"Appa… are gods real?"
The memory did not feel distant.
It arrived whole.
Untouched by time.
"…If they are," the boy had asked quietly, "will Yama save us?"
His father had stayed silent for a while.
Long enough for a child to believe silence itself might become an answer.
"And why is he called death… if he saves people?"
His father laughed softly.
Not because it was amusing.
Because exhaustion had already hollowed every other response out of him.
"Because," he murmured, staring somewhere beyond the room, "death is the only mercy people like us receive."
A pause.
"It ends suffering."
The boy opened his eyes.
The disposal pit welcomed him back.
Rot.
Rain.
Bodies.
Not horrifying anymore.
Just present.
His breathing remained shallow as he stared upward toward the thin opening above.
For a while, he didn't move.
The memory of the darkness returned slowly.
Azael.
Vermilion.
Light splitting apart endless black.
"Live happily from now on."
The words echoed faintly.
The boy closed his eyes again.
Happy.
His father was dead.
His sister was dead.
The room waiting for him would still be empty.
What exactly was supposed to continue?
Yet something small still lingered inside him.
Weak.
Unstable.
A possibility.
If Azael was truly gone…
perhaps things would change.
Perhaps suffering itself could finally end.
The thought felt weak.
Fragile.
Almost embarrassing.
Because even if suffering disappeared someday…
nothing inside him felt capable of waiting for it.
"…So even death refused me."
The disappointment in his voice was small.
That made it heavier.
He slowly sat up.
Something beneath him shifted softly.
A body.
Or what remained of one.
He no longer cared enough to tell the difference.
His limbs protested weakly as he stood.
Pain flickered through his ribs.
His torn skin burned against the rain.
None of it mattered.
He began climbing.
Not because he wanted to survive.
Not because he feared dying.
His body simply continued moving.
Like something too tired to understand how to stop.
The climb felt endless.
Hands slipping.
Rotten flesh collapsing beneath his weight.
Mud mixing with blood.
Eventually, light appeared above him.
Not hope.
Just confirmation that the world had continued without him.
The street above the disposal pit was cleaner than the slums.
Stone roads instead of mud.
Tall buildings instead of rusted metal.
Even the rainwater seemed clearer here.
Yet the people still walked with the same emptiness.
Eyes forward.
The boy stared for a moment.
He walked toward the slums slowly, past cleaner streets and brighter windows, watching the city fade back into rust, mud, and hunger—as though suffering itself had been pushed to the edges where no one important needed to see it.
Nothing had changed.
Not after his father died.
Not after his sister died.
Not after he himself had nearly vanished.
The world continued with insulting ease.
The boy walked.
Not toward anything.
There was nowhere left to go.
Then he heard it.
A girl's voice.
Weak.
Desperate.
"Please…"
He turned.
Three men stood near the alley entrance.
A young girl struggled weakly between them.
Not violently.
Not chaotically.
Casually.
Like this was ordinary.
Like everyone already understood how the scene would end.
The girl saw him.
And hope appeared on her face so suddenly that it almost looked painful.
She stumbled forward before one of the men pulled her back.
Still, she reached toward him desperately.
"Help me…"
Her fingers brushed against his leg.
Shaking.
Small.
Terrified.
The men laughed quietly.
Not because they found it amusing.
Because they had already seen this kind of hope fail before.
"Careful," one of them said with a grin.
"If you interfere, you'll suffer with her."
The boy looked at the girl.
Bruised arms.
Wet eyes.
A body already trembling before anything had fully begun.
Then he looked at the men.
Then at the street around them.
No one was coming.
Of course not.
Even if someone saved her today…
what happened tomorrow?
Another alley.
Another man.
Another pair of hands.
Another night spent begging for mercy from people who never intended to give it.
The cycle would continue.
Again.
Again.
Again.
His thoughts drifted back toward Vermilion.
"Life persists. That is its purpose."
Purpose.
Was this what life existed for?
To continue suffering until death finally interrupted it?Maybe Azel was telling the truth.Thats the only logical explanation.Every sufferings were watched, judged.
Then another thought surfaced quietly.
If suffering never truly stopped…
then maybe the only real kindness was ending it completely.
The girl clung tighter to him.
"Please…"
The word broke apart halfway through.
Even she sounded like she no longer believed in it.
The boy stared at her trembling hand.
Then slowly…
a conclusion formed.
Not out of hatred.
Not cruelty.
Mercy.
If she died now…
she would never suffer again.
No hunger.
No fear.
No more waiting for someone stronger to decide her fate.
The thought frightened him slightly.
Not because it felt wrong.
Because part of him believed it made sense.
"…There is nothing left to save," he whispered.
Something shifted.
The boy felt it immediately.
Not outside.
Inside.
A cold sensation spread through his chest.
For one brief moment, it felt as though something had opened behind his ribs.
The girl's body suddenly froze.
Her fingers loosened around his leg.
The boy's eyes widened slightly.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't touched her.
Then her body collapsed onto the wet street.
A soft rupture followed.
Blood spread slowly beneath her.
Silence swallowed the alley.
The men stepped backward instantly.
Confusion crossed their faces first.
Then fear.
One of them stared at the body.
Then at the boy.
"What… what did you do?"
The boy didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
His breathing became uneven for the first time since waking inside the pit.
The girl lay motionless near his feet.
Rainwater mixed with the blood beneath her.
Dead.
The thought arrived slowly.
He had only thought about her dying.
Only wondered if death would free her from suffering.
So why had it actually happened?
The men ran.
Not because they understood.
Because they didn't.
The alley emptied quickly.
The boy remained where he stood.
A small feeling crept into his chest.
Cold.
Unfamiliar.
Fear.
Not of the body.
Not of the blood.
Of himself.
But beneath that fear, another thought quietly remained.
The girl wasn't suffering anymore.
That part was true.
And somewhere deep inside himself…
part of him still believed that mattered.
He looked down at the girl silently.
No more fear.
No more begging.
No more pain.
Only stillness.
"…So this is mercy," he murmured.
The realization settled heavily inside him.
Not salvation.
Not kindness.
An ending.
Complete and irreversible.
A voice emerged from the darkness behind him.
Calm.
Interested.
"…Interesting first act as an avatar."
The boy froze.
He already recognized the voice.
Azael.
END OF CHAPTER 4