Will of chaos

Pov Hana:

I don’t know how long I stayed in the darkness and I didn’t care. I knew I was dead and I didn’t care. I stopped caring about anything a long time ago, and that includes my own existence.

I stopped counting time. I knew I was trapped in my mind since it was all that was truly left of me. I could always feel the disgusting things they injected into me; that corrupt energy that constantly tried to swallow me seemed less bad than how disgusting I constantly felt.

I felt the pain and agony of the tortures for a long time. This was before I gave up resisting. It was a reflection of the life I led, fighting first and thinking later. But I realized I deserved that torment, and it was when I stopped resisting that I found myself trapped in my own mind, still feeling that pain for a long time.

But now everything was different. An eternity seemed to pass without me feeling anything anymore, and that’s when she appeared, a beautiful woman, more beautiful than any beauty I’ve ever seen on magazine covers or movie screens. Her beauty was so striking that I couldn’t believe something so perfect existed.

She was in the midst of darkness, but she couldn’t be obscured. Each step she took to approach me seemed to crush everything I was, as if I were a mere insect.

Her smile was something I’d seen many times before, a mockery of everything that exists, something I’d seen often in the worst kinds of people who believed themselves to be above everything. But one look into those eyes, which changed color, was enough to know that what was in front of me wasn’t a person.

An endless thirst for blood, a cruelty that crushes everything, and a malice whose depth I couldn’t see. Just looking into her eyes made me tremble, made that repugnant energy inside me flow like a torrent.

“Interesting…”

She was right in front of me; her presence was the most terrifying thing I’d ever felt. Not even those Demons came close to what I was feeling now. Just being in front of her was a torment that seemed to last an eternity with each passing second. But she just kept smiling when a horn appeared in her hands. I couldn’t look properly before she threw it at me.

The horn sank into me, and I didn’t even have the courage to resist. I accepted it out of pure fear, and she disappeared as if she had never existed. After that, the repugnant energy inside me seemed to vanish. I couldn’t feel anymore and was left once again in the darkness, with no will to leave.

That fear still persisted, but I didn’t think about it particularly, I didn’t think about anything. I just sat in the darkness, sometimes wondering why I couldn’t simply disappear into this darkness?

I didn’t know how much time passed, and I only realized that this darkness itself was already torture, so I plunged into it. At some point, I even stopped noticing myself until I felt something touch me.

“Meh! Meh! Meh!”

“…” (me)

Tears

My whole body trembled. From my memories surfaced the only thing that had brought a smile to my face over the years: the sound of that cry I heard only once, and it was forever etched in my heart.

Tears streamed down my face, images of him being held close to me, still dirty and crying, the first time I looked at him, and also the one that condemned me to a life without joy for never being able to be with him.

It seemed to last so little, it was so brief, but my whole being was trembling. I was smiling while tears fell down my face. For a brief moment, I felt as if he were right beside me, and yet that moment passed, leaving only darkness around me once more.

This was the first time I felt so much pain and suffering since my death. It was so much pain I couldn’t bear it, a pain coming from so deep that I felt like I would break at any moment.

“Why am I so weak…!” (me)

Tears

Time continued to pass, and soon that pain that seemed to last hundreds of years sank once more into my heart. The tears dried in that cold darkness as my memories returned to the box I never wanted to open.

That’s when he appeared. Just like that frightening woman, he suddenly appeared right in front of me, but I couldn’t feel anything from him, as if it were a mere illusion, which, given his eccentric appearance, might have been the case.

He looked like a somewhat short teenager, his hair was long, disheveled, blood red, his eyes were different colors, his skin was dark with tribal tattoos that I couldn’t fully see, and his clothes seemed to be made of scales; there were even horns on his head.

He was strange, and yet he walked up to me and sat in front of me.

Talking to him was strange; even in my lifetime I hadn’t talked so casually with anyone. I didn’t know who he was, and yet I spoke without holding back.

It was only when I stood against him that I could feel a pressure crushing me against the ground. I couldn’t feel his presence, yet this pressure emanated from him, crushing me. It was as if a colossal beast were stepping on an ant, and that ant was me.

I felt I couldn’t refuse to do what he wanted; there was no way to refuse, and he could force me to do whatever he wanted, so I stopped resisting.

He forced something into my mind, and an understanding of how to wander through my memories emerged. I didn’t know what he wanted from me or why he didn’t do it himself, but since I died, I no longer have control over anything, and so I simply followed the course.

He claimed to be a God and spoke of a Dragon. I couldn’t understand him, so I began to show him my past, starting with my childhood. It was simple and good for nothing, just like me.

I showed him my adolescence, where I let myself be carried away by my worst side until that was all that remained.

My mother’s death was so insignificant that I just brushed past that mess. My father was an idiot, and causing his death was almost liberating; it was just that old woman I couldn’t get rid of.

I went through those memories and recounted everything. Going through those memories was kind of strange. Now I can see all the mistakes I made, but it’s pointless. There’s no going back, no compensation or excuse for the things I did or didn’t do.

It was easy to consider my parents as crap; they both gave up and threw themselves into alcohol and drugs, but I also gave up in a way by surrendering to cruelty. Our family was cowardly trash.

I looked at the boy who called himself God. He showed nothing, neither for the death of my parents nor for the cruel acts I committed. So I went through what I did by fleeing Brazil and starting a business in the United States.

I showed him my business, I showed him almost everything I did, and even the only man I allowed myself to love for a brief moment—he was a spoiled brat, but killing him was sadder than the death of my parents.

It was only when I became pregnant that I began to hesitate. I didn’t want to relive those memories, I didn’t want to remember him, but I was already dead; there was no point in avoiding those memories now.

I went through all that, and yet when I looked back, he was still floating behind me, showing no reaction, watching everything as if it were a movie. That’s when I realized that, for him, I could only be entertainment. After all, what could someone like me possibly offer someone with such power?

“Is that all?” (Zenos)

“There’s not much more to show…” (me)

I wave my hand, indicating an old woman, around 61 years old, struggling to remove her coat as she enters an empty house. Beneath the coat, an artificial arm with limited mobility is revealed. The t-shirt I was wearing showed the scars of an explosion, and my body, ruined by age, moved with pain as I threw myself onto the sofa.

“I lived like a heartless whore, craving money, reputation, and authority… I achieved all of that leaving a trail of blood wherever I went. My name was feared, my money could buy anything, and yet my house only had me…” (me)

It was a truth I never cried over; I managed to achieve everything I ever wanted as a teenager, I had everything I dreamed of in my youth, but none of it mattered at all.

I left a legacy that will be stolen or forgotten as soon as I die. No one cried at my death, of that I am certain. I did nothing of real value other than stroking an ego I left behind a long time ago.

“A shitty life ends lamentably, alone amidst worthless things…” (me)

“Everything I built had no value to me. Being in that luxurious room or in the middle of the garbage would be the same to me. In the end, I was alone…” (me)

I stand facing my older self. I remember this day; this was my last day. I had gone to the hospital where he was hospitalized, as I had many other times, but I never entered his room. I didn’t even dare to reach the floor where he was in a coma.

“In the end, I gave him a miserable life too, a weak body and terrible health, yet he built an empire, his name was loved by his creations and he was respected…” (me)

“But he never had anyone to love, he couldn’t have children and because of his condition he probably didn’t live long after my death…” (me)

Tears

“I don’t deserve any joy and I was comfortable with that… but he…” (me)

Tears

“He couldn’t enjoy life, he spent almost his entire life trapped between four walls…” (me)

“A life truly worthless…” (Zenos)

“…” (me)

While my older self was dying on the couch with his heart stopping and clutching his chest, I turned to the supposed God who still showed nothing, my whole life meant nothing to him and that infuriated me.

I didn’t want to be recognized for this shitty life, but rather I wanted him to condemn me, to point out my crimes and atrocities.

But he took away the value even of that, as if nothing mattered, as if even the guilt and regret within me were worthless.

“For now, this is enough for me.” (Zenos)

“Your fucking God… where did he go…?” (me)

Suddenly he disappeared without a trace, I was left alone watching my own death and not knowing what to do with this frustration.

“…” (me)