Call His Name (2)

Hmm...

The smell of smoke was the first thing Azihiro noticed. Acrid and suffocating. Then came the unbearable heat pressing down on him like molten chains. His entire body ached, no, throbbed with pain.

Every nerve felt like it had been scorched, twisted, and left to rot. He opened his eyes, but the left was clouded, barely able to see. His right eye scanned the red-tinted world around him, filled with smoke and fire. The ground beneath his back crackled from the heat. Blisters were forming on his skin.

He tried to sit up but failed. His limbs refused to obey. A choked groan escaped from his dry throat, barely audible over the low rumbling of the burning earth. He was on the ground, in the middle of a hellscape, surrounded by flames licking the remains of what looked like a long-dead city.

Where am I this time? Am I in hell? he thought, nausea rising in his throat. It feels so hot... like I'm burning alive. But how did I get here? Is this really the afterlife? And am I here to atone for my sins?

He wanted to scream, to cry, to call out to someone, anyone, but his voice wouldn't come. His throat was raw and parched as if scorched from within. His breathing came in slow, agonized gasps. The pain was unbearable.

If I am dead, I should no longer have the ability to feel. But why am I in so much pain?

Every part of him hurt. His mind screamed for relief, for salvation, for death. Tears slid down his face, mixing with the sweat and blood crusting his skin. He closed his eyes, willing the agony to disappear, and placed both hands on his chest. His fingers trembled. And then, at that moment, he prayed.

Dear God, I call unto you...

I ask for forgiveness. Forgive me for all the sins I have committed knowingly and unknowingly. I've never been perfect, but all my life, I and the Jing Clan served under your name. Even if I die here and now, I beg you... Please grant me this last wish.

Bring justice to those who were killed. My parents... my comrades... my clan.

Please, don't let this end be in vain.

Darkness took him again.

When Azihiro woke for the second time, the air felt even worse. It was thick with dust and the bitter tang of metal. He coughed violently, pain stabbing at his ribs, and forced himself upright. His head throbbed, and his blurred left eye made it difficult to focus. But he could see enough.

This wasn't the lab. Nor was it the battlefield. The landscape was different. The earth was cracked and dry, the sky was a dull orange as if the sun had given up trying to shine. The wind carried ash and the smell of death.

Where am I? He tried to speak, but again, no voice came. Panic surged. Am I mute now? Is this a punishment?

His fingers clenched the dirt beneath him. No, he wouldn't lose himself. He couldn't afford to. He dragged his battered body forward, crawling toward the only structure that looked remotely intact, a half-destroyed shelter, sagging but standing amid the wasteland.

Inside, it was quiet. Broken boards and metallic scraps littered the floor. In the corner, something glinted faintly in the dim light. Azihiro reached for it, a broken shard of glass, dusty but reflective. He stared. And froze.

The face that stared back wasn't his. This man had gray hair, messy and damp from sweat and blood. His skin was paler than Azihiro remembered, and his once-black eyes were now a striking emerald green. The left eye remained blurred, though. That much had not changed. But it wasn't his face.

This... this isn't me.

Memories, foreign, intrusive, rushed through his mind like crashing waves. A lonely palace. Laughter that wasn't directed at him but at his weakness. Mockery. Solitude.

Crizen Azihiro Genesis, the memories whispered. Fifth prince of planet Genesis. Mute. Disabled. Exiled.

The realization struck him like lightning. He wasn't in hell. He wasn't in the lab. He had died, the real Azihiro Jing had died. And yet, he was alive. In another body. His heart pounded.

This body… It's broken, abandoned... but it's alive. I'm alive.

He dug deeper into the memories of the original owner. Crizen Azihiro, the prince no one acknowledged. A royal by blood, but not by privilege. Abandoned by his parents, ridiculed by his siblings, cast away to this desolate planet, Rifientin, a place known only for its extreme climate and ruined terrain.

The boy had lived here in silence, broken in body and ignored by all. Even the servants had long fled. No one cared about the fifth prince.

But now... I do.

Azihiro's lips quivered. A sound, faint but real, escaped from him, a quiet gasp. It was still hard to speak, but his voice hadn't completely left him. He had to heal. He had to strengthen this body. God had answered his prayer. In the ashes of ruin, He had granted Azihiro another chance. Another life. A new name.

He clenched the shard of glass tightly in his hand. Crizen Azihiro Genesis... he repeated silently. He would carry that name now. It was his. He looked up at the dying sky above. I have a second chance. I will use it.

"I will not waste it," he whispered, barely audible, but it was enough. Even if this body was weaker. Even if he couldn't return to his old world. Even if the Jing Clan had ceased to exist, he would not let their memories fade.

Azihiro would live. He would grow stronger. He would find out the truth behind the betrayal, behind the madman who destroyed his world. And one day, he would call out those responsible. He would bring judgment. But first, he needed to survive Rifientin. And Crizen Azihiro Genesis would rise from its ashes.

I am all alone now, but it won't change my decision. I will surpass my peers sooner.