Chapter Text
Death.
A looming certainty that shadows everyone's path, whether they like it or not.
Every story has its finale, that moment when the curtain falls, and the actors take their last bow.
But in this tale, there exist characters who choose to play dirty, those who cheat. They tip the scales in their own favor, twisting the rules using ancient knowledge and mystical objects, all in order to challenge the way things naturally unfold.
With a little bit of magic and a touch of sorcery, they slip past death’s grasp, avoiding its cold, unyielding end. They make themselves immortal, staying the same while time moves on. It’s unfair, but what can anyone really do? The world has never been the kind of place where fairness rules.
Especially to mortals—which, in case you forgot, is what you are. Yes, you’re a mortal, a human with a ticking clock on your life, but you’re also the owner of a florist shop, a rather small one tucked into the corner of a quiet street.
The walls are lined with greenery and flowers. The air is sweet, perfumed with the scent of a hundred different blossoms. You run the place with your one and only employee: a sleek, jet-black German Shepherd named Hot Soup, who, by the way, is ridiculously handsome.
With him by your side, time passes in a cheerful blur. During the day, you take long walks, care for your plants, lose yourself in books, and assist any customers who wander into your shop. When night creeps in, you wrap yourself in a warm, cozy blanket, snack on your favorite treats, and settle in to watch your favorite shows.
...and that was pretty much it, but you didn't want anything more, your days are predictable, monotonous. Everything is simple, comfortable, and safe.
That didn’t mean you've never thought about death, though.
I mean, come on, who hasn’t? It’s unavoidable, something you see all around—like the withering plants poking through the cracks of a city sidewalk, or the dead leaves that swirl in the autumn breeze. It’s everywhere, and for someone like you, who sells flowers to the families of the departed, it's hard to not wander down the path of such a grim subject.
You were content, yes, but you knew that the end of your life would come eventually, and you couldn’t help but think about when it might happen. If it were up to you, it wouldn't be anytime soon. Maybe after you've grown old and wrinkly, when you've had the chance to live your life to the fullest.
But Fate has her favorites, and you are not among the chosen few.
It was an ordinary day, quite a pleasant one actually. The weather was nice, the flowers were well, and you'd managed to garner a decent chunk of sleep - everything was just delightful really!
And then, the ground began to tremble.
At first, you thought nothing of it, Megalopolis was a large, ever-growing city. New buildings and shops opened up on a daily basis, and sometimes, the construction required a bit of demolition. So, the shaking earth didn’t strike you as something out of the ordinary, and you continued your work without worry.
Oh, how stupid you were.
Around noon, those tremors gained strength, evolving from gentle whispers to forceful shudders that rattled the very foundations of your shop. Objects clattered and crashed, shelves rocked, and the walls groaned under the strain.
Earthquake.
They weren't a common occurrence here, but it wasn't an impossibility either, so you knew the drill. You grabbed Hot Soup and tucked yourself beneath a doorway, bracing yourself against the wall. Seconds ticked by, and the shaking only worsened. The walls cracked, windows burst, and the air was filled with the loud crash of falling stone. It just kept going, with no pause, no break.
It was strange.
Grabbing your phone, you unlocked it and opened the neglected news app. With all the chaos, you expected to see something about the seismic activity. But to your surprise, there wasn't anything. No posts, no updates, zilch, nada, nothing!
Not a peep about the tremors rocking the city, not even a shady article from a less-than-reliable source.
Popping open your web browser, you typed 'megalopolis earthquake' into the search bar and gave the page a moment to load. The results were a mixed bag—questionable blogs and articles, a handful of reports from years ago, some self-proclaimed 'ultimate truth' sites with painfully obvious clickbait headlines, and downright irrelevant media thrown in for good measure.
One link, however, stood out from the rest, and its contents caught your attention almost immediately. It was a livestream titled 'GIANT MECH IN CENTRAL CITY???'—a bit ridiculous, yes, but the lack of better options left you with no choice.
The video quality was pretty bad, it seemed the person holding the camera was not doing a good job at keeping their hand steady. It was hard to make out much detail, but there was sound, and the audio was surprisingly clear.
You turned the volume up and brought the device closer to your ear. In the background, there was a cacophony of noises: nervous murmurs, quick whispers filled with panic, the occasional honk of a car horn, and the deep, rolling rumble of the earth cracking beneath.
The camera shifted, zooming in on a single spot in the distance. The footage was grainy, the screen a mess of pixelated shapes, but as you squinted, you could just make out the shape of something towering, tall, and menacing.
And then, the shaking and crashing—it all stopped, the silence ringing louder than the sound of destruction ever could. But before you could even attempt to think it was over, a terrible screech tore through the air—like metal scraping hard against metal, rough and painful.
It was loud enough that you could hear it in real time, even over the phone's tinny speakers.
The sound was awful, one of those noises that didn’t just hit your ears but dug in deeper, like it had teeth, biting down into your bones and chewing away. It made you want to shut it off; to click away from the video and pretend you hadn’t seen anything at all.
But you didn't, because even if it was terrifying, something told you this was important, and you had to know why. So, you watched, and listened as the awful noise built up higher and higher, until it reached its crescendo and ceased.
For a moment, everything was completely still—no one moved, no one dared to speak. You're sure that every single person was staring straight at it, waiting to see what would happen next.
The thing moved, and just like that, the spell was broken.
In a split second, the street burst into chaos. There were loud shouts, tires screeching, and the sound of footsteps slamming against the pavement. The camera shook and jerked around as the person holding it tried to keep it steady.
The livestream cut out, and you blinked, relieving your dry eyes.
You stand there, eyes fixed on your phone screen, with torn-up flowers at your feet and gardening tools lying all over the place. Taking a slow, deep breath, you started to sort through the jumble of thoughts swirling in your mind.
The stream didn’t explain anything. There was no context, no answers given, nothing about what caused the shaking, where that huge machine came from, or what any of it meant.
That's great.
Awesome even.
...that
that thing.
It was not friendly , not one bit.
You weren't stupid; you've watched movies where things like this went down. This was basically cliché end-of-the-world scenario number three, where a colossal, mysterious entity wreaks havoc and threatens humanity.
Plan, you need you a plan.
Let's see,
uhm,
Uh, phone, you’ll need that.
Money, if the world really is ending, cash and coins might come in handy.
Water, water is importa—
Your phone blares to life with a loud, shrill ring. You look down at the screen and see an emergency alert, telling you that a state of emergency has been declared. Citizens are encouraged to shelter in place until further notice, and to make sure all doors and windows are shut and locked.
You couldn't help but snort. Not only was it cliché, but it was also just bad advice.
First off, the entire front of your shop had windows. I mean, from south wall to west. If someone really wanted to break in, they'd be able to get in with a good throwing arm and a solid rock. Not to mention the stairway leading up to your living area, which was completely open to the first floor, with nothing more than a child's gate to keep anything from coming in.
If trouble came knocking and you stayed here, you might as well roll out a red carpet for it.
Secondly, you're already plotting out an escape plan.
Now that might not sound too important, but this whole situation was starting to look pretty exciting—no, not that, interesting was a better word. Either way, the fact remained, it's been a good few years since something got your brain buzzing like this.
So, without wasting another second, you get to work. You already have your wallet and phone, so now it’s time to raid your room. As you hurry upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, your mind races with possibilities and questions, each one piling on top of the last.
A bag would be useful, but it might slow you down, so you decide to leave it behind. But a dog leash is a must, and luckily, the one you have is a nice long one, with a harness instead of a collar. A small first aid kit is always important, and a pocket knife will fit perfectly in the front pocket of your jacket.
Oh! And you can’t forget the bandana—the one your grandmother made for you.
Anything more would just weigh you down, as much as you hate to admit it. You quickly shove everything into your pockets, then grab Hot Soup and clip him into his harness. After giving him a good scratch behind the ears, you take a deep breath and leave.
As you walk through the front doors, you can’t help but hope your store will make it through this mess, that you’ll hear the bell above the door chime again.
Out on the sidewalk, the city seems to be stuck in a quiet kind of panic. Voices are low, hushed murmurs mixing with the hurried shuffle of footsteps. Somewhere in the crowd, a child sniffles. The tension is thick, almost something you can taste—bitter, sharp, and lingering at the back of your throat.
People rush by, some holding onto their loved ones, others hauling heavy bags that bump and drag across the pavement. No cars fill the street—not because they aren’t needed, but because there’s no room for them. The road is packed with anxious faces, a restless crowd that surges and shifts, all pushing forward with no clear goal in mind. If you step too far from the safety of the building beside you, you might just get swept away with them.
Herd mentality.
They don’t know what’s happening. And it only takes one person—just one—to start moving, and the rest follow. Safety in numbers, that’s what they say, so they follow the crowd without question. That's when their minds go blank, all thought lost in the rush.
But you know better. You know not to let yourself get pulled into the flood of people, not to let panic take control. You press your back against the concrete of the shopfront, letting it shield you from the chaos. Hot Soup stands beside you, calm but alert, watching the mob with a curious eye.
"Come on, Soup," you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the noise. With careful steps, the two of you slip along the edge of the mass, keeping to the shadows, staying out of the way.
It’s like you’re invisible. These people barely even look your way, even though they’re almost stepping on your feet, stumbling over Hot Soup. No one stops, no one apologizes—they’re too wrapped up in their own worries to care.
Shuffling through the crowd is an arduous process. Each step tests your patience, your resolve. But little by little, you and Hot Soup manage to push forward, until finally, you find what you've been looking for: a small gap between the buildings, an alley.
You slip into the space, leaving the stampede behind.
These narrow paths are familiar—you used to take them home after school, dodging the madness of the final bell rush. Back then, they were a shortcut. Now, they’re a refuge, keeping you hidden, safe from the mindless mob.
...it’s quieter here, away from the crowd, but that doesn’t make it a much better place to be.
The stench in here was so strong you could taste it, a coppery bitterness that was thick enough to chew. The ground is covered in trash, and the concrete is damp with a filth that sticks to your shoes. It looks like the service workers only cleaned what they could reach from their trucks, leaving the rest to rot.
There’s no point in complaining, though, because as disgusting as this is, it’s empty. Everyone else is too panicked to think about using places like this, and even though it might sound cold, you’re kind of relieved about it.
It’s not like you hated people or anything! It’s just that, in a situation like this, stopping to help someone could slow you down, maybe even put you in danger. A right now, the only thing that mattered was survival—getting out of this concrete trap of a city with your dog and…
Well, you’ll figure the rest out later.
You tug on Hot Soup's leash, and the two of you start moving again, stepping deeper into the darkness. You’re both careful, trying not to disturb anything that looked off. But in a space this cramped and poorly lit, everything looks a little suspicious.
The farther you went, the nastier it got.
The walls were graffitied with hateful slogans and crude drawings, and the piles of trash seemed to grow bigger and more aggressive. There was broken glass everywhere, and you had to stop Hot Soup from getting too close to it a few times.
Just keep moving.
This was the safest way out of the city, so even if it was filthy, it would have to do. Besides, you weren’t alone—you had Hot Soup with you, who didn’t seem bothered at all. If anything, the pup seemed to be having fun, sniffing everything in sight—the ground, the walls, the piles of trash, anything he could reach.
That is, until he stilled, his ears twitching, tail straight up. You stopped too, scanning your surroundings, trying to find whatever had caught his attention.
At first, it was just a faint noise, far off and hard to make out.
But it grew louder, clearer, and you could tell it wasn’t just one noise. The sound shifted between different pitches, some high, some low, others somewhere in between. A particularly shrill note cut through, and that’s when you realized what it was.
I—it's...
...screaming.
The screams of hundreds of people, all at once, rising and twisting together into an awful cacophony. And it was coming from the very streets you had just left.
Your heart clenched, like it was trying to shrink, to make itself small and unnoticed.
Danger, a primal instinct whispered. You will die, you will fall if you do not run, and run fast.
Hot Soup barked, a sharp, sudden sound that snapped out of the daze you were slipping into. You look down at the dog, who gazed up at you with wide, bright eyes.
You let out a wobbly breath, your hand pressing against your chest, fingers gripping the soft fabric of your shirt. Inside, your emotions swirled like a flock of frantic birds, flapping, clawing, pecking at anything they could reach.
This was no longer a fun, once-in-a-lifetime adventure.
It was something else—horrifying, dreadful, indescribable.
Move.
You stumbled over your own feet, taking one step, then another, then another. Your pace quickened—walking turned into jogging, jogging into a full sprint. Hot Soup had no choice but to keep up since his leash was still in your hand... he must be confused by your sudden burst of speed, and honestly, so were you.
Because right now, you needed to stop, to take a breath, to think things through. But you couldn’t…
You just couldn’t
stop
running.
You were scared.
It was an entirely unfamiliar feeling, something you’d never had to deal with before. Your biggest problems had always been ordinary things—customers who wouldn’t pay or ones who were just plain rude. But this?
This was something else entirely, something far beyond anything you’d ever known. And it terrified you.
So you ran, and you didn’t stop. Your body moved on its own, legs pushing you forward through the twisting alleyways, past locked doors and faded paint, farther and farther from the source of that terrible sound. But your mind wasn’t with you—it was still back there, trapped in the echo of that awful screaming.
That is, until your breaths became heavy, your lungs struggling with each inhale and exhale. Until your muscles started to ache, tired from all the running. Until your body just couldn’t go any further, forcing itself to stop, and only then did the fear that had swallowed you whole finally start to loosen its grip.
You gasped for air, hands braced on your knees. Your chest feels too tight, like it can’t expand enough to take a full breath. The lights around you seem too bright, almost harsh, and the brick walls feel like they’re closing in, too close, too narrow.
You have no clue how far you’ve run or where you’ve ended up. Everything around you looks unfamiliar, and just five steps away, the alley opens up to the main streets—a place you absolutely don’t want to be after… after…
You need a new plan, but where do you even start?
Something is out there, prowling the streets, taking out anyone in its way. At least, that’s what your assuming, because those screams were definitely not sounds of joy.
(Whatever it is, it’s likely tied to the chaos erupting at the city’s center. How exactly? You’re not sure. But thinking it through, trying to piece it together, gives you something to focus on. It helps steady your nerves, even if just a little.)
You check your mobile map and see that you’re still a long way from the edge of the city. Curse Megapolis for being so massive! But on the bright side, the alleys could get you there without much trouble. You just had to be careful, had to stay out of sight. It’d be like sneaking through one of those stealth sections in a video game.
...yeah. You could do this.
Alright, here’s the new plan: stick to the alleys—whatever happens, avoid the main streets. The less attention on you, the better. Move quietly, don’t draw any unwanted eyes. Keep Hot Soup close and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. And most importantly—be ready for anything.
With that, you should be fine, at least until you make it past the city walls. Hopefully, things were better out there than they were here. No. Don’t think about that. Focus on... on what’s right...
Hot Soup’s head jerked to the side, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He wasn't one to do such a thing without a reason to.
From a nearby path came footsteps, but they were not human. They carried an unnatural weight and didn't tap against the pavement like shoes do. Instead, they click, click, clicked—like glass against stone. A foul stench assailed your nostrils, reminiscent of a deceased skunk left in the road, baking under the sun.
Your stomach curled into knots, and your throat threatened to expel whatever was in it.
From around the bend, a figure appeared. It... it was the kind of thing a child would call a monster, and you couldn't disagree. It was huge, a few inches taller than Hot Soup—and your dog wasn't small by any means.
This creature, if you could even call it that, was an interesting blend of blues. If it were any colder out, you'd think it to be some kind of ice spirit. Its form caught and reflected any ambient light, like a swirling, shimmering crystal sculpture come to life.
Its anatomy was all warped and contorted, looking like a bizarre combination of a wolf and a moose, with legs of uneven length and a stunted tail swaying in an irregular rhythm. And, the cream of the crop, was its crooked snout filled with teeth as sharp as blades.
You stared at it, and it with you.
Neither of you moved, nor did your dog.
It was a standoff, with each side waiting for the other to make a move... one that you lost, because you made the mistake of taking one small step back.
That was all the invitation it needed.
The beast sprang into action, lunging forward in a flash, aiming for you and only you. Its movements were unnatural, jerky, yet oddly graceful. You spun on your heel and did the one thing, the only thing you weren't supposed to do.
You ran out onto the main street.
You ran and kept running, your heart pounding loudly in your ears, your mind fixed on escaping. They say the trick is to confront predatory animals without flinching, but you did the opposite—you turned your back to the danger. And the instant you made that choice, it had sprung toward you.
Hot Soup let out a surprised yelp, his leash no longer tugging him towards you because you had let it go.
The world around you turned fuzzy, fading into a blurry background, overshadowed by the rhythm of your footsteps and the heavy thuds of the beast's approach. Your feet hammered against the ground, and fear gripped you like never before.
Run.
Run, and run, and run, and keep running, and maybe you'll make it.
You swerved around abandoned cars, leapt over debris, and did everything you could to put as much distance as possible between you and that monster. Hot Soup had followed, now close to your side, always there when you glanced over. He didn't slow you down; instead, he gave you an extra burst of energy, fueled by the fear of seeing him harmed.
The buildings changed as you ran. They went from tall to short, from businesses to homes, from well-kept to old and falling apart. There were no signs of life, no witnesses, no one around to help you.
A wrongness settled in the depths of your chest.
There was no one, and that wasn't right. People used to be here, in these streets that now blurred by in streaks of black, white, yellow, and red.
When the chance arose, you veered sharply around a corner, straight into what looked to be a residential neighborhood. And when your eyes finally caught up with your surroundings, they landed on a sight that made you stop in your tracks.
From the earth, vibrant blue columns erupted, their shimmering threads weaving through the nearby structures, engulfing what once was a peaceful row of houses.
And the ground—oh dear god, the ground.
The once seamless stretch of concrete had turned into a chaotic jumble of broken cement, marred by vivid splashes of red, the same as before but now glaringly prominent. It was a sea of blood, a puddle so large, you couldn't see the edges, the beginning, the end.
Acting as land masses were bodies, oh so many bodies. They lay there broken and twisted, their limbs bent into odd angles as if they were toys tossed haphazardly into a bin, left forgotten like trash. Some were torn apart, their flesh reduced to tatters—some missing large chunks while others were nearly stripped bare of skin.
Not a single one of these people were in one piece, let alone alive.
You tasted bile rising in your throat.
It was the most horrific sight you had ever witnessed, the gore, the reek of death—it was too much. Sure, you've seen similar scenes in comic books and video games, but you had never faced such brutality in real life.
It... you- how, why?
Before you could truly process the scene, truly let it sink in, something slammed into the small of your back, sending you crashing to the ground. Your forehead smacked painfully against the cement and stars danced across your vision.
Something sharp and cold grazed the back of your neck, and it took a moment too long for your mind to register what it was: teeth. Teeth that sank into your flesh.
A scream fought to escape your throat but stayed trapped, stifled by the fact that you had landed face-down.
The monster.
...you hadn't managed to lose it, and now it had you in its grasp. It was terrifying; you could feel each sharp, uneven point pressing into your skin, puncturing deep enough to draw blood. You struggled, squirmed, flailed—anything to break free.
With a forceful movement, you jerked your head to the side, ripping your flesh away from its jaws. The sharp teeth tore free from you, sending a burning sensation up and down your neck as the open wounds were exposed to the air.
Mm, yes. That was pain.
In one quick move, you rolled onto your back, your spine now pressing against the cracked pavement. From this new position, you drew your knee to your chest and kicked hard at the creature's abdomen. It proved effective, sending the beast tumbling from its perch.
It didn't stay down for long though, swiftly scrambling back onto your chest with a fractured growl. Your hands pressed against its chest, desperately trying to keep it from tearing into you. Its teeth shone like shards of a broken mirror as its jaws snapped hungrily at your throat, yearning to sink into the flesh there.
(Its body was really cold. It was like your palms were pressed against a block of ice, the chill numbing your fingers.)
During this struggle, the jagged claws on its feet dug into your torso, ruthlessly tearing through your tender skin with every movement. The ensuing agony that coursed through your body was nothing short of unbearable.
Blood flowed, pooling beneath your writhing body.
Those icy talons dug deeper, carving a crimson trail as they ripped through your flesh. They punctured, they sliced, they shredded.
Tears blurred your sight. Your head throbbed.
You were losing this battle of strength, its jaws getting closer to your face by the second. And then out of nowhere, a flash of jet-black fur appeared, crashing into the monster. The crushing weight holding you down vanished, but the claws deeply embedded in your chest left a searing ache as the thing was violently yanked off you.
You convulsed, rolling onto your side, body blazing from the assault. Through tear-filled eyes, you saw a blur of black and blue. The two shapes shrieked and hissed, thrashing and biting at either other, neither willing to give in.
...it was Hot Soup. It was Hot fucking Soup.
Your furball, your goddamn son, had hurled himself at the thing, determined to protect you, even at the risk of his own safety. Immediately, you scrambled to your feet, throwing yourself toward the struggle with unbridled ferocity.
Every fiber of your being screamed against such an action, but the pain flooding your senses became a secondary concern. You could not, and would not, stand by while this stupid popsicle endangered the life of your beloved dog.
The clash between them was a chaotic mess of limbs, a storm of aggression that left no safe opportunity for your intervention. So, you did what you could: you grabbed the first body that paused long enough for you to do so.
Fortunately, it happened to be the beast.
With a burst of strength, you sent it skidding across the pavement... wow. You suddenly understood how the women in those internet videos managed to effortlessly lift cars. Adrenaline proved to be one hell of a thing.
The monster swayed unsteadily, its body now adorned with bite marks, cuts, and scrapes, a sight that ignited a primal sense of satisfaction within you.
Hot Soup wasted no time in launching himself at it again.
The monster was slow in its attempts to fend off the bundle of black fur. It moved sluggishly, enough so that when its teeth neared Hot Soup's neck, you managed to intervene, delivering a backhanded bitch slap that redirected its head away from its intended target.
When it turned its attention to you, aiming to maim and maul, Hot Soup sank his teeth into its neck, eliciting a blood-curdling screech from its frozen jaws. It thrashed wildly, but Hot Soup held on, his sharp fangs piercing its shimmering skin, allowing him to stay latched despite the creature's violent movements.
You and Hot Soup alternated between striking the monster and shielding each other from its fury. It was a deadly dance that lasted five agonizing minutes. The battle only shifted in your favor when a particularly strong hit to its back leg caused it to buckle and collapse.
Not giving it any chance to recover, you lifted your foot high above the offender. Without a hint of hesitation, you brought it down with such force that the ground trembled beneath the weight of your righteous wrath.
You stomped, and stomped, and stomped. Each blow fueled by an intense fury, an anger, a horrid hatred. All else faded away, leaving only the satisfying feeling of ice crunching beneath your heel.
Now, the monster didn't die instantly, no, no. It writhed beneath your heel, snapping its jaws and swiping its claws at your legs, desperately trying to drag you down to its level. You stood firm, enduring each attack with a grimace but nothing more. Sweat formed beads on your forehead, blood dripped from your own clothes.
Still, you kept stomping, and stomping, and stomping. Forget the knife in your jacket pocket , this was a matter that had to be settled with your own two hands.
Its body began to crack and break apart under the relentless assault. Its movements grew less frantic, and its growls quieted. Soon, it was nothing more than shattered shards and cold chunks. Large fragments of its body lay scattered on the ground, each one frozen in a pose of violence, but none of it mattered anymore because it was over and you had won.
You were alive, and it was not.
...but now that the fight was over, and the adrenaline faded away, the pain set in. The injuries, the fatigue, it all came crashing down onto your shoulders, crushing you.
The back of your head felt sticky and hot, the skin on your neck had been ripped off in various places, and your shirt and jacket were torn to pieces. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to even stand.
You slowly lowered yourself to the ground and sat there, hunched over. Hot Soup limped over to your side, his eyes dim and breaths heavy, but he was alive. With a grunt, you lifted your hand and reached over to ruffle his fur. Your fingers caught in tangles, and you could feel the matted blood in his coat —whether yours, his, or someone else's, you couldn't discern.
"We're okay, buddy," you say, voice cracking. "We're gonna be alright."
And you will be fine, you just need a moment to rest. Just a second. That's all you need. Then you'll use that little first aid kit of yours and get yourselves back into fighting shape.
But not now.
Because right now, you are so, so tired.
You ease onto your back, grimacing at the stinging sensation it brings, and gaze up at the sky, at the sun that shines. You watch the clouds drifting lazily by, and slowly come to the realization that... that you're not going to make it out of this.
The wounds on your body bled freely, dripping onto the ground and merging with the growing puddle. There was no one around to help, no rescue in sight. You had no medical supplies (ones that would be of use, anyway), no tools, nothing that could aid you in the slightest.
In short, you're fucked.
As if coming to the same conclusion, Hot Soup lays his head on your stomach, letting out a whine. He looks at you, and you can tell that he knows. You whisper soft reassurances to him, scratching his ear, doing what you can to comfort the both of you.
The seconds pass, the minutes crawl, time both drags and rushes by, but the result is the same. Your heart begins to beat slower and slower, the flow of blood weaker and weaker. The warmth of the sun fades, replaced by an unnatural chill. Your eyelids droop, and soon they are closed , the world falling away.
The last thing you ever do is hold your friend.
You are dropped into a gentle darkness , the kind that even a child afraid of nighttime monsters would find comforting. It's not pitch-black, more like a soft, dark grey , like the filmy haze around an old camera. There is no ground beneath your feet, and no light shining from above. It's just you, floating.
A heart beats in the background, different from yours. This one is strong and steady, its rhythm creating an atmosphere that isn't too unnervingly silent or excessively loud, but a comforting middle ground.
It's peaceful, and the pain that had consumed your body is gone, replaced by a n all consuming warmth . You are no longer tired or afraid. There is no more reason to fight or flee. Everything is just... gone. Your thoughts, concerns, worries—all of it. What had filled your mind moments ago is no more.
Then in an instant, it all changes, as if you were snapped out of a dream. Something wraps around your ankle and begins pulling you down, down, downward. That comfort, that warmth , is ripped away from you, replaced by an aching cold.
You open your mouth, wanting to cry out, to yell, to make any kind of noise, but it's like the air in your lungs has been deliberately sucked away, silencing any sound from escaping. The darkness around you is no longer a soothing embrace but a choking, crushing force that presses against every part of you.
Now fully aware of the situation, you realize what's happening. You're dead, dead as a doornail, and you're being dragged downwards.
Are- are you being dragged to Hell?
I mean, sure, there was that time you pushed a kid off a slide in elementary school, but it was an accident! Surely God wouldn't punish you for all that, right?
A particularly hard yank snaps you out of your internal crisis, and the heart pounding in the background picks up speed, beating louder and faster. Your own heart beats in tandem, as if to answer the call. Any effort you put into struggling against the force is futile. It's stronger than you are , but giving up doesn't sound so appealing, so you squirm and kick and fight as hard as you can.
Now, you aren't scared—panicked, absolutely—but not scared. I mean, you've just died in a terribly gruesome way. What could be worse than that?
As if to answer your question, a sudden burst of light floods your senses, blinding you, and the force dragging you down releases you.
Blink, blink, blinking, your eyes slowly adjust to the new environment. You find yourself lying flat on a large stretch of water. Said liquid is pitch-black, but as you sit up, it drips off you in shining golden beads.
It reminds you of those famous salt plains, the ones with a lake so vast that it reflects the sky like a mirror. But instead of a calm blue sky with soft white clouds, this place displays a celestial roof painted in purples. Shades of dark violet, middling purple, and soft lavender blend smoothly, looking like a tiny galaxy stretched out above in a captivating show.
Adding to the cosmic illusion, an assortment of stars in varying sizes adorned the realm, their brilliant white glow flickering intermittently.
It feels familiar.
Getting to your feet, you take a look around. The place stretches on endlessly, just calm water and open emptiness. Despite the unsettling quietness and a coldness that is beyond your comfort, it's a breathtakingly beautiful sight.
But uh... where are you? It certainly doesn't look like the flaming, fiery pits of the underworld, but also doesn't look like soft clouds and feathered wings either. Could it be Limbo? The place in-between for undecided souls?
Only one way to find out, you suppose.
You cup your hands around your mouth and shout, "Hello?"
A few moments pass in silence. No answer.
But you are certain, absolutely certain, that you hear a whisper from behind you—barely audible, like a child trying to quietly get someone's attention. Turning around, you find no one, but when you turn back a near-silent snicker fills the space, as if an invisible entity found your reaction amusing.
Okay, weird.
"Is someone there?" you call out, voice carrying over the quiet plain.
A whisper brushes against your ear, the words so soft they're impossible to catch. Then you hear the sound of splashing, of someone stirring up the black liquid. Whirling around to investigate, you see nothing but the same empty, never-ending landscape.
Over here, a voice called from your left, sounding close. You took a few steps in that direction.
"Where are—"
Back this way, another voice prompted, but as you spun around, there was still nothing to be seen. You ended up turning in circles for a few minutes, chasing voices that were never where you thought they were. It was a wild goose chase, leaving you with nothing but a mounting frustration.
The more you chased after those elusive voices, the more they giggled and taunted you. Their childlike laughter and playful banter began to grate on your nerves. "Okay," you shouted, "this has been fun, but enough is enough!"
Silence fell, unsettling in its suddenness. You had expected the laughter and mocking to continue, not an abrupt end to the antics.
...thereafter, the bright white stars scattered across the scene began to melt, their light dripping down like candle wax.
Yeah, you read correctly.
Melt. As in what ice would do, not what distant celestial bodies thousands of light years away should do.
The silver substance began to drip, drip, drip into the dark waters below. When it touched the cooler liquid, a terrible sizzling sound filled the air, making you flinch—it sounded like flesh bein pressed to a searing pan...
Beneath the glimmering black waves, something started to take shape, stretching so far that you couldn't see where it began or ended.
It moved like a ribbon, swirling and twirling in a mesmerizing dance, holding your complete attention. And who could blame you? Its fluidity was captivating, seeming both alive and natural yet strangely rigid and otherworldly. It sparked your curiosity in a foolish 'I-want-to-see-what-happens-next' kind of way.
You watched it twist and bend, watched it rise higher and higher through the depths, watched the water a few feet away start to bubble and froth. You realized, a bit late, that whatever it was, it was coming up here. Immediately, every muscle in your body tightened, winding up like a coiled spring as the churning cluster burst, sending shimmering gold droplets flying as the white mass broke the surface of the water.
The first thing you see is a long muzzle pointed your way, one with a big grey nose that scrunched and snorted. Said feature was part of a head that sported not just one or two, but three pairs of oval-shaped ears, each flicking now and then as if attuned to every last noise in the space.
Resting atop its head like a crown were horns, or uh, antlers? It was a bit tricky to distinguish between the two as the formation was a melted mess of both types. The golden bone twisted around itself, simultaneously curving upwards while also sagging downwards.
Strange, but even stranger was its lack of visible eyes. Where such a thing would normally be were dirty bandages that wound around its head and even down to parts of its submerged neck. It was too far away to see much else, but instinct warned you to be afraid, to fear for your life, for what was left of you.
But you weren't. You were wary, nervous, kind of curious, and... feeling nostalgic?
The longer you stare at the being's face, the more this weird sense of familiarity overwhelms you. But no matter how hard you try to figure out where it might come from, you draw a blank. It's like trying to grasp something that isn't there, like a word stuck just out of reach.
The being snickers, and with a quick motion, it rises a few inches above the water, revealing a long stretch of its neck. A very, very long neck, covered with numerous mouths that snap open and shut, their yellow teeth clacking and clicking.
Such a sight startles you into speaking, and the first words that escape your lips are a simple, "Hi." You deliver the greeting casually, as if you were talking with a neighbor rather than a possible otherworldly entity.
Greetings, it replied in a chorus of voices—men, women, and children all speaking the same words. Some voices were loud and clear, while others whispered and mumbled.
Unsure of what to say or do, you simply stared, and it seemed to do the same. Then, slowly, it started to inch closer to you. Instinctively, you took a step back—not out of fear, but out of uncertainty. You didn't know what this being was, or what it wanted and that lack of knowledge made you uneasy.
It paused, tilting its head to the side at an angle completely unnatural for any living being. It stopped, then attempted to approach you again, but you stepped back once more.
The long form beneath the water twisted as it move, not pausing this time. Within moments, it loomed over you, turning out to be much larger than you had initially estimated. Its head alone was about three times the size of your body.
The grin it wore was filled with many sharp, golden teeth... this being could easily swallow you whole if it chose to.
Its large, cow-like nose sniffs at you, the wrinkled whiskers there scrunching with each twitch. As it scrutinizes you, you return the gaze. The being's body, a white mass covered in curly fur, was now close enough for you to note the light gray swirls curling across its pelt.
Was... was this some kind of god?
You've seen portrayals of animal-like deities in video games, anime, manga, etcetera and the creature before you seemed to fit the bill: large, intimidating, and mysterious. But you found it hard to believe that a god would appear before you of all people—someone who wasn't even born in China, someone who has never had much interest in the culture, myths or much else.
It has been much too long since we last saw you, rumbled the being.
"H-have we met before?" you blurt out, your words stumbling over each other in a stutter. It spoke as if it knew you, as though there had been a previous encounter, as if there's an actual reason behind that gnawing feeling of knowing.
That oh so wide grin, once playful and almost joyful, turned into a puzzled frown. It backed away a few inches, only to began circling you like a shark stalking prey. Naturally, you turned with it, never letting it out of your sight.
Its head and neck remained eerily still while its massive body twisted and turned below.
We suppose not, came the answer, delivered in a chorus of voices with various tones, But we know you, Starlight. In fact, we have been watching you for quite a while! However, this... this is the first time we have actually met you.
It's lying. It's so painfully obvious, but considering the closest part of this entity is its mouth, you decide to keep quiet about it and pose another question.
"Watching me?" You repeat, a bit dumbfounded by the idea. "How? ...why??"
Thinking back, your life was pretty boring, so you couldn't understand why anyone—especially this powerful-looking being—would willingly observe it.
It paused in its circling, several of its many mouths opening. Well, you see, you are truly a captivating human. One we have wanted to see in the flesh for ages. So, when the chance presented itself and you departed the mortal realm, we brought you here!
The water beneath your feet began to stir and froth, prompting you to quickly retreat a few steps. Just in time, too, as a massive hand with six talons emerged from the inky depths. One of these claws, large and intimidating, extended toward you.
It was as big as your leg, and when it reached you, it playfully tapped your nose—a gentle boop, so to speak. Then, the talon was thrust firmly into your torso, causing you to clutch onto the black nail to prevent yourself from falling backward.
The surface was surprisingly smooth in one direction, like polished obsidian, but rough like sandpaper in the other. Having something to hold onto, even if it was forced upon you, gave your thoughts a tactile anchor, allowing you to contemplate the situation and decide how you wanted to proceed.
You determined it would be best to keep questioning things, best to gather information and go from there. "Okay..." you began slowly, "Well uh, what is 'here' then? This place doesn't look like any afterlife I've heard about..."
The talon you're gripping twitches slightly as you run your fingers over its surface, tapping your own nails on it and relishing the sound it produces. That is because this is a realm we created for ourselves. A sanctuary tucked away from the scrutiny of gods and bothersome beings alike. It serves as a nest of sorts, where we observe the world as days pass.
"Ah... well, it's nice. But why bring me here?" You pause, both in your speech and fidgeting. Then, you clarify. "You said I'm interesting, but surely there are better people out there who know about space, or something like that."
There most certainly are, it affirms. When you look up at its face, confused, you see it wearing a thoughtful expression, brows drawn together, mouth set. But to us, YOU are the most interesting. We are not looking for a mortal skilled in glassblowing or knowledgeable about the earth’s workings or anything like that; we want you.
"But why?" you ask, wanting a reason, a cause. Out of billions of others—funnier, smarter, and cooler—why were you the cliché chosen one?
It huffs, Amusement. Your antics never fail to entertain us. The way you conduct yourself is polite and kind, yet when provoked, you are fiery and quick to snap back. We admire that quality; it reminds of something close to our hearts.
There is a pause, the talons you aren't holding flexing in the air, before it continues, its tones notably softer than before.
However, as with all mortal lives, yours came to an end. And so, some voices seemed to warble and crack, almost sounding uncertain, we wanted to propose an offer—a deal—to a soul whose very existence has profoundly touched our hearts in ways indescribable.
Your gaze shifts to the talon still in hand. The water below ripples and swirls around the enormous limb. You take a deep breath, as your mother taught you to do so long ago.
"...a deal?" You parrot, choosing to sidestep the more-than-likely fake sentiment and focus on the latter part of its statement.
Indeed.
"Everyone warns against making deals with deities and demons. How can I be sure you're not trying to take my soul?" You say it with a hint of humor, but being dead and uncertain about the fate of your physical body, that's the only thing you can imagine it desiring.
Fear not, Starlight, it laughed, chucked and giggled all at once. Though we may appear intimidating and untrustworthy to a mind as delicate as yours, we have no intention of doing such a thing. Consider it more as a pact between friends, if you will.
"Alright, um, what would the terms of said deal be?" You inquire, deciding that entertaining the conversation would be the wisest course of action.
It is quite simple; you will receive a portion of our power and allow us to observe your life more closely. In return, we will send you back to the land of the living. You will wake up safe and sound in your own bed, on a day of our choosing.
"Wait—" You fumbled, letting your hands drop to your sides. It retracts its own hand, and the limb slips back beneath the black water. Your mind races with thoughts of what has just been said. "What? What do you mean??"
We mean what we say, it states, as if it hadn't just dropped the most bewildering, mind-bending revelation on you. You take some of our power; we send you back to the mortal world, and we watch you go about your days.
"I understand that part—" You spluttered, "But you can bring me back? My body? Flesh, blood? Everything?"
Why doubt us? The being questions, and you fixate on its eyeless face as it ascends higher above the water and moves about, laying its long body loosely around you, surrounding you. You get to see that when it speaks, it's not the main mouth that moves, but those on its neck and body, each voicing different words to complete the same sentence. We claim we can revive you, so surely we mean to, hm?
"Um, well," you falter. You don't know exactly who this being is, where it comes from, whether it can be trusted, and so on. But you're not going to voice your distrust of it to it. "I mean, celestial gods don't bring mortals back to life—or at least, that's what I've heard—so, I'm not sure if you can do that or if this is some kind of play on words…"
There's a sudden, harsh slap of water from an unknown source, sending the black liquid into a frenzy of rough rapids that tug at your legs, pulling you toward an undetermined point. The being's numerous voices begin to whisper softly, their overlapping words forming an incoherent murmur.
Rest assured, Starlight. Our power far exceeds those pitiful celestial beings called gods, louder voices say, their words dripping with a potent venom. They can only dream of wielding the might we possess.
The water calms, returning to its peaceful, still state. So yes, we can revive you. Quite easily.
"Okay," you exhale, feeling the tension ease from the taut muscles and skin of your back. "Can I... ask some questions about the deal?"
Why, of course! it exclaimed. Its voices were now calm and overly sweet, much like before, but there was still a sharp edge to the tones that made your spine tingle.
"First of all. I'll need a name and how I should refer to you," you say.
Hmmm. Within the realm of the divine, names bear profound significance. You may address us as Hàoyú. And when referring to us, 'them' will suffice.
Alright, that makes sense given their constant use of 'us,' 'we,' and other plural terms. Even better, you now had a name, something you could look into later, assuming this whole thing wasn't just some elaborate trick. Not that you were planning on taking the deal anyway!
You were just curious—I mean, bringing someone back to life? How could they even manage that?
"Okay," you mumbled, shifting from foot to foot. "So, um, what exactly are you..? A god? Something else?"
So curious, Hàoyú teases, voices holding a hint of amusement, almost fondness. Why do you desire that knowledge? Our identity holds no importance to the agreement or its terms.
The previous question didn't either, you want to point out, but their counter-question suggests they're hiding something about their nature. You want to know what it is.
"It does too," you defend, crossing your arms. "What if you're some kind of tricky demon, a soul snatcher, monster, or—"
You aim to continue, but they silence you by closing the gap between you. Their face moves from a few feet away to just inches from yours, and your breath catches in your throat. They come so close that you notice they don't breathe, and the stench emanating from them is horribly foul. Hush, that is enough. We understand your concerns now.
They sigh, the sound like a hiss of air through their teeth and the rustling of fabric. It is uncomfortably loud in your ears. To ease your mind, we are none of those. We are the remnants of mighty warriors, survivors from a time long past, when China brimmed with heroes and spun tales…
They don't elaborate further; they simply stare at you—something you can sense rather than see. After a few long moments of uncomfortable silence, you realize they are waiting for you to speak.
"Is that all?" you ask, feeling rather disappointed. It kinda felt like they had purposely made it intriguing only to leave you hanging.
For now, they reply, If you agree to our deal, you will learn more about us. And before you ask why—which we know you are about to do—we cannot let you share this information if you decline our proposal.
"The deal..." You pause, taking a moment think it over, to truly consider it. "What happens if I say yes? And what if I don't?"
If you accept, the terms of the deal begin, they explain excitedly, You return to the mortal world, living your life while we freely watch. When you die, you will return here, and then we send you back once more.
Wait,
hold on,
that's a lot to process—dying again??
They state it with a sense of inevitability, not possibility—
However, if you choose to refuse, we will still send you back. But, without our interference your next death will be your true and final end.
Your thoughts squirm and wriggle within your mind, and all you can manage to say is, "I'll die again? No matter what I choose?"
Couldn't you just go back to that comforting, warm darkness with the soothing heartbeat?
Why would they send you back to the living world, where the certainty of another death hangs over you?
It's- I mean- you get where they're coming from; you were—or will be?—a weak little mortal with a body as delicate as daisies. And the world, as always, isn't fair, especially not to you.
Absolutely, they state matter-of-factly, as if it's the most obvious thing. The times ahead will be dangerous; the fact that you managed to survive as long as you did in your previous life was astounding!
...so either way, your fate leads to an end.
But if you accepted Hàoyús offer, they'd bring you back here and give you another chance to live. Does that mean your next death would be painless? Would they skip the slow, agonizing process of dying and whisk you here right away?
You'd like that—to avoid that dreadful, excruciating pain. And if you refused their offer, who's to say they wouldn't just tear you apart instead of sending you back as they claimed?
But why not just say that outright instead of being deceptive? That would definitely make you more inclined to take the deal.
Argh, you wish this were easier.
Every part of you screams no, because since moving here, it's been drilled into your thick skull that deals mean trouble. And for good reason, because if you miss something and lose your soul, or whatever the equivalent is here, it's over.
But the idea of being brought back is tempting, incredibly so.
...if you don't do this, it's truly the end when you die. No more sunny days and flower bouquets. No more dressing Hot Soup up in cute costumes. No more dreaming of all the things you could do. No more anything.
But if you do, they'd bring you back here if you die, and then send you back again, presumably to live over and over. And while alive, you could research things, learn about this being, and go from there.
Yes, this sounded like a solid plan.
Make the deal, learn more about them, find a loophole, and wriggle out of the agreement if things got sketchy (because it really does seem too good to be true), and above all, stay alive.
You've made your decision.
"Okay," you breathed out, nodding at the being who openly watched your internal struggle. "Okay, I'm in. I'll accept your deal, but let me be clear: if there's even a hint of trickery, I'll wring you out like a goddamn rag."
Oh, how wonderful! We are delighted! they chortle, the loudest tones formal with the quieter ones holding an underlying excitement and satisfaction. The path you have chosen is full of twists and turns, but know that we will be watching as your journey unfolds. Rest assured, no matter what challenges come your way, you will not be facing them alone anymore.
How comforting.
Well, not really.
In fact, it was quite ominous and unsettling.
"Um, so, do I, uh, need to shake your hand or something?" you ask, casting quick glances around, looking for any sort of cue. You don't know anything about the protocol for making deals—was a handshake necessary? Or would a verbal agreement suffice given the circumstances?
Rather than answer, they act. The long body laid upon the waters stretches and wraps around you, slowly closing in, coiling tightly.
Soon, all you can see is white, completely surrounded by their presence, trapped. You brace for the crushing pressure of their tightening coils, expecting to be squeezed by their immense strength. Instead, there's nothing, no agony, no torture, only a shimmering wall of fur.
Then, like a solitary star torn from its celestial mooring, you plummet downward, free-falling as if dropped from the heavens. Your limbs flailed in the emptiness, your heart racing in your chest as you struggled to navigate this disorienting fall through the unknown.
At first unnoticed, the brilliant white that surrounded you started to change, morphing into deeper shades of gray, like the slow dimming of a light. From a blinding brightness to a dreadful ink-black.
Your senses struggled to comprehend the nothingness. That is, until something from the darkness slammed into you, hitting you square in the stomach.
The impact was jarring, leaving you breathless and your bones aching.
You lurched forward, wheezing, tumbling and stumbling, rolling until you landed on something solid. Blink, blink, blinking to clear the darkness clouding your vision, you found yourself staring at a wooden floor, face to face with it.
Your wooden floor.
The floor of your room.
In your house.
Wait.
Was this... real?
Getting up from the floor, you see your bed—a jumble of tossed blankets and scattered pillows, as though you'd had a fitful night. What- what was going on?
Could it have all been a drea... no. No, don't be stupid, you chide yourself. There's no way your mind made all that up; it wasn't a dream. It was real. You'd struck a deal with that being, god, thing, and this was just a part of that pact.
You were alive. And, um, well, first things first, Hàoyú had mentioned sending you back to a specific day of their choosing, so... where were you—or rather, when were you? (Stars, you've always wanted to say something like that).
You moseyed on over to your bedroom door and slowly pushed it open. Peering into the living room, you saw the space bathed in a gentle morning glow, with everything in its exact place.
Right, the catastrophic event that ended your life shouldn't have happened yet. But it loomed like a shadowy figure in the distant future, a foreboding omen of disaster that hadn't yet darkened the world. You suppress the creeping panic that rises at the thought.
Reflecting on such matters wasn't part of your agenda at the moment. What mattered was figuring out the date, to plan things out, to be prepared. So, you stumble forward with the intention of reaching the kitchen.
Why there? To check your calendar.
Sure, you could've used your phone, but technology can be tampered with. What couldn't be changed were the scratched-out dates and your neat handwriting filling empty squares. Across the carpet you go, past the couch, and into the tiled room itself.
You approach the refrigerator slowly, almost nervous about what you might find.
Step, step, step, and then there they are: faced with the squared days and red X's. Your eyes skip over the month and instead follow the path of crossed-out weeks, your heart pounding with each mark you pass.
Finally, you find it.
It's July 14th, XXXX, a whole year and four months before your death.