The Ugly True Face of Loss and Hopelessness

Atlas's groggy mind slowly shook off the fog of sleep, his senses gradually returning. He half-expected to find himself in the familiar chaos of his college dorm, surrounded by the inevitable tsunami of note cards strewn across his desk. Instead, he was enveloped by a warmth so irresistible, it felt like a cozy blanket on a winter night by the fire. But something was wrong. Everything around him was pitch black, darker than the most ominous abyss, a void of churning nothingness.

'This is definitely not normal,' he thought. He couldn't see anything. Was he blind now? He was sure he'd been in his room. He hadn't gone anywhere the previous night. He had an exam today. He was studying for it, wasn't he? He definitely hadn't been drinking. 'Did Samantha drug me?' he thought momentarily, quickly pairing his seemingly inebriated state with the possible attack of a nasty breakup. 'Nah... I mean... Holy shit... No, really, did she?'

Reaching up instinctively to touch his face, Atlas was struck by a terrifying realization; he couldn't feel his body. No weight, no clothes, no hair on his face, not even the rhythm of breathing or the beat of his heart. All he felt was that unnerving warmth and comfort, which was beginning to deeply unsettle him.

A small, nagging sense of panic crept up. He tried to laugh it off, but it lingered in the back of his mind like a distant storm. Something was very, very wrong.

'What the fuck? Am I... dead? In a coma, maybe?' His humor faltered for a moment, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, a panic he rarely let surface. He always turned things into jokes. This was no different, right?

A voice, deep and dignified, echoed through the abyss. [Well, this is pretty interesting. You're not freaking out, yet.]

Atlas was momentarily stunned. That voice, it was godly, like some kind of divine grandpa, but not quite old. Just... majestic. 'It's like Morgan Freeman and Garen had a baby, what the fuck?' he thought, clutching to his humor like a lifeline.

[Hah, I'm pretty damn old. Impossibly so by human standards. But more importantly, how is that your first thought? I don't know whether to call you bold or crazy,] the majestic voice said.

'I mean, seriously, you sound like every Andrew Tate wannabe's wet dream. Like a wall of muscle narrating a nature documentary that'd put that British gramps to shame.' Atlas thought, still clutching.

It worked; for a moment. But the void was creeping in again, heavier this time, and his jokes were starting to feel more hollow. He had no body, no senses... just thoughts.

'Wait... black void of deadly deathness... check. Can't sense body... check. Possible attack of crazy ex... check.' Atlas's thoughts spun at the speed of an obese chihuahua chasing snacks, his mind racing to logical conclusions of divine import.

'Holy shit, was I murdered?! Are you trying to isekai me? Let me just tell you now you majestic-sounding sonofab—beautiful goddess, I'm not being a shield hero. You can take any shield you have and shove it up your—'

[Crazy. You're definitely, crazy. But, yes, as you've surmised, you are dead.] said the voice, now dubbed "El Godpa" by Atlas. [And no, you weren't murdered, get a grip, you act as if you're important enough to attract killing intent. You died... well, I guess you could say quite 'naturally.']

Atlas blinked—mentally, at least. A sense of cold realization washed over him, the jokes unable to fully mask the truth.

'What? How does that make any sense? I was literally studying for my final, how does that suddenly lead to death? I get struck by lightning or something?' Atlas quipped, the panic edging back into his thoughts, his attempts at humor faltering.

[You tripped and fell on the wheel of your chair, your spine didn't seem to really like that.]

Atlas was speechless. If he hadn't achieved much in his life before, he was sure he had now. This had to be the most inglorious death known to man, hell maybe known to existence. He wasn't even embarrassed—no, this was absurd. Ridiculous. Laughable, if it weren't his life on the line. Was this how it all ended? He always thought there'd be more. Something dramatic. Maybe he'd save a cat from a tree, or at least live long enough to graduate.

But this? He felt a flicker of something darker underneath the humor—a twinge of sadness. It wasn't fair. He didn't even say goodbye. And now this... this nothingness?

'We need to warn humanity... This... They have to know. What will they do if I can't return to share this news? I have to warn them! Thus, I respectfully request that you send me back so I can fulfill this mission. For the greater good, I will dutifully bear this burden upon my shoulders.' Atlas thought solemnly, hopeful that this apparent god saw the immense risk of the situation. Wheeled chairs were dangerous. Humanity had to know.

'It's for the children. Think of them.'

[You're a shameless bastard, you know that?] said the voice in a mix between a scoff and barely restrained laugh, [You're not going back. You're dead, but not for long. You're being reincarnated into a new world. Not as a shield hero, don't worry. In fact, I'm not even assigning you any mission, just get stronger.]

Realizing the apparent idiocy of "El Godpa" Atlas relented. It was hard being so heroic, many couldn't understand the thoughts of such selfless individuals, but he understood, few were truly as thoughtful, humble, or smart as he was. So he didn't blame El Godpa, even if humanity was at stake.

'So, isekai genre, huh? Aren't we over it already? We're still doing this?' he muttered derisively, disgusted by the authors choice in plot-convenience.

Ignoring Atlas' incessant attempts at reprieve through humor, El Godpa continued, [Well, it's been a nice chat, but I've got things to do. I'd tell you more but... well, I really don't have to,] he said.

'Huh?' Atlas gaped, stunned not just by this god, but also by the fact that he actually wanted to punch the 'shit' out of him.

'Are you fucking kidding me? You're doing isekai without cheats? Do you know what my fans will think of this? Aren't you afraid of the angry horde of brothers and sisters watching me from the gates of the webnovel app and pirate sites? You think they'll let this stand?' He roared, his anxiety growing with the imminent departure of this seeming god. Humor and natural flight responses could only shield him for so long. He was dead, and being forced to accept it.

[It's been fun Atlas, there's a System overseeing the world you're going to, it'll explain the rest. Get strong enough, and you'll probably find answers to questions you'll be asking before long. As a few last words of advice, don't piss off the System, and avoid the gods. They're parasites. I'm doing you a favor just mentioning this. You're welcome,] El Godpa said, their voice growing increasingly distant, 'WAIT!' Atlas roared, hoping for something, anything, to change the situation. 

['Til next time, kid. Let's meet again, under better circumstances.] 

And then he was gone, disappearing just as suddenly as he came, leaving Atlas alone, the void his only companion.

'FUCK! ... Now what?' Atlas thought, frustrated at his seeming complete lack of control over his life, death and reincarnation. He wasn't ungrateful for the chance at rebirth, but he wasn't ready to lose all that he knew either. He'd read many web novels, and watched many more anime, but honestly, that didn't make the situation any less terrifying. It was as if all 22 years of his life had been denied in a single moment, his entire existence now having no meaning at all. It wasn't a thought he could accept, yet every passing moment in this seemingly endless space only compounded the feeling.

Moments later, he felt a pull, it was hard to truly call it a physical feeling, it was more a sensation that the void surrounding him was morphing like an illusion and he was being transported someplace else. And then he was gone, the silent abyss all that remained.

. . .

Somewhere else.

In an endless expanse of luminous white, so seemingly infinite it shook the soul, Atlas reappeared and was suddenly blinded, "Shit, bright. Too bright. Turn on dark mode or something. Jesus."

"I bet this place can sunburn," he grumbled, blocking his eyes from the infinite land of blinding epilepsy triggers. 

Suddenly, a mechanical, feminine voice chimed in the space around him, as if it had been waiting. [Welcome to [Sellene], lifeform [Atlas].]

Atlas' jaw practically hit the floor, "CORTANA?! Oh my god, are you my AI? Is this Halo? Wait, is this gonna get copyright struck? It's literally the first chapter, chill."

[You are dead and will soon be reincarnated in the Alpha World, [Sellene], to experience a new Souljern.]

"Sellene? I'm really not going home, huh?" Atlas asked, a pang of sadness in his chest.

As his mind spun with important questions, he hadn't even noticed the return of his body, even if only temporarily. Instead, his thoughts turned to a much more pressing concern.

"Wait, I'm not a shield hero right? I'd rather be a worm. I won't be a shield hero..." he paused, "Ever."

Seeing as he hadn't understood the imminent doom of Earth if it wasn't warned of the threat of wheeled chairs, Atlas realized it probably wasn't best to trust the dim and un-righteous El Godpa to make proper arrangements. He had to make it clear from the start—this negotiation already had boundaries not to cross.

"On this condition, I will not budge. It's your move, Cortana. It's your move." he added, sounding like a CEO of some massive company, refusing to cross his bottom line during a hostile-takeover.

[Affirmative. By the authority of [REDACTED - Vastikast], the System has been notified that lifeform [Atlas] should only be reincarnated as a human shield hero in the event of egregious slander toward the maker and ascended. Thus, until such comes to pass, lifeform [Atlas] concerns are illogical. Finally, in the case of extreme offense, the System has been authorized to reincarnate lifeform [Atlas] into a sentient dung beetle or jade toilet seat. Please keep this in mind unless prepared to accept the consequences.]

Hearing this, the crazy bastard was momentarily tempted. As much as he swore to the high heavens, Gods of Anime, and on his grandfathers grave that he wouldn't be a shield hero, being told he couldn't do something made him reconsider. Sadly, his better sense snuffed out these inner demons, and he refocused on the talking blue box. It seems the journey of the Sentient Dung Beetle was destined for another day.

As funny as it sounded, his fears were warranted, at least he thought so. Too many times had he read stories where protagonists got the short end of the stick after death. In this moment, his moment, the possibility that he would too just inflamed his already growing fears like fuel to a fire or salt on a wound.

As his mind branched from one idea to the next, connecting A to X and Z to 4, seemingly finding truth in even the most ridiculous of places, his thought's turned slowly.

They continued this cycle until his thoughts finally spiraled, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had always masked his feelings with humor, but this time, it was as if the dam had cracked. Panic, fear, and helplessness pressed in on all sides, suffocating him in the vast emptiness around him. He was scared of death; scared that everything he knew was already gone, erased like a chalkboard wiped clean. He was scared of what came next, and more than anything, he was scared of leaving his family behind. He could crack jokes all day, but here, it was no use. The laughter had run dry. Hell, there was no one even there to hear it anyway.

'No more games. No more movies. No more late-night meals with the folks. No more sports. No more manga. No more "heart-to-heart" fights with Drew. No more Youtube. No more bowling. No more cheesy throwbacks with sis. No more... No mo-' His mental voice cracked, as though the weight of the truth was too heavy to carry.

He couldn't care less if he was a shield hero or not, if he was a useless water mage, or a fucking goblin for all he cared. Despite his saying otherwise, it didn't actually matter.

He'd do anything, anything he possibly could, just for the chance to get in trouble again. To get grounded by his parents, yelling back and forth, and to get locked in his room. Just to hear their voices, one more time. Just to have one more chance at making fun of his dads weird hobbies, his moms weak punches, or his brothers dumb adventures. Anything, for just one more chance.

The hollow ache in his chest grew, threatening to swallow him whole. It was deeper than he could have imagined. It wasn't just about being dead—it was about everything he hadn't done, everything he hadn't said, and all the things he'd never get a chance to fix. The loss was a black hole pulling at him, and for the first time, humor couldn't save him from it. He didn't even know if he wanted it to.

He wanted to just curl up in a fetal position and disappear. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, it'd all go away. He could ignore the System, and answer no questions. They couldn't proceed if he didn't accept anything, right? Right? Right.

And so he did. His lip practically froze, his eyes glazing over and his mind distant as every manner of cherished memory flashed through his mind like a runaway train. These were the only things he had left, and despite the many novels he'd read saying they made it easier, they didn't. Each one felt like the strike of a hammer to the soul. Each one felt like the sharp cut of a knife to his heart. Each one felt like a reminder of everything he hadn't done, hadn't said, and waited to long to repair.

He saw his parents on their 15nth anniversary, cursing each other like sailors because both forgot, but obviously it was the other's fault. He saw his little brother asking him to play with him at recess because his friends had started to bully him, and of course he sure as hell did. He saw his sister dressing him and his lil bro up in makeup and dresses, using scrunchies and hair ties to make the craziest shit, and even using pillows to give them "boobies."

He saw, and he saw, and he saw. 

And he held on to the lifelines that flashed through his eyes for dear life.

. . .

Hours passed. Days, maybe. Or weeks. Time didn't seem to matter in this space. He sat there, replaying his life on a loop, over and over again. Stuck in a past that didn't exist anymore. Maybe if he could just hold on to these moments a little longer, he could stop the inevitable. Maybe... but probably not.

And then, without warning, a sharp pain exploded in his head, ripping him out of the trance he'd sunk into. The blinding whiteness returned with brutal clarity, pulling him back into the present, and he blinked against the painful brightness.

When his mind cleared, there was a massive red box in front of him, looming like a threat he couldn't ignore. There were no words on it. Nothing to explain its presence. Just a blank, looming presence, waiting for him to respond as if taunting him to try to remember again.

Atlas glared at it, trying to force himself back into his haze, back into the memories where it was safe, where he could still feel something other than this numbness. But the pain was too real now, the memories too raw.

And it didn't seem the System would let him hide anymore, either.