chapter 19: the mountain of past

Chapter The world around Zack was dark and cold. He stood atop a mountain of something soft yet grotesquely firm beneath his boots. His breathing hitched as he looked down and froze.

The mountain wasn't made of rock or earth—it was a horrifying mass of his own corpses. Each version of himself bore signs of their gruesome demise: one with a spear piercing his chest, blood frozen in time like ruby rivers; another with his body charred and crumbling as if consumed by fire; yet another with deep, jagged slashes carving through his lifeless form. Hundreds, no, thousands of Zack's bodies piled high, their vacant, lifeless eyes staring back at him.

Each corpse represented a life once lived, a battle once fought, and a death once endured.

Then came the voices.

At first, it was a faint whisper, but soon it grew into a cacophony of overlapping cries.

"Help me..."

"Why did you give up on us?"

"It hurts... it hurts so much!"

"Why couldn't you save them?"

"Failure... failure... failure..."

The voices rose to a fever pitch, screaming, wailing, and begging in tones that clawed at his sanity. Zack's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until they threatened to break the skin. But his face betrayed no emotion.

He looked at one corpse—a younger version of himself with a look of terror frozen on its face. A crude dagger was embedded in its heart. That had been his first life, his first death. The memory was a blur now, but he remembered the overwhelming fear, the helplessness as he gasped for air and felt his heart fail.

Another corpse lay contorted, its limbs twisted unnaturally, poisoned and left to die slowly. Zack could still feel the bile burning his throat and the relentless agony that tore through him like wildfire.

He took a step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the soft, decaying mound of his own bodies. His foot landed on another face, this one staring up at him with bloodied, hollow eyes, a cruel mockery of his own reflection.

"Why do you keep going?" the corpse rasped. Its broken jaw moved awkwardly as it spoke, and Zack felt its dead gaze pierce into him.

"You're a failure," another voice said. This one came from a corpse missing half its face, the other half twisted into a mocking grin.

"You can't save anyone," sneered another, its voice dripping with venom.

Zack's jaw tightened, his expression remaining stoic as he ascended further up the grotesque mountain. The voices didn't stop. They grew louder, more insistent, each one stabbing at his mind like a dagger.

"You let them die, again and again!"

"You could have done more!"

"You'll never escape this cycle!"

"Why don't you just give up?"

And then there was laughter—cold, cruel, and echoing. It wasn't the laughter of his enemies, but his own. A broken, hollow sound that seemed to mock him from every direction.

The sky above him was an endless black void, suffocating and oppressive. There was no light, no hope, only the relentless weight of his failures pressing down on him.

Finally, Zack reached the summit of the grotesque mountain. He stood at the peak, surrounded by the whispers and screams of his countless past selves. Below him stretched an endless field of corpses, an ocean of his own death, each one a testament to his countless failures.

He felt no fear, no despair. He should have, but he didn't.

Instead, he felt... nothing.

Because he'd seen this all before.

"It's just a dream," Zack muttered to himself, his voice calm despite the chaos around him. He looked down at the sea of corpses, his expression unreadable. "This again, huh?"

The voices quieted for a moment as if waiting for him to continue.

"I've died so many times I've lost count," he said, his tone flat, almost bored. "I've felt every kind of pain imaginable. Stabbed, burned, poisoned, torn apart... you name it."

The corpses didn't respond, but their hollow eyes seemed to watch him, accusing and pleading at the same time.

"But pain doesn't matter anymore," Zack continued, his gaze sweeping over the lifeless sea. "None of this matters anymore."

The black void above him began to ripple, the dream starting to fade. The mountain of corpses trembled, their voices growing faint.

"This dream always comes when I forget," Zack muttered. His tone wasn't bitter or angry, just resigned. "When I let myself feel happy for even a moment, it comes to remind me. To remind me that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try..."

He looked out at the endless expanse of his failures, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"...Nothing changes."

The dream shattered like glass, the shards dissolving into darkness.

---

Zack opened his eyes slowly, his breathing steady and calm. He stared at the ceiling of his dorm room, the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window.

"It's always the same," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.

The dream had left no lingering fear, no panic. It was just... there, like a scar etched into his mind. He'd grown used to it, numb to the horrors it showed him.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It was still early, the night stretching on in silence.

Zack leaned back against the headboard, his expression unreadable as his thoughts drifted. The dream was a reminder of his reality—a cycle of death and failure that never ended. It was a cruel reminder of the fate he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried.

And yet, despite it all, he was still here.

He didn't know why he kept going, why he didn't just give up. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope, no matter how small and fragile it was.

Or maybe it was just because he didn't know how to stop.

Zack closed his eyes, letting the silence of the night envelop him. The dream might come again, but it didn't matter. It couldn't hurt him anymore since he already experience it many time and it just became part of what is his.