CHAPTER SIXTY: RESONANCE

Darkness surrounded me, but I wasn't alone. Death Scythe was there, feeling everything I had buried deep inside me—things I had long since abandoned, locked away in a place even I refused to acknowledge.

It started with hunger.

After my mother died, I was alone. No home, no family, no place to belong. I wandered the streets, my stomach twisting with hunger so fierce it felt like it was eating me from the inside out. Some nights, I curled up in alleyways, hoping sleep would dull the pain, but the hunger never went away. It gnawed at me, hollowing me out until I forgot what it was like to feel full.

Then she came—the old woman. A stranger who saw a starving child and did something no one else had done: she helped. She took me to an orphanage, and for a fleeting moment, I thought things would change. That maybe, just maybe, I could have something close to a home.

I was wrong.

The other kids despised me for reasons I didn't understand. The caretakers looked at me like I was filth, something to be tolerated rather than cared for. The love and warmth the other children received—I never got it. The food they ate, the shelter they were given—I had to fight for scraps. I was nothing to them.

So they sent me away.

Another orphanage. Worse than the last.

Here, cruelty wasn't just neglect—it was a rule. The caretakers didn't just ignore me; they hurt me. A misplaced word earned me a beating. A mistake meant no food for days. The others joined in, as if it was natural, as if I was nothing more than a punching bag to them.

Then another orphanage. And another. And another.

Each one worse than the last. Each one teaching me that kindness was a lie, that people only cared when it was convenient, that love was something I would never have.

So I ran.

I ran until my legs gave out, until my body ached, until I collapsed deep in the woods, far away from the cruelty of people. I found a cave—dark, empty, cold. And I made it my home.

There was no food, no comfort, no warmth. Just silence.

At first, I thought I would starve, but the will to live was stronger than the pain. I ate whatever I could find—bats, insects, anything that would keep me from wasting away. The taste didn't matter. Hunger had no room for disgust.

Some nights, I came back to the cave with my body battered and bruised, wounds fresh from beatings when I was caught stealing food. But no one offered to help a starving kid. No one cared.

So I stopped caring too.

I closed off my heart.

Because feeling meant weakness. And weakness meant suffering.

And I would never let myself suffer like that again.

In the darkness, I felt it—Death Scythe taking it all in. The pain, the loneliness, the hunger that clawed at my insides, the cold that seeped into my bones during those endless nights in the cave. It wasn't just watching—it was experiencing it as if it were me.

I could feel its presence shifting, its usual arrogance replaced with something else. Something unfamiliar.

"You endured all this… alone," its voice echoed in the void, not with mockery, but something close to disbelief.

I scoffed. "What else was I supposed to do?" My voice was quiet, almost tired. "No one was going to save me."

Death Scythe was silent for a long time, and I could feel it sifting through my memories. The ones I tried to bury. The nights where hunger burned like fire in my stomach, the bruises that never had time to heal before new ones replaced them, the way my heart hardened until I no longer felt the ache of being unwanted.

"You didn't just close your heart," it finally said. "You locked it away and threw the key into the abyss."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "That's the only way I survived."

"And yet," Death Scythe mused, "here you are, fighting for something again."

I clenched my fists. "Because I don't have a choice. If I stop now, what was the point of all that suffering?"

A pause. Then, Death Scythe spoke, its tone softer than before. "You think that if you let yourself feel, you'll lose that sharpness, that edge that kept you alive."

I didn't answer.

"But Liam…" It stepped closer—my own form reflected back at me, yet it felt separate, like it was peeling away the parts of me I refused to acknowledge. "Strength isn't just about surviving. It's about enduring. And endurance isn't done alone."

I laughed dryly. "Endurance? You don't understand. If I let myself feel, I'll break."

"You won't," Death Scythe said simply. "Because I'm here."

I looked at it—at myself—and for the first time, I didn't know what to say.

Death Scythe let the silence stretch before speaking again. "You are not alone anymore, Liam. Let me bear it with you."

The void around me trembled. A deep hum reverberated through my chest, like something ancient was awakening inside me.

I clenched my fists, staring at Death Scythe—at the reflection of myself that wasn't quite me. The weight of its words settled into the cracks of my mind, the walls I had built over the years trembling under their pressure.

"How do I even do this?" My voice was raw, uncertain.

"You don't force it," Death Scythe replied. "You surrender to it."

I scoffed. "I don't surrender."

"Then call it something else," it said, stepping closer. "Let me in."

The hum grew louder, a pulse thrumming beneath my skin. My breath hitched. Something in me resisted—the instinct to push away, to fight, to bury it all again. But Death Scythe was patient, waiting, watching.

And then I felt it.

A warmth I hadn't known since I was a child. It seeped into the cracks of my armor, into the spaces I had left empty for so long. It wasn't just power—it was presence. For the first time in my life, I wasn't carrying this alone.

I took a shaky breath. "Fine."

The moment I spoke, something shifted.

Darkness surged around me, wrapping me in waves of raw energy. I gasped as it coiled around my arms, my chest—syncing with my heartbeat, my breath, my very soul. Death Scythe wasn't just a weapon. It wasn't just a voice in my head.

It was me.

The void shattered, light piercing through the cracks. A sharp, electric sensation ran through my veins, igniting something new inside me.

Ken knelt beside me, his usual composed demeanor faltering as he studied my lifeless body. He muttered something under his breath—too low for anyone else to hear, but there was a weight to it, something almost… sad.

His fingers hovered over my wrist before he let out a quiet sigh and turned away.

But then, he hesitated.

Something was different.

My skin, which had been pale and cold just moments ago, was changing. A faint warmth, barely noticeable at first, started to seep back into me. The lifelessness that had settled over my body was slowly unraveling.

Ken furrowed his brows, uncertain.

Hoping—though he would never admit it—he placed a hesitant palm against my skin. His breath caught.

Warmth.

It was faint, but it was there.

His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but before the words could escape, my eyes snapped open.

Ken instinctively jerked back, his hand tightening around his gun as he watched me. His sharp eyes scanned my face, searching for something—confirmation, maybe. Proof that what he was seeing wasn't a trick of the mind.

I took a deep breath, the air burning in my lungs like I hadn't breathed in years. My body ached, my head spun, and for a moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Then, I felt it.

Power.

It coursed through me, deeper than before. Stronger. It wasn't just mine anymore. It was something greater, something that had been waiting, watching, and now—it was awake.

The Death Scythe.

I lifted my hand, staring at it as the shadows curled around my fingers, reacting to me, recognizing me. The bond was complete.

Ken's voice cut through the haze.

"Impossible."

His grip on his gun remained firm, but his expression wavered. He had seen people come back from the brink before, but this—this was different.

Nicole stirred from where she sat a few feet away, her breath hitching as her gaze locked onto me.

"Liam…?" Her voice was hesitant, like she wasn't sure if I was really here.

I turned my head slowly, meeting her eyes. For the first time in a long time, I felt… whole. The emptiness, the isolation that had always clawed at me, felt distant.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, testing the strength in my limbs.

Ken narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't be moving."

I smirked, my voice rasping from disuse.

"Guess I'm full of surprises."

Nicole's eyes widened, disbelief flickering across her face. She shook her head slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How… how is this possible? Your heart stopped beating. Your body went cold."

I met her gaze, my expression steady. I could see the worry, the confusion, the lingering fear in her eyes.

"Death Scythe brought me back," I said, my voice firm but calm. Then, I allowed a small smirk to tug at the corner of my lips. "I proved your faith in me, Nicole."

Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening into fists on her lap. She had been ready to mourn me, to accept that I was gone. And yet, here I was.

Alive. Stronger than before.

Ken let out a slow breath, crossing his arms. "So what does that mean?"

I pushed myself up fully, testing my body's strength. The power still pulsed beneath my skin, thrumming in sync with my heartbeat.

"It means," I said, rolling my shoulders, "that we're not done yet."

Ken sighed, rubbing his temples as he took a step closer. "Look, I know you're buzzing with power right now, but we don't need to head in without a plan."

I ignored him, staring down at my palms. A surge of strength pulsed through me, filling every inch of my body with raw energy. My fingers twitched as I clenched them into fists. The sensation was intoxicating—like I could rip the world apart if I wanted to.

I turned to Ken, my voice sharp. "We don't need a plan. I will fucking kill that prick."

As if responding to my resolve, Death Scythe rose from my shadow, its emergence accompanied by an ethereal hum that sent a shiver through the air. My hand shot out, grasping the hilt. It molded into my palm like it was made for me—like it had been waiting for me.

I spun it once, feeling the weight, testing the balance. It was flawless, unlike before. No strain, no resistance. It moved as though it were an extension of me.

Then, my eyes traced the blade. The deep black steel that once defined it was now veined with fine crimson lines, pulsing faintly, as if alive.

I smiled.

With a smooth arc of my arm, I swung the scythe. The air itself tore open, a rift forming in the wake of my swing. Within seconds, a portal emerged, swirling with darkness, waiting.

Ken and Nicole stiffened behind me.

I exhaled slowly, stepping forward.

"We end this now."

Ken let out a heavy breath behind me. "Liam—"

I didn't wait for him to finish. My boots hit the ground as I strode forward, my grip tightening around Death Scythe's hilt. My pulse thrummed in sync with the weapon, an eerie resonance echoing in my bones. The portal rippled before me, a gaping void that led straight to our enemy. To Dain. To the bastard who thought he could take me down.

Nicole hesitated. "We should—"

"I'm not waiting," I snapped, stepping into the swirling darkness.

The moment I crossed through, a chill washed over me, followed by the sensation of being pulled through space itself. Then, just as quickly, I was standing on the other side.

The battlefield stretched before me—a ruined expanse drenched in shadows and flickering embers. The ground bore scars of previous clashes, deep gashes torn into the earth, smoldering from lingering power. And there he was.

Dain's smirk faltered for the briefest moment. His crimson eyes narrowed as he took a step forward, his grip tightening around his sword.

"I killed you," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze flickered to my abdomen, where his blade had once pierced through me. "I felt your life slip away."

I tilted my head, rolling my shoulders as the newfound energy coursed through me. Death Scythe pulsed in my grasp, eager, hungry.

"You did," I admitted, my voice steady. "But you should've made sure I stayed dead."

Dain's jaw clenched. His confusion was laced with something else now—uncertainty. He had been so sure, so certain that I was gone. But here I was, standing in front of him, more alive than ever.

Nicole took a cautious step beside me. "Liam…"

Ken, ever the strategist, kept his gun raised, his finger lightly resting on the trigger. "Something's different about him," he murmured.

Dain's expression darkened. His confusion turned to frustration, then to anger. "No," he growled. "This isn't possible."

I took a step forward, my smirk widening. "You're right." I lifted Death Scythe, letting its crimson veins pulse in the dim light. "It's not just me standing here anymore."

Dain's brows furrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"

I exhaled, letting Death Scythe's power surge through me. "It means," I said, locking eyes with him, "you're not just fighting Liam Remmick." I twirled the scythe in my hands, feeling the weight of it—our weight. "You're fighting us."

Dain's breath hitched.

I launched forward.

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