I Sense A Lot Of Frustration Here

Do you know what the problem is with trying to kill heroes?

They always had something prepared.

Regret, promises, a speech about tomorrow. Sometimes they even cried. Sometimes they laughed. The bad ones were funny—they begged. The good ones were worse, though… because they forgive you.

And then, right at the end, they always reached for it. Treating it like god—the power of friendship.

“...Pathetically useless.”

And yet, the Demon God stood over the Hero and waited anyway.

It felt polite.

“Tch…” The Hero was on his knees in the throne room, although calling it kneeling was probably generous. One leg was broken in three places, and his left arm was somewhere near him. His armor was split open from shoulder to stomach, and his guts were already falling out with each breath.

And yet, even with him wheezing, everything seemed quiet… but not peaceful, no. The ruined buildings around him proved it was anything but.

“Ah… fuck.” The Hero’s eyes snapped toward the Demon God. Well, eye. “So close. I was so fucking close.”

“True,” the Demon God said, his voice piercing through the deepest parts of anyone who could hear it. “You made it farther than the others.”

“Ha…” The Hero spat blood. “...I could’ve reached the end.”

“Is that your speech?” the Demon God asked.

The Hero smiled with his teeth red, but said nothing more and just stared at the towering figure in front of him.

The Demon God brushed his horns, staring back at him.

“You know,” the Demon God said, “I was told by my kings you were noble.”

“Oh? Who told you that?”

“The Butcher.”

“Bald one?”

“Yes.”

“That one died funny.” The smile that had painted the Hero’s face began to widen.

“Oh…?” The Demon God watched him carefully. Behind the Hero, a few people gathered.

There was a knight-looking man in silver armor seated next to a large pile of debris. Someone who resembled a saint was curled, her hands still clasped together. There was even someone hanging from a traffic light, still holding his bow.

The three all had one thing in common—they were all dead.

Well, four.

The Demon God pointed at an older woman, who had a large hole on her chest. And from the way it was bleeding, it just happened recently.

“That one died because of—Oho?” The Demon God's smile grew as the Hero’s finally faltered. The monarch waited, but when the Hero didn’t say anything at all, a small chuckle escaped his dark lips.

“That one died because you punched a hole through her back. All of these people—people who trusted you, people who laid their very lives for you. You killed them with your own hands.”

The Hero remained quiet even as the Demon God stepped closer. The only thing that made sound from him was the blood dripping from his severed arm.

“You killed thousands of your men. You burned an entire village filled with innocent people to stop my army from feeding on them. Tell me, Hero… was it all worth it?”

The Hero leaned back; the breath that violently escaped him practically brought all of his exhaustion with it.

The Demon God tilted his head, staring into his eye.

“You sacrificed millions. You betrayed your allies. You poisoned your own people as bait for mine—that one almost wiped us out.” The Demon God's smile widened. “Except for me.”

“Heh…”

“Tell me. Was it worth it?” he asked again, raising his left arm that no longer had a hand to show. “All for this?”

“Haa…”

“So, it is true.” The Demon God's smile faded as the Hero’s once again started to grow. “You enjoyed every last moment of it.”

And then, the Hero’s smile very slowly reached from ear to ear. He looked ugly, even more so than the demon in front of him.

“Now I know why your leaders followed you.” The Demon God sighed. “You are a bigger monster than I am. I, at least, did not cherish the death of my people.”

“Nice speech.” The Hero dragged himself through his own blood, teeth clenched, ribs cracking under the skin. He gazed down, then reached for his dismembered arm.

The arm was already stiff. Good.

“Now, watch this.”

He forced the middle finger up. Then he raised the middle finger on his remaining hand, too. Both of his hands, now giving the middle finger to the Demon God.

“I have to say… I will very much miss you, Hero.”

And with that as his only warning, the Demonn God stabbed the Hero through the heart.

“Khkh…” The Hero grabbed his wrist, but the Demon God swatted it away using the stump of his severed arm. The only thing the Hero could do was let him, however, as the last of his strength left him.

Death.

“...A shame,” the Hero whispered.

“Regrets? You?”

“Yeah…” The Hero looked him in the eyes. “If I knew I was going to die today…

…I would’ve just killed all these useless fucks myself.”

And with that, whatever light he had in his eye completely faded away.

Nothing but darkness.

But then…

[The curse of the Demon God, Dread of Soul, has befallen you. Your soul will no longer be able to move into the afterlife and will be used to enact Dread.]

[Searching for deepest dread...]

[...]

[Still searching...]

[...]

[Dread Detected.]

[Dread: Regression.]

“Bleurgh!”

The smell of urine, the luxurious scent of cigarettes, and something… else. Something familiar.

“S-stop it!”

A poor boy was on his knees in front of a toilet, coughing so hard his whole body shook. His school blazer, completely soiled. The boy couldn’t even grit his teeth, because gritting his teeth is making his tongue move and taste more of the things he didn’t want to taste in his mouth.

“Kh…” His hands slipped on the floor as he tried to push himself away from the bowl.

“Pft…” The student holding him down snorted. “The little shit’s crying.”

Another voice said, “Wait. Let me film it!”

The boy coughed, toilet water dripping from his chin as he gagged, his eyes red and nose running.

"Hear that? He's filming. Stay put, loser." The hand gripping the back of his neck pushed him down further. The boy tried to twist away, but the hand only pushed him down toward the bowl again.

But all of a sudden… everything turned quiet. The bathroom went completely quiet except for the boy’s choking.

“Bro… I’m filming,” the other voice on the back said. “Why the fuck did you stop—”

And before the student filming could finish, he felt his vision shift—and a pain on his cheek followed after as he found himself violently rolling backward; the back of his head hitting the urinal.

The poor boy, who was previously struggling on the dirty floor clumsily stood up, his eyes turning wide.

“S-Sungmin…” the poor boy uttered, pee still dripping from his hair as he looked at his fist.

Sungmin’s fist, that was.

“Oh…” The bully, Sungmin, also stared at his fist. “I remember now…

…I was always a piece of shit.”