What defines good and evil?
On that dark night, the sky was draped in a shroud of grey, lifeless clouds that seemed to absorb all light. There I lay, side by side with the hero, our pale faces smeared with blood, our bodies wracked with agony. As we gazed up at the oppressive sky in those final moments, a profound question stirred within me: What is good? And what is evil? Two monumental questions that had haunted me throughout my life.
In the eyes of the world, I was labeled "Evil," the villain in a narrative that painted me in shades of darkness. Yes, I had taken the lives of countless people—perhaps a couple thousand or so—but I was merely adhering to the dictates of "The Four Laws of Gregorio," the ancient tome attributed to a great demon. I stumbled upon that book during my childhood, and though I never wished to embrace its tenets, I found myself compelled to follow its precepts of what it deemed good. Was it evil? To most, undoubtedly. But to me? No!
Yet, a haunting thought flickered in my mind: what if I had chosen to disregard "The Four Laws of Gregorio"? Would I then be branded evil? Would I internalize that label, or perhaps identify as good? My mind spiraled into a deep introspection, grappling with the essence of morality. Was good merely a word, a construct? Or could there be something truly good, something to strive for? I longed to unravel the nature of good and evil, to discern if one truly existed.
Yet, as I contemplated these weighty matters, the chill of death crept closer, wrapping around us like the cool, gentle breeze that caressed our faces, reminiscent of a serene day at the beach. We were bound together in this tragic fate, having fought fiercely just moments before. In a twist of irony, he had nearly slain me, but I bore him no ill will. He, too, was simply acting upon his beliefs, convinced he was doing what was right.
"I guess this is it," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, strained by the pain that coursed through me.
"I guess so. At least you're going down with me," he replied, his voice rasping like dry leaves in the wind.
"What do you believe in after death, Nayo Smith, the Devil of Murder?" he challenged, his words laced with a mixture of anger and hatred.
"What do I believe in? Hmm… probably nothing," I answered calmly, lost in thought. The truth was, I had never pondered much about what lay beyond this life. I had always found solace in the notion of nothingness, a void that offered no answers but also no fears.
"Do you have any regrets?" the hero asked, his tone sharp and biting. Hatred flickered in his eyes, palpable in the very air between us, as if each word he spoke carried the weight of his disdain.
"Regrets? Well, probably just silly things, like stealing some old hag's lunch and a few other inconsequential trinkets," I replied, shrugging dismissively. "But honestly, nothing of real significance."
"Seems like you don't care much about death or people," he shot back, his voice laced with fervor. "But I do. I have people I love and care for, and you wouldn't understand. You're just a Devil—a Devil of Murder. You ruthless little rascal! Have you ever realized the magnitude of pain and suffering you've inflicted? At the tender age of eighteen, you've wrought devastation comparable to calamities that occur once every ten thousand years. You are a monster! Have you ever regretted any of that?"
"Regretted any of that? Maybe," I mused, a distant look clouding my gaze. "I often wonder what I would have become had I chosen a different path in life. But it hardly matters now; my life is over. Regret is just a pointless exercise." My voice remained steady, almost carefree, as I contemplated the weight of his words. What if I had harbored regrets? Would that have made me good or evil? Was I truly a monster, or merely a scapegoat for those who needed to believe in something darker? Ultimately, it mattered little; the past was immutable, and one could not rewrite history or start anew.
As we took our final breaths, the gentle breeze caressed our faces, a bittersweet comfort in our last moments. Our hearts gradually turned to stone, and as we closed our eyes, darkness enveloped us like a shroud.
Then, as if caught in the grip of a fantastical dream, a voice echoed in the void. Options materialized before me, reminiscent of choices in one of those elaborate games nobles indulged in. The first option read: **"Go to Hell."** It seemed intriguing, but I hesitated, deterred by its notorious reputation as a place of evil.
The second option declared: **"Go to Heaven."** Like Hell, it held an allure, yet I recoiled from the notion of being confined to a realm celebrated for its goodness.
What I yearned for was a sanctuary devoid of the dichotomy of good and evil. The third option presented itself enticingly: "Reincarnated into another world." This concept captivated me; it promised a fresh start, a unique opportunity to discern the true nature of goodness and malevolence—or perhaps to question the very existence of such constructs.
After careful contemplation, I resolved to embrace this third option. It appeared to be the ideal choice, a chance I had long awaited—a complete reboot of my existence. Upon articulating my decision to the system, an extraordinary sensation enveloped me. For what felt like an eternity—though it lasted merely five minutes—I was enveloped in a profound stillness, an infinite blankness.
Suddenly, out of the void, a radiant light emerged, illuminating my surroundings. I found myself in a room adorned with flickering torches that cast dancing shadows upon the stone walls. As I gradually lifted my gaze, two figures materialized before me. One was a man clad in a rugged leather tunic and pants, his striking blue hair glistening like the surface of a tranquil ocean. His skin was pale, and his deep brown eyes held an air of wisdom that suggested he was in his late twenties.
Beside him stood a woman whose flowing black hair evoked the vastness of a starless void, an embodiment of darkness that contrasted sharply with her porcelain complexion. Her bright red lips and sparkling blue eyes radiated beauty, evoking a smile from me despite my uncertainty. She appeared to be in her early twenties, exuding an aura of grace and strength.
In that moment, I was engulfed by confusion; I had no comprehension of my surroundings or the identities of these individuals. Then, as if a veil had been lifted, a realization struck me: I had chosen the path of reincarnation. These two figures were, unmistakably, my parents, and I, in my newfound existence, must be a gentle little baby, embarking on a life filled with endless possibilities, and experiences. This time I would go by life differently, I don't what different yet but soon enough I know I'll find the answer.