
But he would learn.
The first weeks were confusion. Whispers in his sleep. Dreams of things he couldn't remember. Darkness on the edge of thought.
But time… wore it away.
Day by day.
The forest knew him. His axe swung with muscle memory. The neighbors smiled when he passed. The merchant's daughter greeted him with familiarity, her crush as obvious as it was harmless.
He had a son, Jerrin.
A daughter, Elsie.
He remembered their names before he remembered the name of the woman beside him.
"Mira," she said one day, laughing as he hesitated at the market."You forgot your wife's name, you fool?"
He smiled awkwardly.
But she was too kind to be angry.
Elsie skinned her first rabbit. She cried afterward, so Mira baked her honeyed tarts for a week straight.
Jerrin fell from a tree and broke his arm. Garven nearly punched the village healer for laughing.
They made up over ale and roasted boar.
Garven's beard thickened. His shoulders stayed broad, but the limp in his right leg grew stronger with each passing winter.
A fever swept the valley.
Mira collapsed one night beside the hearth. Garven carried her to bed, held her hand for three days, whispering stories and prayers he didn't remember learning.
She survived.
He wept more than she did.
"You love me too much," she teased.
"I… I think I do," he answered, surprised at the truth in his own voice.
Jerrin married.
Elsie joined the cloth guild.
Garven learned to carve. Tiny things—foxes, owls, horses. He gave them to passing children. Mira teased that he was turning into an old man too early.
He didn't mind.
Sometimes, at night, he had dreams. Visions. Of shadows and blood. Screams.
He'd wake, sweating, heart racing, gripping Mira's arm too tight.
"It's just your old soldier days," she whispered.
"Maybe," he replied.
But there were no wars in his memory.
And sometimes… he wondered whose voice he heard in the dark.
Mira's hair turned gray.
Garven's limp worsened.
He built a bench in the garden where they would sit after supper. Sometimes for hours, watching the light change in the leaves.
"What will happen to you," she asked, "when I'm gone?"
"You won't go first."
"Don't lie. You've always been the soft one."
He didn't argue.
Because he had no idea how he would live without her.
Her sickness returned.
This time, it stayed.
Garven slept in the chair beside her bed for weeks. Fed her broth. Told her every story he could remember—even the ones he knew were false.
She held his hand one morning. Cold. Almost weightless.
"I remember," she said, her eyes far away.
"What?"
"A version of you… that wasn't like this."
His heart stopped.
"It's gone now," she whispered. "But I remember the fear. Just… for a second."
She closed her eyes.
And was still.
He buried her beneath the oak she loved.
Built her a headstone with shaking hands.
He sat on their bench.
For days.
And said nothing.
Years passed.
He forgot how many.
Sometimes he heard laughter from the forest and thought it was her.
Sometimes he'd wander too far, and villagers would have to guide him back.
Sometimes…
He'd carve her face in wood.
Only to smash it against the ground, furious that he couldn't remember her smile correctly.
Then—
One night—
A knock.
Sharp. Familiar.
He stood.
He shouldn't have stood.
But he did.
He opened the door.
A man stood there just the same.
Smiling.
His own face, a reflection.
Younger. Wilder. Cruel.
A child screamed behind him.
Garven's eyes widened.
Jerrin?
No—no, Jerrin had gone far away...
Hadn't he?
Why was there blood?
Why was there a blade?
His knees buckled.
And everything returned.
The cellar.
The chains.
The girl who wouldn't stop screaming.
The daughter.
The mother.
All of them.
"No…" he choked, falling to his knees in the doorway.
"No, please… please…"
"I didn't… I didn't know her name…"
"I loved her…"
But this was wrong. He never loved her, not in reality and there she was long gone.
Because he had taken her.
"Why...!?"
Because he had done this before.
"Why...!?"
Because he deserved this.
"Why...!?"
Becous once there was someone else who had to ask the same question.
"NO, this is not REAL!!"
That's when it returned, not this moment wasn't real, but the joy he lived... everythong returend to him... this day... this life... it never happened.
Rigth in front of him, time seemed to flow backwards fast, too fast...
...
Right at this time, the little girl, Elsie, was crying. She just had to skin a rabbit... the mother, Mira, was baking for her...
A knock...
"Garven" screamed... screamed so loud just for "his" son not to open the door...
But his voice was never heard... screams meant nothing to memory.
Slash... a swift sound... the young boy fell... and he stepped in... laughing...
"Such fine women..." Garven... no longer... Guss jumped at the man... or rather his own self, buzzing the words he always does... but this struggle meant little.
Kicking "Garven" to the side, the invading man laughed, calling for his friends.
"Garven" was held down... he was forced to watch... it was one of Guss's joys... a recurring activity...
He had to watch.
All of it.
Just like once the real Garven had to.
Feeling... Living through every bit of anger, hate, rage, pain, fear...
When the invading man, Guss, was done... "Garven's" head rolled down... tears frozen into his eyes... at the least his death was quick... but...
Then—
He woke up...
Again...
This time he was... the wife... Mira... "he" tried to act... but his words didn't mean anything to memory and feelings... it unfolded all the same...
As "he"(Mira) and his daughter were dragged away... being toyed with a few more times by the others... before inevitably... he woke up... again.
This time the children... their life one after the other... the boy, Jerrin, dying in the doorway, the girl, Elsie, her life dragged out, a cell just for her, where Guss could enjoy her youth a little longer, but in the end... he got bored of her...
Then—
He woke up...
Again...
Another time... another house... another family... the same end all the same... the feelings the emotions the memorise, they flooed him... even if he tried to denay.... as he was defiled by his own self over and over and over again...
As he loved as it was taken... and the memorise... of all who he hurt, destroyed, it was all of them small or great... everything... all his sin, he began to feel it.
The hatred the rage of not just the people he broke, but his own, self hatred, blame, guilt, for someone who lost these, now they returned.
Then—
He woke up...
Finaly...
Screaming voices inside his world, blood, so much, so much blood...
Kneeling, his head fell, blood tainting the ground, no, there was no ground, only...
blood.
Frozen solid, a lake, a sea of it, no trace of ripple, and yet... faces, so many faces.
His eyes trembled, wordless tears trailing down...
Drip.
Drop.
Ripple.
A sound to the silent world.
His gaze traveled up.
Drip.
Drop.
Ripple.
A lone droplet falls, a new one hanging, time, could it flow so fast yet so slow...?
'Sword...' His mind finally recognized it... from where the blood was dripping.
'Please...' His hands reached...
'Please just...' reached...
'Just let me die alredy!!!'
The sword traveld...
A silent slice to the silent life.
The judgment was made
By the only one deserving.
You.
As such...
Pray...
For us not to meet a second time,
In this world of silence,
For that is the final one.