On a cold October night in the year 45, the battlefield of Larsen witnessed its final, great carnage. Shields shattered and swords were lost; the only presence that remained on the stage was Lady Death, embodied by the carnivorous monsters that prowled the remnants of what had once been an army.
In the distance, a city burned in a furious fire. Its white walls, once magnificent, were now stained red with blood, with large sections collapsed.
Within those walls, in the blazing city, thousands of bodies lay sprawled on the ground, forming a river of blood that flowed toward the lower parts of the city. The bland smell of iron, the crackling of burning wood, the heat of the flames, and the thick smoke rising into the sky… all denied that here, the last bastion of humanity — once the greatest human capital — had fallen before a powerful enemy. There was no more crying, no more screams, no more clashing of swords. Only the roar of the fire remained.
Inside a collapsed and burning building, perhaps the last living human in the city struggled to breathe. His armor was torn, his face smeared with blood, and his right arm… no longer existed. The blood loss left him increasingly weak, but in his veteran mind, he knew: he would probably die of asphyxiation before the lack of blood made any difference.
Among his laments of pain and loss, he spoke. He spoke because nothing else remained; he spoke because, perhaps, dying from hypoxia was better than facing asphyxiation.
— I've lost too much… — he murmured.
Flashes of memory passed through his mind. His sister, smiling as he tickled her when she was still a little girl, would soon be replaced by the image of her adult body, dead, never having had a chance to defend herself.
A thick tear rolled down his cheek. He had watched her grow from a sweet child into a phenomenal warrior, wielding the curved sword she had chosen herself as the gift he had promised her. The blade bore the engraving of a monarch butterfly, for which she had fallen in love. That sword accompanied her through more battles than many of her companions could endure… yet, ironically, it had not been there when she needed it most.
Among these memory flashes, there was one he cherished: the vision from before he had been teleported to this world. It was transcendental — beautiful, colorful, magical. His soul felt renewed, or perhaps it was just his body experiencing a massive release of endorphins; he never paused to think about it. The place he had been could be called the abode of gods, so beautiful it was. But, though that image brought peace to his heart, he knew the hell would begin shortly after, when the remaining billions of people were teleported at the same time.
Remembering the chaos at the beginning, the fear of being separated from his family, and the things he had been forced to do from the start… all of it still left him bitter.
With his breath growing increasingly shallow, he could no longer think. Since arriving there, death had been his constant companion. Where he sought peace, growth, and overcoming, this world — the Lords and the OTHERS — gave him only betrayal and despair.
Life had never been fair to him. If not for his mother, he could have arrived much earlier. Since coming to this world was irreversible, had he arrived sooner, he might have used that time to create a truly safe haven for his family.
A harsh cough expelled more blood from his mouth. Death, his loyal companion, was finally arriving. Facing the end, he thought about what he might have done differently — something he had never allowed himself before, for in that world, clinging to the past was a death sentence. But now… it no longer mattered. Death embraced him like a mother holding a crying child, gently rocking him until he surrendered to sleep.
He no longer felt pain or despair. Death cradled him against its chest, gradually lifting the weight he had carried for so long. It was his turn — he who had long been a messenger of death itself — to finally be carried by its welcoming hands. In that final instant, its touch was not cold; it was strangely warm, like a mother's lap.
Yet still, memories came in an avalanche — lost battles, the bodies of his family, the betrayal of the Lords, and total defeat… the extermination of the human race. Facing the end of everything he had known, only one thought remained:
— If I had another chance… just one more chance, I would change my destiny… I would build a safe haven, overthrow the traitors, and kill the OTHERS… Oh Gods, ghuuuu…
A choke stopped his thoughts.
Closing his eyes, he could feel — Death had given him enough time. Slowly, the sensation of the crumbling bricks beneath him vanished. His breath weakened, and his senses faded, one by one.
He hoped… that upon waking, he would be in a place of peace. A place where he would finally find his family.
First came silence. Then a gentle touch — like a cold, comforting breeze against his face. A faint light passed through his closed eyelids. The sense of touch, which had abandoned him, returned… along with the feeling of something soft beneath his body.
— So this is the other side, hmm… how pleasant, calm, relaxing, and comfortable.
He could stay like this for a long time. But not everything is as it seems.
Amid the calm, small feet approached slowly. A small figure, wearing a dinosaur pajama, appeared — and, without warning, leapt onto him.
— Wake up, brother… you lazybones!
Paul, suddenly attacked, prepared to react — but the girl's voice broke his impulse, forcing him to open his eyes.
And there she was. One of the people he loved most: his sister, still nine years old, sitting on top of him, performing one of her little plays.
He had always been a light sleeper. Even when waking before her most mornings, he would lie down again just to participate in her play.
Looking at her now, he understood. His paradise was not elsewhere. It was here. His home. His peace.
With tears in his eyes, he pulled her into a hug and said:
— I don't want to… I'll just sleep ten more minutes with this dinosaur pouf.
Unaware of his tears, the child retorted with laughter:
— I'm not a pouf! I'm a child! Hahaha!
The laugh was the same. The smell was the same. The voice… also the same. That incredible warrior was now here, in her childhood form, in his paradise.
The play would soon end — she would leave his embrace. And so he prolonged the moment as long as he could.
The girl expected him to continue the game, but no words came from his mouth.
— Brother… are you okay?
— Brother, talk to me.
Receiving no answer, she tried to pull away, but he held her tighter than usual. Something was wrong. He was different.
After several frustrated attempts to break free, she decided to put into practice something he had once taught her. She turned her small body sideways… and delivered a punch directly to his stomach.
The blow was not strong, but precise. For a moment, the air seemed to be ripped from his lungs.
This was not part of the play. The pain was real — and familiar. He had taught her well.
But… could there be pain in paradise?
He recoiled quickly, his body twisting, and for a moment, he felt the impulse to curse her, as he had done thousands of times on the battlefield. But it was his sister, small and still a child.
He looked at her, seeing the girl he had barely remembered. There she was, in her torn dinosaur pajamas, staring at him with her small, damask-colored eyes, full of concern. That sight, that familiar environment, and above all, the sharp pain in his stomach… Paul realized, heart racing, that this was not his paradise. It was his second chance.
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