《The Last Beginning After the End》 Intertwined lives Well¡­ how do I say this without it sounding terrible? I guess there¡¯s no pretty way to put it. I was a serial killer, a psychopath without restraint who killed purely for pleasure and excitement. The blood, the exposed organs¡­ all of it gave me a visceral, sickening satisfaction. I was fully aware of my actions. I knew they were wrong. But the urge never went away. Until, well, I had to run. I managed to evade the police for quite a while, until I made a mistake. A woman I brought back to my room noticed the stench lingering in the air. Her instincts screamed that something was wrong, and she tried to escape. I tried to stop her, but I didn¡¯t expect a single blow from a wax lamp to be enough to bring me down. She ran out screaming, alerting the entire neighborhood about the "psychopath" trying to kill her. I ran. My mind racing, searching for an exit, a temporary refuge. I ended up in a cabin in the woods, but the food didn¡¯t last long. I tried to resupply, hiding my face as much as I could. It was no use. When I walked into the convenience store, my face greeted me from dozens of "WANTED" posters. The man behind the counter recognized me immediately, even with the hood and sunglasses. Damn busybody. And then, my life became a relentless chase. I measured every move, every possible hiding spot, but the city had turned into a cage. Any misstep would give me away. So, I made a decision. The riskiest one of all. To flee the country. I couldn¡¯t use my bank account without the police tracking me, so I withdrew cash. I ran to the airport as if hell itself were at my heels. I bought a ticket, any ticket. I just needed to get out of there. By the time I boarded and took my seat, my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. An hour later, the plane took off. And then, fate decided my escape wouldn¡¯t be so simple. Turbulence hit without warning, violently shaking the plane. The screams started. The flight attendants tried to calm the passengers, but no one listened. From my window, I watched the engine catch fire. And yet, I didn¡¯t feel fear. Just a strange, almost absurd calm. That¡¯s when my mind decided to replay the disaster that had been my life. My parents. Men hardened by war, who believed discipline came with beatings and confinement. If I cried, they threw me in the closet. If I did something wrong, they left me without food for days. When they died, I didn¡¯t celebrate. I felt empty. I still saw them as heroes, even though their teachings only left me scarred. I was fourteen when I was left alone. Two jobs to pay the bills, grades that didn¡¯t reflect my intelligence, and a spiral of self-destruction where alcohol was my only comfort. Until I discovered the one thing that truly excited me: killing. It wasn¡¯t normal, I knew that. But the pleasure of having a lifeless body beside me, of possessing it even in death¡­ was intoxicating. I tried human flesh, but it didn¡¯t taste good. Maybe, deep down, I was one step short of becoming the ultimate monster. It doesn¡¯t matter now. I¡¯m about to die. The plane is breaking apart. Passengers are being sucked into the void. And then, a light falls from the sky, devouring those in front of me. For the first time, I feel fear. But there¡¯s no time for that. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The ground rushes up in a blink. I have no family. No one to say goodbye to. And then, I die.
I thought I¡¯d wake up in some place surrounded by angels, some deity reaching out to drag me to heaven. Or to hell. But there was none of that. Just darkness. I had no body. No senses. I didn¡¯t even have thoughts in the strictest sense of the word. I just¡­ existed. Or something like it. Then, a gray smoke appeared before me, vibrating with a spectral glow. It twisted, contorting, until shapes began to form. ¡ªI told you not to touch¡­! My mother. Her face twisted in rage. Her hands descending on me with the force of a punishment I was supposed to learn from. The smoke shifted. ¡ªDo you not understand, you little¡­!? My father, swinging a bat against my back. I¡¯d overheard him talking to someone, something I wasn¡¯t supposed to hear. So, the lesson came in blows. Again, the smoke changed. ¡ªSniff¡­ Sniff¡­ I saw myself, curled up in a corner, surrounded by the absolute darkness of a closet. A month. All because I¡¯d hit a kid in kindergarten. An overreaction, even for them. The smoke kept twisting. ¡ªRelax, this is my first time too¡­ Ah, this. The night I lost my virginity. And the night I claimed my first victim. I remember the panic, the confusion, the adrenaline. But above all¡­ the pleasure. How disgusting. The memories kept unfolding. All of them. Without exception. None of them good. None of them worth remembering. Why? The smoke began to concentrate, forming a structure that felt familiar: an arched door. I stepped through it. Darkness. Again. ¡ªHaha... ughh...! A sound. ¡ªDamn it, he¡¯s bleeding out! Call Lady Floiyo right away, the baby¡¯s coming out backwards! What¡­? ¡ªCome on, Erika, hold on! Lady Floiyo is on her way! Voices. Distant. Confused. Then, a blinding light. ¡ªWaaah! Waaah! A piercing sound vibrated in my chest. Was I¡­ crying? The shadows dissipated, the world took shape. ¡ªUff¡­ Uff¡­ I thought we were going to lose him¡­ A man. ¡ªCongratulations, it¡¯s a beautiful baby. And the twins were born, though with complications! A pair of arms held me firmly. Warm. Maternal. ...What the hell just happened? ¡ªHello, little one. The voice came from a man in front of me. He seemed¡­ like a good guy. Dark hair, gray eyes. Gray eyes? Wait, what the hell is with that perfectly chiseled physique? Aren¡¯t we a bit too elegant for a delivery room? Just kidding¡­ I think. ¡ªI¡¯m your daddy. His hands rested on my stomach, warm and firm. "Daddy," huh? The term floated in my mind, devoid of meaning. I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it before my body shifted, and a new figure came into view. A woman. Unreal beauty. Her golden blonde hair shimmered under the dim light, and she smelled surprisingly good despite the sweat covering her. Her brown eyes met mine, and in that instant¡­ it all clicked. I¡¯ve just been reborn. Damn. How am I supposed to react to this? ¡ªHello, my beautiful little one. If I¡¯ve been reborn, that means this man and this woman are my new parents. She leaned in and rubbed her nose against mine. It was strange. Warm. A sense of calm spread through my tiny body before I could stop it. Something inside me reacted instinctively to her affection. ¡ªMy little twins¡­ What? I didn¡¯t have time to process it before I was moved again. They placed me on my mother¡¯s lap, and that¡¯s when I saw her. Another baby. Blonde hair, gray eyes. The perfect combination of our¡­ parents. Something clicked in my brain when our eyes met. Unusual. Strange. She reached her tiny hand toward me, and without thinking, I did the same. Our fingers touched. Protection? Sibling instinct? ¡ªIt seems these two are going to be very close ¡ªcommented a new voice. We both turned at the same time. An elderly woman. Her attire was elegant, too elegant for what I¡¯d expect in a modern setting. In fact, now that I thought about it, everyone¡¯s clothing in the room seemed like it belonged to a period far removed from the 21st century. ¡ªYes, it seems so ¡ªmy mother laughed, her tone filled with tenderness¡ª. Though I¡¯m even more surprised that both of them have our traits. Lucius has El¨ªas¡¯s hair but my eyes, and Isolde has my hair but El¨ªas¡¯s eyes. What? Oh, come on. Did they just spoil my new appearance for me? Couldn¡¯t I have figured it out on my own? Ugh. Fine, I¡¯ll let it slide because it was my mother who said it. While the adults kept talking, I focused on my sister. Is she Isolde? And I¡¯m Lucius? Uncommon names. Definitely not Korean. Suddenly, our heads flopped backward. ¡­ What? I tried to move, but my body didn¡¯t respond. No way¡­ So this is what they mean when they say you have to support a baby¡¯s head because they can¡¯t control their neck yet. But I knew how to do it. In my past life, I could do it without a problem. Damn these limitations. Prisoners of the cradle Six months have passed since my birth. Complicated. To sum it up, I¡¯ve been reborn. But not just anywhere or as some animal, like some theories suggest, but as a baby. What are the odds of someone being reborn as a newborn? Zero, right? Damn. This situation might have its downsides, but I have to admit it¡¯s not so bad. Though there¡¯s one small inconvenience: a blonde baby clings to me like gum. Isolde. She¡¯s¡­ nice. Especially when she climbs on top of me while we sleep, turning us into a little baby hill, or when she follows me everywhere no matter where I go. I recently learned to crawl. So did she. Now I can move around with some freedom. Or rather, I could move freely if it weren¡¯t for the ridiculously tall wooden crib that keeps us locked up like luxury prisoners. The world around me is¡­ strange. Or maybe the right word is new. There are no computers, no decent phones. In fact, they don¡¯t even call them phones¡ªthey¡¯re electrophones. This is definitely the Victorian era. I confirmed it after inspecting every room. Come on, no one in the modern era uses rooms with actual Victorian decor unless they have an insane obsession with gothic romanticism. Plus, there¡¯s my father¡¯s suits and my mother¡¯s dresses. They don¡¯t look comfortable¡­ or so I thought, until they dressed me in linen and cotton pajamas. Comfortable, yes. But way too loose. I crawl across the floor while Isolde sticks to me, as always. It¡¯s annoying. And at the same time, it¡¯s not. When we¡¯re separated for too long, we both end up crying in unison, as if our bodies are programmed to stay together. Is that normal for twins? I guess so. My parents, Erika and El¨ªas, are¡­ good parents. They carry us, feed us. When mother breastfeeds us, she does it for both of us at the same time. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Isolde clings to her chest as if it¡¯s her last meal in years. I don¡¯t mind. I thought that, with my memories of my past life intact, I¡¯d reject the idea of being breastfed. But I didn¡¯t. In fact, I accepted it surprisingly well. I¡¯ve just confirmed that this is definitely not my era. There are things I¡¯m still struggling to process. Our first outing with mother was eye-opening. She carried both of us in baby carriers: me on her back and Isolde on her front. We were going shopping. Something routine. Or so I thought until I saw it. I¡¯ve been reborn into a world of magic and swords. But not in a medieval era like the novels and anime suggest, but smack in the middle of the Victorian era. I confirmed it when I saw people shooting fire from their hands, wielding swords, using magically enhanced revolvers, and even applying healing. A mother healed her child¡¯s scraped knee with a simple touch. Fascinating. Hypnotic, even. Isolde shared my amazement. I saw her stretch her tiny hands toward a man making a sphere of water float. Without thinking, I did the same. Instinctive.
At night, mother would tell us stories of heroes. I didn¡¯t listen. As soon as they put me to bed, I fell asleep. Not out of boredom, but because expending energy leaves me exhausted. Though that doesn¡¯t stop Isolde from waking me up. When I¡¯m about to sleep, she climbs on top of me. Without fail. I don¡¯t hear stories of heroes, but Isolde and I have developed a particular fondness for reading. We¡¯re not fluent yet, but we¡¯re learning fast. The books on the shelf are mostly boring. Except for two. "Guide to Magic and Combat" and "The Scriptures of Paradox." The first one is thin, barely 200 pages. The second one¡­ Ridiculously thick. I¡¯m not exaggerating. That book easily equals four volumes of 1000 pages each. And yes, it was heavy. It almost crushed us when we pulled it off the shelf. Luckily, it only grazed us before falling to our side. The Guide to Magic and Combat was covered in dust. I tried to blow on it to clean it¡­ but I just ended up spitting a bunch of drool on Isolde. I laughed. She, demonstrating superiority, blew the dust back into my face. She laughed. I have to admit it: I deserved it. We opened the book. And well¡­ the expected: letters. What else was supposed to be there? Fairy tales? Recipes? Please. The guide contained basic information about magic and combat. Nothing surprising. But The Scriptures of Paradox¡­ That was another story. It didn¡¯t just contain information about this world, but also combat techniques. Techniques that were all too familiar. Karate and its variations. Kung Fu and all its styles. Jiujitsu. Taekwondo. Fencing. Boxing. Judo. Muay Thai. I recognized it all. Why the hell does a book from this world document disciplines from my past life with such absurd detail? Isolde tilted her head as she tried to understand the movements described. I did the same. Flexibility. Speed. Strength. Ingenuity. There¡¯s no way to say this will be easy. Mana, Magic and More Three years have passed. I can now walk without any issues and explore the house as I please. And if I think about it, I could also wander around the kingdom. Well, not the entire kingdom. It would be weird to see two kids roaming around alleys infested with thieves. Though the idea is still intriguing. What we can do is stay at home, studying the Guide to Magic and Combat and The Scriptures of Paradox. ¡ªAre you sure this is how it¡¯s done? ¡ªI asked, while trying to generate a small gust of wind. Isolde, with her eternal expression of concentration, tilted her head and turned the book in her hands, as if looking at it from another angle would make the magic work by¡­ well, magic. ¡ªYes, I¡¯m completely sure. But¡­ why isn¡¯t it working? Good question. According to the book, magic requires mana. Mana exists in all living organisms. It¡¯s an energy inherent to existence itself. But to use it, you have to manipulate the mana within your own body. Like spitting. You need to control your saliva to expel it. With mana, it¡¯s the same. But that¡¯s not enough. You also need concentration. And that¡¯s the problem. Isolde insists that, to create a gust of wind, I need to feel the wind inside me, as if it¡¯s part of my being, and then expel it. ¡ªIs that really what I¡¯m supposed to do? ¡ªYes! Come check it yourself! I sat next to her and went over the words in the book. Technically, she was right. But how the hell do I properly control mana? There was no way to launch a gust of wind just by believing it. ¡ªDo you think the Paradox book has a better explanation? ¡ªI asked, turning around and stretching my arm to pull the massive tome. I opened it and searched through its pages. And there it was. ¡ªThis says something completely different, Issy. "Issy." A nickname for Isolde. I started using it when she decided to call me¡­ Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡ªLucy, are you sure you¡¯re not reading a different page? ¡ªHmm¡­ ¡ªI scratched my head¡ª. Here. Tell me what I¡¯m supposed to do. ¡ªI handed her the Paradox book, pointing to the page with the conflicting information. Isolde read it silently, then spoke: ¡ªAlright. Focus the energy in your body. Think of any element, and then be that element. As she spoke, I followed her instructions. ¡ªUse that energy¡­ and release! A small gust of wind shot out from my hand. Just enough to move an empty glass. But it worked. For the first time, it worked. Then, Isolde read the last line of text. ¡ªWhen you¡¯re done, you may have experienced the Syrix. ¡­ Wait, what?
"Syrix." According to the Book of Paradox, Syrix is a special type of magic that only a race called the Nurukaido and certain gods can use. It¡¯s similar to mana, but with one crucial difference: it¡¯s not present in all living organisms. At first glance, it seems like a closed, exclusive system. Except I just used it. Syrix also has an overwhelming advantage in terms of power. It¡¯s more efficient, stronger, more refined. But, as with everything in life, there¡¯s a catch. They call it Ultra Instinct. A state where the body moves on its own, without conscious intervention. Basically, you become a puppet to your own reflexes. In exchange, your seven senses sharpen to the extreme: sight, taste, touch, hearing, smell, vestibular sense, and proprioception. Interesting. But, if I think about it¡­ it makes no sense that only the Nurukaido and gods can use it. I used it. And¡­ ¡ªI did it! That took 50 tries! ¡ªIsolde shouted, exultant as she jumped up and down. I took a deep breath. ¡ªBravo ¡ªI said, clapping half-heartedly. I had hoped that, at the very least, having Syrix would give me an edge over my sister. But no. Apparently, she can use it too. On top of mana. Damn it. I can¡¯t use mana. ¡ªCome on, Lucy. Can¡¯t you be a little prouder of me? ¡ªIsolde joked, with that teasing smile that¡¯s becoming all too familiar. But her tone softened when she noticed my frustration¡ª. Come on, Lucy, I know you¡¯ll be able to use mana in a few days too. I appreciate her optimism. I wish I could share it. I glanced at the Book of Paradox. Nothing new. It was the same information about mana that appeared in the Guide to Magic and Combat. No additional details. I sighed and stood up. ¡ªI¡¯m going to try again. ¡ªHehe. Alright. I¡¯ll guide you. ¡ªFine. I stretched out my arm, closed my eyes, imagined the air inside me, tried to shape it in the palm of my hand, and¡­ Nothing. ¡ªKeep trying, I know you can do it ¡ªIsolde encouraged. Why the hell is it so hard for me? I tried again. Nothing. Though this time, I felt a tingling in the palm of my hand. A hint of something, but it wasn¡¯t enough. I lowered my arm, frustrated. ¡ªAre you giving up? ¡ªIsolde asked. ¡ªI¡¯ll just try again later. I feel exhausted. ¡ªAh¡­ I¡¯m tired too. She has a valid reason. Using mana drains energy. Me, on the other hand¡­ I have no idea why I feel this way. I didn¡¯t even manage to use magic. Except with Syrix. Maybe that¡¯s why? Maybe my reserves are so ridiculously low that I can¡¯t even use it more than a few times before getting exhausted? I don¡¯t have answers. ¡ªAre you going to sleep now? ¡ªI asked. ¡ªNo. I want to keep learning! Now I want to learn about healing magic, so I can heal your wounds when you get hurt, Lucy. Her voice was full of excitement as she raised her hand in a determined gesture. I smiled a little. It¡¯s nice having a sister; I didn¡¯t have one in my past life. And thank God for that. If I had, my parents would¡¯ve probably treated her the same way they treated me. Just thinking about it sends shivers down my spine. I shook my head and returned to the present. ¡ªAlright. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s in here about healing magic. Isolde flipped through the pages of the Guide to Magic and Combat until she reached the corresponding section, and as soon as I saw the content, a weight settled on my shoulders. ¡ªHealing magic is divided into biological branches¡­ ¡ªThe words came out of my mouth heavily. I knew what that meant, and I also knew how difficult it was going to be to learn.