Chapter 0: Gray Corpse

On the sunset of the 15th day of Kkuz month the year 512 S.B. at Tafarnnout. Eight years and seven months after Doe and his land "afrut" was demolished from existence.

"You missed," Lazarin stated calmly, breathing quickly and trying not to look tired. tall man in his thirties. His wrinkle-free face, high bridge nose, jet-black hair with hints of gray, and a little 'T' tattoo on the upper right corner of his forehead are some of his distinctive traits that may easily fool you into thinking he is younger than 34. his metallic chest and sleeves that highlight his light gray second-skin top and make it easy to see the shape of his slender body; form-fitting pants with a magnetic sword sheath system wrapped tightly around his thighs; paralyzed dark silver boots; a metal poppy flower necklace wrapped tightly around his neck; and seamlessly connected gloves with magnetic pieces inside.

SHIRO

I mumbled, a fresh-faced 16-year-old soldier, "I am sorry," my voice quivering. I had enrolled under Lazarin's leadership a year prior. Joining his group felt like a stroke of luck; Lazarin wasn't just my "boss", he was my childhood hero. and in my eyes, he's a friend, at least from one side, a one-sided friendship is not that bad.

Receiving the uniform was a moment of pride. I yearned to emulate Lazarin, right down to the smallest details. Even though my uniform was a different color and had more metallic plates on my shins and shoulders, it was nonetheless tight and had a similar poppy flower to Lazarin's but in a bud formation. I knew I could never match Lazarin's intellect or strategies, but the attempt lent purpose to my existence, even if it left me feeling pathetic.

Today, even Lazarin let me down. It's crushing to witness everything you've believed in, and invested in, crumble, and perish, in an instant. I used to believe that a higher power would acknowledge my efforts and assist me and that a person with objectives was important to the greater force. Today murdered that delusion.

Even with a purpose, and a goal, I'm insignificant in the eyes of nature. I'm written to be a side character, perhaps worse—a sacrificial frog to prove the main one's strength. It's depressing to realize you're just little more than the grass they trample on their way. The time I realized I found myself regretting my presence here—no one aspires to be mere grass, not even me.

the path I've chosen is slowly stripping away my humanity and sanity. The more I press on, the more I despise my naiveté in joining.

seeing a lot of people die before you can make you lose understanding of what sad means, sadness transforms into a weird feeling called, a void, Like an empty bowl with a gaping hole at its base, it defies efforts to fill it. No matter how much tragedy or sadness one pours in, it slips away, it is hard to express it, all I can express is that countless deaths have desensitized me; to the point where sympathy feels like a distant memory. If given the chance, I'd cut my stomach open with a searing blade rather than endure another day in the force.

in a moment of silence, a word I hadn't experienced in a whole day of noises and fear from either, Whether it was the new arrow-like invention will burst my brain open, or a sword that would end my lowlife.

The air reeks of burning flesh, intensifying the already oppressive heat. making me ask when will we see the true adversary?,When would we cease this ceaseless flat cycle and confront the true adversary.

the ones who refuse to give us the books that hold the keys to understanding the erratic climate, why is it getting hotter every year, the booksnof "future history." Yet, who was I to demand such introspection? Merely a boy who had enlisted in the force out of desperation, seeking to alleviate my family's poverty and be someone I was not.

it's normal to lose it after seeing such evil, evil is such a simple word; this is beyond any word in the dictionary, only one word could be a bit similar, Nature.

Only nature created people, that are capable of transforming the ground under us into a patchwork of hardened dirt and molten rock, combining charred earth with the sickly sweet perfume of melting minerals.

I survive, but for what? For how long?questioned while clutching Lazarin's blood-soaked sword in my hand, witnessing over twenty mutilated bodies scattered in the ground, some friends, some foes. The houses around us, now are remains. and the faces are twisted in agonizing expressions. Some had burned heads, while others had been blown apart. Limbs lay strewn across the ground.

My throat is tight with emotions, I want to cry, I want to speak, I want to scream, i want to end it, no, no I just want to speak, yet I fear the weight of my words. I must speak, lest the weight of silence haunt me forever. "Why did you let them die?" The words escape before I can halt them, a familiar, regrettable pattern. Why does it feel like the words got stuck in the air?, Lazarin remained stoic thankfully, his eyes distant, as he mentally processed everything.

I repeated that I could still make things right but I didn't believe in it, "Sir, they were not just comrades; they were family to me. Emotions got the best of me. You devised the best plan to stop this thing."

Shiro's hand quivers as he points a trembling finger at Haiiro, who remains paralyzed from head to toe.

HAIIRO

once had a broad body with subtle muscle definition, Haiiro now struggles with even wiping away his spit from his chin, faced with a crippling reality. Numerous fresh burn marks on his skin, and dense smoke is escaping from his dissipating muscles. With each passing second, his frame gets skinnier and more skeletal, as if the smoke that's coming out, is his muscles vaporizing, which is indeed what's happening. moving his pupils down, he notices blood dripping from his lungs—a deep wound creating a hole, emitting the unmistakable scent of death from his body.

Haiiro's porcelain complexion pales, sweat beads tracing paths down his nose. Panic grips him as voices crescendo in his head. 'Who killed those men?' Desperation tightens its grip. 'Why am I paralyzed?' The acrid scent of smoke intensifies his fear. Scanning the corpses, he notices smoke escaping his muscles. 'And vaporizing?' Anxiety escalates, accompanied by the unsettling smell of damp wood and slimy matter pouring out. Thoughts spiral as he struggles to recall what happened and whats happening, a second piece of information about a plan surfacing. A sudden realization strikes him: 'Carbor and Oxif both got hit; but why can't I remember?' Fear tightens its hold as he notices the "T" tattoo on Lazarin's forehead. Something nags at Haiiro—a sense that there's more to this man.

Lazarin's reassuring hand lands on Shiro's shoulder, his voice carrying comfort. "I've been in your place countless times; I won't judge you. Your parents will be relieved to see you return. Although it pains me that you witnessed this, don't let it consume you." As Lazarin gestures for the sword, Shiro's face reflects sadness and innocence. He timidly hands it over, trembling like a toddler taking their first steps.

With one hand still resting on the young soldier's shoulder, Lazarin retrieves his sword from Shiro's grasp, inspecting it with a meticulous eye. As he withdraws the other hand from Shiro's shoulder, it delves into his pocket, retrieving a spherical magnetic device underneath. Pressing the button, he intones, "Operation Tafarnnout, failed. Cause: uncalculated, inexplicable unleash." He puts the device back into his pocket. Suddenly, something snaps within him, and he drives the sword forward with all the force nature bestows, directly into Shiro's lungs, shattering the metal plates like brittle bread. Shock registers in Shiro's widened eyes, subtle tremors coursing through his pupils as tears streak down his cheeks.

Lazarin conceals his anger behind a calm expression. 'piece of shit not only messed up the plan but dared to criticize it,' he silently seethes.

Remaining eerily calm, Lazarin forcefully drives the sword downward with a resounding thud. The steel blade slices through skin and muscle, carving a path from Shiro's gasping lungs down to his visceral core. With each thrust, it reveals more of Shiro's insides, spelling out all of his guts in a gruesome display. Shiro can only watch in utter disbelief as his organs spill out onto the ground, exposed for all to see.

In an airless scene, Lazarin withdraws the sword, locking eyes with Shiro.

Desperation claws at Shiro as he gasps for breath, and a flicker of delusional hope persists within him, whispering that there's still hope and he only has to shove his bellies back to their place, he trusts it and begins to gather his entrails and shoves them back into his mangled stomach. Warm tears streak down his face, mixing with the glistening blood that paints his torn flesh and skin.

The slippery, slimy texture makes it difficult to get hold of them. The sickening squelch of flesh against flesh reverberates in everyone's ears, His once-gloomy eyes turn to one of shock, tears, and despair.

As an eerie fog begins to form, shrouding the scene, Shiro confronts the harsh reality of his situation. With a heavy heart and a soul weighed down by despair, he surrenders to the inescapable grip of death. Abandoning his futile struggles and realizing the stupidity of his delusions, Shiro stops trying to cheat death. and With a final, defeated exhale, he collapses to the ground with a resounding thud.

Lazarin's sword drips with thick warm blood as he quickly swipes it through the air to clean it. His focus shifts back to the bodies scattered on the ground, paying no mind to Shiro who fell to the ground with ropes-like guts, under his corpse. The juxtaposition of Lazarin's calm demeanor against the recent violent chaos is unnerving.

As he watches Lazarin's actions, Haiiro can't help but feel like his mind is playing tricks on him. His heart races with conflicting emotions as he questions whether Lazarin is mentally stable or not, a small voice inside Haiiro wonders if the boy did something to deserve such an end. With each heavy footstep, Haiiro's anxiety grows, and he longs for the comfort of his brothers. "I want to see them, just one last time," he pleads in his mind. But as Lazarin approaches, Haiiro's gut churns with unease and fear. He can't shake the feeling that something is not right about this situation, his eyes slightly turning red with emotions.

Lazarin halts and leans into a mangled corpse, asking, "Is this him?" He reaches into the left pocket of the corpse and finds nothing. Moving on to the right pocket, his fingers brush against a folded note. He holds it up and addresses Haiiro with a serious tone, "I had dinner with his family just last week. They were so proud of him, and his wife loves him dearly." referring to the corpse who had the note.

Lazarin with a mocking expression on his face. "Ah, I forgot you can't speak," he taunts while dramatically cupping his hands over his ears. "What's that? Do you want to listen to the note from the man you killed or burned, or maybe both? Well, I have no choice but to read it now."

A shiver raced down Haiiro's spine as he grappled with the words just spoken. 'I killed those? No... no, he's attempting to manipulate my emotions. Arrajans don't have the power to commit such things. Why is this fucking liar playing such weak games?' Uncertainty waged a fierce battle within Haiiro, resisting the revelation despite its unsettling sense of truth. Aware that acceptance could usher in a harsh reality, he acknowledged the possibility. If true, death might be a more merciful escape in that situation.

Lazarin clears his throat and begins to read aloud, "To my dear family and love, Loza. If you're reading this, it means I'm no longer alive. I'd like to believe that I died a hero's death," Lazarin chuckles. "I'm sorry, Haiiro, that was quite rude of me. May I continue?" He continues, breaking the smile quickly, "I'm writing this to let you know that I followed my desires and joined under L.." he stops at the first letter of his name, leaving Haiiro to suspect why he stopped. Lazarin continues reading, "I've always been selfish and controlled by my wants and needs. I know we are all gray as nature hints, but I think I'm a very dark one - self-centered and careless. It's just a part of who I am, no, it's all who I am." Lazarin pauses to observe the red giant sunset, pondering the phrase "we are all gray" and questioning its validity. After a moment, he resumes reading the note, "I'm sorry if sorry even matters at this point. I hope I made you proud in some way. You were there for me during my toughest days and made my good days even better. Please take care of Loza and remind her that I'll always be with her, no matter what she decides or where I may be. Goodbye."

Lazarin lets out a quiet sigh as he begins to tear the paper into shreds. "Nature always remains consistent, fair, and equal to all her children. Enough of that," Lazarin says, as if he has a long rivalry with nature.

He turns his attention back to Haiiro, who wonders why he's still alive and what this man wants from him. Lazarin slowly walks towards him, creating a crunching sound with each step. "Since that, I enjoy speaking with the dead; because they never interrupt, just like you now. I'd want to share my thoughts on the 'we all gray' with you. Well, I disagree; I truly do. I..." He is now standing very close to Haiiro, who suddenly realizes something odd. 'He looks a lot like Ayerfan!' A strange connection. Confusing inconsistency. 'The tattoo is not drawn on a Nexis vein?' Lingering doubt. 'Why?' The mystery deepens. 'Then who is he if not a Tomyaku pretending to be one? Why?' Curiosity planted within Haiiro as questions swirl in his mind. 'Am I hallucinating?'.

Lazarin comes to a sudden stop, staring directly at Haiiro. "In my long life experience I figured that people are either inherently good," he proclaims, pointing to himself, "or bad," indicating Haiiro. He takes a moment to reflect on his words before continuing. "Some few mistakes do not erase one's innate goodness, " he asserts firmly. "On the other hand, an evil person may perform a few good deeds, but that does not change their inherent badness."

Lazarin fixes his hair, still stained with blood, and says, "One can born a prince or a worthless lowlife." He lets out a heavy breath. "Someone who is considered worthless may still experience temporary moments of happiness, but that doesn't change their status as a lowlife. Similarly, even if a prince was to get raped by three horses, he would still hold his title as a prince," he whispered with the side of his mouth "who endured getting raped by three horses."

"Listen," Lazarin said, his voice steady and unwavering, "it's the fundamental rule of life—always unbreakable." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "Whether you hate to believe it or it's too bold and negative for your little world, it matters not. From your birth, from the first touch of the midwives, before your birthdate graced the calendar, your nature was inked in the fabric of existence. You were written to be the harbinger of loss and pain and unchangement, the one who inflicts suffering upon those who stand beside him more than the ones against him."

He leaned in closer, his gaze piercing. "And do not delude yourself into believing you are unique in this regard. I have borne witness to many like you, each attempting to change their nature, forgetting that it's why they were even born. They can't stop trying to rewrite the script of their nature. But they all met the same bitter end." Lazarin's tone turned colder, more calculated. "I didn't like killing them—I loved seeing them suffer in their fantasy."

His eyes narrowed, intensity burning within them. "And so shall it be for you. You will strive to defy fate, to cheat the nature scales, but in the end, you will falter, you will fall, and you will remain unchanged. Like a dog who gets beat up by his master, but the dog can't do anything but remain loyal, you will endure, your loyalty unyielding despite the blows you endure just like the dog."

Lazarin's voice grew softer, almost hypnotic, yet with an undertone of menace. "You will strive and struggle, but in the end, you will find yourself stuck by the ropes of your nature."

The fog thickens, billowing in from the nearby lands. "just like how the hopeful and wise people all are so rigged and good at setting terrible examples," he muses. "Gray has his personality, not just a combination of his parents, Mr. Black and Mrs. White. Simply because he physically resembles them, they assume his personality must be a blend of theirs." he shakes his head at their narrow-mindedness. "It's truly disheartening to witness."

while Haiiro can't stop himself from wondering in panic, of Lazarin words knowing that they may be true. He starts to lose breath because of the dark hole in his lungs, the world around him blurring, and unaccomplished goals start to haunt him,he knows that the words that Lazarin spoke will stuck in his mind till the day when his below the ground. Suddenly, a piercing sound broke through the silence, sounds like a very high-pitched whistle.

Lazarin's sharp eyes dart around the area, and said with a suspectable tone, "You heard that?" his eyes express doubt." you little rats are planning for something, ain't you?.", searching for the source of the unusual noise that had interrupted their conversation, he's expression hints that as if he had heard this sound in his past looking bit stressed. Failing to find anything, he turns his attention back to Haiiro.

His gaze falls upon the small tattoo of the tiny letter 'A' on Haiiro's neck. he leans in closer, placing a gentle hand on Haiiro's chest, In an instant, Haiiro's body collapses onto his back like a lifeless plank.

Leaning down to Haiiro, who's lying on the ground staring up at the extremely hot giant red sunset. Lazarin says, "The tally of lives I've ended, whether directly or indirectly, has numbed me to the notion of remorse Yet, even in the depths of my depravity, I've never descended to the depths of cruelty that define you."

He gestured toward the bodies scattered around them, his eyes piercing Haiiro's with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. "Do you harbor any remorse for the... one, two..." Lazarin counted, pointing at each lifeless form, "over twenty men you killed? Some were burned alive, others limbs blew apart."

"In a book," Lazarin continued, his voice taking on a somber tone, "I stumbled upon the visceral experience of burning, distilled into four stages for your morbid curiosity." His words dripped with disdain. "First, the body convulses in primal terror, every nerve screaming a warning of imminent destruction assuming that the controller is hurting himself they warn him, Then, a relentless assault ensues, flames ravaging the skin, seeking to consume it from within."

"As the third stage unfolds," Lazarin's voice grew colder, more detached, "skin liquefies, dripping like molten wax, each drop is felt as if you are in a hot shower but the water is changed with lava. Yet, amidst the horror, a chilling calm descends, as the pain begins to relent, a cruel mercy granted by the body's desperate survival instinct."

"In a final act of compassion," Lazarin concluded, his voice tinged with bitterness, "the brain numbs the senses, shielding the soul from the unbearable pain.what's interesting is when contemplated deeply, it reveals itself as a cunning war strategy from nature."

He fixed Haiiro with a penetrating stare, each word contradicting his actions. "With each life you killed, you robbed the world of hope, of breadwinners, of future fathers, and of untold potentials." Lazarin tries his best to make Haiiro feel bad and manipulate his emotions. Haiiro's vaporization has finally stopped; letting him look almost like a skeleton, with all the bone exposed.

Haiiro couldn't help but think to himself, 'This contradictory mother fucker talks about valuing life, after all that he did!?. just who is this man?.' Haiiro pondered the concept of someone being contradictory within themselves. How could a person have such conflicting beliefs and actions?

Lazarin runs his hand through his hair fixing it again and flashes a thin smile before saying, "Quite the contradictory fucker, aren't I?. its easy, so why not be contradictory more often." he points without seeing at the young solider behind him, trying to justify the killing. "about him. I hate two things and that kid was both of them, I hate those who miss the target, and he missed your heart with your lungs, as much as I hate those who will give me problems if not dead which he will when we back, that's why I didn't kill you five minutes ago, the only ones you will pose a threat and problems to are yourself and the ones around you, who are the ones you protect, you love." he whispered, "Which is hopefully not me".

Lazarin rose to his full height, his gaze lingering on Haiiro for a moment before he began to walk away. "The next days will be your worst, I'm sure," he mused aloud, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and curiosity.

"That's giving me even more reasons to spare you," Lazarin continued, his steps measured as he moved away from Haiiro. "Killing you wouldn't have any value either for me or for the men you killed; they'd want you to suffer more in this life."

His voice carried a vibe of finality as he spoke. "And I'm curious to see what kind of person you will become after all this. I'm sure you don't know what you are and who you are at this moment, but only nature wanting to kill you badly should give you a hint of how unwanted you are in this world."

Lazarin turned slightly, his gaze fixed on Haiiro with a mixture of disdain and intrigue. "I don't think you'll have the right to live longer than this. But if you manage to escape it, only then I hope we cross paths again under different circumstances." With that, a sly grin forms on Lazarin's face as he exits the area, and at the end he says with a very loud voice, "Don't say that you encountered Lazarin," leaving Haiiro shocked.

'Wait, that was Lazarin? Why did he tell me that now?'

As Lazarin disappears into the distance, he leaves Haiiro lost in many questions but not for long, Lazarin's words start to get to him slowly and he begins to imagine what will happen when everyone finds out, he acknowledges that there is no point in getting answers or being rescued. since he will die in no time, he doesn't want to be rescued anymore.

'What's the point? Even if I lived, the same shit will happen again not if only get worse. From that day, nothing has changed in the world. Same shit, only more births. Fuck nature. I heard that you hate those who break promises. Well, I'll break every promise, and defy every expectation. Kill me now, or you'll regret it, bitch.' Haiiro succumbs to madness, his mind fractured and childlike. With a resigned exhale, he lets his eyes shut, as a sudden electric wave runs through the ground.