Verus Reditus Diaboli

I had a shotgun on Earth.

Back in America.

I believe it was the Remington 870.

Conrad would take it out hunting ruffed grouse or bobwhite quail.

I would take it apart and reassemble a good sum.

Either ensuring it was clean and working or, sometimes, out of boredom.

For my shotgun here, I’m going to make a 12-gauge double-barreled Stevens 311-C model.

Just gotta figure out how.

Also, I want to create another Jericho to double my efforts when fighting.

My knife may also need to be replaced.

The bike still needs magic to run…

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Yelling was coming from the forest I was riding next to, snapping me back to reality.

”Ahhhhhh!”

What the hell was happening over there?

More and more yelling started to erupt from the forest.

As always, my curiosity got the best of me, and I rode in like a bat outta hell.

I found Total War… Those were pretty good games.

It was like any other battlefield, filled with fools trying to kill other fools before they were killed.

So I did the only thing I could and started shooting anything that moved or, to be more accurate, was trying to kill me.

“Who the hell is that?”

“One unlucky son of a bitch.”

“Men do not bother with this stranger; he…”

Bang…

I shot the guy who was talking.

I am not really sure why I did that.

I think I became a bloodthirsty monster.

Has death changed me?

Why is it so easy to kill another when they are deemed an enemy?

Looking around this battlefield as I had done a few times before, and a bit of madness filled my mind.

Is a man allowed to kill another if he thinks he will be killed or should be?

I repeatedly bashed a man’s head in out of sheer annoyance.

I have lost track of time, but all the time I've spent here, I've been drenched in blood for most of it.

I've seen a goblin rape a woman, piles of corpses, and children traumatized.

And I couldn’t do a damn thing back then, and I’m barely doing any better now.

My reality was just a bad joke repeating itself forever.

Nothing has changed; it was just a fucking ouroboros eating itself.

"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes," so they say.

What a depressing reality that is.

Standing in the sea of death, with the clanging of iron surrounding me.

I remember the quiet and peaceful life of Ruby and Luna, who saved me, and I remember that this hell was the only place I deserved.

My gut even knows it; that's why it forced my mind here.

For the Devil does his best work when clad in blood and steel.

The blood and the screaming were a symphony made just for me.

These thoughts made me realize that my mind has untied itself from reality.

I don’t know why that fucking goddess brought me back to life.

Did she just want a tool for killing… a beast to control?

Was I just some fucking joke to her?

I saw a decapitated head look up at me.

It was just mocking me, showing how easy it is to die.

I spit on the bastard, and it just laughed.

I killed for freedom and died for it.

Now back to another.

The scream of war and the killing fields drove men mad.

I pulled my knife and started killing indiscriminately.

The reason I was here no longer matters; the only thing I could do was to kill or be killed.

The battle would last till the break of dawn.

The golden rays would paint the ground, highlighting the corpses and blood.

I still stood.

One side fell, and another was wounded.

The wounded murmured about the strange man, whom they could only see from behind.

When the man turned around, the only thing they saw was the face of the devil.

That man, of course, was me.

I drove away with the Oni mask on my face.

The bike was now filled with magic, and I was out of bullets in my gun.

Another magazine was used up.

68 rounds left.

I wonder if my name was written on any of them.

Rain started falling, but the sun still burned.

Even the sky itself was at war.

I lit a cig; I think it's becoming a ritual.

The blood stuck to me like a second skin.

I remember a phrase about war: “The only way war will ever end is when the last body of man drops.”