For most, death is a tragedy. For Zin, it was merely a design flaw.
As his home world disintegrated into stardust, Zin didn't feel the sting of loss. He didn't mourn the billions of souls screaming into the vacuum. To a mind governed by absolute rationality, grief was a "sunk cost"—an emotional tax that paid no dividends.
"If existence is destined to end," Zin mused as the void consumed him, "then the difference between a king who lived a millennium and a beggar who lived a day is exactly zero. Both are rounded down to nothingness."
He didn't seek heaven or hell. He sought a loophole. And as his soul crossed the dimensional threshold, he clutched the only thing that mattered: The Mirror of Nihilism. An ability that didn't just copy techniques, but stripped the very essence of life to fuel his march toward the Great Beyond.