"You're not welcome here, Tsuihō," his father snarled, his eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and contempt. "Just get out of my house and leave us alone. You're nothing but a parasite, sucking the life out of everything we hold dear. You think you're better than us, with your head in the clouds and your useless dreams? You'll always be a disappointment, a stain on this family. Just get out, and don't ever come back."
The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on him, suffocating him with the weight of their scorn. He felt trapped, like a fly caught in a spiderweb, unable to escape the suffocating grip of their animosity. Every creak of the worn furniture, every harsh word, every contemptuous glance was a physical blow, each one a carefully aimed barb designed to chip away at his already fragile sense of self-worth. He wanted to lash out, to scream, to unleash the fury that had been simmering within him for years. He wanted to break free from their suffocating grip and prove them all wrong, to show them that he was capable of something more than just failure. He wanted to be strong, to be powerful, to finally earn their respect, even if it was just a flicker of recognition in their cold, unforgiving eyes. But he knew it was a futile hope, a childish fantasy. They would never see him as anything other than a failure, a burden, a source of endless disappointment.
A voice echoed in his mind, cold and calculating, its seductive whispers cutting through the haze of anger and despair, promising a way out, a way to finally silence their scorn. Rewrite your past, Tsuihō. Become the master of your own destiny. Punish those who have wronged you. Show them what it means to underestimate you. Take what you deserve.
He knew it was a lie, a cruel illusion designed to prey on his deepest insecurities and his insatiable desire for revenge. But the temptation was almost overwhelming, a siren song beckoning him towards a dark and dangerous shore. He had spent his entire life craving their approval, their love, their acceptance, even though he knew, deep down, that it was a lost cause. Now, he had the chance to finally earn it, to prove himself worthy in their eyes, to silence their scorn forever, to finally be seen as something more than a failure.
But at what cost? Would he have to betray his vow to be selfish, to sacrifice his own desires for the sake of a family that had never cared for him, a family that had actively sought to tear him down at every opportunity? Would he have to become someone he wasn't, a hollow shell of a man, just to earn their fleeting and ultimately meaningless validation? Would he have to trade his soul for a pat on the head?
The choice was his, and the weight of it pressed down on him, threatening to crush him. Embrace the illusion and seek their validation, wallowing in the false comfort of their fleeting approval, or reject it and confront the painful, unvarnished memories of his past, accepting the bitter truth that he would never truly belong, that he would always be an outsider looking in. His decision would determine the nature of the trial, the challenges he must face to proceed, the very fate of his soul.
Tsuihō closed his eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath that rattled in his chest, and made his choice. He would not be swayed by their scorn, no matter how deeply it cut. He would not seek their approval, no matter how desperately he craved it. He would stay true to his vow, even if it meant facing the darkness within himself. He would not be defined by their hatred. He was his own person. He was not them, and he would never be them.
The weight of his decision settled upon him, a heavy cloak of defiance and grim determination. He opened his eyes, ready to face whatever lay ahead, and found himself no longer in the cramped, stifling living room of his past.
The air, thick with the stench of stale beer and cigarettes, was replaced by the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of decay. The suffocating silence was shattered by the mournful cries of the dying and the triumphant roars of the victorious. The worn furniture and peeling wallpaper dissolved into a landscape of unimaginable horror, a scene of carnage and despair that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The idyllic marketplace vanished, replaced by a scene of unimaginable horror. Tsuihō found himself standing ankle-deep in mud and gore on a battlefield, the ground slick with blood and littered with the mangled corpses of fallen warriors. The sky above was a swirling vortex of smoke and ash, blotting out the sun and casting an eerie, perpetual twilight over the scene. The air was thick with the stench of death, the acrid smell of burnt flesh, and the echoes of despair – the final gasps of the dying, the anguished cries of the wounded, the silent screams of the dead.