Origins of Blood (RE)

The void. A place my eyes haven't had the pleasure of seeing in a long time.

How long has it been? A week since I killed the father. Three days, maybe less, since my mind began to unravel for good.

Now I float in nothing. No sound. No pain. No weight. Just stillness. All thought, all worry, all memory… The voice—Kill them all Golden Reaper—gone.

As if it never happened.

As if I was never eaten alive.

As if I never crushed the lives of more than I can count on both hands. They deserve worse. They took my meaning, but still. The voice led me. Not myself.

Too much has happened, and yet here I am—trapped again in this endless dark.

Why?

Why am I here, confined to this hollow space for hours—or days—or years? The void doesn't measure time. It devours it. Every time it's different—the silence deeper, the weight heavier.

I try to speak—to form the words that haunt me. I want to find meaning in them, now that my mind is freed from it all—Kill them all—but nothing escapes.

My lips don't move. My voice doesn't exist. Even though it feels heavy, distant, fading before it can form.

I think about everything. About nothing. About the start of all this. But each thought shatters before I can hold it. Still, I know this place. A Déjà vu experience returning now and then.

Seconds blur into days.—minutes into centuries.

Or maybe it's only been a breath.

The endless hum of silence presses against me.

Why—

The word breaks apart as light ignites around me.

Suddenly, I'm standing; the void burns away, replaced by a world of Red. Scarlet stretches to every horizon. The ground itself glows like molten glass.

"Why!?" I scream, the frustration tearing out of me.

Again, I'm whole, not only one but two arms building my body.

I slam my fists into the ground, and my skin gleams crimson, crystalline, veins of light running through it like living fire.

"Why!" I roar again, my voice cracking. The sound is swallowed by endless silence, and for a heartbeat, I'm afraid to be left in the void again.

No echo. No answer. Just the Red.

A table stands to my left, long as a hall, carved from bloodstone. Thrones rise along both sides, tall as giants, and empty but watching.

One step toward it, and the world shifts. The Red melts into Green.

Light bursts from a crystal—an emerald, radiant and alive—second throne from the right. Its glow spreads across the floor, flooding the chamber. I try to look away, but it's impossible. My body moves on its own. Again, my feet obey someone else.

"No… stop it. Please," I whisper, the plea trembling out of me. "Whoever's doing this—stop—"

Something seals my mouth shut. The air thickens. A gust tears across the room, brushing over my crystal skin. I don't feel it. But I see it.

Then—

Golden Reaper. In this life, you shall die for the greater good… not for selfish vengeance.

The voice detonates inside my skull, loud enough to shatter thought itself.

I clutch my head. My knees buckle.

I was in hell. I died only to see the truth.

The world spins. My vision folds in on itself. Red and Green twist together until I can't tell one from the other. I'm being pulled—dragged—toward the emerald throne.

He has long been dead… as am I.

My hands reach for the table, for the carvings that line its surface—eyes. Dozens of them. Hundreds. All pupil-less. All watching.

Your vengeance has driven you mad, Elliot. It has turned you into what you swore to destroy. No different from the Hemorions you curse.

The words cut through me sharper than any blade. My fingertips brush the emerald crystal; it pulses with light, in rhythm with my heart.

I'm sorry, Golden Reaper—Elliot—Farewell.

The pulse grows stronger, thundering through me.

I wish he wasn't right about you, the voice breaks, softer now. But you've lost it all—for vengeance over—

It cuts out.

Silence crashes back, heavy as stone.

The light flares once—twice—then everything fractures.

The world collapses from Red to Green, finally, into white.