Part 1: The Limits of Humanity
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When we speak of… "time"…
Every living being exists within the same flow of time.
But the way we perceive that time… is vastly different.
Picture this: a human recording a fruit fly buzzing around a sloth.
Time moves forward equally for all—but their perception of it? Worlds apart.
Now imagine such a distortion… on a battlefield.
Where one must move at breakneck speed, without pause, without rest… for days.
That's when the limits of humanity reveal themselves.
Here, in this battlefield scorched by smoke and dust,
countless bodies lie scattered—
some wounded,
some unconscious,
some… no longer breathing.
And yet, one still stands.
—or rather, kneels.
A boy… no, a warrior—his name is Akira—
kneels with both swords plunged into the ground to prop himself up,
gritting his teeth not in rage,
but in agony—
at watching his comrades fall one by one,
unable to withstand the sheer force of the enemy…
…The ones they call "Gods."
A voice, cold as winter steel, sliced through the haze.
"Sigh… I warned you, Akira.
You're nothing but a flickering firefly.
Why would you dare start a cosmic-scale war like Ragnarok?
This war was lost before it even began,
Third Hero."
Akira, bloodied and broken, could not muster a single word in reply.
The god casually brushed the dust off his shoulder.
"Look at this mess.
My pristine robes—soiled, torn.
Because of you.
But worst of all,
you dared to question the will of the Light."
With a faint smile, Akira rasped through a throat dry as sandpaper,
blood staining his lips.
"That mindset alone… is already rotten to the core, you lunatics."
The god's face twisted with fury.
"Hmph.
Your sentence is death.
But not a swift one.
No… you'll die in the most heart-wrenching way possible."
He raised his hand and twitched his fingers—
as if controlling a puppet by its strings.
Rustle… clink… drag…
Something moved behind Akira.
But he lacked even the strength to turn.
"What… are you doing…?"
he whispered.
And then—
a sickening stab.
Every nerve in his body screamed at once:
burning, freezing, aching, going numb.
An old, battered blade pierced clean through his heart… from behind.
His knees gave out.
He collapsed to the ground.
His eyes, barely open, registered a blurry face—
someone he trusted more than anyone else.
But those familiar eyes…
now shimmered with rune-light and tears,
streaking down cheeks smeared with blood and dust.
Akira smiled faintly.
She's being controlled… isn't she?
At least I died by her hands…
I guess… I'm lucky after all…
The god snarled in disbelief.
"What?! You're supposed to die in despair!
Why are you smiling?!
Damn you, hero—TURN TO DUST!!"
Even with his eyes closed,
Akira still saw the blinding light descend—
not warm like sunlight,
but searing, divine… deadly.
His mind faded into silence.
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He awoke in pitch blackness.
No pain. No breath. No sound.
"So… this is the afterlife?"
But then—
a woman's voice, unfamiliar and mechanical, echoed in the void.
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"Core failure detected in timeline 326,159,486. Patch version: 964181."
"Algorithmic Kernel for Inherited Recovery Architecture [A.K.I.R.A.] protocol detected."
"Reconstructing and shifting to timeline 326,159,487. Patch version: 964182."
"Command confirmed by Admin: Altenette."
"Authorization granted by Creator: Chronos."
"Authorization… confirmed."
"Reconstructing world memory…"
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"Initiating soul evaluation and scenario alignment in 5…"
"4…"
"3…"
"2…"
"1…"
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"Soul assessment initiated."
His consciousness was pulled into a vacuum—
a black hole—
only to be flung outward at light-speed,
back toward something…
And then…
he vanished into the dark once more.
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Part 2: Was That a Dream…?
"Gasp—!"
A man jolted upright on his bed, drenched in cold sweat. He darted his eyes around, wide with panic. But what met his gaze… was a bedroom he knew well. Familiar furniture. Familiar light. Familiar warmth… and a woman lying beside him. His wife.
She stirred with a sleepy voice, lifting her head and murmuring gently,
"Mm? What's wrong, darling… Did you have a nightmare?"
He didn't answer right away. The visions still echoed in his mind—too vivid to dismiss.
"Was that really just a dream…? It felt too real…"
But all he said aloud was:
"Yeah… just a bad dream, love."
She pulled him into a soft embrace, gently stroking his back.
"There, there… You've been working so hard. Maybe it's time for some… loving comfort?"
She trailed her fingers along his body with flirtatious ease and planted a teasing kiss on his chin.
But instead of leaning into it, he grew wary.
"She never flirts like this… Something's off."
He changed the subject. "What about the Ragnarok War?"
Her expression shifted slightly—almost annoyed.
"What war, sweetheart? There's no such thing…"
That answer sent alarms blaring inside him.
"This isn't right. I need more information."
He tried a new approach. "I'm getting hungry… Let's head down for breakfast."
She nodded sweetly. He excused himself to the bathroom and took off his shirt.
Looking at his torso, his eyes scanned the marks.
"This scar… Wrath. That one, Envy. These are from the Demon King. And that one—from the demi-gods…"
His brows furrowed.
"Wounds from war… yet she says there was no war? Where is everyone? Something is very wrong."
He went downstairs to the dining area. There, a fox-eared girl was cheerfully setting the table.
"Ah! You're up, big bro! Come eat—today I made all your favorites!"
Two more girls entered carrying dishes.
"Good morning, Your Majesty! Another feast fit for a king, as always."
One of them elbowed the other playfully.
"Hey, call him husband when we're home, remember? He's only king when we're outside~"
He smiled back faintly, saying nothing. But inside… turmoil.
"All three of them… They're here? But I turned them down—I remember their tears. And I refused the throne. This isn't real. This… this has to be a dream."
The table overflowed with more food than one man could eat. After a few bites, he gave the rest to the servants and suggested they go out into town.
"If this is a dream, it's frighteningly convincing. Maybe I can learn something from this place…"
But as they strolled the town, something felt off. The girls were spending lavishly—extravagantly, even. Far from how they normally acted.
He tested the waters. "Why are you all spending so much today?"
One of them looked confused. "Spending? This is nothing! We haven't even touched a quarter of the list yet." She pulled out a shopping list that trailed like a kite tail.
Another one chimed in, half-pouting.
"Ugh, don't say I'm being wasteful again. You're the one who told me to stock up on mana gear, remember?"
His "wife" glanced back while holding a bundle of cute trinkets.
"Isn't it good, though? Supporting local shops stimulates the economy, darling!"
The fox girl smiled, twirling a gold coin between her fingers.
"What are you worried about? We've got more money than we could ever spend! Heehee~"
He gave a strained smile. "Right… Enjoy yourselves, ladies. I'll go sit for a bit."
The fox girl grinned brightly while nibbling on a cookie.
"You're the king, after all~ You can rest whenever you want!"
He found a quiet nook between buildings and sat.
"None of this makes sense. They're usually so frugal—never wasteful. And they never let food go to waste… This isn't them. What about the townsfolk—any signs of strangeness?"
As he pondered, he heard coughing.
"Hack… Hack…"
It came from a shadowy, damp alley—barely visible unless one looked closely.
There, an old man sat slumped, filthy and ragged. His body riddled with open wounds and oozing sores.
Moments later, a young girl came running in, panting. She stumbled and fell, dropping a piece of bread into the grimy mud.
She quickly grabbed it and scurried into a dark corner, pressing herself into the shadows. Then—angry voices.
"Where'd that filthy brat go?! She's always stealing! If I catch her—she's dead meat!"
She clamped her hands over her mouth, trembling, tears in her eyes.
When the yelling subsided, she crept back to the old man.
She tore the bread in two, giving him the clean half, and keeping the muddy piece for herself.
But the man slapped her.
"Smack! You think I don't know this is dirty? What is this—chocolate?! Go steal me some real food!"
The girl trembled.
"But… I have no strength left… I haven't eaten…"
The old man hurled the clean half at her, splattering it onto the ground.
"Then eat your mud-bread, you worthless brat! And go get me more—with meds this time!"
She sobbed but obeyed, picking up the soiled piece. She bit into it slowly, tears mingling with the grime.
Then—the man raised a hand to hit her again.
"Move it! Even your parents didn't want you! Want me to leave you too?!"
But his hand never reached her.
It was caught.
By the man.
"…And you are…?" the old man growled.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out to the girl and cast a soft healing light. The dirty bread shimmered—cleansed.
The girl beamed. "Thank you, big brother!"
She offered the bread to the old man again. He snatched both halves without a word.
The girl's eyes dimmed. Her hard-earned meal—gone. Yet, she smiled, faint but strong.
The man knelt, gently patting her head. Their eyes met.
In hers, he saw sorrow… despair… fear…
But also something else.
Courage.
"You know," he said, voice warm.
"Your courage… in the face of fear… it's stronger than any bravery I've ever shown."
Her tears fell freely.
For the first time, someone had seen her. Valued her.
"I… I don't want to be brave…" she sobbed.
"I just… want to hug my mom and dad again…"
The old man licked his fingers, sneering.
"Bah! What a joke! If life were that easy, I'd be the king of this pathetic kingdom!"
"What's your beef with the king?" the man asked flatly.
The old man ranted on:
"That spoiled brat? Sleeps with women all day, lives in luxury, leaves food rotting on tables, blows cash in markets like he owns the world! And he's always starting wars! The government's corrupt! The people are starving! I'm starving!"
He had no idea that the man in front of him… was the very king he spoke of.
But instead of anger, the man simply extended a hand.
"I'll take you to a doctor. I know a really good one. I'll cover the costs—and get you some clean clothes. I'll also give you a little to start a new life. No more stealing. Live with pride."
He took off his shirt and wrapped it around the old man. Gave them food, coin, and salve for the wounds. Then lifted the old man onto his back.
Even when pus soaked into his skin… he didn't flinch.
The girl tugged his arm.
"Wait, big brother… I need to get something first. A keepsake from my parents…"
He followed her down narrow alleys, the air growing thick and stale.
She smiled up at him.
"Thanks for helping us, big brother. You don't even know us… but you're so kind."
He smiled back.
"She's so brave… and adorable. I just wanna ruffle her hair."
They reached a dead end. She dug into the dirt and pulled out a small, muddy chest.
He froze.
"…No! Don't open it! That's chaos—!"
But it was too late.
A black smoke erupted from the chest, spiraling into the old man's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He convulsed—then exploded into a mist.
The smoke coalesced into seven distinct forms.
Each one… a beast.
A goat. A boar. A snail. A bird. A toad. A snake.
And the most terrifying of all… a lion.
Each one exuded sin:
The snake hissed with envious eyes and crackling sparks.
The boar drooled greedily, coated in dirt turned to armor.
The bird, head high, radiated pride with feathers that glinted like vanity.
The snail lay in slothful bliss.
The goat groomed itself, shedding flakes of gluttony.
The toad was grotesquely swollen with excess.
And the lion… bared its fangs in wrath. Fire flared at its mouth, frost coated its paws. Its eyes—burning with hatred.
He was the Hero. But this… fighting while protecting the girl?
Too dangerous.
He turned and ran.
And you…
If you were in his place…
Would you run?
Would you surrender?
Or would you… stand and fight?
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