CHAPTER 3:
The first thing Ayronee noticed was warmth.
Not the cold embrace of death he'd expected. Not the nothingness he'd craved. Not the peace he'd died seeking.
Just... warmth. Uncomfortable, invasive, suffocating warmth.
The second thing he noticed was light. Bright enough to hurt, pressing against his eyelids like a physical weight.
What the fuck?
He could open his eyes. He could breathe. He could feel.
Dead people don't do those things.
The light resolved into brilliance—not sunlight, but something purer, more concentrated. The kind of light that shouldn't exist outside of concept. And descending through that light, a figure.
Clad in armor that seemed woven from starlight and intention. Wings spreading wide—not feathered but crystalline, each one containing depths that hurt to perceive. The face beautiful in a way that transcended aesthetics and became something else entirely.
An angel.
Or a demon wearing an angel's face. The distinction felt suddenly very important.
Ayronee knelt. Not from reverence—from the primal understanding that some things demand submission simply by existing.
The being landed with impossible grace, each movement a sermon delivered in the language of perfection.
"I welcome thee, dear Ayronee." The voice was feminine, but also not—honey mixed with thunder, silk wrapped around steel.
"Y-yes, ma'am. Thank you for the welcome." His voice cracked like a teenager's.
Is she some sort of goddess? She looks like a person, but... God damn. Should not get ahead of myself. Stay calm. Don't think about how you just killed yourself. Don't think about how you're probably going to hell. Don't think.
"How do you feel? No need to be so formal. Be at ease." The voice shifted, became warmer. "Surely you know what happened to you, do you not?"
"I'm feeling fine, I think. And yes, I know I died. Because I chose to. By my own free will."
Here it comes. The judgment. The condemnation. The you-committed-a-sin speech. Well, at least I know there's an afterlife. Time to face the music.
"So you acknowledge what you have done? Was it the right thing to do? Did you have a choice?"
The questions weren't accusations. They were something else—surgical, precise, designed to cut through bullshit and reach bone.
"Before I answer, may I ask a question?"
"You may."
"Are you... are you a goddess?"
The angel laughed—bells and wind chimes and music learning how to express joy. "Surely you jest! No, my dear. I am but a humble angel. How could a lowly being such as me be a goddess? Please do not mistake my identity."
Humble. Right. That's why you descended through a column of light bright enough to burn retinas.
"I see. My apologies for mistaking you. I wasn't particularly a believer in my past life. So here I am. And yes, I did it of my own free will. Now that I'm witnessing this, I acknowledge I had a choice. But I was blinded by my own grief. And I know it's too late for regrets. I will atone for what I've done. I won't deny anything."
The angel's expression shifted—surprise mixed with something that might have been approval.
"Speaking through your heart? Consider me impressed. Your name—Ayronee. It's similar to 'Irony.' Peculiar. A coincidence? I think—"
She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes went distant, like someone receiving a message only she could hear.
Then she blushed. Actually blushed—divine cheeks coloring with something unmistakably girlish
.
"Oh! Oh my! Lord praised me for my beauty! This is such a joyous day!"
Ayronee stared. "Uh... excuse me, ma'am. What just happened?"
The angel composed herself with visible effort.
"Forgive me. That was inappropriate. Let us return to business." She cleared her throat, divine dignity reasserting itself. "I was sent by my lord to deliver a message. He wishes to give you a second chance at life."
"WHAT?" The word exploded from Ayronee before he could stop it. "But I just suffered through my previous life! Must I endure another? Can't my grieving soul retire? Can't I just cease existing? I jumped! I died! I'm supposed to be finished!"
The angel's expression went cold. Her voice dropped an octave, gained edges that could cut reality.
"Well, you can either accept his mercy—" the word dripped with ironic weight "—or would you rather be sent straight to the pits of the abyssmal hell? To be burned alive over and over again? To have your skin peeled off by demons? To have your flesh consumed by hellfire? To have your bones ground to dust and reconstituted so the torture can begin anew? For. All. Eternity?"
The sky darkened. Clouds roiled. Thunders roaring like the world breaking.
Ayronee froze. Every instinct screaming danger danger danger.
"Do you feel it?" The angel's voice thundered across creation. "The skies blackening? The ground trembling? Answer me! Do you dare defy my lord?"
The beautiful paradise transformed—shadows lengthening, light twisting, reality itself bending around her fury.
Ayronee couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only stand there while his newly-acquired afterlife body remembered what terror felt like.
The angel maintained her wrath for exactly thirty seconds. Then—
SLAP!
The blow sent Ayronee flying. Not metaphorically—literally flying through the air, crashing into a distant mountain with force that should have killed him all over again.
Pain exploded through every nerve. Pain that rewrote his understanding of suffering.
"Oh my! Did I go overboard?" The angel appeared beside him, voice concerned now, fury evaporated like it had never existed. "That was just a little smack. Are you okay?"
Just a little smack. She punched me through a mountain with a little smack.
"Ghh..." He gasped, struggled to form words.
"My apologies. I might have slapped you a little hard." She helped him stand with surprising gentleness. "Let me heal you."
Light flowed from her hands—warm, soothing, knitting broken bones and ruptured organs back together. The pain faded. His breathing eased.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Yes. Thank you." He managed a smile. "What a wake-up call. The slap of the decade."
"Here, let me help you stand properly." She supported him with care that contradicted the violence of moments before. "So—are you okay now?"
"Yeah. Getting my bearings back."
"Good. Now—I'm sorry for my outburst. But you understand the choice now, yes? My lord offers reincarnation to another world he created. In that world, you shall have free will to do as you please. And since you were a decent person in your past life, he shall grant you blessings. You shall be a cut above the rest in physical capabilities, mental acuity, and magic."
Magic. The word hung in the air like possibility made manifest.
"Really? That's... that's possible?" Hope crept into his voice despite everything. "But I know it isn't free. What's the catch?"
"Smart boy! Yes, there's one condition. You are forbidden to take your own life. No suicide. No self-termination. You get one life, one chance. And you will live it. Whether you want to or not. Do you understand?"
The words were chains. Shackles. A prison sentence disguised as mercy.
"Okay. Seems simple enough. I accept."
Will I be able to endure another hardship? Could I? Should I? But thinking about it is pointless. Right now, I'll steel my resolve. I will never be the pathetic person I was before. Never again. If I have to be ruthless to protect myself and my peace of mind, so be it. If I have to be cruel to avoid being hurt, I'll be cruel. If I have to be a monster to avoid being a victim, I'll be a fucking monster.
And if anybody dares to mock me or humiliate me—heads will roll. Literally. I will destroy them. I will end them. I will become their nightmare.
"Very well. Before I grant your blessings, two questions. First: to what race would you like to be reborn? Human? Elf? Dwarf? Centaur? Tauren? Titan? Each has advantages and disadvantages."
It's hard to choose. But I don't want to lose my human body. I was born human. I died human. I'll be reborn human.
"Second: would you like to be born rich or not?"
In terms of wealth... self-sufficient would be enough. My goal is to ensure my own peace. Not to be rich. Not powerful. Just left alone.
"I've decided. I choose to be human. And for wealth—just grant me a proper, self-sufficient family. That would be enough. I don't crave money or status. I just want my own peace in the next life."
The angel nodded gravely. "Then to you, I grant his blessings. May you find what you seek. Balance your heart and mind. Don't let one consume the other."
She began chanting—words that sounded like music and violence, prayer and curse and spell and song all at once:
"From ash to flesh, from death to breath,
From ending back to start,
I call thee forth from beyond the veil,
I reignite thy heart.
With blessing born of divine grace,
And curses yet unknown,
I cast thee to the world below,
To reap what thou hast sown."
Light exploded. Blinding. Burning. Consuming.
Ayronee felt himself dissolving—consciousness fragmenting, reforming, being torn apart and put back together wrong.
And then—
Warmth.
The first thing Ayronee—no, not Ayronee anymore—noticed was warmth. Gentle, enveloping, safe.
Arms held him. A heartbeat pounded against his ear, steady and strong.
"Come here, dear Jerkin. Look—it's our first baby boy. Isn't he the most adorable thing in the world?"
A woman's voice, filled with exhausted triumph and overwhelming love.
"Indeed he is, Marie. A glorious day. You've done wonderfully."
A man's voice, rough but tender.
Two faces hovered above—his new parents. Their eyes held something he'd never seen directed at him before.
Unconditional love.
Tears welled up in his infant eyes, but the emotion behind them was joy. Pure, untainted joy. For the first time in twenty-seven years—in a lifetime—he felt it.
Peace. Love. Belonging.
His parents named him Hexia.
To be continued...