Reverend Half Insanity (Beta version | Reverend Insanity Fan-Fiction)

Fang Yuan doesn't even look at Fang Zheng, who is now wet from the water and hurt by the heavy bowl. He doesn't feel the sharp pain on his back or notice the blood slowly spreading on his clothes. None of this matters to him—not the mess around him, not his own wounds.

His whole world narrows down to one thing: Gu Xianer.

His hands tremble as he quickly looks her over, his eyes moving across her small body like someone searching for hope in a disaster. His breathing is rough and uneven—each breath short, each exhale shaky—as if breathing itself depends on making sure she is okay. His fingers pause for just a moment before touching her arms, her shoulders, her waist—every touch is urgent, almost wild, as if he needs to keep checking that she is still here, still safe, still alive.

When he finally speaks, his voice cracks under the weight of his fear. "Are you hurt? Did you hit anything? Are you in pain?" Each question tumbles out in rapid succession, overlapping, colliding, betraying the storm raging within him.

Gu Xianer blinks, startled by the raw intensity in his voice. She has never seen her brother like this before—so undone, so fragile. Her throat tightens as she whispers, "Brother... I'm fine. I didn't get hurt."

But her words are meaningless to him. They don't reach him. They can't penetrate the suffocating fog of terror gripping his heart. His arms suddenly tighten around her, pulling her flush against him with a force that borders on desperation. It's not just a hug—it's a plea, a vow, a silent promise that he will never let go, that he cannot lose her.

He holds her too tightly, too possessively, as if she might slip away at any moment—as if he had already lost her once before and couldn't bear to endure it again. His embrace is suffocating, yet Gu Xianer doesn't pull away. She feels his chest rising and falling too quickly, hears the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat thundering against her own. His breath is hot and uneven against her hair, trembling with every exhale.

And then she feels it—his body shaking under her hands. Fang Yuan—the brother who always seems so strong, so unshakable—is trembling. Trembling because of her. Trembling because he thought he might have lost her.

Her small hands slowly rise to hug him back, pressing lightly against his back. "Brother, don't worry. I'm really—"

Her voice breaks.

Her fingers, now touching his back, feel something warm and wet. A second later, the truth hits her like a wave.

Her eyes widen in shock.

Red blood soaks through his clothes, turning the fabric darker with every moment—spreading, growing, unstoppable.

Her breath falters. "Blood…!"

Fear bursts inside her, tightening her chest, making it hard to breathe. She pulls back, her hands shaking as they come away covered in red. "Brother! You're bleeding! There's so much blood!"

Her voice cracks, filled with raw fear—not the fear of dying, but the unbearable fear of losing someone she loves more than her own life. Tears fill her eyes, making it hard to see, but she doesn't care. All she sees is the blood, all she feels is the crushing fear that threatens to overwhelm her.

Gu Xianer's desperate, shaky scream cuts through Fang Yuan's mind like sharp glass, hurting him deep inside. Her voice echoes in his head, each repetition digging deeper into his heart until his vision blurs and everything starts to fall apart. Then, suddenly, a memory he had buried long ago—a memory he locked away after finding Gu Xianer—forces its way back. A memory so painful, so heavy, that he once promised himself he would never let it return. But now, it breaks free, refusing to stay hidden any longer.

The present fades away. The soft candlelight disappears, lost in a dark emptiness. He is still on his knees, still holding someone—but it's not Gu Xianer. It's his wife and daughters. Their bodies are lifeless in his arms, their weight unbearable—not because they are heavy, but because they are gone. Cold. Too cold. Their skin, once warm and soft under his touch, now feels like ice, as if all the warmth in the world has been taken away. Their faces, frozen in fear, show silent screams that will never leave him. Their wide, unblinking eyes seem to blame him, begging for answers he cannot give. Their lips are slightly open, as if trying to speak one last time—but no words come. Only silence. Heavy, crushing silence.

Fang Yuan can't breathe. His chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of their loss. In this one, cruel moment, everything he ever loved has been taken from him. Everything. Gone. Forever. Despair eats away at him, destroying what little is left of his humanity. Not a single tear falls from his eyes; it's as if the horror before him has dried up all his tears. His throat burns, dry and tight, as if their silent screams have stolen even his ability to cry. His heart stops beating, his lungs stop breathing. His eyes stay open, unblinking, stuck in time, unable to look away from the nightmare he holds in his arms. His mouth hangs open, motionless, as if it has forgotten how to speak—or maybe there are no words left to say. His hands shake violently, but they feel numb, distant—as if they belong to someone else. As if he is no longer human.

He is no longer alive. He is not a man. He is an empty shell, carved by grief and hollowed out by despair. A statue frozen in pain, unable to move forward or back. Time no longer exists for him. There is only this moment—the moment when everything he loved was taken from him—and it stretches on forever, endless and cruel.

Later, the investigation calls it just another roadside accident—a simple report, just a number among many others. But Fang Yuan knows better. He sees the truth written on their faces: his wife's pale, desperate expression, her silent cry for help. His daughters' wide, terrified eyes, their innocence destroyed by unbearable pain.

When he tells the police, the officers only give him empty, knowing stares. No sympathy. No anger. Only cold indifference.

Their eyes say everything he needs to know: justice will not come.

Justice does not exist here.

Desperate for answers, he starts his own investigation. What he finds destroys what little is left of his mind.

His wife and daughters are not victims of chance. They are targeted. Kidnapped. Raped. Killed. Discarded like garbage.

The killers plan everything carefully, making it look like an accident. But the truth is much darker. Some of the police—the very people who should bring justice—help cover up the crime. Others help the killers escape to another country, far away where no one can reach them.

Each truth hurts more than the last. Each discovery takes another piece of his soul.

In the end, Fang Yuan is no longer the person he was. He becomes an empty shell—a walking corpse, moving through a world that has no meaning, no kindness.

One night, he dreams of his wife's laughter—bright and full of life, like the first flowers of spring after a cold winter. Her happiness is everything to him, the light that fills his heart. He remembers his daughters' small hands pulling at his beard, laughing sweetly as they make it look funny. "Daddy looks like mommy!" they shout, giggling wildly after putting makeup on his face. Their playful voices still whisper in his ears, soft reminders of a joy he can never get back. They call him "Daddy" with so much love, so much trust. Trust he couldn't protect.

But this isn't a dream—it's a memory. And remembering it only makes his pain worse. Day after day, week after week, month after month, he cries until he has no tears left. Then comes the final breaking point—a complete collapse of his mind. Sanity leaves him completely, leaving only madness behind.

On the streets, he attacks strangers, yelling: "Rapist! Murderer!" He sees a young girl and runs to her, thinking she is one of his daughters. Another time, he falls into the arms of a woman walking by, calling her "wife" and telling her about the nightmares he has. He holds onto her tightly, crying without control, begging her not to leave him again.

He is completely lost, trapped in his own delusions, unable to tell what is real and what is just the pain of his memories. Every stranger looks like someone from his past. Every sound turns into their laughter, which then becomes screams. Every shadow becomes their lifeless bodies reaching out to him.

Fang Yuan is no longer a man—he is a broken shell, floating in an ocean of grief too deep to escape. His heart beats only to remind him of what he has lost. His mind races only to replay the moments he failed to save them. His soul is broken, scattered across the ruins of a life that can never be fixed.

And yet, even in his madness, one thought stays with him more than anything else: he could not protect them.

Then, one day, he is found by a secret group—an organization made up of men like him. Men who have suffered the same terrible pain. Some are brothers, fathers, husbands—men who have lost their loved ones to the worst parts of humanity. These men carry wounds no one can see, but the pain never stops. They take him in, caring for him over months, maybe years. Slowly, carefully, they help put pieces of his broken mind back together. But those pieces are weak, fragile—held together by threads so thin they can break at any moment.

The grief, the anger, the guilt—they never really go away. They stay hidden inside him, like wounds that never heal, waiting for the smallest spark to set them off again. Even in moments of quiet, he can feel them eating at him, whispering cruel truths into the silence of his heart: You failed them. You couldn't save them.

When he is stable enough, they offer him a choice: join them. His intelligence and skills as a scholar make him valuable to their mission. He can help stop others from suffering the same fate as his wife and daughters. He can make sure that justice—real justice—is given to those who hurt the innocent. Without thinking, without hesitation, he agrees. How can he say no? After what he has seen—the evil people are capable of—he feels it is his duty, his reason to live, to fight back. To stand between the predators and the weak, even if it means giving up what little is left of himself.

But he is wrong.

As he begins working with the group, he uncovers horrors that twist his soul in ways he never thought possible. Girls, just children—too young to even understand the world—face cruelty that defies explanation. Women, discarded like trash, their bodies broken beyond recognition, their screams silenced forever in the darkness. The air reeks of old blood and something worse—a despair so heavy it feels alive, crawling under his skin. Each case reveals a new level of evil, each story more horrifying than the last.

Every file he opens feels like stepping into hell, unleashing unspeakable horrors into his already shattered mind. Every victim he learns about burns his soul deeper, fueling the fire that already consumes him. It isn't just anger or sadness—it is something darker, deeper. A realization that the cruelty of this world has no end. That there will always be another monster lurking in the shadows, another life stolen too soon. Another family torn apart. Another father left broken, kneeling in the ruins of everything he once held dear.

One case stands out above all others—a girl barely older than his youngest daughter. Her body has been found thrown in an alley, her small hands clutching from desperation, her face frozen in fear. The report says she has suffered for days—days, not hours—before death finally takes her. Fang Yuan stares at her photo for hours, unable to look away. His hands shake so badly that the paper crumples in his grip, the edges cutting into his palms—but he doesn't feel it. Tears run down his face, hot and endless, cutting through the dust of his exhaustion. But they bring no relief. No peace. Only emptiness. An emptiness so deep it swallows him whole.

He tries to tell himself that his work matters, that he is making a difference. That every criminal they catch, every life they save, is worth the pain. But the truth eats at him without mercy. For every monster they stop, ten more appear to take their place. And the stories—the endless, unrelenting stories—leave scars on his mind that will never heal. Scars that throb with phantom pain, always reminding him of what he can never fix and undo.

And then come the questions. The desperate, endless questions that claw at the fragile pieces of his sanity, tearing through him like wild animals ripping at his mind.

Why? Why do men do this? Why does it have to be them? Why can't they control themselves? If they feel desire, why don't they marry? Why don't they go to a prostitute? Why must they destroy lives instead? Why is it always men? Always us! Why don't women rape men? Why don't they discard men like trash? Why are we the ones who commit these horrors? WHY? WHY? WHY?!

Each question explodes inside him, echoing in his head like thunder, breaking what little is left of his reason. They consume him, take over his thoughts, until he can think of nothing else. When he catches criminals, he screams at them—his voice rough, desperate, out of control—as if demanding answers can somehow undo the horrors he has seen.

"WHY DID YOU DO IT?!" he shouts, grabbing them by their collars, his eyes wild with desperation. "TELL ME WHY! WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?!"

Their answers only make his pain worse. Some talk about power—the thrill of controlling someone, the rush of dominance. Others mumble about hate, revenge, or twisted pleasure. But none of it makes sense. None of it justifies the evil they have done. To Fang Yuan, their words are empty, meaningless noise in a world full of cruelty. How can such horrible acts exist in a world that claims to care about life?

His rational mind shatters completely. In his broken thoughts, every man becomes a monster. Every face he sees is guilty. Every shadow hides a predator. Hatred burns inside him, boiling over until it burns away what little humanity he has left. He can't stop asking—can't stop screaming the same questions over and over, as if repeating them might finally bring an answer.

Why do men do this? Why do WE do this? WHY ARE MEN LIKE THIS? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE STOP US?! WHY DON'T WE STOP OURSELVES?! WHY DOES THE WORLD LET THIS HAPPEN?! WHERE IS GOD?!

Eventually, the weight of it all becomes too much. The cruelty of the world, the sheer, suffocating darkness of it, crushes him completely. Sanity slips through his fingers like sand, grain by grain, until nothing is left. Nothing but the hollow echo of screams he can't silence, screams that tear at his throat but bring no relief.

This time, though, it is different. Before, his madness had been born from the loss of his family—a singular, unbearable tragedy that shattered his world. But now, it is something far worse. Now, he is destroyed by the crushing weight of knowing what humanity is truly capable of. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, relentless and suffocating: evil is not rare. It is not isolated. It is everywhere. It lurks in every corner of society, festers in every dark alley, hides behind the walls of every home. It is a poison that seeps into the very fabric of existence, a rot that cannot be cut out, a shadow that no light can dispel.

There is no escape. No refuge. No sanctuary. The world he once believed in—a world where goodness could triumph, where justice could prevail—is a lie. It is a cruel, hollow illusion. The truth is a nightmare, a ceaseless, unending horror that gnaws at his soul. Everywhere he looks, he sees it: the faces of the broken, the cries of the innocent, the laughter of the wicked. The cycle of pain and despair is endless, a wheel that grinds everything to dust, over and over and over again.

He feels it rising, a tide of darkness that swells higher and higher, swallowing everything in its path. It drowns the light, the hope, the very air he breathes. It pulls him under, deeper and deeper, until he is choking on the weight of it. The screams of the lost echo in his ears, the faces of the dead haunt his every thought. He cannot close his eyes without seeing them, cannot breathe without tasting the ash of their suffering.

And the worst part—the part that breaks him completely—is the knowledge that it will never end. No matter what he does, no matter how hard he fights, the darkness will always win. It will always find a way to devour, to destroy, to consume. It is the nature of the world, the truth he cannot unsee. The truth that leaves him hollow, a shell of a man, adrift in an ocean of despair with no shore in sight.

He is not just broken—he is obliterated. His soul is a wasteland, scorched by the fire of his grief, barren of anything but the ashes of what once was. And in the silence of his mind, a single thought echoes, over and over, a dirge that will never fade: There is no hope. There is no end. There is only this.