Cold. That’s all I could feel
...
It wasn’t just the air—it was in my bones, my muscles, my very soul. The kind of cold that just hurts is relentless, like a thousand needles piercing your skin. Darkness surrounded the room, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint, flickering light of a dying torch mounted on the damp stone wall. The air reeked of mold, blood, and something metallic, like rusted iron. Chains rattled as my body swayed limply, the iron shackles biting into my wrists, raw and bleeding. My arms were numb, my legs useless. I hung there, too weak to struggle, too weak to care.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months?
Time was meaningless here. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing somewhere in the room. My thoughts swirled endlessly in the void, a chaotic mess of memories and regrets. How did I end up like this? I tried to think, really tried to think and piece it together, but even that felt like a monumental effort. My mind was a fog, a haze of pain and exhaustion.
I was so cold.
It was so cold I couldn’t feel the cuts and bruises on my body. The cold was all-consuming, drowning out everything else. My skin was pale, almost translucent, and my breath came out in shallow, visible puffs.
Why? Why was I here?
Was it because I saved that girl in my previous life? Or because I tried saving another one in this world? Was she even alive? Not that it mattered now. I hope she’s safe. I hope she made it out. She wouldn’t last here. Not in this place.
The silence shattered as slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stone stairs. Each step was like a hammer striking an anvil, reverberating through the chamber. My heart, sluggish and weak, began to pound in my chest. I didn’t want to see who it was, and I didn’t want to hear their voice, but I had no choice.
???: “You know,” the voice said, calm and almost casual, “none of this is really your fault. It was always going to end this way. You never could’ve guessed it’d be me. It’s in my blood, after all.”
The figure emerged from the shadows, their face hidden behind the flickering torchlight. They spoke as if we were old friends as if their words would mean something to me. But they didn’t.
As if we could ever be friends.
???: “I don’t enjoy this, believe it or not. But you killed the king but you did kill the king, after all. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
I tried to speak, but no words came. My throat was dry, my voice stolen by the cold and the pain. I wanted to kill him. Strangle him. Tear his flesh from his bones. But I couldn’t. My muscles were numb, my strength gone. All I could do was hang there, shivering.
It’s so cold.
The figure stepped closer, holding up a blade that glinted in the dim light. It was a cruel-looking thing, jagged and serrated, with a hilt wrapped in worn leather.
???: “This was my father’s sword,” they said, turning it over in their hands. “It gets the job done. It doesn’t kill quickly, but it speaks volumes.”
???: “I was gonna kill you, but I have better plans for you.”
They ran the blade down my arm, cutting shallow but deliberate lines. Blood welled up and dripped to the floor, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel anything. The cold had stolen even that from me.
???: “Do you want to hear its story?” they asked, smiling like they were sharing some profound wisdom. “About the blade?”
Like I gave a damn.
They kept talking, their voice yapping on about their father, the blade, and some great war. This monologuing was annoying. I wanted to laugh, but my body wouldn’t let me. This guy… he was so… cringe.
It’s so fucking cold.
As the figure monologued, my mind drifted back to the moment that started it all—the alley, the girl, the fight that changed everything.
As the figure in the dungeon monologued, my mind drifted back to the moment that started it all. The cold I felt now was nothing compared to the icy dread that had gripped me that day in the alley in my previous world.
I wasn’t anyone special.
Just a guy who liked to fight. No grand ambitions, no dreams of glory—just the thrill of fists colliding and the rush of adrenaline. It was fun. I loved it. My bros said I was a prodigy, training with them and all. My foster family? Not so much. They said I should quit boxing. Maybe because they didn’t want me getting hurt. Unfortunate. I wasn’t even boxing for real, though. There were no fight clubs at my school. Plus, I was still in high school. Even still, I’d go to the gym and spar with my gym bros.
It happened on a Monday morning. Felt like any other day. I didn’t go to the gym on Mondays—school came first. As I walked past an alley, I saw her. A girl from my school, cornered by three shadowy figures. Looks like she was getting robbed. Not my problem. This narrow alley reeked of trash. Is this bitch stupid? Why would she go down here? She was probably taken here. No way she would have willingly walked down here. I was trying to think what could be past this alley, but I was drawing blanks.
A girl, clutching a small bag, found herself cornered by three shadowy figures. One of the muggers grinned as he flipped a knife in his hand. For some reason, I decided to listen in. Maybe I was bored. This could definitely entertain me. Or perhaps I was making sure this girl got away with just her bag robbed.
Mugger 1: “Don’t make this hard, lady. Just hand it over.”
Girl: “Please… I don’t have anything valuable…”
Mugger 2 snarled, looking up and down at the girl’s body.
Mugger 2: “Then we’ll take something else.”
The third mugger, silent but menacing, cracked his knuckles as he blocked her only escape. The girl’s breathing grew shallow, panic overtaking her. These men were all over her. Damn it, I can’t let this go on any longer. I need to stop this.
But… should I?
My feet felt stuck to the ground, my mind racing. This wasn’t my fight. This wasn’t my problem. I didn’t even know this girl. She could’ve been anyone—a stranger, a classmate, someone I’d passed in the hallways without a second glance. Why should I risk my neck for her? For what? A pat on the back? A “thank you” that wouldn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things? I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t even a good person. I just liked fighting. I like to watch it and spar a little. I've never actually been in a fight.
But then I looked at her. Really looked at her. Her wide, terrified eyes, the way her hands trembled as she clutched her bag to her chest like a shield. She was just a kid. Like me. And these men… they weren’t just robbing her. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they loomed over her, their grins too wide, too hungry. This wasn’t going to end with her losing a few bucks and her phone. This was going to end badly. Really badly.
But if I stepped in… if I did something… what then? There were three of them. Bigger, meaner, and probably armed. I was just one guy. Sure, I could throw a punch, but this wasn’t the gym. This wasn’t a sparring match with my bros where we’d laugh it off afterward. This was real. And real fights didn’t end with handshakes and water breaks. Real fights ended with blood, broken bones, and worse.
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I glanced around the alley, my heart pounding. No one else was coming. No heroes, no cops, and no good people just walking around saving the day. Just me. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's all. If I walked away now, no one would blame me. No one would even know. I could go home, pretend I never saw anything, and live my life like nothing happened.
But… I’d know.
I’d know I could’ve done something. I’d know I chose to be a coward. And that thought burned worse than any punch I’d ever taken.
And besides this could be good practice… I hope
Then I acted.
“Three grown men, ganging up on one girl? Just let her go.”
The muggers turned around and saw me standing there, hands in my hoodie pocket. I felt nervous. I shouldn’t have done this. I should’ve just minded my own business.
Mugger 1: “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”
Mugger 2: “You her boyfriend or something?”
All three muggers laughed.
“Not even close, man. Just let her go or… or else”
Good one…
Mugger 2 scoffed, picking up a rusty pipe.
Mugger 1: “You picked the wrong alley, kid. Walk away before you get hurt.”
I hesitated, my jaw tightening. Why… was it because this was my first match-up? My first real fight? A 3-on-1. This is unfair, but the rush I felt… It was good, it felt really good. I sparred with people, but this would be my first fight, my first real fight, and sparring with people never felt like this. The girl’s terrified eyes hit me like a truck, and the weight of guilt if I left her to be assaulted… I wouldn’t want it on my conscience. That’s the excuse I told myself, but now I really wanted this fight.
So I clenched my fists.
Mugger 2: “You’re dead, kid. You’re gonna wish you’d kept walking.”
I gritted my teeth.
Mugger 2 cursed and swung first, a rusty pipe arcing through the air. I barely dodged, the pipe grazing my arm as I stumbled back. My footing was off, but I recovered quickly, ducking another swing of the pipe. I threw a quick jab, my fist connecting with Mugger 2’s cheek. The man staggered but didn’t go down.
Damn it, I can’t be this terrible.
The first mugger joined in, slashing with his knife. I managed to sidestep, but the blade caught the edge of my hoodie, tearing it. That was my favorite hoodie. I countered with a wild hook, hitting the mugger’s jaw. Pain shot through my knuckles.
Shit, shit, shit. Haven’t punched that hard in months.”
Have I been slacking at the gym? There’s no time for regret now. I have to focus.
Mugger 2 grabbed me from behind, locking me in a bear hug. Fucking shit. I struggled and gritted my teeth as the other two closed in. I slammed my head backward, connecting with the mugger’s nose. The grip loosened just enough for me to break free.
Damn, I’m already feeling tired.
The third mugger cracked his knuckles and charged. I wasn’t fast enough. A heavy punch caught me in the ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. I managed to stay on my feet. I clenched my fists tighter, shaking off the pain.
Can’t stop now. She’s still here. Damn it.
Is this bitch stupid? Why is she still here? Don’t worry about her. Focus.
The third mugger came at me again, but this time I was ready. I stepped in close, dodging the swing and driving a sharp elbow into the mugger’s stomach. A knee to the face followed, sending the man crashing to the ground.
One down.
The other two hesitated now, their confidence shaken. My ego never felt better.
Mugger 1 muttered a curse and grabbed the knife again, lunging at me with a wild slash. I barely managed to sidestep, feeling the blade edge graze my side. A sharp sting followed, and I glanced down to see a thin line of blood soaking through my hoodie. Shit. That was too close.
I didn’t have time to think. Mugger 1 came at me again, slashing horizontally this time. I ducked, the blade swinging over my head, and countered with a quick jab to his ribs. He grunted, stumbling back, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he smirked, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
Mugger 1: “You’re gonna regret this, kid.”
My chest heaving. My arms were already burning, and the adrenaline was starting to wear off. This wasn’t like sparring at the gym actually it was nothing like sparring. These guys weren’t pulling their punches, and neither can I.
Before I could catch my breath, Mugger 2 charged at me from the side, swinging the rusty pipe. I barely had time to raise my arm to block, and the impact sent a jolt of pain shooting through my forearm. I cursed, stumbling backward, my arm throbbing.
Mugger 2 didn’t let up. He swung again, and this time I couldn’t dodge fast enough. The pipe connected with my shoulder, and I dropped to one knee, gritting my teeth against the pain. My vision blurred for a second, and I shook my head, trying to clear it. I couldn’t afford to go down now. Not here. Not like this.
I forced myself back to my feet, my legs wobbling beneath me. Mugger 2 raised the pipe for another swing, but I lunged forward, tackling him around the waist. We hit the ground hard, the pipe skittering out of his grasp. I scrambled on top of him, pinning him down with my knees, and landed a punch to his jaw. He groaned, his head snapping to the side, but he wasn’t out yet.
Before I could hit him again, a sharp pain exploded in my side. Mugger 1 had kicked me, hard, and I rolled off Mugger 2, clutching my ribs. The air rushed out of my lungs, and I gasped, struggling to breathe. Mugger 1 loomed over me, the knife in his hand, his face twisted into a sneer.
Mugger 1: “Should’ve stayed out of this, kid.”
He raised the knife, and I reacted on instinct, kicking out with my legs. My foot connected with his knee, and he stumbled, the knife slipping from his hand. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and grabbed the knife before he could. I didn’t want to use it—I didn’t even know if I could—but I wasn’t going to let him stab me with it either.
Mugger 1 lunged at me again, and I sidestepped, slashing wildly with the knife. The blade caught his arm, and he yelled, clutching the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, and he backed away, his bravado faltering. Good. Maybe now he’d think twice.
But I didn’t have time to celebrate. Mugger 2 was back on his feet, and he tackled me from behind, sending us both crashing to the ground. The knife slipped from my hand, and I twisted, trying to break free, but he was stronger than he looked. He pinned me down, his hands closing around my throat, and I choked, clawing at his arms.
My vision started to darken, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was wiggle, desperate to break free. My fingers found his face, and I dug my nails into his eyes. He screamed, releasing me, and I rolled away, gasping for air.
I didn’t have time to recover. Mugger 1 was back, his face twisted with rage, and he swung at me with a wild punch. I ducked, but he followed up with a kick that caught me in the stomach. I doubled over, the world spinning, and he grabbed me by the hair, slamming my head into the wall.
Pain exploded in my skull, and I slumped to the ground, my vision blurring. I could hear the girl screaming, but it sounded distant, like she was miles away. My body felt heavy, my limbs refusing to cooperate. I tried to push myself up, but Mugger 1 kicked me in the ribs, and I collapsed again, coughing up blood.
Mugger 1: “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”
I spat blood onto the ground, my vision swimming. “Just give me a goddamn second,” I muttered, forcing myself to my knees. My body was screaming at me to stay down, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not while she was still here.
Mugger 1 raised his foot to kick me again, but I caught his leg, yanking him off balance. He fell to the ground with a grunt, and I crawled on top of him, my fists flying. I didn’t even know where I was hitting him—his face, his chest, his arms—I just kept swinging, fueled by desperation and rage.
Finally, he stopped moving, his body going limp beneath me. I slumped back, my arms trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. But the fight wasn’t over. Mugger 2 was still there, and he wasn’t happy.
Mugger 2: “You’re dead, asshole. Dead.”
He charged at me, and I barely had the strength to raise my arms in defense. His fists pounded into me, each blow sending fresh waves of pain through my body. I couldn’t fight back. I could barely even stand. But I couldn’t give up. Not yet.
With the last of my strength, I grabbed whatever was on the ground and threw it in his face it was a glass bottle. He stumbled back, clawing at his face with the glass pieces, I seized the opportunity. I grabbed the rusty pipe from the ground and swung it with everything I had left. The pipe connected with his head with a sickening crack, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.
I stood there, swaying on my feet, the pipe slipping from my hands. My body was a mess of bruises, cuts, and blood, and every breath felt like a knife in my ribs. But I’d done it. I’d won.
Panting, I wiped blood from my lip. The alley fell silent. The woman stared at me, her expression a mix of gratitude and shock. I avoided her gaze.
Damn, she’s kinda cute.
Now that I had a moment to really look at her, I couldn’t help but notice the details. She had long, straight black hair that fell just past her shoulders, slightly messy now from the struggle, with a few strands sticking to her tear-streaked face. Her glasses—thick, black-framed it gave her a distinctly nerdy look, but in a way that was oddly endearing. Behind those lenses were wide, dark eyes, still shimmering with fear and relief, but also a sharpness that hinted at intelligence. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain-like, and her cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline and the cold.
She was dressed in what looked like a school uniform—a white blouse with a small, crooked bow at the collar and a pleated skirt that fell below her knees. Her bag, clutched tightly to her chest, was covered in pins and patches of things I didn’t recognize—anime characters, math equations, and what looked like a logo for some ll just sci-fi show. A total nerd, but in a way that made her stand out. There was something about her—an awkward, bookish charm that made her seem both fragile and fiercely determined at the same time.
Her lips were trembling as she tried to speak, her voice soft and shaky. “Thank you… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t—”
I cut her off, not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t know how to handle gratitude. Especially from someone who looked like her. She was the kind of girl who probably spent her weekends buried in books or binge-watching obscure shows, not getting caught up in back-alley muggings. And yet, here she was, staring at me like I’d just saved her life. Which, I guess, I had.
She hesitated but nodded, clutching her bag tightly as she hurried past me.
Maybe I should’ve asked her out or something…
Once she was gone, I exhaled heavily, the adrenaline fading and the ache in my ribs settling in. I should’ve just kept walking. But no, gotta play the good guy, right? Even though I thought this, it still felt good—both fighting and saving that girl.
That makes this worth it. Maybe.
I got up, ready to limp back to my quiet, uneventful life. But I heard something. Footsteps. Quick, angry footsteps. Come on. I turned just in time to see the muggers returning, but this time, one of them had a gun.
Mugger 2: “You’re dead, kid. Should’ve minded your own business.”
The mugger raised the weapon. I had no time to react, no time to dodge. As if I could dodge a fucking bullet or even block it. The gunshot echoed through the alley. Pain erupted in my chest, and I collapsed, blood pooling beneath me. The world spun, and my vision blurred. I was cold. So, so cold.
Really? Now this is how I go?
I clutched my wound, my knees buckling. I… I collapsed to the ground, the world spinning. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and sticky, against the cold pavement. I felt everything. The mugger didn’t stay and fled. I hope they’re happy.
…
I lay there, my breathing shallow. The pain was fading, replaced by a strange numbness. I’m cold. My vision blurred. I’m cold. The sunlight above me looked like it was flickering, like dying stars. It’s getting so, so cold.
All for some girl I don’t even know. It’s cold. I closed my eyes. It’s cold. The cold creeps into my limbs.
Maybe next time… I’ll pick my fights better…
The gunshot echoed, and I collapsed, the world spinning as blood pooled beneath me. I thought of the girl—her wide, terrified eyes, her trembling hands. Was she safe? Did she even remember me? The cold crept in, deeper and deeper, until there was nothing but darkness. And then… warmth. A strange, golden warmth that pulled me into a place I didn’t understand
The cold lingered, clinging to me like a second skin, but it was different now. It wasn’t the biting, not the numbing chill of blood loss. This was… deeper. Emptier. Like I was floating in a void where time and space had no meaning. I couldn’t feel my body anymore. I couldn’t feel anything. Just the cold, and the silence, and the faint, distant echo of my own heartbeat fading into nothing.
Was this death?
It had to be. There was no pain. Just… nothing. And yet, I was still aware. Still thinking. Still remembering. The girl’s tearful “thank you” echoed in my mind, a faint, flickering light in the endless dark. I hoped she was okay. I hoped it was worth it.
Then, slowly, warmth began to seep into the void. It started as a faint, it felt like the first rays of sunlight. It grew brighter, and warmer, until it enveloped me completely, chasing away the cold and the darkness. I didn’t understand what was happening. Was this heaven? Some kind of afterlife?
The warmth grew brighter, pulling me into a world I couldn’t comprehend. I felt weightless, formless, as if I were floating in a sea of light. And then, suddenly, I was no longer floating. I was crying—a loud, piercing cry that wasn’t mine. Or was it?
I blinked, my vision blurry and unfocused. Shapes moved around me, shadows shifting in the warm, golden light. I heard voices—muffled, frantic, but unmistakably human. A man’s voice, deep and urgent. A woman’s voice strained and trembling. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear. Fear. Relief. Desperation.
My vision sharpened, and I saw him—a man with black hair, his face streaked with soot and sweat. His eyes were wide, frantic, but there was a fierce determination in them. He was holding something tightly against his chest. No. Not something. Someone. Me. I was the baby.
Reincarnated?
The thought hit me like a thunderclap, sending a jolt of disbelief through my tiny, fragile body. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream, a hallucination, some kind of twisted joke. But it felt too real. The warmth of the man’s arms, the rough fabric of his cloak against my skin, the acrid smell of smoke and ash filling my nostrils. This was real. I was alive. Again.
The man’s grip tightened as he ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind him, I caught glimpses of chaos—flames licking at the walls, smoke billowing into the sky, people screaming and running in every direction. It was a nightmare, a scene straight out of hell. And I was right in the middle of it.
The woman’s voice grew louder, more desperate. She was running beside the man, her face pale and streaked with tears, but there was something different about her now. Her eyes, once filled with fear and love, had shifted. They glowed faintly, a haunting crimson that cut through the smoke and chaos. Her fingers brushed against my tiny hand one last time, and I felt a surge of something—love, fear, protectiveness. It wasn’t mine. It was hers. But it was overwhelming, all-consuming.
Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Just keep him safe. Let him live.”
The man—my father—didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the horizon as he cradled me tightly against his chest. But then the woman stopped running. She turned, her body trembling, her hands curling into claws. Her skin seemed to ripple, dark veins spreading like cracks across her pale flesh. Her once-human form began to twist and shift, her silhouette elongating, her movements becoming unnaturally fluid. She was no longer just a woman. She was something else. Something monstrous.
“Go!” she roared, her voice now a monstrous growl. “I’ll hold them back!”
The man hesitated for only a second, his eyes flickering with pain and resolve. Then he tightened his grip on me and kept running, his breath ragged, his heartbeat pounding against my tiny body. I wanted to scream, to cry out, to ask what was happening. But all that came out was a weak, pitiful wail.
Behind us, the woman—or whatever she was now—let out a roar that shook the air. I twisted in the man’s arms, my blurry vision catching glimpses of her as she charged into the flames. Shadows moved in the smoke, figures emerging with weapons drawn. They were hunters, their faces masked, their blades gleaming in the firelight. The ghoul met them head-on, her claws slashing through the air, her movements a blur of speed and ferocity. Screams echoed—some hers, some theirs—as the battle erupted in a storm of blood and fire.
The man ran faster, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his arms trembling as he held me close. The sounds of the fight grew distant, but the image of the ghoul—her crimson eyes, her desperate scream—burned itself into my mind. She wasn’t just a monster. She was my mother. And she was sacrificing herself for me.
The world around me blurred, the flames and smoke fading into a haze of light and shadow. My eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of the man’s chest and the rhythmic motion of his running lulling me into a strange, uneasy sleep. But before I drifted off, one thought lingered in my mind, sharp and clear.
What kind of world had I just been born into?