In Peakwest, after Alan's memory is wiped clean, he finds himself ascending as the king of the Heavenly Clan. Determined to become both the strongest and kindest leader, he relentlessly pushes his body and mind to their limits, training himself to t...
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Manda stood victorious, his presence dominating the battlefield as he claimed the title of Grandmaster. Without looking back, he walked away, the weight of his victory heavy on his shoulders. The fight was over, but for Esme, the battle had only just begun.
Esme, battered and bruised, struggled to his feet, every muscle in his body aching from the defeat. His mind was racing, clouded with anger and self-loathing. He had lost—again. He had given everything, yet it wasn’t enough. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned away from the battlefield, limping back to the Heavenly Castle in silence.
The castle loomed ahead, but Esme barely noticed. His mind was fixated on his failure, his weakness. When he reached his room, he slammed the door shut, locking himself inside. The silence of the room suffocated him, pressing down on him like a heavy weight.
Suddenly, his emotions exploded.
He fell to the ground, clutching his hair in his fists, pulling at it as if the pain could somehow drown out the feelings of inadequacy. His body shook as he began to scream, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair.
Esme: "Why am I so weak?!"
The words came out in ragged gasps, over and over, each one more agonizing than the last.
Esme: "Why?! Why can't I be stronger?! Why do I always lose?!"
He rocked back and forth, his hands gripping his head tighter. Tears stung his eyes, but he was too consumed by rage and frustration to notice them.
Esme: "I'm nothing... I'm just trash... Why can’t I be like him?!"
His breath came in shallow bursts as he collapsed fully onto the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably. He pounded his fists into the cold stone beneath him, as if trying to release all the pain he had bottled up inside.
The room felt small, suffocating, and the darkness around him only seemed to close in further.
Esme: "I'm weak... I'm always weak..."
He repeated the words like a mantra, but deep down, the monster inside him stirred, flickering in response to his despair. The potential for greatness, the same power Manda had seen in him during their fight, was buried within—but Esme couldn't see it. Not now. Not like this.
As the night dragged on, his screams faded into quiet sobs. He lay on the floor, exhausted and broken, still clinging to the hope that someday, somehow, he would find the strength to rise again.
But for now, all he could feel was the crushing weight of defeat.
Esme lay on the cold floor, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white from the strain. The weight of his emotions pressed down on him, trapping him in his own mind. The echoes of his screams still reverberated in the quiet room, a testament to the turmoil boiling inside him.
