Chapter 2: The Light That Called
The figure before me—Ashen Crimson—stood silently for a moment, his crimson eyes scanning my ghostly form. Then he spoke, his voice low and distant, like a whisper echoing from the bottom of a well.
"As you already know my name," he began, "let me tell you who I really am."
He turned his back, as if gazing into a past only he could see.
"I was once like you... a human. A man of ambition, intelligence, drive. I had everything—love, power, wealth. Everything people crave. But I was a fool."
His fists clenched at his sides.
"Everyone I cared about died—either because of my stupidity... or by my own hands. I was the villain of my world, a world called Zerawell. I could’ve chosen differently. I could’ve protected them. But instead... I chose myself. I chose power. I chose destruction."
He looked at me with empty eyes. "I made a pact with the Fallen Gods to gain strength. To create chaos. And every time I fought the Champion of Zerawell, I lost. Once... twice... eight times. Each defeat only fed my hatred. My desperation."
His voice grew bitter. "So I begged. I begged more Fallen Gods, from other realms. I offered them my soul, my sanity. In return, they gave me power... and slowly, I lost myself. My humanity dissolved. I killed everyone who stood in my way. For revenge. For ego. For power."
He laughed—a broken, hollow sound.
"Even the gods of Zerawell came to stop me. But by then, I had surpassed them. I had reached a stage beyond immortality. Pain, love, sorrow... I couldn’t feel anything. Not even guilt. Not even myself."
He raised his hand, staring at his palm like it held the weight of a thousand lives.