Chapter 44 — H.I.M's Trauma
The night air in Liberty City was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The streets that once overflowed with noise and life now seemed hollow, heavy with the echo of recent chaos.
At the heart of the city stood an old cathedral — tall, cracked, and dimly lit. Inside, H.I.M sat alone at the altar, his head bowed low, his sword resting across his knees.
His breath came slowly, each one sounding heavier than the last. His mind wandered, restless and filled with images he didn't want to see — faces of people who were gone, laughter that had long faded, and the final moment when he ended Jack Stellman's life.
He thought it would bring peace. It didn't.
> "I did it," he murmured, staring at his trembling hands. "I avenged them… so why does it feel like nothing?"
The silence in the cathedral seemed to answer him. His reflection on the polished blade stared back — not with the calm strength he once knew, but with exhaustion and confusion. He had fought for justice, but somewhere along the way, justice had blurred with vengeance, and vengeance had left him empty.
He rubbed his eyes and stood, pacing slowly across the cracked marble floor.
His mind felt heavy, filled with memories that wouldn't fade — the warmth of his family, the fire that took them, the years of anger that followed.
> "I'm tired," he whispered to himself. "Tired of fighting everything, even myself."
He stepped outside the cathedral, onto the balcony overlooking Liberty City. The wind blew gently, carrying the faint sound of the city below — distant, faint signs of life. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling both near and far from it all.
Somewhere deep down, he knew what haunted him wasn't only Jack's death, but the realization that revenge could never bring back what was lost.
He wasn't a hero anymore.
He wasn't even sure he was still the same man.
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Meanwhile — The Stellman Mansion
Across the city, the Stellman estate stood quiet under the night sky. Inside the training hall, John Stellman swung his sword again and again. The sound of steel cutting through air echoed across the room.
Sweat dripped down his face, his breath sharp, his focus unwavering. Each swing carried anger, grief, and the weight of a promise he had made the day he buried his brother.
He paused for a moment, lowering his sword and looking toward the portrait of Jack Stellman hanging on the wall.
The gentle smile on his brother's face in that painting made John's heart ache.
> John: "I won't stop until I make him pay. You didn't deserve what happened. None of us did."
From behind, Gina entered quietly. She had been watching him for days, worried about what the anger was doing to him.
> Gina: "You've trained for hours. You need rest."
John: "Rest? While he walks free?"
Gina: "This isn't what Jack would have wanted. He believed in you, not your rage."
John looked down at his sword. His hands were trembling slightly — not from fear, but from the exhaustion of carrying too much pain.
> John: "I can't let it go, Gina. Not yet. Not until I see him fall the way Jack did."
She sighed softly and placed her hand on his shoulder. For a moment, there was silence — the kind that carried both care and distance.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the horizon, as if echoing John's thoughts.
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Back in the Cathedral
H.I.M sat once more on the cathedral steps, his sword beside him. He felt distant from the man he used to be — the man who fought for justice, who smiled at dawn, who believed that good would always prevail.
Now, everything felt uncertain.
He pressed his hand against his chest and felt his heartbeat — still there, still strong. It reminded him that, no matter how much he had lost, he was still alive, and that meant there was still a chance to rebuild.
> "Maybe… I can still fix some of this," he said softly, his voice almost lost to the wind.
He looked toward the horizon — Liberty City glowing faintly in the distance. Somewhere out there, John Stellman was alive, likely filled with the same anger that had consumed him not long ago.
A part of him hoped John would never walk the same path.
Another part of him knew he would.
He picked up his sword and stood.
The weight of it felt heavier now, not because of battle, but because of what it represented — everything he had done, everyone he had lost.
He sheathed it quietly, whispering to himself:
> "I can't undo the past. But maybe… I can still learn to live with it."
He took one last look at the cathedral, its silent walls bearing witness to his torment and realization. Then, without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the dim morning light.
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At the Stellman Balcony
John Stellman stood by the balcony railing, the wind brushing through his hair. He could almost feel the same energy that once surrounded Jack's death — faint, lingering, like a warning.
He looked toward the skyline. Though he couldn't see H.I.M, he could sense the direction his enemy had gone.
> John: "One day… I'll find you. And when I do, we'll finish what you started."
His words weren't shouted. They were calm — not blind hatred, but a promise. A promise made by a brother who still grieved, who still couldn't let go.
He turned and walked back into the hall, his sword at his side, ready for the long road ahead.
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Final Scene
As dawn began to rise over Liberty City, light broke through the clouds, casting golden rays over the skyline.
Somewhere in that light walked H.I.M, heading into an uncertain future, weighed down by guilt but still moving forward.
And somewhere else, John Stellman prepared himself, sharpening his resolve for the inevitable confrontation that fate seemed to demand.
Both men carried scars — one for what he had done, the other for what he had lost — and both were bound by the same storm of memory and consequence.
The city breathed quietly, unaware of the clash that would one day shake it again.
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