Dong!
The courtroom bell tolled again, hollow as someone banging on a rusty oil drum.
"Now," the judge drawled, stretching every syllable for theatrical suspense, "we enter the testimony phase."
The hollow eyes of the gallery blinked in perfect rhythm, eager for the comedy act to follow.
The first witness took the stand—Ethan's father.
Of course, not his real father. Just a gray fog molded into a shabby mask, dressed in an ill-fitting suit like a carnival parody. He strutted across the stage, gestures pompous, as though truly summoned as an expert witness.
"I testify," the phantom father coughed, voice hollow as a broken megaphone, "this man was worthless since childhood. Stole apples from neighbors, grew up to be just as useless. His crime—being a failure."
The hall erupted in thunderous laughter. The jury—composed of spectral kin stitched from memory—nodded gravely, as if they had expected no less.
Ethan chuckled bitterly. Stealing apples is a crime? By that measure, the whole human race deserves the archive shelf.
The second witness was a phantom of Karl.
Draped in a soldier's uniform, his false eyes flared with fabricated fury. He pointed at Ethan and roared:"He betrayed me! In the most dangerous mission, he hesitated three seconds, and I fell into peril. That hesitation was betrayal!"
Bang! The judge's gavel struck, gleeful."Betrayal—recorded!"
The gallery shouted in unison:"Crime! Crime! Crime!"
Ethan narrowed his eyes. He knew this was an illusion, nothing Karl himself would have said. But still—the words stabbed like poisoned needles.
The third witness entered, and silence fell.
A girl, her face blurred but radiating fragile gentleness. Her voice floated like a memory:"Ethan, you once promised to protect me. But you chose to run. You left me to die alone."
Ethan froze, breath caught. He couldn't recall ever speaking such words, but the phantom's voice felt like a nightmare fragment too sharp to dismiss.
"Escape—crime!" The judge's gavel fell again, shattering his chest like a hammer to the ribs.
The absurd parade went on.
One claimed Ethan abandoned all humanity in a dream.Another swore he once became an agent of the Void in an illusion.Even a "future Ethan" appeared, sneering:"He is doomed to fail. Because he himself is the greatest joke."
The hall exploded with laughter again, the sound like waves of mockery crashing down.
Sweat beaded Ethan's forehead. His fists clenched.
He knew it was all fabricated—but every lie clung to a grain of truth.
—He had failed before.—He had run away.—He had once, in despair, thought about betraying it all.
The Void's court didn't need facts. It only needed to weave dreams and fears, then inflate them into "truth."
The hollow eyes chanted in unison, a ritualistic chorus:
"Failure—crime!""Escape—crime!""Betrayal—crime!"
The voices shook the chamber, as though reality itself endorsed this grotesque pantomime.
Ethan suddenly saw the absurdity.
He was forced onto a stage, playing the "sinner." The phantom witnesses were clowns. And the cruelest part? Even knowing that, part of him almost believed their script.
The absurd testimonies were like warped mirrors, reflecting the ugliest corners of his soul.
"So this is the Void's trick…" he whispered, voice dry.
The judge slammed the desk, snarling:"Defendant! Do you have any defense?!"
Ethan raised his head, eyes sweeping across phantom father, phantom Karl, phantom girl, and all the fabricated witnesses. He exhaled, lips curling into a hollow smile.
"Defense? Ha. You don't even have facts, yet you want me to answer for your bedtime stories. Fine then—I plead guilty. But not to failure. My only crime is taking this circus seriously in the first place."
Silence.
Then—an eruption of applause and laughter, louder than ever. The audience roared as though an actor had nailed the punchline.
Absurd trial. Absurd testimonies.
The only real thing left was the fragile flame of belief trembling inside Ethan.