* Act One: First restart-
"You can believe me, old friends are like moneylenders, they tend to show up when you least expect it, and seeing them again is sometimes as nice as catching smallpox. "
- Robert Taldur, an itinerant imperial tax collector in the province of Westmarch *
As he was swept away in a whirlwind of fire and pain, Mars was unable to tell if his screams were real or if he imagined himself doing it while his body and mind were consumed by suffering like his bones had been replaced by lava.
Sadly, his soul did not seem destined for eternal rest or for delightful happiness surrounded by hot women. Unfair, but he hadn't brushed his teeth for a long time, it would surely have scared them away anyway. What a gentleman he is, even death could not take away his chivalry,
Hey, if a God is looking at me from somewhere, don't forget to add it to my credit, okay?
he had always wondered if there was another life after death, and if so, what it could look like.
Considering that he had lived in a world where magic and gods existed, the answer should logically have been easy to find, but the sorcerers, wizards, priests, saints and sages had had very mixed opinions on this question.
I guess for this kind of thing, you can only check it by yourself.
During all these years, he had consumed souls in countless quantities, and he had always asked himself one question: Did the soul have an indestructible and immortal part that guaranteed a kind of eternal existence? Or did it disappear after its energy and vital power had been consumed? What happened to the souls of those who were defiled? And most importantly: what would happen to his soul?
Logically the curse of Narkasum and its fire should protect his soul from being consumed by the demons or the Nightmare Lord he had invoked, but so many things had gone wrong that he was not so sure he could trust what he had been told about it. Well, considering how he was literally being burned by the fire of Narkasum, it wouldn't be long before he would know one of the answers to his questions.
Well, it was the perfect time to reflect and speculate on these kinds of questions, after all, thinking about something really helped him to forget in part the excruciating pain he felt as he was consumed by a devouring fire. It may have been because he had no physical body, but it seemed impossible for him to faint now. It was really very bad news.
Where would he go now? Did reincarnation exist? Do elf women wear sexy panties or do they prefer not to wear anything at all? Why was he summoned to participate in this stupid war? What happened to his grandfather when the great invocation began? Why had the so-called Chosen One, who according to ancient writings was supposed to save the world, never appeared? Why did most of the elves he had seen have small breasts?
Heck, so few questions and so much time to think about it
But strangely, as time passed and he screamed, the pain of the flames changed, almost insignificantly and imperceptibly. At first the change was slow, very slow, but little by little, no matter how many burning flames tried to consume him, no matter how much they roared to reduce him and burn the impurities of his soul, something resisted it.
It was as if the flames, born of the eternal and creative light of all life, were slowly being devoured by an icy cold from eternal nothingness.
The burning pain was gradually disappearing to coexist with something else, something very different. The flames were partially swallowed and turned into a kind of pale, lifeless light that filtered down from above, but it didn't make him feel any better, and in some ways it was much worse.
It was as if a dark, icy light had enveloped his whole soul. This dark gray light promised nothing, as if all hope and warmth had disappeared from the world, and the light would never shine again. No brighter tomorrow. Only an icy, perpetual chill. It was as if the fire of the world itself was extinguished.
At one point, it seemed to him that the presence of the spark that ignited the burning flames, had resigned, went to hide in his heart to find refuge, waiting for a distant day, from which she could come out of his exile.
Then suddenly an iridescent light surrounded him, as if she had come to look for him and protect him from something, she radiated a warm and melancholic feeling. The next moment he found the more usual sensations of a physical body, almost as if he had one again.
Well, speaking of heat, there was just such a hot air, charged with the smell of shit and moldy garbage, almost like the deadly chemical weapons that his grandfather would release after an overly large meal that was blown in his face. Indeed, as he had expected, the torments inflicted after death seemed as numerous as they were varied.
This... this is not what he had expected.
And unexpectedly, he heard a series of quite familiar noises. Screaming, crying, coughing and noises of movement around him as his own lungs burned with every breath and his body began to cough violently.
"Wait, what?"
When he opened his eyelids, the light filled his vision, and his eyes narrowed in discomfort. Through his eyes were fogged with tears, he could see his naked, trembling body lying on the ground.
As he turned his head, dozens of men and women, and even teenagers, no, there were more than that, probably hundreds of them, were lying in grotesque poses similar to his, coughing in the same manner as he did, cowering and all lying and shaking pitifully on the granular red stone floor that served as their bed, even though unlike him, most of them had clothes on.
The lines of golden metal, embedded in the ground, evoked the strange patterns so characteristic of ritual triangles, probably intended for some evil spell, still pulsating with an effervescent glow like dawn as the magic that inhabited them faded with each pulsation.
He had a terrible headache and could not think straight. It was as if someone had run over him with a truck, realized he was still alive, and then put the truck in reverse to roll up on him and finish the job.