"Damn them." No sooner had Maximus Draken etched the words onto the back wall did the War Monks arrive. They were all battered and beaten yet they swarmed into the theater, the very place he had intended to teach them about soul magic.

"Drop the sword Draken!" One of them yelled. "You are surrounded. Your army of demons couldn't keep us out."

'Army?' Maximus thought. 'The demons should be vanquished, but it doesn't matter anymore.' He turned from the back wall, sheathed his sword, and dropped to his knees. There were dozens around him, yet the only thing he looked at was a small, smelly wooden crate lying a foot away from him. "You people," his voice cracked as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"You people took in an orphan boy and filled his head with dreams. I followed your teachings. I killed whomever you pointed at like a good dog. I listened to the goddess's teachings. I fulfilled the prophecy and killed the Demon King. I ask you, my former mentors and friends, just leave me in my home. There's nothing here for you; just a man, nothing more, and nothing left."

"Very well," a familiar voice said. Her pure white dress stood out amongst the red robes. Her small, bare feet barely made a sound as she weaved through the crowd. She knelt on the opposite side of the box and took a deep breath. "I figured we should talk for old-time's sake before...you know." She swept a lock of white hair from her delicate face, and revealed two iris-less eyes, which brightened as she smiled. The surrounding War Monks froze. Time halted. It was just Maximus and her, the goddess.

"You look horrible Max," the Goddess said as she flicked a fly off the top of the box. "You were sent this package two days ago. Are you not going to give it a proper burial? It smells."

"Always with the brutal honesty," Maximus sighed. "What do you want? I already gave up. I got tired of slaughtering your blind followers. I realized it would not change anything."

"Oh I knew I would win," the goddess said. "I am a god after all. It is the way things are." Maximus remained silent, as did she for a few moments. "Well, they mostly go my way. I did not want it to come to this, truly I did not. If only you wouldn't have left the monastery with that woman."

"You mean my wife," Maximus corrected. "That woman was the love of my life. She knew the monastery was no place to raise children."

"It doesn't matter. She's dead."

"...leave."

"Not yet," the Goddess looked up from the box to see Maximus's messy hair, and her hand twitched. "You need to understand why this happened, because you're going to reincarnate as a hero of another era. If you hang onto this soul magic, she might destroy your soul."

"She?"

"I need you to focus Max, as hard as I know it is. You did nothing wrong, so I want to give you another chance."

"If I did nothing wrong then why are there dozens of your men surrounding me?" Maximus finally looked up from the wooden crate. His golden eyes were bloodshot, nearly pure red. "Why? Why are my kids stuffed into this box?"

The goddess's smile wavered, and she swallowed her saliva. "How did you know the remains are really them? Currently inside, there's just a pile of mea-"

"I can see their souls." Maximus said. "Their souls are still connected to their remains. I guess that last part was your doing."

"You are familiar with the way I work," the Goddess smiled. "I'll cut to the chase. Here is my proposal: forget everything you have ever learned about soul magic, destroy your legacies, die, and I will bring dear Cerlius and Doevm back to life. They did nothing wrong after all."

"Won't they turn against you?" Maximus asked.

The Goddess shook her head. "I'll erase the memory of you as well as the memory of their torture. I prepared a rune in the other room that will ensure they will remember nothing. As long as nothing breaks the container, I promise they'll live happy lives. I'll do the same for you, before you die. Please take the deal. It's your only option."

Maximus looked at the goddess, then the crate, then back to the goddess. He took a deep breath, unbuckled his sword, and placed it in its sheath atop the coffin.

"Good." The goddess grabbed the sword and pulled, but it didn't budge. "Max, you need to let go."

Maximus took another deep breath. Sweat formed along his palms, as the long awaited moment neared. "You still haven't answered my question."

The Goddess nodded and let go of the sword. "Think of it like a game."

"It?"

"Everything: civilization, people, religion, politics, and battle. They're all games within a greater game, at least to my family. To live, one must play the game. Champions are especially subject to this. One must also follow the game's rules. However, even if one follows the rules to the letter, the game may still devour them. In those cases, it's just bad luck."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Patience Max. Patience. You, on the other hand, you chose an option no one else did - you ignored the rules and the game altogether. You stepped off the game board as soon as you left the monastery. There's nothing wrong with that, but that is why the game devoured you. That is why sweet, adorable, little Cerlius and Doevm were tortured to death and sent to you looking like ground beef." The wench once again placed her bloodied hands on Maximus's blade. "May I have your sword now?"

"Last question." Maximus rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. 'Thirty-eight red robes,' he thought. 'She underestimated me.' He looked the Goddess in the eyes. "Who's at the top? Who set this game up in the first place? I'm going to forget anyway, right?"

The goddess froze, and a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out for several moments. Maximus had waited two days, so it was easy to wait a little longer. "I-I don't know what you're talking about Max. Please," She leaned forward, making the coffin's lid creak as she pressed more of her weight onto it. "Let go. You have no idea what you have started."

It was Maximus's turn to smile. "You called me a hero when we first met - your champion. The hero is one who never gives up no matter how much he's suffered. I defeated someone much stronger than myself because of that determination, and your guidance. Maybe it would be wise to let go but...I don't think the peace I've made is true, nor is it lasting. If I reincarnate, that means the game will continue, is that right?" The Goddess remained quiet.

Maximus drummed his fingers across the top of the coffin. "Truth is I haven't exactly given up yet. I stared at my kids for two days wondering how to get you to talk. I still have determination, and luckily…" With one quick motion his legendary blade left its sheath. "I no longer need your guidance." A flaming white aura surrounded his body and blade. The Goddess tried to push off the box, but the rotten lid sunk inwards, trapping her by the wrist.

Time resumed for the War Monks only to see a fountain of blood erupt from the Goddess's back. She let out a pained cry that shook the entire building, and vanished. "Damn she got away!" Maximus leapt to his feet. The swarm of War Monks converged on him with golden and silver life essence flying out of their fists. "Stop!" Maximus said with a bit of soulmana in his voice. The War Monks once again froze, but time hadn't stopped.

Maximus pulled at his hair and cursed, then again. He looked down at the broken coffin lid and everything he had bottled up for over a hundred hours of uninterrupted consciousness spilled loose. He broke.

"This game has to end," he said. "She needs to pay. First I need to cull her followers." He spread his arms and spectral daggers made of soulmana appeared above each and every War Monk. They whistled downwards and thirty-eights bodies hit the ground.

He looked back at the coffin, which still had two souls trapped inside. "Damn them," he cried. "Damn them. Damn them. God of Evil. I invoke your name in hopes they will be slaughtered by your hand. Spare none of those hypocrites. Those fucking humans, they'll pay."

"As you wish," a sourceless voice rang out.

The two souls within the coffin fused into one, and thick tendrils of black mana sprang from all forty corpses in the theater. Maximus could only step back and watch in horror. His momentary lapse had given birth to a being which could only be born from anguished souls fused to a skeleton, a Lich. Within its ribcage beat a small black heart. Flames ignited in its eye sockets, as bright and as blue as Maximus's hair.

...

A constant, dull headache pulled him out of that black pit of unending anger. He didn't know why he felt such a rush to kill, nor how he ended up in that pit, nor if he was alive. The only thing that mattered to him was the fact that he had escaped it, that cramped coffin.