what's wrong was this shitty world

Darkness had consumed roadie . An abyss so deep, so empty, that he couldn't even feel his own body anymore. There was no pain, no sound—just an eternal void swallowing him whole.

"In the end, I got betrayed."

A bitter chuckle echoed in his mind. It felt fitting, almost poetic.

"The man who betrayed his comrades for money, who killed his friends for fame and power... died due to betrayal. Hah, it would make a nice headline in the royal pamphlets."

His thoughts unraveled, fragments of his life flashing before him. Faces blurred together—men he had fought beside, men he had slain, men he had left behind.

"Was I wrong my whole life?"

The question lingered, heavier than any wound he had ever received.

"Was it wrong to tell my father about my mother? Was it wrong for me to run away that day? Was it wrong for me to kill that man? Was it wrong to want people to look at me with respect and awe?"

No.

A surge of defiance burned within him.

"I was never wrong. what's wrong was this shitty world."

He gritted his teeth, though he wasn't sure if he even had a body anymore.

"If I hadn't killed him, hunger would have killed me. If I hadn't stolen, I would have rotted in the streets. If I hadn't fought, I would have been trampled. I was never wrong."

Then why?

Why did the world repay him like this?

Why did fate twist the knife deeper every time he thought he had won?

His vision blurred—or perhaps the darkness itself shifted.

And then… in the corner of his eyes, he saw something.

A figure.

A man walking toward him, his steps slow and deliberate, cutting through the endless void like a ghost emerging from the past.

Roadie's breath hitched.

As the figure stepped closer, the dim glow of the unseen world illuminated his features.

The familiar face.

The weathered eyes.

The towering presence that once cast a shadow over his entire life.

His lips parted, a single word escaping, raw and trembling.

"Dad…?"

in the drakness , his dad came in as fragment of light illuminating the surrounding 

he bend on his knees and gently braised his sons head without saying anything 

roadie a emotional and confused asks " what are you doing here "

" i never left , i was with you all this time . " his dads voice was gentle as if it was like a music to his ear 

roadie " where are we am i dead"

" no you are still alive , and we are in your subconsciousness " roadies dad then picks his son up now roaide had become the naive kid you use to run in the streets for food .

Roadie's father let out a weary sigh, his fingers gently running through his son's blood-matted hair. "I did what I could, son," he murmured. "I knew your mother was unfaithful. I knew about the men she brought into our home. But I stayed silent... not because I was weak, but because I wanted you to have something—anything—that resembled a family."

Roadie's breath trembled, his hands clenching into fists. "And where did that get you?" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "They killed you. I had to watch them tear our lives apart while you did nothing. I had to survive on my own, with no one looking out for me."

His father nodded, his expression weighed with sorrow. "You're right. I should have fought back. Maybe things would have been different. But I was a teacher, Roadie. I believed in knowledge, in shaping the future... not in tearing it apart with my own hands. I wanted to protect you from the truth, to shield you from the cruelty of this world for as long as I could."

Roadie let out a bitter chuckle, his voice thick with resentment. "And yet, I became everything I hated. All I ever wanted was for people to look at me the way they looked at you—with admiration, with respect. But this world..." His breath hitched, his nails digging into his palms. "This world turned me into a man I despise. Every time I see my own reflection, I feel nothing but rage and frustration. Because all I see is a monster wearing my face."

His father didn't look away. Instead, he cupped Roadie's face, his gaze steady. "You're still my son. No matter what you've done. And it's not too late to change, Roadie."

Roadie swallowed hard, his throat tight. "And what if it's too late for me? What if I'm beyond saving?"

His father smiled, weary yet warm. "Then why am I still here?"

His father smiled—a tired, knowing smile that held the weight of a lifetime. "Then why am I still here?"

Roadie's breath caught in his throat.

His father gently placed a hand over his son's chest. "Even if the world casts you into the deepest pits of hell, I will be there. Even if you fall so far that no one else dares to reach for you, I will. Because I am your father, Roadie. And nothing—not death, not hatred, not even the sins you carry—will ever change that."

Roadie felt something inside him crack. A dam breaking. A weight he hadn't even realized he was holding crushed down on him all at once. His vision blurred, his breath shuddering.

"You shouldn't be," he whispered, voice raw. "I don't deserve it."

His father just pulled him close, holding him like he was still that lost little boy running barefoot through the streets, chasing a future that never came. "Deserving or not, I'm here. And I always will be."

Zed stood still, his piercing gaze fixed on Roadie, still breathing despite his injuries. His mind was clear, but a sense of finality hovered in the air like a storm about to break. With a simple but powerful command, he called forth his weapon, his voice low and steady.

"Heed my command. Come forth... Vasuki."

His words echoed in the silence, and as if in response, the tattoo on Zed's arm began to pulse with a brilliant blue glow. The intricate lines of ink swirled, shifting like liquid fire as it transformed into the shape of a long, curved blade. The blade gleamed with an ethereal light, humming with power, ready to carry out its master's will.

Zed stepped forward, moving like a shadow, his footsteps soundless on the cold floor. He approached Roadie with deliberate slowness, his eyes cold yet filled with a strange weight, as if something was stirring within him. He knelt down beside the fallen man, feeling the air thicken with tension.

Then, without a word, Zed gripped a handful of Roadie's hair, his fingers digging into the matted strands. He yanked the man's head back, exposing his face. The pain and exhaustion etched into Roadie's features were impossible to miss, but it was something else that caught Zed's attention. The weight of his life, his struggle, everything Roadie had endured in silence—it all seemed to pulse with a painful clarity, as if it were woven into his very being.

As Zed held Roadie's head, something shifted within him.

In that instant, Zed's vision blurred, and his consciousness was flooded with a rapid series of images. A montage of Roadie's life played before him—a tortured journey of pain, loss, and survival.

Zed could see the fractured moments from Roadie's past: the cold, lonely nights on the streets as a child; the heartbreaking memories of a father, a well-known teacher, who had been cruelly taken from him by his own mother's betrayal; the desperate desire for affection that had never come. Each moment seemed to pass like a flash of light, leaving a deep, aching impression on Zed's mind. The child who only wanted love had turned into a man hardened by bitterness, forged by the cruelty of life itself.

Zed couldn't help but feel the weight of it all—the rage, the fear, the isolation that had shaped Roadie. It was as if he were living those moments, those painful memories, right alongside him. The realization was sharp, cutting through Zed's usual calm, like a knife in the dark.

Roadie's life had been one of agony and survival. Zed understood that now more than ever.

Zed's hand trembled slightly as he released his grip on Roadie's hair. The weight of the sword, Vasuki, seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. His heart, usually so steady, began to falter. The images of Roadie's suffering, the pain, the loss—it all collided in his mind, clouding his judgment.

He had come here with a single purpose, to end this man's life. To wipe away the stain Roadie had left in his world. Yet now, with Vasuki in his hand and the cold figure of the man before him, Zed hesitated.

Why hesitate? A voice, sharp and insistent, echoed within him, pulling at his resolve. He glanced down at Roadie's face, still contorted in unconscious pain, and his mind began to spin. What if… what if there's more to this than I thought?

Zed closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts, but the feeling wouldn't go away. That nagging doubt. Am I making the right choice?

Just as his resolve seemed to waver completely, a rush of cold darkness engulfed him. His surroundings blurred, and the world around him shifted—disappeared entirely. He stood alone in a void, a suffocating, endless blackness that seemed to draw him in, tightening around his chest.

From the darkness, a figure began to emerge, walking toward him with purpose.

It was a shadow of himself.