MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 664: Form Of Enlightenment

Within the colossal military aircraft known as the Last Stand, tension thickened in the air. The soldiers inside were growing restless, their armored boots clanging heavily against the steel floor as they fanned out in disorganized clusters.

They had tasked themselves with finding the elusive white-haired Major-ranked soldier, yet despite their relentless searching, he remained nowhere to be found.

Still, none of them dared to surrender to discouragement. How could they, when the promise of such an unimaginable reward lingered before their eyes?

The scent of ambition laced the atmosphere, drawing them together as some soldiers decided to combine their efforts, working in small teams to scour every corner of the aircraft.

Unbeknownst to them, reality itself bent and rippled. Space twisted like a ripple of water disturbed by a single drop, and from within that distortion stepped Anthony.

His expression was calm, a mask of serenity, yet the moment he emerged he activated his Concealment ability. In an instant, his presence, his aura, his very existence was erased from every sense and perception. To the soldiers, it was as though nothing had occurred at all.

Anthony leaned casually against the cold wall of the Last Stand aircraft, folding into the shadows of its vast chamber. From this quiet perch, he observed the soldiers scrambling frantically, their armored figures darting about in a storm of panic and urgency.

Within mere seconds, he deduced the truth, they were looking for him. His sharp perception made the realization obvious. But he remained unmoved and unbothered.

His expression was calm, but his mind was anything but. Within him, thoughts churned in endless whirlpools. His memory replayed the horrifying spectacle he had just borne witness to, scenes unraveling through ninety simultaneous views, each moment engraved in chilling clarity upon his mind. With disturbing ease, he recalled every scream, every distortion of flesh, every endless cycle of torment.

Watching the soldiers work together, seeing their strained smiles, hearing their brief laughter echo amidst their desperation, Anthony could not stop his mind from wandering to a darker question: what was the meaning of life in such a fragile existence?

He wondered how many of these soldiers, so seemingly brave and united, would survive the nightmares he had just witnessed.

Could they withstand that ceaseless torture? And if they did, would they remain who they were now? Would their laughter still exist? Would their smiles endure? Would hope and love remain their guiding light? Or would they fracture, crumble, and transform into something dangerous, deranged, mad, consumed by the very abyss they sought to overcome?

Perhaps some would endure, perhaps even for a time. But Anthony knew with cruel certainty that no soul could withstand the cursed nightmare forever. The cycle was eternal, an endless loop of hell that broke every spirit eventually.

He shifted his gaze away from the soldiers. A quiet sadness passed over him, for he knew most people failed to truly appreciate life itself. Though none of them longed for death, they rarely cherished the simple moments of existence.

This moment. This peace. This harmony. This love. This laughter.

To most, it was nothing but a fleeting instant destined to vanish. Why would they treasure it when they each bore lifespans stretching centuries? To them, time was an ocean, and a single drop was easily dismissed.

Anthony’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward the memories of his past life. He remembered clearly how, back then, he had foolishly entertained the thought that if humanity possessed a simple switch of death, a socket-like mechanism that, when flipped, could end life instantly and painlessly, he would not have hesitated to use it.

How naive that seemed to him now.

He had failed to appreciate the roof that sheltered him. He had failed to appreciate the orphanage manager who sacrificed to feed him. He had failed to appreciate the companies that gave him work after his graduation.

He had failed to appreciate the miracle of sleeping and waking without calamity. He had failed to appreciate a body free of sickness, the steady rhythm of his heart, the lungs that filled with air. He had failed to appreciate three simple meals each day.

He had appreciated none of it. Instead, he had spent his days complaining about hardship, chasing more, always demanding, never satisfied, an insatiable fool blinded by his own discontent.

Though he had come to appreciate his current life, it had always been through the shadow of his past regrets. But now, that appreciation deepened; it transformed into something profound, almost sacred.

In his past life, he once wished for death idly, carelessly, whether in seriousness or fleeting despair. But who was he to have thought of such a thing? He had no right.

A soft sigh escaped him, his chest rising and falling gently as his thoughts drifted to the people he had saved only moments ago.

Were they safe now? Were they happy?

He had erased their memories carefully, down to the smallest, most delicate thread. He had dug so deep into their subconscious minds that not even a psychic intruder could uncover traces of what they endured. Though the human brain was unpredictable, capable of conjuring shadows of lost memories as nightmares during sleep, Anthony ensured even those remnants were erased permanently.

To anyone who dared pry, their minds would appear pure, untouched, untampered.

Anthony wondered how joyful their families would be when they returned, when the presumed dead were welcomed back with open arms, laughter, and tears of relief.

The thought stirred something warm in him, yet it faded quickly. He could do no more. He could not walk beside them forever. Their lives were their own, and he had no right to bind himself to them.

His mind returned to the present. Normally, he was detached from strangers and their struggles, indifferent to what did not concern him directly. But this time, he had intervened. He had saved them from the deepest abyss, pulled them from the jaws of despair.

How could he have stood aside? He was not a machine. He was not a cold, lifeless construct devoid of empathy. He was human. He had emotions, thoughts, and a heart. And because of that, he could not remain indifferent.

Space twisted again, and his body vanished.

When he reappeared, it was before his comrades, Concealment still active. He took in the scene before him: Dale and Reynold bantered playfully, exchanging jokes as though the world itself was not burning around them.

Kingsley sat stoically as ever, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded over his chest, eyes closed in calm rest. Seraphim reclined serenely with a book in her hand, unbothered by the chatter.

Clement and Spectre, however, were absent, nowhere to be seen.

’Is this my own form of Enlightenment?’ Anthony mused inwardly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He was not shaken by the horrors he had witnessed. He was not haunted or broken, nor did fear coil around his mind. Instead, he found himself standing taller, appreciating the fragile beauty of life even more. He welcomed both the joys and the pains. He embraced both the triumphs and the struggles. He cherished it... more.

’I’m glad I didn’t bring her,’ he thought suddenly, relief softening his gaze.

When he first set out to free the captives from the Forsaken Cult headquarters, he had considered bringing Vega with him whenever he returned to heal and help them.

But now, he was glad he hadn’t.

It was not that he doubted her mental strength. He trusted she could endure. But strength was not the question, it was compassion. To allow her to witness such horrors, to feel such torment, would have been cruelty on his part.

For Anthony had not merely seen what occurred, he had felt it. Every scar, every scream, every ounce of despair had been etched into his mind. He had absorbed the emotions, the agonies, the unrelenting horrors.

He had felt it all.