Chapter 1 — The End Wasn't Enough

The air felt heavy. My breath was heavy. My gaze held sacrifice—not to show off, just the kind of tired that had become familiar.

I drove my sword into the heart of the Calamity of Hunger. The sound wasn't heroic; it was flat—metal through flesh. It collapsed. I stood there, silent. Between us lay a quiet that didn't need words.

A rough voice asked, soft and small, like someone ashamed to ask:
“Poor hero… may I have one selfish last favor before I go?”

I looked at it. Not with hate, not with anger. Just a shared sorrow—something that comes from doing this again and again, from seeing the lives I’d taken.

“Of course,” I answered gently. “I won’t refuse such a simple request.”

The Calamity laid a hand on my cheek—an oddly warm touch coming from a thing that had spread ruin. Its eyes were empty, but it kept asking.

“Let me see your life. Just once. I want to know… why you never look at me with the same hate everyone else shows.”

I nodded and pressed my forehead to its forehead. We shared memories. For me this part was familiar—these flashes loop again and again—but for it, seeing my life was like opening old wounds.

One flash: a night amid the endless fighting against the Calamity of Poverty. Smoke and iron, the smell of sweat. I held a piece of bread—hard and dry. My hands shook. My breath came thick. Far off, a young soldier crouched—no hero, just a boy forced into war to protect his family.

I walked over slowly. “Kid, take this bread. Eat it slowly,” I said, my voice soft. He took it, his eyes full of shy gratitude.

Those small moments rolled across its vision. Every quiet smile I gave, every time I put myself in harm’s way for others—each one cracked the belief it had held. Tears traced down its face; it began to break.

“Why… why do you keep choosing this? You could run! WHY?” its voice cracked.

I simply looked at it. My look was worn but warm. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you all,” I said quietly.

That landed hard. For the first time since it became a Calamity, it understood. It felt the same hunger, the same shame, but chose a different path—where I bore the pain so others wouldn’t, and it chose to spread the pain.

“If we meet again… somewhere… I want to choose differently. I want to sit and speak kindly to you,” it whispered.

I brushed its brow with my hand. My fingers were cold. It held my hand like an old friend finally home. Its eyes closed slowly; its last breath came gentle. “Sleep well… poor soul.”

Silence settled. A blue-gold screen floated at my side. I laid my hand on the Calamity and stood, looking at that screen.

The words were simple:
“Thank you… for saving the world.”

Below, two choices glowed:

<Repeat>
<Finish Everything>

I stared at the options for a long time. My soul was weary—not only my body torn through loops, but the part of me that gathers small lives. A tiny note at the bottom read like a scar:
“Forgive me… for making you suffer.”
— The Goddess

A desperate goddess. The weight pressed at my chest. This wasn’t about victory anymore. It was about choosing a burden that might never lift. I forced a smile—thin, dry, and honest.

I chose.

With a trembling finger I pressed <Repeat>.

A voice nearby asked, not understanding why a person would choose to carry pain again, “Why go back? Why not stop, be free from this curse?”

My eyes blurred. I was too tired to explain anything complicated. “Because I was given a chance. That’s more than the answer to my prayers,” I said simply.

A voice—maybe my own—murmured, “Forgive me… for trapping you here.”

I forced the smile again. The world dimmed. A glitching sound, like an old tape tearing, crawled through the air. I watched my body in an empty room—then everything swallowed me.

Regression to the 100th begins.

Live well, my child