Chapter_0: Path of Guilt

I, Zagorzaly Frostpyre This topic will delve into the destructive tendencies and irrational actions I have committed, as well as the anguish and remorse I felt as a result. The focus will be on the depths of my own insanity, along with the impact it had on my surroundings and the feelings of guilt it aroused within me.

Growing up, I lacked joy due to my constant contemplation of existential questions. Unlike others who engaged in hobbies for fun and personal benefit, I spent most of my time pondering the profound mysteries of life, seeking a meaning to my existence. It's quite absurd in hindsight, as I now understand that the meaning of life is personal and relative to one's perspective.

As God's creation, I often wondered if I was special, as I had a tendency to dwell on profound philosophical questions. Even as a child, I pondered existential concepts such as the meaning of life, asking myself if I was different from others. I believe that I have the capacity to ponder such concepts as a divine gift from God. I was a Gift from God; perhaps I was a Messiah? That's what I thought.

My father, who was a drunken, insolent scoundrel, caused great pain to my mother, whom he hurt constantly. Despite witnessing this treatment, I did not act on it at the time, believing that it may be a normal occurrence in our family. My father held the view that "ladies are nothing but a tool for men," using them for his own desires and even resorting to torture for pleasure. I felt a deep sense of revulsion and frustration towards him, not wanting to be like him and hating him for his actions. I felt helpless in the face of his tall, burly figure and his position as a bandit leader, unable to help the women he hurt. I was helpless.

The night of terror. The flock of bastards came back after a long and tiring battle, their swords and shields coated in blood, their eyes filled with madness. They "accidentally" entered the wrong territory, a dangerous mistake that led to a vicious battle that left their carriages and horses badly damaged. My father, hurt beyond recognition, his body broken, lay helplessly in his room, defenseless, with no one to help him except me.

I remember the anger I felt towards him. The rage that consumed me, burning inside with an intensity that I had never felt before. He was never there for me, never there when I needed him most. And now, when he was at his most vulnerable, at his weakest, at his most helpless, it was as if the universe had delivered me a final, cruel irony. I should have felt sympathy for him, pity, compassion, but instead, I felt nothing but indifference.

I had the opportunity to kill him. I stabbed him several times; blood gushed everywhere; blood was all over the room. It was a horrific scene, but not for me; I didn't feel anything, neither emotion nor regret. I was feeling different; I was loving stabbing him for some reason. I don't know why, but placing the dagger in and out of his body was pleasurable for me. My rage was gone. I had a maniacal grin on my face. I was happy. It was happiness, happiness that ruined me.

Every time I was happy, I killed every single unarmed citizen and hid so they couldn't locate me. I guess that I killed roughly 100 humans in three months. I found other races after journeying to faraway areas, and I was so thrilled that I murdered and killed them like helpless animals. I was a demon; I was evil; and there are hundreds of terms to describe me.

And so it was, as if by a divine jest or a terrible jest of fate itself, that I, who was born of divine provenance, who had the potential to become a genius or a conqueror or even a savior of mankind, instead chose the path of the killer, of destruction and chaos, of bloodshed and mayhem. For I had become a slave to my own desires, a prisoner of my own lusts and vices, a vessel of darkness and despair, a creature of pure evil.

"I was not the Gift from God; rather, the Gift was the paths I could've chosen."

I continued to kill and kill for years, even though I knew the paths I could've chosen. The guilt of my past actions hung like a millstone around my neck, weighing me down with each passing day. I had become a monster, a creature of darkness and despair. I had forsaken my humanity for a life of violence and destruction. And then He knocked at my door, the door which is my heart, the Divine, the All-knowing. I had scoffed at the very idea of God for so long, but in that moment, I saw Him. He was not a man with a beard and a white robe, but a force, a power that was beyond my understanding. I thought I was lost, doomed to roam the earth forever, haunted by my own shadow. But then the silence was broken, and He spoke to me. His voice was like the sound of a thousand angels, like a thousand ringing bells, like a thousand voices speaking in unison. And in that moment, I felt my soul awaken, felt my heart beating with a new rhythm, felt my soul on fire with a new purpose. It was as though I was born again, as though I had been given a second chance.