The Miserable End Of Fiction

A chilling laugh greeted me the moment I stepped inside.

"Ohh, you arrived. Hehaha…"

That man's voice sent a shiver down my spine. His laughter wasn't just unsettling—it was wrong, like nails dragging across metal, like a beast reveling in someone's suffering.

"Can you please not laugh? It gives me goosebumps," I muttered, crossing my arms.

His lips curled into a sickening grin. "Is there a problem with my laughing?"

He was asking as if he truly didn't know—this b*stard. Did he not realize that his smile alone was enough to make people recoil in disgust?

"And today is such a great day," he continued, "because my favorite test subject is taking his first step toward success. A success that I will snatch from you to make my own."

I stiffened. "But… are you sure I will awaken the legacy?"

Deep inside, a gnawing doubt festered. Why he not able to awaken the 'legacy' ? What was stopping him?

He sighed, almost disappointed. "No. Awakening a legacy in one try is impossible. You will only gain a fraction of enlightenment here. Most spend decades studying it before they can harness even a sliver of its power."

His voice was eerily calm—too calm. I didn't hear his manic laugh this time, and for once, I felt relief.

"But why are you covering your eyes with bandages?" His gaze sharpened, only now noticing. "Hah, so even you have weaknesses."

I scowled. "The poison you gave me also affected my eyes."

I wasn't entirely sure if that was the only reason, but I had no intention of telling him.

"Don't call it poison," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's just a catalyst. But it is rare for it to affect the eyes… interesting. I need to research this more."

I clenched my fists. He spoke as if I were nothing more than a specimen under his knife.

"Why did you call me to the basement?" I demanded. "And why won't you tell me what trial I have to face?"

His grin widened. "Because this is where your trial will take place. Every person's trial is different. If I tell you anything, you won't be able to see the greater picture before you."

He stepped closer, fingers reaching toward my bandages. I tensed but didn't stop him as he pulled them away.

"There's only one thing I can tell you," he whispered. "Ever since we lost our family's history, no one has been able to clear this trial. So I don't expect anything great from you. Just don't lose your mind in there."

I blinked. Before me stood a massive door—towering, ancient, yet untouched by dust or decay. It almost seemed… waiting.

"What's behind this gate?" I asked.

"A simple question," he mused, "but the answer is anything but simple."

A strange unease crept into my chest. Something ominous lay beyond that door.

"This is the gate to the Ancient Dungeon," he said. "Only those with Zoldyck blood can enter—and only once. You cannot re-enter."

My heart pounded.

One chance.

That was all I had.

Dungeons—most think of them as myths, dark labyrinths filled with monsters, treasures, and trials. But in this world, they are real. They are alive or moving by 'will' of someone. They symbolize the unknown, the abyss, the test of one's soul.

And this dungeon? It was different. It was only for Zoldycks.

I swallowed hard. My chances of success were slim, but deep inside, something told me—I can do this.

"Why are we waiting, then?" I took a step forward. "I'll enter now."

Just as I reached for the door, a firm hand grabbed my wrist.

"Not yet," he said. "There are preparations to be made first."

I frowned. "Preparations?"

At that moment, a servant entered, carrying a bottle and a bowl. He bowed. "Lord, I have brought everything you requested."

"Good." Theo—my father—turned to me. "X, drink this."

I glared. "Who are you calling 'X'? Just say my name, you b*stard."

He ignored me, extending the bowl.

I stared at the dark liquid inside. My stomach churned. "Can I even drink this? It looks like… blood."

"Because it is blood," he confirmed. "And you must drink it."

I recoiled. "What? Are you trying to poison me?"

But the longer I stared at it, the stronger the scent became. It wasn't foul. It was… tempting.

Why did it smell so good?

My throat felt dry. My hands trembled as I lifted the bowl.

This was wrong.

But I still drank.

Gulp. Gulp.

Sweet.

It was so sweet.

Warm, rich, intoxicating. It was like nectar, a forbidden delicacy made for me.

I licked my lips. "Mmm… tasty."

Theo chuckled darkly. "Did it taste sweet?"

I froze. My fingers tightened around the empty bowl. Yes. It had tasted sweet. But why was I craving more?

I was human.

Wasn't I?

"Judging by your reaction," he said, "I was right."

A sinking feeling settled in my chest.

"Congratulations, 'X'…" He smirked. "Or should I call you by the name your mother gave you?"

My breath hitched.

"Congratulations—you are also a monster, just like us. Lucy von Zoldyck. You are indeed a Zoldyck."

My vision blurred.

"No," I whispered. "I am not a monster like you."

Theo tilted his head. "Still in denial? Don't worry—the answers to all your questions are behind that gate."

He gestured toward the looming door.

"The more you qualify for the 'legacy,' the more answers you will gain. It's up to you how you perceive this world."

A pause.

"Now go, my dear test subject.

"Take care.

"And don't die."

I clenched my jaw and turned away.

Stepping forward, I pressed my bleeding finger against the ancient gate.

Click.

The doors creaked open, revealing a void of endless darkness.

Before stepping inside, I glanced back at Theo and smirked coldly.

"I'll return. Just you wait, creepy b*stard."

Then I walked into the abyss.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

******

Mmm…

"Are you awake now, my son?"

I heard a sweet yet mature voice calling out. The voice felt distant, yet I could hear it clearly. It was a voice I missed.

But… it wasn't cold this time. It was warm, full of affection.

Sweet. Warm. Familiar.

My breath hitched.

I knew this voice.

I opened my eyes—and saw her.

A mature woman with platinum hair and soft blue eyes watched me.

"Mom…"

She was here.

My mother.

From my first life. From Earth. The life I once despised.

But now… her gaze was different.

Not cold. Not distant.

Warm.

Tears spilled from my eyes.

"Son," she whispered, brushing my cheek. "Why are you crying? Did you have a bad dream?"

I let out a shaky breath.

"Yes," I murmured. "It was a very long… and very bad dream."

I clenched my fists, then exhaled.

"But now I'm back.

"And I'm happy."

Yes.

I had returned.

To my mother.

To my family.