Times and times, as many as I can count, and lose tally. I will never forget that dream, every specific detail. And every time, I learn something new, yet nothing revolutionary.
It’s the same song, in the same tone, with the same rhythm. They speak of horror, a volume of despair, and a futile end.
Shibuya's destruction, the cosmic skies, and heaven above. The cracks and fissures between the earth and below. The thousand screams that blur my thoughts from sense and reality. A mountain of corpses litter the ground like a war zone, of children, women, and the elderly. Mutilated, crushed, and surrendered.
Each time, I experience this dream from a different perspective;
One time, being run down by the marching dreadful crowd. left behind for dead...
Another time grasped by the hands of these Eldrich horrors as they preceded to toy with me with all kinds of tortures that I just couldn't help but hide out of how harassing and malicious they were.
The feeling was loathsome and godawful. Every time I recall one of the many experiences that made my mind spin in a daze and nearly vomit out of tension.
And the last one. Fading from life due to pure madness. Falling into despair and frenzy, accepting all that it is and can be. A feeling that grew much more authentic as time went on.
Each dream. The same hellish bells were still tolling, in the same rhythmic pattern. The sound practically became a part of me. I still hear those evil chimes even when I am awake.
The scream only grew louder and louder the longer I dreamed, to the point that every howl of that dream. I began to hear it under the morning sun, an image of the many cries that unfolded on that eventful day. I can't shake away this terror; therefore, I hid away in my cottage.
Every death I witnessed, every corpse I became, I felt it! I felt each life taken away, over and over again!
This time, I was paralyzed from the waist down and looked up to the fateful sky and hell as the nightmare dawned and beckoned.
I couldn’t move, not having the will to crawl away to safety.
I was utterly submitted after experiencing this nightmare over and over.
I don’t know whether it was a fated end or fate warning me about the upcoming nightmare. Hoping for a glimmer of hope to lift my spirit or what's left of it.
But each dream kept draining my dying spirit to the point I no longer cared. I eventually grew numb to the pain, much like the pain I was once accustomed to.
It might not be the same world, but it sure as hell felt like it.
Nothing has changed. The pain is still there, and I chose to bury it lest I trouble the dreamers.
At that moment, the towering figure of the Shinjuku Park spire began to crumble down diagonally to where I stood in detention. It started with massive explosions emitting from the base of the tower, followed by a swarm of collapsing gravel shattering and breaking into pieces.
It was so loud it reduced the surrounding environment's voices to mere murmurs.
The shadow of the tower and the thousand rubbles began to rain down against the fearful crowd in horror, while the Eldritch monsters were feasting on the helpless mortals.
I only watched, unaware and uncaring of my impending end as I closed my eyes and waited for the tower to take me away.
Even though I knew all too well that it wouldn’t stop the dreams from coming back, for some reason, I longed for a peaceful end. My wish hadn’t changed. I still wanted to die peacefully. But To my disappointment, I always woke up, alive and breathing.
But not this time... this time was different.
Still trapped in another enigmatic dream, this one is different from the usual ones I have seen.
It was a shadowy realm with thin winds displayed randomly around the dark ocean.
The only abnormality that could be noticed was the voice I heard, of both the common and unfamiliar language. The inexplicable speech sounded more demonic than human.
"Run... Run, Makas!"
"They are coming! You must run!"
"You must live!"
The sound produced resonated like a series of echoes vibrating down a hall.
I was already unsettled by the ocean of darkness. This sound indeed brought a sense of relief or a sense of life for a mere moment. I was more puzzled by the message of the sound.
What was even more puzzling was the fact that it reeked of hope, rather than the familiar voices that spoke of death and disease.
But this voice shared one distinguished feature; it spoke of danger.
The dark ones? The dead? The abyss? The Elder ones?
At that moment, I noticed a beacon of light on an approach from a certain distance.
I couldn't tell what it was but from what I heard. it sounded like the flapping wings of a bird.
"You who have lived a thousand lifetimes!"
"You, the conduit of truth and salvation!"
"You. The Wyrd! She awaits you!"
"Wake up!"
"Ah!" I shouted in shock as I opened my eyes and found myself in the bedroom of the same house I had lived in for the past ten years.
Sweating in utter panic and suspicion, I took a moment to collect myself from the recent dream and try to understand the premise behind it.
However, I was interrupted by the sudden familiar trepidation.
"Huh?"
I noticed a flickering light coming from my pocket; it was the crystal.
I took it out only to see it shining unsteadily in both black and white colors.
"What is it this time..." I muttered in annoyance.
Speaking of which, my mother is nowhere to be found. I remember I had headed to bed earlier due to my mother's orders. But strangely, I must have slept for quite a while. Something unusual for me, considering the constant nightmares and general lack of desire to sleep.
Suddenly, I heard a woman shout coming from outside the house, with voices screaming the words "Run" and "Get the children out!" in a frightened tone. Alongside bloodcurdling screams and what seemed like growling or screeching sounds.
There is seriously no question; we are under attack, an incident rare to occur. But even if it were bandits, the retired men in the village would clean up the mess easily.
But no... the howls of terror and fear, of lament, of withdrawal.
These are the screams of nightmares; they reek of a similar scenario.
Can it be...?
"Makas! HURRY, WE MUST LEAVE!"
I heard my mom's trembling footsteps coming from the room. She quickly opened the door, looking terrified, stressed, and shaking, with sweat rushing down her skin.
"Mom! Who is attacking the village?" I asked as I got off the bed, aware of the current emergent situation.
My mother quickly picked up the necessities: food, medicine, and started packing them in her handbag.
"We don’t have time, honey! The Hollowed ones are here!!"
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We quickly packed the necessities into a duffel bag, with Mom carrying most of the weight while I took the least. I had wanted the opposite, but she rejected my request without uttering a word as she swiftly opened the door to leave the house. I simply obeyed instantly.
As soon as we stepped outside, we were greeted by a ghastly and horrifying scene reminiscent of a slaughterhouse.
The village was completely enveloped in a thick fog that nearly obscured our vision, making it difficult to see or perceive anything clearly. However, what was unmistakable were the thick, towering flames emanating from the village tower, which served as both a point of interest and a landmark, now covered in ashes and blaze.
Furthermore, houses had been extensively demolished and ruined, as if they had been struck by some cataclysmic force.
As we surveyed the aftermath, we couldn't help but notice the horrifying state of destruction.
The village grounds were littered with the bodies of men, women, and children, their forms mangled and covered in blood. It was as if a massacre had just taken place.
This macabre sight was reminiscent of the times when Vikings would raid villages, though such scenes are unheard of in the present day. Or so we had thought...
The most unsettling aspect was that the culprits behind this carnage, the enigmatic "hollowed ones," were conspicuously absent. Yet, amidst the villagers' panicked screams, a growling noise resonated, distinctly inhuman.
The voices that emanated from these beings sounded eerily familiar to me.
"My God, they're already here!" my mom exclaimed fearfully, struggling to maintain her composure for the sake of protecting her son.
"Mom!" I called out to her, tearing my gaze away from the disturbing panorama. "The villagers are fleeing towards the west freight stables. That's our best chance of escaping alive."
"Right! Right! I completely forgot! Let's go, Makas!"
She grasped my hand firmly and led us toward our intended destination without hesitation.
As we sprinted through the village, the air was filled with the heart-wrenching symphony of desperate screams and cries, both from men and women and even from the children...
Some villagers ran alongside us, seeking refuge at the stables, while others bravely stood their ground, engaging in a futile struggle against the hollowed ones. Their valiant efforts aimed to protect whatever fragments of the village remained, even at the cost of their own lives.
During our frantic escape, my attention was drawn to the sight of human bodies strewn across the fields, their features distorted beyond recognition.
These unfortunate souls were ensnared by black goo and dark vines, their bodies contorted into grotesque forms. Ominous figures with oozing wounds, their once-familiar human features now twisted into something... nightmarish and repulsive. The faces, in particular, seemed to be melting.
Without a doubt, these were hollows – undead entities under the sway of a parasitic hive mind, compelled to commit acts of mass annihilation.
The tranquil village that I had known was now a distant memory, replaced by a repugnant stench hanging in the air – an unmistakable sign of the hollowed ones' presence. The houses, while structurally intact, stood empty and tainted by these malevolent forces, continuing to perpetrate violence and bloodshed.
Amidst our frantic escape, I observed that the village lamps and candles had all been extinguished. Ordinarily, they would remain lit throughout the night, but it seemed as though they had been forcefully snuffed out. Could this be a result of the foul stench that now pervaded the air?
"Makas, hold on! We're almost th—"
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In that instant, I felt the crystal shimmering unsteadily. I knew all too well what it signified.
"Mom! Look out!"
Swiftly, I pulled my mom back by her skirt, my attention drawn to the hollow emerging from one of the besieged houses. It screeched piercingly as it lunged at a villager running beside us.
This hollow was unlike any other, its hands replaced by bony, claw-like fingers that tore through the air with a shrill cry. Blood sprayed in all directions as it pounced on the villager, its abnormally large sharp teeth resembling those of a shark.
The scene was horrific as the hollow ravaged the lifeless body, consuming it from the inside out.
This hollow bore a resemblance to what one might envision as a typical zombie. Yet, there was an ooze-like substance, an unnatural ferocity, and an unsettling intelligence that set them apart. They might be more than mere undead creatures.
"Mom, go! Go!"
I shouted as my mom regained her footing, and we continued our desperate sprint, our focus locked onto escape, ignoring the nightmarish tableau around us.
For me... this was all too familiar.
I had witnessed this once before, in another timeline.
The cries, the screams, the desperate pleas for salvation from an inexorable fate... I had heard it all.
I had seen the shackled seeking liberation from this harrowing nightmare, only to remain ensnared within this unmerciful world.
I had observed the powerless clinging to every sliver of strength, their struggle for survival marked by unwavering valor, only to meet tragic defeat.
This... was nothing new. For this world operated much like a graveyard. Threats that initially emerged as mere nuisances slowly congealed and gained strength over time, evolving into formidable adversaries. The very fabric of the world teetered on the brink of chaos.
Regardless of whether it came to pass or not, irrespective of the veracity of these tales, one common thread united them all—they were real.
"This way, Makas!"
My mother tugged me along, leading us on a detour through an alleyway adjacent to the houses. The main road had become increasingly infested with hollowed ones, and debris from shattered homes obstructed our path.
A sense of unease slithered through me as we navigated the dark alleyway, its emptiness and hollowness unsettling. Yet, at this juncture, turning back was not an option. The pursuing hollowed ones were hot on our trail.
As we ventured further down the narrow passage, an eerie calm enveloped us. The tranquility seemed at odds with our perilous situation, but my apprehension eased when I caught sight of villagers racing toward safety on the other end.
It was a hopeful sign, and my mother quickened her pace, urging me to keep up.
But, as I suspected, my intuition was accurate.
Just as we were about to exit the alleyway, the crystal in my possession flickered, a warning of impending danger, just as it had done before.
The wall of a nearby house shattered and crumbled under a remote force.
The blast separated my mom and me. I was hurled backward into the alleyway, struggling to regain my footing.
In that instant, I was confronted with a sight so dreadful and grotesque that it stole my breath and filled my spirit with overwhelming dread.
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There I stood on the ground, gripped tightly by the bipedal arm of the hollowed creature, enveloped in an eerie silence.
I didn't scream, nor did I struggle or fight back.
I simply stood there, observing as this monstrous being prepared to devour me with its gaping, displaced mouth.
In that moment, it felt as if time had frozen, and a thought crossed my mind:
(Is this the ordeal that the inhabitants of my previous world endured?)
I had dreamed of moments where eldritch monsters tore at me, consuming me alive, but I had never experienced what followed. The memory would fade to black, plunging into a void of nothingness, leaving me unaware of the fate that awaited beyond that horrifying demise.
Would this moment now provide me with the answers? Would I become one of the many appendages of the hollowed ones, joining their ominous and seemingly peaceful crusade? Or would I become a captive of fate, trapped in consciousness but lacking the volition or will to control my own body?
Strangely, I found myself unafraid, instead accepting and strangely at ease. It was as if a tremendous burden I had carried for so long had finally been lifted. It was almost as if I had been waiting for this very moment.
Could this be my fateful end? Or was it too early to make such conclusions?
As the creature's right-hand claw descended, I instinctively moved my head aside, evading the strike.
(Why did I do that?!)
In that same instant, I noticed my right hand attempting to push the monster away, struggling against its formidable strength.
(Why am I resisting?!)
And again, the hollowed was about to strike me again with his talon blade. I quickly raised my hand and suspend him with every strength i had.
(Why?! why?! why?!)
My mind, after enduring suffering and contemplation, was on the verge of frenzy. In the midst of this unending ordeal, I felt that this could be the one opportunity to embrace the release of death.
So why, then, was I resisting?!
"Get off my son, you hollowed bastard!"
Suddenly, I heard my mother's voice, a surge of temper and determination in her tone, as she forcefully pushed the hollowed creature back in the direction we had come from. In her hand, I spotted a warhammer, its single head shimmering with magical energy, stained in pure gold without any discernible symmetry.
I glanced back, witnessing the damaged hollowed being bleeding and struggling to regain its footing, surrounded by its fellow damned creatures.
These demons manifested in all manners of grotesque variations—one with arms replaced by blade-like bone protrusions, another spewing black-green ooze that corroded flesh, yet another with hand-like claws ripping through flesh like a butcher's knife.
The descriptions were boundless, their mutations too monstrous to define. Their numbers were overwhelming, beyond counting, too numerous to defeat, creating a horrific tableau of carnage.
They weren't merely demons... they were something far more sinister.
"Come on, Makas!" my mother's shout jolted me into action as she pulled me along, guiding our escape in a different direction. My mind was still grappling with my inexplicable behavior.
The magical Warhammer vanished from her grasp, dissolving into fragments of golden feathers.
"I understand now... it's because of her...." I murmured quietly to myself as I ran alongside my mother.
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"We're almost there, Makas... Come on," Mom panted heavily, clearly unaccustomed to running, especially for her life.
Finally, we reached the stables.
In the distance, we noticed a frenzied crowd of villagers, their screams and shouts filling the air.
"The bastards left us!"
"Marcus and his men took the stables and abandoned us!"
"Including his son!"
"What are we going to do?"
"We're going to die here!"
The cacophony of voices painted a grim picture of the current situation. We were stranded, left to face our doom.
Voices laced with madness, despair, and a sense of helplessness resonated as the villagers grappled with their next move. Would they try to escape, seek another means of survival, or simply succumb to the inevitable embrace of death?
"No... No! No!" my mother whispered quietly, her demeanor crumbling as she witnessed hope fading like a wisp of smoke.
She gripped my hand even tighter, her emotions—anger, worry, dread, and patience—palpable.
My gaze swept over the surroundings. The once-piercing screams from the village had ebbed, replaced by the panicked cries of the gathered crowd. Clearly, the retired soldiers hadn't easily subdued the hollowed ones. And by this point, the evacuation is nearly impossible.
Wait... that meant... the guard on the hollowed Kingdome entrance... where did they...?
"Freia!"
Margaret's voice echoed in the background, and I saw her and Jill running towards us, a short distance away from the active crowd.
Winfrey was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, a monstrous, piercing scream pierced the air. I turned to see the same clawed hollow returning to claim its prey. It lunged at a villager, once again tearing into flesh.
The hollowed creature began to spew a corrosive substance onto the already maimed villager, the acidic fluid eating through flesh and blood.
My mother yanked me away from the horrifying scene.
However, the hollow didn't linger to finish its gruesome feast. Its attention swiftly shifted toward us, and more of its kind emerged from above the stable building.
The puker monster was back, poised to attack us.
"Freia, run!"
"MAKAS!"
My mother's grip tightened as she shielded me from the impending assault, her readiness to sacrifice herself for my sake evident.
But at the last moment, Winfrey intervened. Just as the creature leaped towards my mother, he slashed his long sword, cleaving the hollow in half from torso to legs, rendering it immobilized.
However, the creature, while incapacitated, continued to squirm, its missing torso seemingly ignored as its malevolent gaze fixed upon us.
Winfrey wasted no time, striking again and again. He severed its head, and its arms, finally bringing it down for good.
Yet, I couldn't be certain if the hollow was truly defeated...
"Freia! Makas! Are you both all right?"
"We're fine! Thank you!" my mother exclaimed, relief evident in her voice.
In the background, a cacophony of monstrous growls filled the air. More hollowed ones approached, causing the panicked villagers to flee towards the marked road that led out of the village. The very same carriages that had previously abandoned them awaited their escape.
With nothing left for them in this hopeless village, their only recourse was to flee, seeking whatever glimmer of hope they could find in this never-ending cycle of joy and misery.
"Freia! Honey! We need to leave now!"
As if one horde wasn't enough, another group of hollowed ones descended from the houses like apes, doubling the already formidable numbers. They headed towards Margaret and Jill, effectively dividing us into two groups: one with a chance to escape and another that was trapped, much like our current situation.
"Margaret! Jill! Run! I'll catch up!"
Winfrey's voice rang out as he implored his family to flee. Yet, in their eyes, I could see the fear of losing loved ones—friends and family, especially.
Jill's final cries included our names, mine, and her father's.
Winfrey rallied the remaining brave souls, urging them to hold off the advancing horde, providing enough of a distraction for the defenseless to escape.
"Freia! Get your asses out of here!"
Following Margaret and Jill now would be impractical, as they were pursued by another horde of hollowed ones. We were separated, and our escape routes diverged.
"Winfrey! You need to come with us—"
"We'll provide a distraction! Just go! Now!"
Another hollow appeared this one a slasher-like demon with sharp, bone blade protrusions in place of arms. It charged, its fury evident.
Winfrey acted without hesitation, slicing off both of its arms, incapacitating it.
Winfrey was even more courageous than I had imagined. He knew he might not survive this fight, knew he might have to leave his family behind. He was prepared to die a heroic death.
"Makas, come on, let's go!" Mom's voice called out, her arm outstretched, uncertainty etched on her face as she contemplated our next move.
"Mom, the woods! Remember, I got lost there the other day. They might not be able to find us there."
"Good call, Makas," Winfrey commended. "No time to waste. Go!"
My mother's expression showed her concern; she didn't want to leave Winfrey after everything he had done for her. But she closed her eyes in anguish, stood up, and held my hand as we set our course.
"Take this, Makas," Winfrey tossed a sharply-edged dagger my way. "Protect your mother."
"I will," I replied firmly, nodding my assurance.
"And... if you survive... please... protect my wife and daughter..."
"I promise..."
With that, Mom and I left Winfrey behind, never to see or speak with him again.
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"MOM! GET DOWN!"
As we moved toward the pathway leading into the forest, a hollowed Puker launched a green acid orb that spread into a large pool upon impact. We narrowly avoided it and continued running.
(At this rate, they're going to catch us eventually. I need to do something.)
Then, I spotted a stack of oil barrels attached to a wall of one of the houses.
(Hold on... What if I set them on fire? Could that stop them?)
Noticing that we were in a narrow pathway between villager houses, akin to a hallway, an idea formed. I could create a pillar of fire to potentially separate the pursuing creatures from us. I had a dagger, enough to break open the barrel stack and spill the oil. But I lacked a source of fire.
"Lantern... on your right..."
A voice seemingly came from nowhere, reminiscent of the dream earlier today. Was it warning me about the lantern?
I glanced to my right and saw a corpse next to a small, dimly lit lantern on the ground.
Without hesitation, I formulated a plan.
"Mom, keep running ahead. I have a plan."
"What?! No, Makas, don't go—"
"Just listen to me. I won't leave you. I promised you that. Just trust me."
Her expression shifted from initial horror to a hesitant acknowledgment. It was clear that while she was willing, she didn't want to leave me.
"... Come back to me, okay?!"
"Got it!" I assured her and began heading back toward the location of the lantern as she continued running ahead.
This was a dangerous gamble. Not only could I be killed by the pursuing monsters, but leaving my mother like this exposed her to potential attacks from the hollowed ones at any moment.
Yet, my recent experiences suggested otherwise.
Regardless, I was determined not to abandon her.
A slasher hollow charged towards me, its furious roars preceding its lunge.
Miraculously, I evaded its attack with a quick roll.
As I reached for the lantern, a growing sense of impending danger emanated from behind, a sensation akin to a cat's heightened awareness of its surroundings.
I ducked instantly and avoided a spitter attack, my reflexes seemingly guided by intuition. Without questioning these instincts, I grabbed the dimly lit lantern and swiftly moved toward the stack of wooden barrels laden with oil.
As I approached, I unsheathed my dagger and struck one of the wooden pillars supporting the barrel stack, targeting a particularly vulnerable spot. With a few more strikes, the structure collapsed, barrels tumbling down, the oil shower narrowly eluding me.
Instead, the falling barrels crashed onto the pursuing hollows, distracting and incapacitating them in their own slick demise.
(Now!)
I hurled the lantern toward the fallen barrels, igniting a magnificent blaze that erupted from the spilled oil. The flames surged, creating an impenetrable wall of inferno that incinerated any who dared cross it.
The hollowed ones screamed and roared in anguish, their flesh melting away until only the grotesque skeletons of their former selves remained.
The fire was their weakness, which likely explained why the village was shrouded in a shadowy mist devoid of any visible flames.
Before I fled, I caught sight of Winfrey in the distance. He continued to fight, slashing and felling one monster after another.
He fought with a tenacity that suggested he would resist death to the very end, a soldier defying the inevitable.
"Huh? What's that?" I murmured in confusion as I noticed a menacing figure approaching Winfrey's location.
A humanoid figure adorned in black knight's armor strode menacingly toward Winfrey, distinct from the other hollowed ones. He didn't roar or shout in anger, his movements devoid of twitches. Unlike the rest, he displayed no signs of deformity or mutilation, his actions displaying sanity, and conscious intent.
His chest plate was slightly bloated, offering ample protection. Leg and arm plates were comparably lighter, allowing agility and speed. A classical English tournament helm, extending to a black ponytail resembling the Roman galea, gave him an aura of royalty.
He wielded a polearm, a Black Glaive, the shaft wrapped in black vines for maneuverability and techniques during battle. The blade's end bore spikes that provoked unease, and the blade itself was smeared with fresh blood.
Winfrey noticed the newcomer's arrival. He raised his sword one last time, fully aware he might not survive this encounter, realizing he might never see his wife and daughter again.
Alas, Winfrey remained resolute, ready to fight on without an ounce of regret or fear. Like a soldier on the battlefield, he stood prepared to meet death head-on. With audacious determination, he took his stance, bracing himself for a final battle.
The black knight, on the other hand, remained fixated on the modest warrior before him. His demeanor showed no change, no concern. To the black knight, Winfrey was another weak, frail creature to be dispatched. He saw Winfrey as another corpse to be added to his growing horde of hollowed servants.
Winfrey's battle cry rang out as he charged toward the knight, poised to strike him down.
However, in a heartbeat, Winfrey missed his mark entirely.
Moments before his blade could connect, the black knight abruptly vanished into thin air, dissolving into a viscous black ooze that seeped into the ground.
"Makas,!stop daydreaming, and let's go!" a voice called out.
My mother urgently pulled me away by my arm, and we fled from the village, heading into the forest. As we ran, I couldn't help but glance back at the barely visible scene amidst the pillars of fire.
In a shocking turn, the black knight reappeared behind where Winfrey had stood moments ago. Swiftly thrusting his glaive into Winfrey's back, the blade emerged from the opposite side of his abdomen.
Winfrey's motion ceased as blood trickled from his mouth and the wound, rendering him immobile. The black knight then hoisted his glaive upward, Winfrey's dying form sliding down the polearm's shaft with minimal resistance.
The black knight cast Winfrey's lifeless body aside with a final swing as though discarding a spent plaything.
There was no satisfaction in the black knight's actions, triumph, or empathy. Only a sense of duty is fulfilled in an unfeeling manner.
I watched this macabre scene unfold before my eyes, unable to tear my gaze away, gripped by horror, dread, and despair. This was a reality that felt unreal, a reality I had only considered a bedtime story told to children. A reality I'd once dismissed as a dream, but now confronted as an undeniable truth, bearing eerie similarities to experiences I had encountered before.
This was just the surface, a glimpse into the abyss—the beginning of a nightmarish journey leading toward an even darker conclusion.
And there I stood, a witness to it all, unable to intervene.
Why? Why did I keep stumbling into these tragedies? Wasn't one such experience enough? How much longer must I endure witnessing these harrowing events? How many times must I relive these nightmare episodes?
Wasn't it better to succumb to death than to persist through this torment?
My final glimpse of the village was of the black knight's malevolent gaze locked onto me. It was as though he was communicating, whispering to me, "No matter where you run, hide, or flee, the truth will always find you."
All I could do was watch, a helpless spectator as the grim reality unfolded before my eyes.
And at that moment, I did nothing.
This was a beginning of a spiraling journey that brought my very own damnation and liberation.