There is nothing after death. This is what Jonathan Blake had always believed. No heaven, no hell. Only eternal darkness, a void in which to dissolve forever. When the blade pierced his chest, he had time to think that everything would finally be over.
But it wasn’t like that.
He woke up in a place that had no shape, in a light that didn’t warm, with a weight he couldn’t explain. Before him was a being that could not be human. It was neither a man nor a woman, and its eyes, too deep to look at, peered into him like blades.
“Jonathan Blake,” that figure said, his voice like muffled thunder. “Your life has been a river of blood. But it’s not over yet.”
Jonathan laughed, a bitter laugh that rang out into the void. “Finished or not, I have no regrets.”
The figure showed no emotion. “You have no regrets, but you have a soul. And that soul must be judged. You have been given an opportunity that you don’t deserve, but that you could use. Eight broken souls await your help. If you can save them, the weight of your past will be balanced. If you fail, your existence will be erased forever.”
Jonathan stopped laughing. Not because he was afraid of oblivion, but because he didn’t understand. “Why me?” he asked. “I am not a good man. I’ve never done anything to deserve a second chance.”
“You are not here on merit,” the figure replied. “You are here to choose who you want to be, now that you have nothing left.”
Jonathan looked down. He had never been afraid of death, but those words left him uneasy. For the first time, the weight of his actions touched him, like a shadow that promised to grow much heavier.
And so his journey began. Not for redemption, not for forgiveness, but to find out if, even after everything he had done, there was still something inside him that could be saved.
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