Morpheus was falling deeper with every passing second.Like in his first nightmare, he was drowning in a river of blood — but this time, he wasn't struggling to live. He was waiting to die. The True Creator's influence had corrupted the river of blood, and now it resembled thick black tar. Every second spent within it chipped away at his soul.But he didn't care.Living only meant suffering more. He wanted it to end.
As he sank deeper into the river, memories surfaced in his mind one by one.His father handing him his first sword.His first victory in battle.Sparring with his sister.The joy he found in the books he read.The first echo he gained from his first nightmare.Sharing meals with Will.Killing Will.His sister's reaction to him becoming bedridden.Meeting Sunny, Nephis, and Cassie — and their journey together.And finally, the warm, friendly conversations he had with Klein.
A faint smile appeared on his face. Despite all the pain, when seen from this angle, he had lived a beautiful life. He had friends, and despite the hardships, he had fun.But it was enough.
Then more memories began to flood in — not like a gentle tide, but like a storm breaking through the cracks of his mind.They came without warning, vivid and raw, yet unfamiliar.Faces he had never seen, voices he had never heard — and yet, each one struck a chord deep within him, as if they were being drawn from a well he hadn't known existed.
He saw a father running through a garden, children clinging to his arms, their laughter rising like birdsong in the morning air.A child grinning at a breakfast table, syrup smeared across their cheek, as their parents laughed at a joke only families understand.An old man sitting on a worn bench, gently unwrapping a handful of candy with fingers that shook from age but not weakness, offering them to children who looked at him as if he were magic.A young man standing on a hill beneath starlight, holding his breath as he spoke the words he'd rehearsed a thousand times.A husband, pacing outside a quiet room, hand clenched tightly over his heart, praying for the safety of the woman he loved and the life she was about to bring into the world.
Morpheus hovered in silence.These were not his memories — and yet they poured into him like they belonged.Hundreds of them. Thousands.A flood of lives, of emotions, of moments both simple and sacred.
At first, they were beautiful.Warm. Gentle. Full of love, of connection, of hope.
But then they darkened.
The garden turned to ash, the children torn away by fire — the wrath of the Sun God, blinding and merciless.The breakfast table became a pool of blood, where fanatics of the War God had struck down innocence without pause.The old man watched from chains as his grandchildren were dragged away, chanting prayers to the Beast God as if that could justify the sacrifice.The young man's voice was cut short, his lover taken by shadows wearing the mask of the Heart God, their envy sharp as knives.And the husband — the husband was left in silence, the cries behind the door fading into nothing, taken by Storm God cultists who worshipped chaos more than mercy.
Each memory clawed into Morpheus's soul.Each loss felt as if it were his own.
But he no longer had time to care — his soul was slowly disintegrating.He was going to die, and his body would become a puppet.In his mind, he wished his friends luck — and closed his eyes.
As time passed, his soul kept shrinking.The pain etched itself onto his face.Piece by piece, his soul shattered, and with it, his memories began to fade.Until only a tiny fragment remained.
Right as the last fragments were about to break, Morpheus reached the bottom of the river.
At the bottom stood a colossal gate. As Morpheus fell toward it, the gate opened and pulled him inside.Then, as if nothing had happened, it closed.
Beyond the gate, there was nothing — only a void and a great source of light.But as Morpheus entered, a figure emerged from the emptiness and caught his nearly vanished soul.
Morpheus felt the pain ease…Then vanish.He opened his eyes and saw the figure.
He knew instantly.He had returned to his Creator. The figure said nothing — but where a face should've been, a grin appeared. It knew Morpheus understood. Even if all his memories were erased, he would still recognize his master. And that pleased the figure.
The figure carried Morpheus forward. Then, a voice echoed in his mind:
"Why didn't you take it?"
As they moved toward the light, Morpheus understood the question. The memories he needed to answer it returned. He hadn't taken the Sefirah Fortress from Klein simply because they were friends. Tempting as it was, he couldn't do it.
"Friend," Morpheus answered simply. No need to embellish.
The grin twisted into disappointment. "No matter how powerful you are, you always fail because of your bonds. I've pitied you countless times and given you chance after chance. I reforged you over and over to become my strongest weapon. But every time, you managed to form a bond. Those bonds made you weak. Those bonds let the rage inside you consume you."Even now, with Morpheus on the brink of death and giving up, the figure could still feel the hatred he held toward the gods — it was primal.
"Every time, I started over. And every time, you found a way to fall into your rage."The figure's voice was weary.
They had reached the source of the light — a massive flame. Morpheus had never seen anything so large. Even Will paled in comparison.
"This is the hatred I took from you while reforging you."Morpheus kept staring at the flame.
"Why didn't you destroy it?" he asked.
The figure looked at him. "What's happening now may feel real to you. But for me, it's only a dream. I'm still asleep. I don't have the power to destroy it." Then the grin returned, but twisted and sinister.
"But soon I will awaken. And I'll need a weapon.The forgotten… will be remembered."
Then, with a wave of its hand, the figure summoned a massive anvil.
"I've given you so many chances with no return. And every time, you defied me.It's time you paid the price."
It was time to start over. But this time… something would be different.
The figure threw him into the massive flame.