The threads of Madness

In a different scene, there was an old, shabby hut that seemed abandoned. The creaking of the worn-out wooden walls echoed faintly inside. The air felt damp, carrying a musty scent of decay and neglect. Veythor lay on a narrow cot, his body wrapped in makeshift bandages. The fabric clung to his skin, stained with dried blood and sweat. Every breath he took was shallow and labored; his chest rose and fell with agonizing slowness. For most men, such injuries would mean certain death. However, not for Veythor. Death had played with him for years, teasing him with its embrace but never fully taking him. Although he was originally reincarnated into this world, this was his third life—a cruel continuation of an existence marked by suffering.

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Veythor's first life started on Earth, a place full of everyday struggles and unforgiving realities. From the moment he was born, his fate appeared to be set. He came into a life of extreme poverty, with his mother as the only source of warmth in a cold world. His father left when Veythor was too young to remember him, which forced his mother to bear the heavy burden of survival. She worked non-stop, taking on many jobs just to give them the bare minimum (this was no easy task). Her hands became rough, her body weak and her health declined year after year. However, in spite of her difficulties, she filled Veythor's life with love and kindness, her smile a fragile light of hope in his dark world. But even her love couldn't fully protect him from life's cruel realities. At the age of eleven, Veythor's mother fell ill during a tough shift and never got better. Her death left him completely alone, thrown into the uncaring machinery of the foster care system.

For two years, he faced the cold neglect from caretakers and the cruelty of his peers. Other children made fun of his appearance—his lanky frame, his uneven features and the scars on his hands from working with his mother. They bullied him without mercy, finding joy in his suffering. When he was finally adopted by a wealthy man, it seemed like a break from his pain. However, it was anything but that. The man's wife, a kind and gentle woman, had pushed for the adoption. For a short time, Veythor felt like he had a family. He grew close to her, seeing her as the mother he had lost. But tragedy struck once more. Within a year, the woman got sick and died. Her death released the monster inside her husband. The man's sorrow turned into fury and Veythor became the focus of his anger. Each day felt like a struggle to survive. The man's words cut like knives and his punishments were harsh and unyielding. Yet, because of the abuse, he still gave Veythor an education—perhaps to justify his cruelty or to shape him into something useful. This made Veythor take the chance and throw himself into books and studies as a way to escape.

Years went by and Veythor graduated from a well-known academy. He progressed to college, then university, fighting hard for a sense of stability. When his abuser finally passed away, Veythor thought he could finally leave the past behind. He created a life for himself, landing a decent job and marrying a coworker. Together, they had a son—a beautiful, bright-eyed boy who became the center of Veythor's universe. For the first time, he felt a spark of happiness. However, happiness was short-lived. One day, he returned home early to discover his wife with another man. The betrayal broke him, but the nightmare didn't stop there. In her panic to escape, she killed their son, leaving his lifeless body on the floor. Veythor's world fell apart. Consumed by grief and anger, he confronted her, only to be painted as an abusive husband and the murderer of his own child. Society turned against him, labeling him a monster. Unable to handle the burden of his pain, Veythor took his own life, a noose around his neck and tears streaming down his face.

However, this wasn't the end; the endless cycle of suffering was still going on. Two years after his first death, Veythor was reborn. Memories of his past haunted him, vivid and unrelenting. This time, he was born into the slums of a sprawling city—a place where life was a constant struggle for survival. His parents were cruel and neglectful. His father was a violent drunkard who lashed out at anything within arm's reach and his mother cared for nothing but her next fix. Veythor grew up in filth, surrounded by crime, hunger and despair. The slums were a breeding ground for suffering. Children fought over scraps of food (their faces gaunt and eyes hollow). Gangs ruled the streets, extorting the weak and punishing those who dared to defy them. Although Veythor learned quickly that kindness was a weakness, he hardened himself, doing whatever it took to survive. He scavenged through trash, stole when he could and fought when he had to. His body bore the scars of countless beatings and his mind shaped by the harsh realities of his environment.

By the time he was nineteen, Veythor had scraped together enough money to escape the slums. He dreamed of starting fresh and leaving behind the misery that had defined his life. However, fate had other ideas. A local gang found out about his plans and accused him of stealing from them. They captured him, dragging him to their hideout in the dead of night. What followed was a nightmare that made his previous life seem merciful. For days, they tortured him. They broke his bones, burned his skin and laughed as he begged for mercy. His screams echoed through the darkness, but no one came to save him. The gangsters enjoyed his suffering, using him as an example to instill fear in others. Although death eventually claimed him, it was not a release. This was merely the end of one chapter in his never-ending saga of suffering.

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And now, it was his third life. Veythor had been reborn into Thalvoria, a world very different from anything he had known. It was vast and brutal, a place where power ruled supreme: a world filled with magic and cruelty. Even a B-ranked mage could destroy planets if it's in the universe of Earth. However, if it's in the universe of Thalvoria, it might be difficult, but not impossible, because this world was at least 10 times larger and stronger compared to the universe of Earth and their strength was incomprehensible. But for Veythor, Thalvoria was just another stage for his suffering. The faint creak of the door pulled him from his tormented memories.

A figure entered the hut, their face hidden by a heavy hood. "Still alive," they muttered, their voice cold and detached. They poured a glowing liquid into his mouth; the potion burned as it slid down his throat. Veythor remained unconscious. With that, they left, leaving him alone with his pain. Three lives. Three cycles of misery. Although the world changed and the circumstances shifted, happiness remained an impossible dream for Veythor.