We are walking up the stairs. Below us lies an endless sea of sand, colored in red over the countless death matches that transpired. The war is over, the victors are the small team composed of me and her. As we reach the topmost level, a powerful breeze of wind strikes me. It's a familiar sensation... way too familiar.

I hear the clutching of metal behind me, the sound of a gun being loaded - ready to shoot down its prey. I don't even need to turn around to confirm it. I have heard this one sound numerous times, so much that recognizing it has become as natural as recognizing myself.

"You might not know it, but... This tournament allows only one winner. I'm... really sorry for using you like this."

There are genuine shreds of guilt attached to her words. Though she has been using me to reach this height, it seems like, somewhere along the road, we have developed a true bond of friendship.

"I know, and I knew. From before ever meeting you in this war. After all, this is the tenth time I reach this very spot."

"What...?"

She is thoroughly surprised. That's a given, for I expose my back to a person I recognized as an enemy from point zero. In her eyes, such a bold action must look like pure insanity. Further yet, I must be getting bonus points for revealing that I let nine other such occasions of "victory" slip by me.

"Then why...?"

"Why I didn't kill you while we were ascending? True, it would have been easier to sneak an attack on an unsuspecting ally. However, I didn't feel like it."

I turn around to address her question with a straight face. There's nothing deep or complicated about it. I simply didn't wish to do it. I had no reason to backstab an ally.

“Then what is your reason for fighting in this war...? You put your everything in order to grasp victory, yet when it's within your reach - you simply throw it away.”

“My reason? Heh, it must be the same as yours. The same as anybody’s. Getting out of this hole called Purgatory, and live a proper life.”

Such basic question. It requires no effort to bring forth the answer.

“Huh...? But your actions contradict this very goal...”

She is puzzled. I can spot her hand dimly wavering, losing the solid grip it had over the gun’s handle. Confusion seeds uncertainty, which is translated into uneasiness. Until her mind is cleared, this girl can’t possibly shoot me.

“You are quite right, Clare. Without digging deeper, my history in Purgatory would definitely appear standing in opposition with the very drive I have for winning.”

I smile as I accept this bold contradiction as part of my existence. Her bewilderment is nothing new, nor this paradox is novel.

“It’s just that... there are always circumstances that push me away from victory. What motivation I have for winning, suddenly fades once I set my foot on this final stage.”

I always convince myself that "next time will be different". That I'll finally take the prize to myself when I reach this windy top anew. Alas...

"I always develop this odd feeling, which suggests that whoever is paired with me - needs it more than me."

"Each and every time...?"

Her speech is slow and cracked. She is fazed by my alien words. I can't quite blame her, for my situation feels eldritch to myself. I think that perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I use others as an excuse to avoiding reincarnation. I arrogantly dim myself more skilled than my partners, convincing myself that, objectively, I'll have a higher chance to win this war.

"I'll have more chances than her". This pretentious track of thought allows me to easily dismiss the acclaimed prize I fought for. Over and again, this unhealthy reasoning gets the better of me.

"Quite the laughable matter, isn't it? Haha... What can you call me if not twisted?"

I laugh as I ridicule myself. In my attempt to deconstruct Maya, I called her "sick in the head". However, looking at it now... I'm a by far worse. Does absurdity run in our family's blood? I can't fathom the mechanics behind this insanity.

"You really are... a good guy. I'm really happy that I got to know you. As much as I wish you to escape this mental prison you lock yourself in, it's simply beyond me to let go of a chance to escape this hell."

The gun that was lowered - begins to slowly rise. Her hands are shaky. It's very visible that she wishes not to shoot me down. But she will, because unlike me - she can't bear this reality for another day. I'm the more skilled, the more experienced, the one who holds higher chances of survival...

"Ah, so that's how it is..."

I whisper my own realization when a loud sound of gunfire pierces through it. None but me hear my final words, as I descend toward the solid floor. The bullet pierces through my body, only dimly missing my heart.

"I really liked you. I hope we meet again, under brighter circumstances."

Her parting words are filled with a hue of sadness. My dazed consciousness allows me to catch but a glimpse of her tone. The rest is made up by my own imagination, therefore lacking trustworthiness. In my final moments in this cycle, I have finally arrived at the door of realization.

My seemingly “laid back” approach must be coming from... uncertainty. It was very long ago, but it feels as if it was only yesterday. My life in the human world... the story of a worthless hollow man, who excelled in nothing but giving trouble to his family. Each and every day was filled with emptiness or, if I was lucky, with some dimming superficial gray.

I yearn for this endless conflict, for this is the only realm where my existence radiants the illusion of meaning. I want to get out of the suffering, yet I push aside what I believe to be emptiness. Clare interpreted it as being a “nice guy”, but in the end, I’m just a sad creature who feeds on conflict and misfortune.

You were right, Maya. I really do... only think the saddest things.