Myuk lay on the cold, unforgiving stone floor, the remnants of pain still coursing through his body like a dark tide. The dungeon had faded away, and instead, he found himself submerged in a surreal landscape—a realm that felt both familiar and hauntingly distant. Shadows twisted and flickered around him, distorting his vision until the world became a kaleidoscope of memories.


    As he struggled to rise, a figure appeared beside him, kneeling with an intensity that made his heart race. It was a younger version of himself, a boy with wide, innocent eyes that mirrored his own but lacked the weight of despair that now clung to Myuk’s soul. This younger Myuk had a fierce determination etched into his features, a spark of defiance that felt foreign yet achingly familiar.


    “It never ends, does it?” the young Myuk said, his voice a mixture of bitterness and resolve. “The continuous cycle of being picked on and called useless. Don’t you get tired of it?”


    With a sudden, fierce grip, the younger Myuk grabbed his older self by the hair, forcing him to look up. Myuk winced at the pain, but it was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil that surged within him. As he gazed into the eyes of his younger self, he felt a wave of memories crash over him, vivid and unrelenting.


    Images flickered into existence around them—scenes from his past that played like a broken film reel. He saw himself as a child, cowering beneath the fists of his stepfather, the man who was supposed to protect him but instead wielded his power like a weapon. Each strike was a reminder of his worthlessness, a hammer driving home the message that he would never be enough.


    Then the scene shifted, and he was back in school, surrounded by bullies who reveled in his humiliation. Laughter rang in his ears, cruel and mocking, as they shoved him into lockers and whispered taunts that echoed in the hollow chambers of his mind. “Useless,” they had called him, “worthless.” Each word was a dagger, piercing through the fragile armor he had tried to build around his heart.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The younger Myuk’s grip tightened, and his voice turned more accusatory. “Why didn’t you fight back? Why did you let them walk all over you? You’re stronger than this—stronger than them. But all you do is cower and take it, like you deserve it. Do you? Do you deserve all of this?”


    Myuk’s heart sank as the memories of his past played out in front of him. He saw himself, older but still a child at heart, with an expression twisted in rage, whispering dark promises to himself. “I’ll kill you for treating me like this.” The words echoed, a chilling mantra that reverberated through the air.


    The images around him began to speed up, flashing by like a violent storm of memories. Each scene was more vivid than the last—his stepfather’s sneer, the cruel laughter of the bullies, the cold emptiness that followed each humiliation. The scenes twisted and contorted, becoming grotesque reflections of his pain, until Myuk felt like he was drowning in a sea of despair.


    Myuk’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as the images of his past swirled around him like vultures circling a dying animal. “I… I didn’t deserve it,” he whispered, the words trembling on his lips. But as he repeated them, they grew stronger. “I didn’t deserve it! I don’t deserve this!” His voice rose to a shout, raw with anger and pain, echoing through the twisted landscape of his mind.


    The younger Myuk’s grip loosened as a dark smile curled his lips. “Then stop acting like you do,” he whispered. “Stop letting them hurt you. Stop being weak.”


    The words hung in the air, heavy with promise, as the shadows around them seemed to grow darker, denser. Myuk looked into the eyes of his younger self and saw the reflection of something new—something dangerous. He nodded slowly, the weight of his past lifting, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. “I’ll never be weak again,” he whispered. “Never.”


    As Myuk stared into the eyes of his younger self, he realized that the boy he once was—the innocent, timid child who clung to hope despite the darkness—was gone. In his place stood someone else, someone forged from pain and bitterness. The spark of innocence that once lit up his eyes had been snuffed out, replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve. The last vestiges of who he had been were slipping away, and with them, any desire to be the hero this world had wanted. The younger Myuk smiled one last time before dissolving into the shadows, leaving the older Myuk standing alone, a new fire burning in his heart—a fire that would consume everything in its path.