Are You Crazy? Who'd Escape This Fantasy World?!

Our existence hinges on "memory"—knowledge, perspectives, even our very actions are shaped by its touch. We often row against the current at memory's edge, embracing solitude, only to be shattered into fragments, lost to time's whispering winds. —Otherworld Escape Guide The otherworld, Myrkvalen. "Rejoice, brave hero," came the celestial voice. "You've conquered countless trials, crushed the darkness, and now stand before me. I am the one who summoned you. You may call me Artemis, the Twilight Sovereign." Alistair's breath hitched—words failed him, choked by the weight of the moment. Though the goddess's guidance had been his constant companion since arriving in this realm, seeing her in the flesh—especially now—sent electric tremors through his body. Artemis embodied divine perfection. Her hair tumbled like liquid night, silk strands catching the light with subtle ripples as they curled over her shoulders. Her features might have been carved by a calligrapher's sure hand—every curve balanced between strength and grace, from the arch of her brows to the slope of her nose. Yet what truly captivated was that ever-present smile, as fixed as the stars themselves. Watching the hero tremble before her, Artemis's lips curved with knowing serenity. "You've defeated Demon King Constantine, conquered Myrkvalen, and proven your courage beyond doubt. Should you remain, boundless dominion and honor fit for legends shall be—" Alistair staggered forward, clutching her hands like a drowning man to driftwood. Tears welled in his eyes as his voice cracked. "At last! At last!" Through that desperate grip, Artemis felt his heart pounding like a war drum in his ribs. Not unexpected—she'd welcomed many triumphant heroes before. Most were too exhilarated for composure. But none burned with this raw, desperate fervor. But Alistair's next words caught her completely off guard. "Please, Goddess—just send me home! I need to go home!" His voice trembled with raw desperation. "What? You want to return to your world?" Artemis's smile faltered, her eyes widening in surprise. "Are you sure about this? Don't you want to see how this world flourishes because of you?" Normally, those summoned here had rejected their old lives. After all those epic battles and hard-won triumphs, who'd ever want to leave? Could this young man truly feel no attachment to the world he'd fought for? "Please," Alistair begged as she hesitated, "just send me back now!" Though her smile never wavered, her voice dropped to an arctic chill: "I can still smell darkness creeping in. This world needs you—your friends, your loved ones all need you. Even knowing this, you'd still leave?" "I just want to go home! Please!" He nearly shouted the words. Artemis sighed, her voice going flat. "Very well. Though your choice disappoints me, I always keep my promises. I'll send you home." "Wait! Can I make one more request?" "Don't push your luck." Her words sent chills down his spine. "Could you... erase my memories of this place?" The air grew thick as Artemis stared him down. After several seconds, she said quietly, "...As you wish." Was it his imagination, or had her tone softened slightly? As Artemis spoke her final words with that same unchanging smile, warm golden light engulfed Alistair—that same cozy warmth he'd felt when first arriving in Myrkvalen years ago. He felt his body dissolving into flecks of light, the tension finally draining away as he disappeared from the continent. For the first time in years, he felt unprecedented relief. "At last—I'm finally free of this nightmare world." The thought pulsed through Alistair's mind, tears spilling unbidden down his cheeks. As his body faded into shimmering particles, he turned for one last look at Artemis. She stood motionless, offering him a graceful, almost theatrical wave—the perfect facade of a benevolent goddess. Alistair opened his mouth to thank her, but the words died in his throat. Without warning, hairline fractures spiderwebbed across her porcelain face. Then came the sickening *crack* as the first fragment fell away. His lungs locked. *This isn't happening.* The fractures multiplied violently, revealing the horror beneath. Where divine beauty had been, now bulged a nightmare—necrotic skin stretched taut over slithering veins, her smile twisting into a grotesque rictus. "That's the Dark Lord's aura!" Ice flooded his veins. "This whole world's been a lie!" Instinct took over. His fingers slashed through air, leaving glowing emerald sigils—a last-ditch barrier spell from his battles. Artemis merely snapped her fingers. *Snap.* The runes shattered like glass. "How quaint." Her voice dripped venom now. "Enjoy your *borrowed* time, little hero." Her clawed hand clenched. White-hot agony exploded behind his eyes as memories surged—a tsunami of stolen moments. A wet, *ripping* sound echoed in his skull with each tearing fragment. "AAAAAGH—!" The guttural scream tore through him, his mind fraying at the seams as decades unraveled into nothingness. "This forbidden art only works on willing victims. You're the first to truly taste its sting," Artemis mocked while draining Alistair's memories. With her free hand, she traced identical symbols in midair—but these pulsed with malevolent violet-black energy. A whirlwind of darkness erupted from the sigils, crashing into Alistair's body like a tidal wave. Within seconds, the dark vortex had completely swallowed him, silencing his agonized screams. The shadows scattered as suddenly as they'd appeared—leaving no trace of the young man, only a marble-sized pearly orb upon the ground. "Materialized memories... How intriguing," Artemis mused, crouching to examine the glowing sphere. Her lips twisted into a smirk. "After centuries of waiting, the prime world will finally fall! May hellfire consume your precious homeland!" Her thunderous laughter boomed like war drums across Myrkvalen. The white pearl trembled—whether from the deafening noise or some hidden will—and began rolling away. "Stay put, you insolent thing!" The goddess's heel came down with a satisfying crunch, reducing the artifact to powdery fragments. As Artemis departed, she failed to notice the faint green glow still flickering beneath the shattered remains—the last vestige of resistance.