Absolute silence. Absolute darkness. Just two white eyes, staring from far away.

Moko watched in fright, completely still in the presence of the looming glare. He wanted to speak, to talk with the figure. But the hair in his arms stood straight, and his mouth refused to muster a word. His heart trembled in terror. The eerie look was beyond disturbing, keeping his toes curled and fingers shaking. His hand needed to move.

He reached over to feel the table. His palm pressed against the surface, feeling the coldness channeling through his burning body. Sliding against the top, he tried finding the lamp. He couldn’t find it. He searched harder, and nothing. Nothing reciprocated his scrambling hand. The longer Moko struggled, the more dire his fear became of the figure’s potential actions.

When he felt the base of the lamp, he slid his palm against it to find the switch, turning it on and shining the atrium.

The warm light shined the compact region. Darkness evaded, and his eyes glanced at the mattress and the couches. Impy and Terayla were gone. The blanket on the mattress appeared wrinkled and abandoned. The blanket on the sofa was in a messy, crumpled state. Nothing shouted any evidence of life. No one else was there except for him and the looming figure.

He shifted his focus on it. The body came into view with light revealing its shape. His heart sank, horrified.

A black mist face with no skin, accompanied by two eyes, descended to the floor as ominous fog strands. No neck, just shoulders and a torso. The torso reached down where legs should be, like a robe. But the grim smoke concealed its body; perhaps the smoke was his essence, a shadow, alive and real. It stood tall, hovering over the ground, suffocated in the dispersing haze. Its presence darkened the region that even the lamp couldn’t light.

Moko saw a dagger lodged in its forehead. A cascade of blood streamed down the face, dripping from the chin onto the floor. The unsteady eyes and blood instilled fear in his body. The silence made this much more dreadful.

His mind spiraled. A sickening pitch invaded his ears, where beneath this pitch he could hear the horrifying cries of the man he killed. The voice of the monster stifled his lungs. He couldn’t hear his breathing. He couldn’t hear his beating heart crying out to him, crying with misery and fear. He couldn’t feel his legs that begged him to run. But with a faint effort to lift his hand one more time, he grabbed his Cookie and prompted the screen to appear.

–∞ Cookies

–∞ CpS

XXXXX XXXXXX: XXX: XXXXXXX: X XXXX XXX

The screen immediately sizzled out and faded. Moko felt his Cookie repelling from his grip, thrusting to the floor and rolling away. He whimpered, feeling utterly useless and weak.

Suddenly, the figure glided its way across, fazing over the couches and inching closer to Moko. The distressing cries heightened, feeling its proximity when it stood in front of him. For a long minute, it did nothing but stare. The eyes never once blinked, keeping the same glare from the beginning.

Then Moko felt a surging pain emanating from his neck. He looked down and noticed a dagger piercing his skin. It appeared out of nowhere and became lodged in him. His flesh kept it stuck, feeling his lungs unable to breathe from the prying blade blocking the passageway. He wanted to scream, but it was useless. He lifted his arm with all of his might to grab the weapon, feeling the cold pang rush through his appalled limbs.

When lifting them, he noticed his hands were missing, as someone had cleaved them right off with a clean cut that sliced through his bones. They fell on his lap. Blood streamed down and stained the couch. Moko gritted his teeth, feeling as if his mind was about to burst. The screaming, the pain, the distorted vision—everything made him want to vomit.

Amidst his wailing cries, two new daggers emerged. Their sharp edges rushed right to him, to his face. They approached at alarming speeds. The razor tips pointed at him, and they pierced his eyes. A bright flash of light filled his sight until he saw nothing.

Moko yelled with all his might, screaming in a voice he couldn’t hear. But he was screaming. It was painful, but he couldn’t tell what pain he was feeling anymore. He could only howl, relentlessly wailing. And in return, the shadowy figure wailed even louder.

His and the monster’s screeches grew louder and louder until the swelling cries became static. It fuzzed his mind, seizing any control that he could muster. In that static, a voice cried out. A child kept calling his name. He felt his senses returning.

Moko yelled at full blast, shooting his body up from slumber. His head collided with Impy’s, and a loud thud erupted. Both groaned and collapsed. Impy dropped to the floor, rolling back and forth with anguish. Moko went back down on his couch. They pressed on their tender region, feeling it pulsate and throb with pain.

“Ah…! What was that for…” Impy fell roughly. He rubbed his forehead while holding his side wound, dealing with double the pain.

Despite the throbbing pain, Moko quickly sat up and surveyed the area. His eyes were sharp, ears sensitive. He lifted his arms and studied his hands. One was present with glistening sweat covering his skin. The other one had the usual tape wrapped around it. But they were there and intact; that’s all he wanted to see.

He then patted his body all around, sliding his singular palm up to grab his neck. Becoming desperate, he even strangled himself to make sure there was nothing lodged in him. To his relief, there were no daggers stuck in his throat. All that he collected was a spoonful of sweat on his skin and clothes.

Moko breathed heavily, feeling the lingering sound of the man screaming in his head. His eyes darted around, but no figure was present. It was morning, and the sun shined over one window. The brown scenery of Polla’s Domain returned in full applause. The radiating panels above each tank lit up, shining on the miniature trees with energy. Mist sprinkled down and glistened them. This place was the same as he remembered. With the figure nowhere to be seen, he brushed his sweaty head and fell limp, letting the couch take his fall. He sat there defeated, drained.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

He heard a small whimpering beside him. He turned and saw Terayla. She was on the couch, kneeling with her hands on her lap. She gave Moko a terrified look.

Impy was still rolling on the ground. He sat back up with his forehead beet red. “This is not how I planned to start off the day.”

“Moko,” Terayla said, crawling up and grabbing his damp shirt. Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice soft and frail. “You’re awake. You were… breathing so hard. Are you okay?”

Moko felt his heart settling. The coldness still lingered, making him hug his shivering body. He leaned against the sofa, trying to control his breathing. He closed his heavy eyes. His lids felt weighty, as if sleep had eluded him entirely. Wiping his face, he looked up and exhaled. “I’m okay. Just a bad dream.”

“Does it have to do with the fight?” Polla asked, sitting on the table’s surface with his eyes focused on another matter while holding his Seed in one hand. Using the other, he flung his finger upward, appearing to be interacting with his System—scrolling through a list with repetitive swiping.

He bit his lip and peered down. The hand resting on his lap quivered, the palm frigid and sore. He knew the answer to that question, and it troubled him. Recalling the fight’s final moments and the man’s death made his brain spin. The daggers, the looming shadow, and that piercing cry, all the memories resurfaced. It was sickening.

After a minute, Polla poked the air, and out came a purple orb attached to his fingertip. He looked at Moko and said, “Catch.”

Lightly flicking his finger, he sent the orb in Moko’s direction. He raised his head and spotted the glistening sphere lengthening into a cloth. The light faded and a folded towel emerged. It glided tamely through the air. He caught it and felt the thick fabric absorb the sweat on his hand, proceeding to use it to wipe off the sweat around his body next. “Thanks.”

Polla watched the three staying near each other. Impy gathered his bearings, still scratching his forehead with an annoyed grumble. Moko was busy cleaning himself, feeling refreshed and with discomfort gone. Terayla was the only one looking at Polla, her red eyes blank and silent. He asked all of them, “It’s been a little over half a day. How long will you guys stay here for?”

Moko looked at him. “Is Terayla bothering you?”

He chuckled, not making eye contact. “Y–Yeah, well… You said she’s the one stopping my production. It kinda hurts to see the numbers staying in place.”

“Is it that bad?” Moko asked. For some reason, he felt more comfortable pushing these questions to Polla than someone else—most likely because they were similar in age. He could be annoying and still get away with it. “You people are so picky when it comes to numbers. Why not just let us stay for a week and then get on with life?”

“A week? That’s a bit too much, don’t you think?” Polla got shaky, hoping Moko was joking.

He narrowed his eyes. “No, seriously. You can re-earn the Entities some other time. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“Are you really saying that?” He got down from the table and faced Moko. “I can’t let you guys stay here for more than a few days because of circumstances. Or at least… I don’t want to say it, but maybe keep Terayla out of my Domain.”

Terayla shifted her head away, eyes low and hair blocking her expression. The cats’ ears held back and their tails lowered. Two crawled beneath the couch, hidden from plain view. The third cat slept on top of Moko’s injured hand, unbothered unlike the rest.

Moko clenched his hand into a fist. Ever since their journey, with every Domain they’ve entered, there was only a lack of empathy for the girl. He couldn’t count how many times people have rejected Terayla only because they didn’t want her to stop their Entity production. Upon hearing it again, his eyebrows furrowed and his voice thickened. “Huh? Seriously? Did you just say that–”

A sudden recollection pinned his lips shut. Before he could say another word, something about Polla’s wording froze him. He couldn’t finish his sentence before a memory arose in him. It was faint, but it remembered an instance in the past, a similar situation that entailed the same reason. The words used were nearly identical—the time he spent with his parents.

(Before) The mother placed her hand on the father’s shoulder. He paused his sentence and turned. She gave him an assured look, shaking her head with a soft grin. The father conceded, and she faced Moko, a motherly tone overriding her initial concern. “I think that’s a great idea. [...] But Moko, if nothing works at the end of the day, if we find that her presence is a direct cause of our issues, will you agree to send her away? We can’t extend any more than a few days because of circumstances.”

–Circumstances… Moko thought to himself as his expression changed, perplexed. He eased his tight fist and cleared his throat. “Hey, what are the circumstances that you’re talking about?”

Moko’s sharp words caused Polla to look pressured. But after receding from his advance abruptly, he sighed in relief. He said, trying to articulate his words without being blunt, “You know, the circumstance with our Systems. Don’t you have that too?”

Additional confusion fogged his brain. “What circumstance? Hurry and tell me.”

His face reflected a bothered expression. There was a sense of reluctance, and Moko thought it was odd. Nervously smiling, Polla contemplated what to say. He awkwardly raised his arms and gesticulated as he spoke. “Uh, you know… I–I don’t know if I should say it. I’ll be honest. I don’t like risks; you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I got that from your expression,” Moko said. “Is there anything particularly wrong with saying it?”

“I’m not really sure. People around me barely say a word when I ask them what it does. One man did eventually come out and explain it to me, but that was someone I knew for some time while I was in Scholomark. Barely anyone wants to explain it.”

He tried convincing him. “Hey, it’s not like you’re going to get punished, will you?

“I don’t know… Maybe the Lei Realm prohibits in saying it.”

“How many warnings do you have?”

“Zero.”

“Why not use one and see for yourself?”

Polla sighed. “I got many years to live, man, and we only get five warnings. Don’t you think it’s too early to use one?”

“Just do it,” Moko said with insistence.

“F–Fine!” He replied with the same vigor, almost frightened. “Okay, so… Uh…”

Despite the initial response, he still stammered in his words. It seemed like he was pushing his way over the boundary. He frowned and pressed his lips together. He stiffened his posture as if getting ready to feel some warning strike him down. “The… Crunch.”

Moko paused, tilting his head to the side. “The Crunch?”

“Yeah… The circumstance is the Crunch.”

Polla was brief in his explanation, still waiting for some impending doom. His face turned red from the blood rushing through his head. Aside from his goofy look, he presented another term Moko had never known about. Here, he considered it serious. If people he visited didn’t want them near their Domain—specifically Terayla—then it was definitely a word to be remembered. Even his parents hid it from him. He speculated, his mind scattered, trying to decipher the meaning. –The Crunch?

He had to know more.