Failure

Zayne understood he was dead.

There was nothing. No light. No sensation. No final, lingering image of his body being blown apart. One moment, he had existed. The next, he was simply... gone.

He should have expected it. He had accepted his fate long before this moment. Hadn't he? He was going to die anyway—executed like the worthless criminal they all believed him to be.

So what did it matter that his end came now, at the hands of that monstrous being rather than beneath the blade of an executioner?

It shouldn't have mattered. And yet, it did.

A strange thought wormed its way into his mind.

If he had truly accepted his death, then why had he fought to stay alive all this time?

When they were being transported, he could have lashed out at the guards, forced their hand, made them cut him down.

When he was dragged by chains through the valley, he could have let that boulder crush him. When the Conflicts first appeared, he could have stood still and let them tear him apart.

But he hadn't.

Why?

His mind struggled for an answer, but there was none. Had he been waiting for a more 'honorable' death? No.

There was nothing honorable about being slaughtered like cattle before a crowd. Especially not by that man's orders.

And yet... when he had faced that being, when he had looked into its molten gaze, he had known, with absolute certainty, that this was true death. And he had not moved. He had not fought. He had simply let it happen.

Why?

Because he was nothing. A failure. A purposeless speck of dust before an existence so immense it rendered him insignificant.

That moment had stripped him bare, burned away every illusion, every defiance, and left only the truth: he was meaningless.

Those words echoed in his mind. No—not just his mind. Somewhere deeper. His core. His soul.

And that was when he felt something.

A haze. Deep within him, stirring like a memory long forgotten. He didn't know if he had ignored it before or if it had been hidden from him, but now it was undeniable. Something was changing.

The nothingness around him cracked, splintered apart, and his world shifted.

He was no longer adrift in death's void. He was... submerged. A tube. He was inside a tube, filled with translucent red liquid. It cradled him, suffocated him, held him in place like an insect trapped in amber. He felt small. Weak. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even move.

But he could see.

Beyond the glass, figures moved. Men and women of different shapes, sizes, and forms. Their clothes were strange, unfamiliar—long coats, sharp collars, metallic bands wrapped around their wrists. They clutched strange, blinking devices in their hands, gesturing wildly at each other.

They were speaking intensely, urgently. But he couldn't hear them. The liquid muffled everything, their voices lost to the thick, oppressive silence of his prison.

Then, the world shifted again.

He was no longer floating in the tube. He was lying down. A bed beneath him. Hard. Cold. The room around him was dark, save for the piercing beams of white light shining down on him, blinding him. He tried to move, to speak, but his body would not obey.

He could hear now, but it was fractured and distant, like sound traveling through water. Voices. Raised. Angry.

Zayne could tell they were not happy. Even though he could not fully understand them, he could catch some words they spoke.

"Failure."

"Mistake."

"Waste of resource."

"Pathetic."

"Useless."

And many more words of the same tone.

Even though he could not seem to know who these voices came from, he could tell they were aimed at him. They were filled with anger and disappointment, the equivalent of seeing your hard work fail. The frustration was palpable, a mix of contempt and exasperation that made his very existence feel like an inconvenience.

Then, he felt his world turn again. The light was gone, and he found himself in a cage. He was less small than before, and he was less helpless than before, but he was still helpless.

In his cage was darkness, and at first, he thought he was alone, but then he could hear cries of pain. They screamed and begged for release; they were young voices, too, probably children.

He didn't know where the voices were from or what was even happening to them for them to scream in agony like that, but it filled him with guilt.

His cage shook, and he looked at his hands to realize he had small, childlike hands. He didn't know why, but he didn't feel any foreignness to them. It was like he was in his normal form.

The screams raged, and he placed his hands on his head to quell the cries, to feel the hair on his head. It was a lot shorter than his normal hair, but he could tell it was his from the red and black coloring.

Before he could dwell on the questions, the screams of agony rose again, and he found himself curled on the floor to drown them out.

Then his scenery changed once more.

He found himself slightly larger again, yet still small, and this time, he was back in the dark room with bright lights. He was lying down once more, and this time, he was held by restraints. He still could not see the moving figures beyond the bright lights in his face, but he could now hear them.

One voice spoke, downtrodden, "It is another failure."

Another said, "It's iss always failure after failure with this one."

"For the first one, it continues to prove useless time and time again."

"We wasted resources in even bringing it into existence."

Zayne knew for sure this time they were speaking about him; it filled him with disappointment as he knew it was true. He didn't know what they were talking about, but he knew he was a failure.

Useless.

The words carved into his mind, etched deeper than any scar.

Then, once more, his scenery changed, and he was before a group of angry children, their faces blurred. He was about their age and height, and despite not being able to see their features, they felt memorable. They shouted at him, blaming him for their problems.

"If you had succeeded, none of this would have ever happened!"

"You're useless!"

"You're the cause of our suffering!"

"Because of you, we lost everything!"

"You're the most worthless and useless failure to exist!"

And he knew they were right. He knew they spoke the truth. Every word struck him like a blade, sinking deep into his core, shattering any semblance of self-worth he might have clung to.

Then, finally, his scenery changed for what he knew was the last time.

He found himself amidst ruin, fire, poisonous smoke, and destruction as he was pinned to the floor by a crushing weight.

Everything was burning. The acrid scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils, mingling with the suffocating haze of smoke. The world around him was crumbling, yet he could do nothing. The weight that pinned him was unbearable, like the weight of his failures manifesting into something physical, something that ensured he would never rise again.

He was powerless. Worthless.

And maybe, just maybe, he deserved this.

Because in the end, a failure like him had no right to keep going.

Zayne looked at the destruction around him; his breath caught in his throat as a suffocating wave of horror crashed over him. The world was unrecognizable—no walls remained standing, no structure untouched by ruin.

The ground was drowned in a sea of blood, viscera strewn like discarded refuse, limbs and organs scattered in grotesque displays of suffering. It was a maddening frenzy of gore, a sight so nightmarish that even the strongest of men would retch at the mere glimpse of it.

And yet, Zayne could not look away.

He wanted to. He wanted to rip his gaze from the butchery before him, to shut his eyes and make it all disappear.

But he couldn't. He didn't deserve the comfort of ignorance. He had to witness this. He had to feel the pain of seeing it—because it was his fault.

The wails of agony surrounded him, echoing endlessly in his ears. Screams of desperation and horror, young and old, male and female, all crying out in excruciating suffering.

He could not see them, but he knew their torment was beyond comprehension. He knew the misery they endured was absolute.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on something that froze him to his core. Among the strewn body parts, lying in the filth and decay, was a severed head. His head.

Zayne stared in disbelief, his own lifeless eyes staring back at him. The head was fresh, untouched by decay. The same face he had seen in reflections, the same unkempt black and red hair, the same dull expression—except now, it was devoid of life.

It was not a younger version of himself, not some altered image. It was him, exactly as he had been moments before his death at the hands of the monstrous being.

His breath was uneven, his mind unable to process what he was looking at. But then, the impossible happened. The head spoke.

"You really are a failure."

Zayne's body stiffened. The voice was unmistakably his own, yet it carried an undeniable venom, dripping with contempt. He wanted to deny it, to believe it was some cruel illusion, but deep down, he knew. This was his own mind speaking the truth he had buried beneath years of silent suffering.

"Look at what you've done," the head continued, its lifeless eyes locked onto his. "Because of you, they suffered. Because you couldn't be better, they were torn apart. You were weak, pathetic. You could have stopped this. But you didn't."

Zayne swallowed hard, his throat dry, his body trembling. He wanted to refute it, to scream that he hadn't been able to do anything. But the truth crushed those excuses before they could leave his lips.

He should have done something. He should have tried harder. But he didn't. He let it happen.

"You let them die, and for what?" the head spat. "So that you, the most worthless of them all, could continue breathing? That you still stand while they are forgotten in the dirt? That you exist while their names are lost to history? Shameful. Absolutely shameful."

Zayne felt the weight of those words pierce through him like jagged knives. He couldn't argue. He didn't deserve to live. Worthless people served no purpose, and he was the most worthless of all.

But before he could fully sink into the acceptance of his worthlessness, the head spoke again.

"And yet… what's even more pathetic," it sneered, "is that you still did nothing with the life you stole."

Zayne's breath hitched. That was… different. His mind scrambled to understand, but the head pressed on.

"You had a second chance. A third. A fourth. You could have made it mean something. You could have proven you deserved to stand where they fell. But you didn't. You squandered it, just like you squander everything. If you were truly as worthless as you claim, then you should have just died with them."

Zayne's heart pounded in his chest. Something was different. Something wasn't right. It wasn't just telling him what he already believed. It was challenging him.

"You don't even know why you lived, do you?" the head asked, its voice suddenly quieter, but no less piercing. "Why you kept going when every step forward was meaningless? Why, despite everything, you never let yourself die?"

Zayne felt his lips part, but no words came. He didn't know. He never knew. And yet…

"It's because you are The Failure. The First. The Greatest."

His eyes widened slightly.

"And do you know what that means?" the head asked, a cruel smirk twisting its dead lips. "It means you have something none of them do. A duty. A purpose. You owe them. Every single life that was lost because of you—you owe them."

Zayne shook his head weakly, unable to understand. "I... I don't—"

"You don't get to die, Zayne," the head interrupted. "You don't get to escape. You don't get to disappear like some tragic figure. That's too easy. That's too good for you. If you're truly the greatest failure… then prove it."

Zayne's hands clenched against the blood-soaked ground.

"Take back what was stolen. Avenge those you let down. Become something that forces this world to remember their names. Burn this world to its foundations so that the truth of what happened here is never lost. That is the only thing you are allowed to do. Because you were not chosen to die."

The head's voice dropped to a whisper, yet its words shook Zayne's very soul.

"You were chosen to rectify yourself."

Zayne's vision darkened, the world of blood and ruin fading into the abyss. The last thing he saw was his own smirking face staring back at him, his own mocking eyes locked onto his, waiting to see what he would do next.

And from those words alone, he understood.

"I have been made to be a failure. It is time I fixed that..."