Tactical Embarrassment

I won.

The thought flickered dimly through my consciousness as darkness closed in. I'd defeated Shinji; the tri-alloy katana had cut through his adaptations like they were nothing, ending his murderous rampage once and for all. I should have felt triumph, relief, something.

Instead, I felt my legs buckling beneath me as Shinji's stolen abilities forcibly downloaded into my system, his death triggering some kind of automatic skill transference. Too much. Too fast. The abilities invaded my consciousness like parasites, each one fighting for dominance, tearing through the carefully constructed architecture of my mind. Morphic Armour, Reality Manipulation, Battle Omniscience, Time Bubble, each skill more powerful than the last, each one carrying the echo of its previous owner's death.

My body was breaking down from the strain, my mind fragmenting under the assault of new information. My last conscious thought was a feeble apology to Miyako and the others for breaking my promise to return.

There was a strange metallic sound, like something snapping, and then I was falling.

Not physically. My body was already on the ground. But I was falling, my consciousness plummeting through layers of darkness like a stone dropped down an endless well. Memories flashed past in reverse chronological order, vivid and disjointed:

Shinji's face, shocked and betrayed as my blade pierced his defences.
Divine smartphone apps with inappropriate dating suggestions.
Rurielle's knowing smile as she melted into shadow.
Dancing sticks distracting goblins while I took a mud bath.
Miyako's tearful reunion after my two-day disappearance.
Miyuki collapsing at the sight of me, her Mnemonic powers overloaded.

Each memory streaked past faster than the last, becoming a blur of colours and emotions and sensations. I tried to reach for them, to anchor myself to something familiar, but they slipped through my mental fingers like mist.

"Is this... dying?" I wondered, the thought oddly detached from any fear or panic. "Didn't realise the deities included a highlight reel as part of the package."

Faster and faster, I fell, the memories speeding up until they became an indistinguishable stream of light. Earth memories began to mix with Voluptaria ones: school days, gaming sessions, quiet afternoons spent alone.

Then, without warning, everything stopped.

I woke with a gasp, bolting upright in bed. My heart hammered frantically against my ribs as I stared into the familiar darkness of...

A bedroom. Not my bedroom, exactly, but... familiar somehow.

"What the hell?" I whispered, fumbling for the lamp on the nightstand. I clicked the switch repeatedly, but nothing happened. The room remained dark, illuminated only by afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting a gold-orange line across the floor.

I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. Plain blue walls, a simple desk in the corner, a window with blinds. Relief washed over me in a dizzying wave.

"It was all a dream," I murmured, running my hands over my face. "The most vivid, elaborate dream I've ever had, but still just a dream."

No isekai adventure. No divine selections. No life-or-death battles. Just an ordinary afternoon in an ordinary room.

I laughed; the sound tinged with a slightly manic edge. Of course it wasn't real. Being transported to another world? Deities with inappropriate senses of humour? Magical lingerie? Please.

As my eyes fully adjusted, I noticed something odd. A thin layer of dust coated the nightstand, catching what little light filtered through the window. I frowned, running a finger through it. Not just the nightstand, dust covered everything in sight. The bookshelf, the desk, even the windowsill. The room had the stale, unlived-in smell of a place that had been closed up for months.

Unease prickled along my spine as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor felt cold beneath my bare feet, colder than it should have been even in winter. I stood, taking in my surroundings with growing apprehension.

This room was almost right, but not quite. The proportions were familiar, but it lacked any personal touches. No books with worn spines, no weights in the corner, no carefully arranged displays. Just generic furniture arranged in a space that felt... uninhabited.

My eyes darted to the corner of the room where my pride and joy should have been, the custom-built display cabinet that had housed my prized collection of limited-edition bishoujo figurines. The meticulously curated assemblage that had cost thousands from my inheritance, each piece featuring intricate lace detailing of "tasteful proportion." Gone. Not just the figurines, but the entire cabinet, as if it had never existed.

I pulled open the closet, revealing nothing but empty hangers covered in undisturbed dust. Something was very wrong.

Moving with increasing urgency, I left the bedroom and made my way through the house. The hallway was dark, the overhead light failing to respond when I flipped the switch. No electricity, it seemed.

As I moved through each room, the wrongness intensified. Cobwebs stretched across corners. A light film of dust covered every surface. The kitchen faucet produced only a rusty sputter when I turned it on. The refrigerator stood empty and unplugged.

This wasn't just a house that had been vacant for a few days. This was abandonment, months, maybe years of neglect.

The door to what should have been my home gym, the space where I'd installed expensive equipment piece by piece after my parents died, was locked. When I finally managed to force it open, I found only an empty storage room, boxes of holiday decorations stacked against one wall. No weights. No bench press. No pull-up bar. The inheritance money I'd spent, gone without a trace.

In my father's study, the bookshelves stood nearly empty, save for a few old reference books and photo albums. I pulled one down, wiping away the dust, and flipped it open. More photos of my parents together, hiking in Hakone, posing before Singapore's Merlion, celebrating New Year's with relatives, but none with me.

A small leather-bound book caught my eye, tucked between larger volumes. My mother's journal. I'd seen her writing in it occasionally when I was young but had never read it, respecting her privacy even after her death. With trembling hands, I took it down and opened to a random page.

April 15th —

The doctor confirmed it today. I'm pregnant! Takashi was over the moon when I told him. We're going to be parents! If it's a boy, I want to name him Wei Long, after my father. It means "great dragon" in Mandarin. Takashi thinks it's perfect, saying our child will carry both our heritages in his name, his Japanese surname, Ryuu, also means "dragon," and my father's Mandarin name. Our little dragon, connecting our families across borders. I hope he grows up strong and kind like both his grandfathers.

I stared at the page, my vision blurring with tears. Wei Long, the Chinese name I rarely used, preferring the more casual "Andie" that my schoolmates found easier to pronounce. A name that connected me to both sides of my heritage, to a grandfather in Singapore I'd only met a handful of times before he passed.

I turned to another entry, dated a few weeks later:

May 3rd —

Mother called today, worried as usual about my "condition." She still treats pregnancy like some kind of illness! But she means well. She asked if I'm eating enough ayam masak merah, my favourite Malay dish from her side of the family. I told her that finding the ingredients in Tokyo isn't easy, but Takashi has been trying to recreate it for me. He's even learned to make lotus root with chicken soup from father's recipe book. Bless that man—learning to cook Singaporean Malay and Chinese dishes just to make me happy. I wonder if our baby will inherit my eyes. Mother's large eyes—passed down through her Malay bloodline—were what caught Father's attention when they first met. I hope our child gets them. They've served me well enough!

I touched the corner of my eye reflexively. My eyes, slightly larger than typical for most Japanese, with a distinctive shape that came from my mother's mixed Malay and Chinese heritage. The feature that had most clearly marked me as mixed-race growing up, sometimes drawing unwanted attention but just as often compliments.

Yet in this world, that pregnancy either never reached term, or... I couldn't bring myself to think about what might have happened to the child they had so lovingly anticipated.

I found myself in the living room, standing before the wall of family photos. My parents smiled back at me from their wedding picture, from vacations, from ordinary moments frozen in time. But something was missing.

Me.

I wasn't in any of the photos.

Not the family trip to Kyoto when I was seven. Not my middle school graduation. Not the final family portrait we'd taken just three months before the accident that took them from me.

My heart pounded painfully as I snatched one of the frames from the wall, my parents at the beach, arms around each other, smiling at the camera. In my memory, I had been standing between them, awkward and sunburned but happy. In this photo, it was just the two of them.

"This isn't right," I whispered, my voice sounding hollow in the empty house. "This isn't possible."

I replaced the frame with shaking hands, my eyes lingering on another photo, my father Takashi Ryuu and my mother Avalon Huang on their wedding day. My father's distinctly Japanese features contrasted with my mother's mixed Singaporean Chinese-Malay ones, with those striking large eyes that had somehow found their way onto my face. Yet in this photo, they stood alone, two people whose genetic legacy seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I moved to the front window, peering outside. The neighbourhood looked normal, houses bathed in late afternoon light, a few people walking dogs or returning from work. My eyes immediately sought out the house across the street.

The Kimochi residence. If anyone could explain what was happening, it would be Naomi-san. She had practically raised me after my parents died.

Without bothering to change from my pyjamas, I slipped on a pair of shoes from the genkan and stepped outside. The late afternoon air was pleasantly warm, but I barely felt it as I crossed the street. Standing before the familiar door, I hesitated, suddenly aware of how strange I must look. But desperation overrode concerns about appearances, and I knocked firmly.

To my surprise, the door opened almost immediately. Naomi-san stood in the entryway, her expression polite but wary.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone formal and completely lacking the warmth she'd always shown me.

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. "Naomi-san," I finally managed. "It's me, Andie."

Her eyebrows drew together slightly, her eyes scanning my face with no trace of recognition. "I'm sorry, young man, but I don't believe we've met."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. "What? Naomi-san, it's me. Andie Ryuu. I live across the street. I've known you since I was a child."

Something like pity flickered across her features. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I don't know anyone by that name."

"But, but I grew up with Miyuki and Mochi! We were best friends until—" I stopped, seeing her expression darken at the mention of her daughters.

"How do you know my daughters?" she asked, her voice suddenly hollow.

"I told you, we grew up together! We were neighbours, we played together every day until—" I stopped, not wanting to mention the incident that had changed them.

"My daughters have been gone for years," she interrupted, her face ashen. "After what happened at that school..."

My blood ran cold. "What do you mean, gone?"

Her eyes became distant. "They couldn't cope with what happened. The trauma was too much. They..." She swallowed hard. "They took their own lives. Together."

I felt the world tilt beneath me. "No. That's not possible. They survived that. They were hurt, yes, and they pushed me away along with every other boy, but they were alive."

"I don't know who you are," she said, tears forming, "but you speak as if from some other world where my girls found the strength to go on."

"They did find that strength. I know they did. Even though they shut me out, I would see them sometimes, walking together, supporting each other."

"That house across the street," she said, gesturing with a trembling hand, changing the subject away from her pain, "it's an akiya, abandoned property. The previous owners died in an accident years ago. They didn't have any children."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. "That's not true. My parents died, yes, but I've been living there since then. You helped me! You brought me meals, you taught me how to do laundry properly, you made sure I was eating vegetables!"

Naomi's expression had morphed from grief to alarm. "Young man, I think you're confused. Or perhaps unwell. That house has been empty for years. The previous owners died without heirs."

"No..." I took a step back, my mind reeling. "No, that's not right. I exist. I'm real."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave now," Naomi said firmly. "Before I call the police."

"Naomi-san, please—"

"Leave. Now." She stepped back and closed the door.

Through the window, I saw her reaching for her phone, her face set in grim determination.

I stumbled away from the house, my thoughts in chaos. This couldn't be happening. I knew who I was. I had memories, a lifetime of them. I couldn't just... not exist.

But as I wandered through the town as afternoon faded toward evening, that sick feeling of wrongness only intensified. The buildings were familiar, the streets exactly as I remembered them, but subtle differences nagged at me. A storefront that should have been a ramen shop was now a convenience store. The park had a playground I didn't recognise. Little discrepancies that individually might be dismissed as faulty memory, but collectively painted a disturbing picture.

I found myself at what should have been Paradise Heights Junior College, but the sign now read "Paradise Heights University." Students were leaving evening classes, many in their twenties rather than late teens. The realisation hit me, this wasn't just a different reality, but a different time. At least two years had passed since that fateful day in our classroom.

Familiar faces passed me without a glance, Nana and Asuka deep in conversation, wearing university track uniforms; Yui and Ayumi comparing notes on tablets, both looking more sophisticated than I remembered.

People noticed me, a few glanced at my dishevelled appearance with concern or slight discomfort, but in typical Japanese fashion, they kept their distance, averting their eyes and quickening their pace. No one stopped to help the clearly distressed young man wandering aimlessly through the campus. I was visible but somehow inconsequential, someone else's problem.

I spotted Sora and Yuto heading toward the parking lot and approached desperately.

"Sora!" I called. "Yuto! It's me, Andie!"

They turned, expressions curious but blank. No recognition whatsoever.

"Sorry, do we know you?" Sora asked politely. His hair was longer, his face more angular. Time had definitely passed.

"We're friends," I insisted. "We raid together every weekend in Champions of Eternity. You're always telling me I'm the best tank in the guild."

They exchanged confused glances. "Champions of what?" Yuto asked, adjusting glasses that were more stylish than I remembered. "I think you've got us mixed up with someone else."

"But—" I stopped, seeing no point in continuing. They clearly had no idea who I was.

As they walked away toward the parking lot, I overheard Yuto whisper: "Weird guy. Maybe he's from the Applied Sciences department?"

I stood rooted to the spot, watching my former friends disappear around the corner. Something fundamental had been altered, or perhaps I was the one who had changed. Was I a ghost? Had I actually died back in Voluptaria?

My increasingly panicked thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Hitomi and Hina walking together toward the campus exit. Something about their interaction seemed off, they were walking too close, hands brushing against each other with deliberate frequency, their body language intimate in a way that felt... wrong.

Not wrong in a judgmental sense, but wrong in the sense of fundamental impossibility. Hitomi and Hina had never been particularly close in my world. They operated in completely different social circles. Seeing them like this, Hina laughing at something Hitomi whispered in her ear, Hitomi's hand coming to rest at the small of Hina's back, it was like watching a physics equation that didn't balance.

"This isn't just wrong," I murmured to myself, "it's impossible."

I decided against approaching them. What was the point? If my closest friends didn't recognise me, these peripheral acquaintances certainly wouldn't. Besides, something told me that the more I investigated this reality, the worse the wrongness would become.

I drifted away from the university, feeling increasingly untethered from reality. I found myself at the coffee shop near campus where Miyako, Airi and I used to have dinner together sometimes.

That's when I saw her.

Miyako.

She sat at a corner table; her natural black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore a modest cream sweater over a collared shirt, paired with a knee-length plaid skirt, practical, conservative attire I'd never seen her in before. Without her usual styled dyed hair, makeup, and fashion-forward clothes, she looked like someone I barely recognized.

Across from her sat Airi, equally transformed. Her natural dark hair fell in a neat bob around her shoulders instead of the caramel-coloured waves I remembered. Gone were her platform boots, layered accessories, and bold patterns, replaced by a simple blouse and cardigan combination that wouldn't draw a second glance.

I stared in disbelief. In my world, Miyako and Airi had become gyaru together during our third year of our junior high school, supporting each other through their transformations despite their parents' disapproval. They'd bonded over fashion magazines and makeup tutorials, forming a friendship that revolved around their shared rebellion.

But these versions of them looked like they'd never rebelled against anything in their lives.

I approached their table, heart hammering. "Miyako? Airi?"

They both looked up, identical expressions of polite confusion on their faces.

"Yes?" Miyako answered. "Do we know you?"

"It's me," I said. "We've known each other since junior high. We were—"

"I'm sorry," Airi interrupted, her tone coolly protective, "but I think you have us confused with someone else."

"We've been in the same class for years," I insisted. "You both used to dress completely differently. You both became gyaru in third year of junior high."

Both women looked mildly offended. "I don't know what you're talking about," Miyako said, straightening her posture. "We would never dress like that."

Airi reached across the table, taking Miyako's hand in hers. "Our parents would have been horrified," she added with a hint of pride. "We've always maintained appropriate appearances."

The casual intimacy of their handholding wasn't lost on me. "Are you two...?"

"Together? Yes," Miyako confirmed, a small smile softening her features. "Since the end of junior high."

The end of junior high? The exact time they had both embraced the gyaru aesthetic in my world.

"I apologize for the mistake," I managed, backing away.

I watched them from across the shop, two proper young women who had stayed firmly on the paths their families had set for them. In my world, they had both dramatically transformed their appearances at the end of junior high. In this world, they had never undergone that transformation at all, yet still ended up together… A different type of together... but still together.

Why are they so different from how I remember them? Have I fabricated entire histories with these people? The idea that my existence somehow changed their paths seems absurd, the delusion of someone desperate to feel significant.

Maybe I am losing my mind. That has to be it. People don't just get erased from existence, that's the stuff of science fiction, not reality. More likely I'm having some kind of breakdown, inventing elaborate histories with people I've only observed from afar. Perhaps I've constructed an entire fantasy life where I matter to these people when I never truly had.

Yet the memories feel so real. The weight of Miyako's hand in mine. The sound of Kazuki's laughter during our gaming marathons.

Night fell as I wandered the streets like a ghost. People noticed me, concerned glances, whispered comments, the occasional crossing to the other side of the street, but no one approached. In a culture where social harmony was paramount, a clearly distressed stranger was something to be carefully avoided, not engaged with.

I found myself at the cemetery where my parents were buried. The familiar path to their grave seemed longer than I remembered, the rows of stone monuments stretching endlessly in the gathering twilight. When I finally reached their headstone, the inscription confirmed my worst fears:

Here lie Takashi Ryuu and Avalon Huang
Beloved husband and wife

Together in life, together in eternity

No mention of a son. No acknowledgment that they had left behind a child who mourned them.

"What is this world?" I whispered, sinking to my knees before the grave. "Did I die back in Voluptaria? Is this my punishment?"

I looked around at the cemetery, trying to imagine if this was the fate of those who had died in Voluptaria. Were they all trapped in similar limbos of non-existence?

"What happens to those who die in Voluptaria?" I wondered aloud, the question echoing in the silence of the cemetery. "Are they trapped like this forever?"

The thought was too horrific to contemplate, to be conscious but erased from the memories and lives of everyone you'd ever known. Not death, but something far worse, a non-existence that you were fully aware of, a perpetual state of isolation more absolute than any physical prison could create.

"Is this worse than true death?" I asked the silent gravestones. The lack of answer was answer enough.

Night had fallen completely by the time I dragged myself to a konbini near the station. I sat on the pavement outside, back against the wall, too exhausted physically and emotionally to move any further. The occasional customer stepped around me without comment, just another homeless person best ignored.

I closed my eyes, letting despair wash over me completely. What was the point of fighting this? I had no place in this world. No home, no family, no friends. Nothing.

The sound of approaching footsteps made me open my eyes. Three pairs of women's shoes stopped directly in front of me. I looked up to see Hitomi, Hina, and Airi standing in a neat row, looking down at me with identical expressions of mild curiosity.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hina asked, her head tilting slightly.

The question sent a jolt through me, the exact words Hina had spoken that night after I'd returned from my forced two-day absence, when the three girls had found me contemplating my divine responsibilities in the dark.

"Are you three going to scold me again?" I demanded, scrambling to my feet. "Because I'm not at fault this time!"

The three of them smiled at me, identical smiles that looked wrong on their different faces, too perfectly synchronised, too calculated.

"You disappoint us, Andie Ryuu," Hitomi said, her voice layered with something that wasn't quite human. "This is not the correct question to ask."

A chill ran down my spine. "Wait... you shouldn't know my name. I shouldn't exist in your minds. Who are you? Why did you approach me?"

"Well, well, well," Hina's smile widened unnaturally, "that is the correct question you should have asked."

Hitomi snapped her fingers, and reality... shifted.

Where the three girls had stood, three figures now loomed, familiar yet alien, their forms vaguely humanoid but somehow beyond human comprehension. I recognised them immediately despite their changed appearance.

"Seven, Eight, and Nine," I breathed, naming the aspects of the divine pantheon.

Seven, the aspect responsible for system integration who had "patched" my abilities, stepped forward, reality warping slightly around her form. "Well well well, who's panicking now?" she asked, her voice containing echoes of countless others.

"I hope you remember who I am, Andie Ryuu," said Eight, shifting between various forms as if unable to settle on a single appearance.

"You're Eight," I confirmed, surprised at my own calm.

"I hope you remember who I am too, Andie Ryuu," said Nine, whose form seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

"You're Nine," I replied, then asked the question burning in my mind: "Why am I here? What are you doing here?"

Eight's form rippled like water. "I am here because in some cultures, eight represents reincarnation. If you flip 8 to the side, it is infinity."

Nine's darkness deepened. "I am here because nine is 'ku' in Japanese. In some cultures, I represent anguish, torture, pain, bitterness, hardship and tragic endings."

Seven stepped closer, her form constantly shifting between shapes I could barely comprehend. "I am here because you are here."

"What is this place?" I demanded, gesturing at the world around us that suddenly seemed thin as paper, ready to tear at the slightest pressure.

"This place is under both of us," Eight and Nine replied in perfect unison, their voices merging into something greater than either.

"This is 'the Rubicon', a liminal space between life and death," Seven explained. "Some cultures call it the fourth realm that is not Heaven, Earth, or Hell. Some call it purgatory. Some call it limbo. We call it... Rubicon."

I thought of Caesar crossing his own Rubicon, making the irreversible decision that changed the course of history. "So, this is where the dead come? Did the others who died pass through here too?"

Eight shimmered like heat waves. "Actually, no. You were supposed to die, and this reality would become your friends' fate when they returned to Earth."

"But your guardian angel here," Nine gestured to Seven, "gave you something, didn't they?"

The realisation hit me like a thunderbolt. "The Amulet of Twelve!"

Seven smiled, her expression somehow visible despite her constantly shifting form. "Well, the beta test works... as we needed."

"If I'm not dead, then why am I trapped here?" I asked, my mind racing to understand.

Nine's darkness seemed to pulse. "It is because of the amulet that you are trapped here. What you see here is but one of many truths your absence can carve. This can be their reality if you were to give up now."

"No," I said, horrified at the thought. "I don't want to give up. Miyako, the Kimochi sisters... I have people waiting for me!"

The three aspects exchanged glances, their inhuman faces somehow conveying satisfaction.

"The challenge of resurrection," Eight added, "is not simply restarting the heart or healing the body. It is convincing the soul to return, to choose the difficult path of life over the seductive peace of non-existence."

"Many who stand at the Rubicon choose to cross toward oblivion," Nine said, voice unnervingly gentle for an entity representing suffering. "It is, after all, the easier path."

"I'm not taking the easy path," I insisted. "I made promises. I have responsibilities."

"Responsibilities," Seven repeated thoughtfully. "To whom? The classmates you barely spoke to before Voluptaria? The girls who admired you from afar while you remained oblivious because you were as dense as osmium? The grandmother you didn't talk to ever since your parents passed? The divine beings who transported you against your will?"

She paused, tapping her chin. "Though I suppose if your brain were made of plutonium, at least with you being as dense as osmium, the others beside you wouldn't get radiation sickness... so there's that small mercy."

"To all of them," I said without hesitation. "To Miyako, who finally told me how she felt after years of hiding it. To the Kimochi sisters, who trusted me enough to let me back into their lives after years of distance. To my nerd friends, who shared their knowledge and skills. Even to you divine trolls and your ridiculous system." I paused, feeling a pang in my chest. "And if I ever get back to Earth, to my grandma in Singapore, who deserves better than the silence I've given her since my parents died."

"Trolls?" Seven's expression might have been offence or amusement, impossible to tell on their shifting features.

"You know exactly what you are," I shot back. "But that doesn't matter now. What matters is getting back to them."

"How do I go back?" I pressed.

The three of them just smiled. "You will know."

"When you return," Seven added, "remember to call me, and I will pick you up again for some system upgrades, okay? Good luck."

"Wait!" I shouted as their forms began to fade. "You can't just leave me here! How do I—"

But they were gone, and the world around me was dissolving, buildings and streets melting away like watercolours in the rain. I felt myself falling again, plummeting through darkness, but this time it wasn't frightening, it felt right, like returning to a natural state.

Flashes of Voluptaria appeared in the void, the sanctuary I'd built, the Crossroads settlement, the battlefield where I'd faced Shinji. Faces materialised and faded: Miyako's fierce determination, Miyuki and Mochi's hopeful smiles, Rurielle's knowing gaze, even Noel and Ruri from Crossroads.

I realised with startling clarity that these people, these connections, had become more real to me than anything I'd known on Earth. The thought of never seeing them again, of being forgotten by them as I'd been forgotten in this twisted version of Earth, was unbearable.

"I need to go back," I thought desperately. "I need to finish what I started. I need to keep my promises."

From somewhere in the darkness, I felt a pull, gentle but insistent, like someone tugging on a thread connected to my soul. Someone was calling me back, though I couldn't make out who it was or hear what they were saying.

Was it Miyako, fierce and determined even in her vulnerability? Or perhaps the Kimochi sisters, whose trauma-hardened resilience had taught me so much about strength? Maybe Miyuki with her Mnemonic abilities, reaching across the void between life and death to pull me back?

As the darkness began to give way to a faint glow, I felt myself being drawn toward it, not falling anymore, but rising, returning to where I belonged. The glow brightened, becoming a beacon in the vast emptiness.

And then, from somewhere beyond the void, I felt someone reaching for me.

Let me know in the comments:

Do you think this world was better off without him?

Would you walk the Rubicon if you could see what the world becomes without you?

I just wanted to say that this chapter has like at least 5 rewrites, up until 02:30 on publishing day.

I hope it is worth it. I hope you like it.