🌑 ACT 1: SURVIVAL 🌑
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📖 PRELUDE – "EARTHBOUND ECHOES"
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The apartment was quiet, except for the rhythmic scratch of my pen against paper. The dim glow of my desk lamp stretched shadows across the wooden table as I logged today’s failure.
I stared at the numbers.
* Weight: 110kg.
* Push-ups: 10.
* Recovery: Still shit.
I tapped the pen against the page, exhaling through my nose. Ten.
Twenty-five years ago, I could do a hundred without breaking a sweat. Now? Ten was a goddamn war.
My fingers brushed against the scar, a jagged reminder of every battle my body had endured. Once, I thought pain was temporary—that wounds faded with time. Some didn't. Some clung to you, like ghosts under the skin.
I pressed my palm flat against my gut, feeling the uneven surface.
I wasn’t weak. I could still fight, still push forward. But I’d spent too long pretending my body would just snap back if I pushed hard enough.
It never had.
It never would.
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A snort came from my laptop speaker.
"You’re still logging that crap?"
I didn’t need to look to know the smirking bastard on the other side of the call.
"It’s called self-improvement, Fred. You should try it sometime."
"Self-improvement? Rick, at this point, you need divine intervention. You move like an old man with arthritis."
I huffed, setting the pen down. "That’s because I am an old man with arthritis."
Fred cackled. "Glad you’re self-aware. Acceptance is the first step to hospice care."
I smirked despite myself. "I'll see you there then, hold my seat for me, you geezer."
"I might be too busy ogling the nurses to remember that, Alzheimer’s and all."
Thirty-five years of friendship, built on equal parts mutual respect and relentless mockery. The kind where no line was sacred, and no weakness was off-limits.
I reached down, scratching behind Spark’s ears. He usually leaned into it. Tonight, he was stiff, muscles wound tight.
I frowned.
"I’ll have you know, I did ten full push-ups today." I said, my voice full of self-important mockery.
Fred gave me a long, exaggerated stare. "Holy shit. A full ten? Damn, Rick, slow down, you’ll hit godhood before sixty."
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I flipped him off, but my gaze stayed on Spark. His ears were flat, his eyes locked on the far corner of the room.
Fred kept talking, but I wasn’t hearing him anymore.
Spark’s body trembled. The only sound in the apartment was static.
The screen flickered—just once, then again—until Fred’s image disappeared completely.
A cold prickle ran down my spine.
Spark let out a low, rolling growl. He never growled, never barked, unless someone tried to take his chew bone.
Something was wrong.
I straightened, the humor fading from my face. "What’s up, buddy?"
The dog didn’t react to my voice.
He just kept staring at the empty wall.
And then—another flicker.
Like heat distortion in the air, but wrong. It was only there for a second, shifting like an afterimage burned into my vision.
But there was something different this time.
It wasn’t just an image—it was depth.
For the briefest moment, I saw a space beyond it.
My breath slowed.
I’d seen things before—shit that wasn’t there, exhaustion playing tricks, the way scars ached before rain. But this?
This was different.
Spark let out a sharp, strangled yelp and bolted under the table.
Fred’s voice crackled back in. "Rick? You good?"
I blinked, snapping back to the screen.
"Yeah. Thought I saw—" I stopped. What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, just a ripple in reality. No big deal.’
I forced a chuckle. "Never mind. Just tired."
Fred narrowed his eyes. "You sure you’re not stroking out? I mean, you’re practically a fossil."
"Appreciate the concern, especially coming from such a distinguished aging relic."
Fred grinned. "Anytime."
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I closed the training log and stretched my back. My muscles protested, stiff and unwilling. At least the pain was a dull ache now—not the sharp, searing kind from a decade ago.
I pushed back from the table, rolling my shoulders. Spark remained frozen, still staring at the corner.
I hesitated.
I wasn't the type to jump at shadows, but something about the air felt... heavier. Like pressure had dropped.
I exhaled, shaking off the unease, and grabbed my empty glass, heading for the kitchen.
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My grip faltered on the glass.
Not a tremor. A hesitation.
I wasn’t in pain. I wasn’t weak. But my body wasn’t right.
Twenty-five years ago, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to lifting something heavier. Now?
Now I questioned everything.
My fingers unconsciously drifted to the hem of my shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose my stomach.
The scar was just another part of me. Had been for years. But tonight, as my fingers traced the uneven tissue, it felt foreign.
Like it wasn’t mine.
I pulled my hand back and reached for the glass again. My grip was steady this time.
I set it on the counter with deliberate care.
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The ringing started as a whisper.
Not in my ears.
Inside my head.
I stiffened. The apartment, which had felt too quiet moments ago, now felt wrong.
I turned.
The shimmer was back.
Not in the corner this time. Right in front of me.
It pulsed, shifted—not a reflection, not a shadow, but something else entirely.
My breath left me. Every nerve in my body screamed danger.
Spark whined, backing further under the table.
Then the pull hit.
A force dragged me forward, a pressure slamming into my chest like a phantom grip. My knees buckled. My hands scrambled for the counter, knocking over the glass.
"No—"
My voice cut off. My fingers dug into the tile, muscles straining against something invisible, something ancient.
My heartbeat thundered. My vision blurred at the edges, narrowing into a tunnel of shifting light.
The ringing became a voice—not words, not sound, but something that vibrated through my bones.
It wasn’t a choice.
It wasn’t a dream.
I clenched my jaw, muscles screaming as I fought against it. Not like this.
My nails scraped against the floor, dragging me forward. My mind reached for something, anything—
No. I am not leaving my damn dog behind.
I shoved against the force with everything I had.
And for just a second—I felt something else.
Something watching.
A presence.
It wasn’t pulling me in.
It was splitting me apart.
My grip finally failed.
The world snapped out of existence.