Shattering the Prison
“Just calling it poison because of some petty human ethics? That's ridiculous.”
“You're furious that a child was there. But the ethical concept toward children only emerged 78 years ago, after the Corrupted Spring. Even that hasn't fully taken root. For someone as indifferent to humans as you, it's nearly impossible to get angry just because it's 'supposed' to be that way.”
The Corrupted Spring. A famous incident. After the Mana Beast War wrapped up 80 years ago, countless war orphans from that conflict nearly all died during an especially brutal winter 78 years ago. When spring came and temperatures rose, the corpses rotted, filling cities across the nation with the stench of decay. That's when society's view of children truly began to shift—I learned that from history books. Back then, I just thought it was one of those things that happened in the old days. Lots of people dying was pretty common, right?
“Humans call those who spread contextless ideologies madmen.”
“'Mad' just means they failed to understand it.”
If they'd understood, they would've explained it.
“Indeed. You were a madman with a disability from the moment you were born.”
Something was off about her tone. The golden gears in her cross-shaped pupils chimed like giggling laughter. It didn't feel like blame or mockery. If anything...
“Madmen deserve to be rejected. And if they go on to poison the world with their madness, it would be an invasion from beyond the world.”
By now, I got what she was saying. And realizing the scale of it snapped my vision into sharp focus, leaving me utterly dumbfounded.
“Don't split hairs. Who said anything about being some revolutionary? I don't have the power or the will for that. If you wanna change society, do it yourself. All I'm doing is clearing out the hell right in front of me because it's pissing me off.”
I had zero intention of becoming some ideologue. Hell, I'd adapted pretty damn well to this world already—what ideology? I just had the spare capacity to reach out to the kids in front of me, and they happened to be within arm's reach. That's it.
Of course, I didn't hate people who sacrificed themselves for others. Quite the opposite—they're amazing, profoundly good folks. That's why we revere them; it's not normal. Wow, I could never, but that person's doing something incredible. Or we feel ashamed and lash out: Why the hell would you do that?
Thinking that, I crossed the threshold. A sudden chill rushed in from where the door had been, but since I still remembered my moment of death so vividly, it felt familiar instead.
With Lambda Lilion behind me, I headed to the place I'd been before. After walking the corridor a ways, it gradually darkened. When it turned pitch black, the hallway ended, and I faced the entrance.
It wasn't on one wall of a large room but at the room's corner. No door, so the inside was fully visible. In the still-dark corner floor, chunks of meat were piled like carelessly dumped trash, and in the dark room, only the center glowed under a lamp.
And just like last time, a pile of about 1.3 bodies worth of flesh spilled out in the middle of the lit spot.
“Hey. Philip Goldberg, Ailia Secrem. And whoever you are.”
I didn't look for the girl missing everything below her ribs, so I didn't know her name.
“You're back.”
I thought they couldn't talk, but the nameless one—lying there like a taxidermied specimen—rolled their eyes toward me and spoke.
“So...”
I paused, wondering what to call them. What term would bundle this group together?
Ah.
“Seniors. You can't stay in a place like this.”
No, that wasn't right. I glanced around. Not at the single light overhead, but beyond it—into the darkness, meeting the gazes of the countless blue-eyed watchers who once were people here. No fear. Laughably none. What was scary about these lost, stalled souls? Maybe if I teased them for being idiots.
To lump them together, this was the way to say it.
“Teachers. What are you doing here?”
What else would you call those who came before you?
“We're all dead.”
Stated purely, factually.
“You're already dead.”
I said it to these fools suffering in hell.
“Death means you start over right away. Reincarnate. That's what happened to me. So it'll happen to you teachers too. Why are you dawdling in some back room like this?”
At that, as if displeased by my words, the fragmented people in the darkness clamored. No coherent words—just thuds of fists on surfaces and the discordant crunch of flesh on flesh.
“What about my grudge?”
Asked the one fragmented figure lying there, perhaps the only one here capable of real conversation.
The clamor around us fell silent in agreement with the question.
“It's tragic. But that's the world.”
Unfair, absurd. No justice. Winners keep winning until they lose, and losers just end there. Probably been that way since we were primordial blobs.
“You here to mock us?”
Even with that twisted expression, what fear was there in this place?
“I saw a kid sitting in a barrel on fire right next to the road. Would a teacher try persuading them at length to come out? Nah, you'd yank 'em free first.”
So I stepped forward. But the black silhouette that had guided me last time approached. I'd seen this one's face in the victims' photos too.
I grabbed them without hesitation. Skin crumbled like clutched charcoal, the arm beneath shattering like brittle cookie, revealing blue flames staring straight at me.
“You've been stuck here sixty years—time to go.”
It snapped like sugarcane, so I stopped. Then the meat chunks I'd called seniors crawled over and grabbed me. I knew I could shake them off easily—they'd turn to dust. But that felt wrong, so I didn't move.
From outside, it looked like a horror flick scene, but even swarming and clutching me, it felt more like “Aigo, master, please don't do this.”
“You want us to forgive them?”
A sharp voice cut through—venomous, even.
The still-nameless senior—no, wait, I never asked their name.
“Never said forgive the villains. Why forgive? Don't. Pray karma hits them hard—on top of their atrocities, let them swallow resentment too. Death's a restart. Villains can't escape like that. Curse them to crawl forever, achieve nothing, suffer eternally without even dying.”
Oddly, without putting force into my words, the hands gripping me fell away one by one. They even backed off sideways.
I wasn't monologuing dramatically like in a movie—just stating obvious facts. Why were they reacting like this?
“I'm Abelian Anion. Hey, why back away? Don't. I'm talking to everyone here. You think I'm just telling you seniors to reincarnate now? I'm telling the teachers to. What are you all doing, acting like idiots?”
I spoke clearly to the one I'd grabbed.
“You're not the villains—why are you teachers suffering forever? That's not right. At least, since you're dead, restart fresh. Why stay here like fools? Sixty years is kid stuff?”
So I could only define this place as hell. A space where victims chained themselves to the floor, trapped in eternal torment. That's all it looked like.
“You.”
Then the girl on the floor spoke.
“You're too strong. Not everyone can think like you. They hate, curse, want to kill... but they're scared.”
That's most people. Me included. The Guardian Knights—this world's cops and military—were one thing, but even at my school, people died and just got quietly expelled, vanishing. How terrifying. Telling someone about these deaths wouldn't change the world easily. At best, someone like Lambda Lilion waiting outside might have the power. But that wasn't my job.
“I'm scared too. People die at the Guardian Knights and Pristine University, nothing comes of it, and even the outside investigation could backfire—my head rolls, and I'm back to crying as a baby. No guarantee I'd keep this life's memories next time.”
I hadn't come here to confront some real evil.
“Think I came to punish villains or uncover truth? I said it already, teachers in the burning barrel. Whatever you think or feel, I came to pull you out first.”
After death comes a beginning—not torment.
“Senior, at least give me your name. I remember Philip Goldberg and Ailia Secrem.”
They were right within reach— if I had the spare effort, I could kick them free from this painful place. Actually, I hadn't thought that way coming in, but now that everything was clear, it felt like I'd intended this from the start. Weird.
“Irene. Irene Fraggit.”
The last nameless senior finally gave her name.
“Got it. Now get out of this damn hell. I know you're full of grudges, nothing's resolved, you're too wronged to close your eyes.”
But tormenting yourself while the culprits walked free? That sucked.
“Still, leave for your own sake.”
Silence. They didn't want to? Fine. What was I anyway? No mercy, no coaxing.
Earlier, they'd crumbled like cotton candy—maybe a smack would make them vanish?
Crush.
A sound like a sand pile collapsing. Looking down, a teacher who'd backed away and frozen lost volume, sinking into the floor.
Woooong.
Not just the person vanishing—the wall warped, collapsing to a single point.
“What the—?”
I looked around in confusion.
“What else? You told 'em to get out.”
Irene Fraggit said it from the crumpling space.
“No one's left, so the prison breaks. Cruel bastard.”
Irene, far off before, Philip, Ailia—all drawn close by the collapsing point somehow. I didn't get the mechanics, but even with grudges, forced dispersal had kicked in.
“Dunno the details, but problem solved! Teachers, anything to say?”
Before I finished, Ailia stuck out her tongue in a raspberry and rolled into the vanishing point. Philip flipped me off with his one remaining arm on his half-body and got sucked in.
“The dead should stay dead, huh? Fine. You win. Trampling everyone's hearts, spewing facts till we all died. Thanks to you.”
She said it, reaching for the vanishing point with both arms—not the room's center, but right under my feet. Then she froze, looked up at me.
“Nirvana.”
Staring with an unreadable expression, she suddenly spoke.
“Huh?”
“My name. Ask if they'll take Fraggit. If fate brings you together, tell them. Bye, Abelian.”
Before I could ask what it meant, she got sucked into the point like draining away.
Worried I'd get caught, I instinctively stepped back, but the point followed. No pull—just space folding, drawing in surroundings. Even the corridor behind me got dragged in.
Screeeeech.
The distant door screamed as it bent inward. The point devoured the whole distance to the entrance, then, using the doorframe as a boundary, swallowed all of hell beyond, spitting me out alone outside like a discarded toy.
Lambda Lilion stood motionless like a doll and greeted me.
“Didn't expect you'd smash it all in under 10 seconds inside.”
To her, it'd been just that long. Or maybe it really had been mere seconds here.