Ren stepped through the front door, keeping his face blank like a mask he'd worn too many times before. The hum of the television bled into the silence of the house, murmuring some late-night drama neither of his parents would really be watching. Just noise to fill the void.
He kicked off his shoes with practiced detachment, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made for the hallway.
"Ren."
The voice froze him mid-step.
His father stood near the dining table, arms crossed, the overhead light carving a hard edge into his features. Across from him, his mother sat, fingers twisted together in her lap, her brows tight with worry.
Ren didn't say anything. Just stared.
His father's voice cut the silence. "Where were you?"
"Library," Ren lied without missing a beat. "Studying."
His dad's eyes didn't move. "We got a call from your school today."
"Shit."
"They said you weren't there."
Ren's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "They actually called home? What kind of school even does that?"
"You wanna explain where you were?" his father asked, tone deceptively level.
"School must've made a mistake," Ren said with a shrug. "I was there."
"Don't lie to me, Ren," his father growled, taking a step forward.
"I'm not."
"We called you. Over and over again," his dad snapped. "Your phone was off."
"I didn't hear it."
"Don't give me that!" His voice rose, sharp and thunderous. "You think no one would find out? You think your school wouldn't notice?!"
"Please, let's all just calm down—" his mother began, standing.
"No, he needs to hear this!" his dad barked, not taking his eyes off Ren. "You disappeared. You cut school without a word. You're lashing out at home. What the hell is going on, Ren?"
Ren rolled his eyes. "What's it to you?"
His father slammed his palm against the table. The sound cracked through the room like lightning. Ren flinched. Just barely.
"You don't get to do whatever the hell you want!" his father shouted. "You have responsibilities! People who care about you! You think we're just here to clean up after your messes?!"
"It was one day!" Ren snapped. "One goddamn day! What, you think I burned down the city?!"
His dad's face hardened. "You keep shutting us out! You don't talk to us, you don't tell us where you're going—do you even care about how much we worry?!"
Ren scoffed. "Oh, now you care? Funny. You only show up when I screw up."
"Don't you dare twist this," his father warned, voice sharp as glass.
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
"You ran off, ignored us, and then lied!" his dad shouted. "So don't act like some innocent victim! I don't know what's gotten into you, Ren. You used to—"
"Oh, here we go." Ren's tone turned venomous. "I used to be better, right? A 'good kid.' What, am I some disappointment now?"
His dad rubbed his temples, visibly worn. "I think you're lost."
The words hit harder than Ren expected. He looked away, jaw clenched.
"You don't know anything about me," he muttered.
"You think this is all on us?" his voice cracked—part rage, part something more desperate. "We're trying. We try, Ren. But you keep pushing us away. You hide. You don't let us in. How are we supposed to help you if you won't even try?"
"Even the hardest rock gets shaped by water—not because water's strong, but because it never gives up," his dad said quietly. "If something that soft can change the world just by keeping at it, so can you."
"Shut up!" Ren exploded. "Just—shut up! You always act like you know everything, like you've got all the damn answers, but you don't! All you do is push and lecture and remind me how I'm not enough!"
His voice cracked, raw now. "I just want to breathe, okay? I want to feel like I can change without everything I do being thrown back in my face!"
His father's voice boomed back. "Because you don't let us! We try to be there for you, but you don't give us anything back! What are we supposed to do?!"
"Maybe just leave me alone!" Ren shouted.
"That's not how family works!"
"Then maybe I don't need one!"
Silence.
The words dropped like a bomb. The entire room fell still.
His mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
His father's expression shattered—like something in him physically broke.
Regret surged in Ren's chest, sudden and sharp, but the heat of the moment—the fury and frustration—kept it buried.
His father took a step forward, voice low. "Where do you think you're going?"
Ren didn't answer.
He grabbed his hoodie from the rack, yanked the door open.
"Ren!" his father's voice rang out like a final warning.
But Ren didn't stop.
He stepped into the night, the cold air biting into his skin, and kept walking. Fast. Without looking back.
The door behind him creaked.
Then—
"Ren!"
His mother's voice. She sounded desperate, torn. She took a step forward, but then hesitated, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Maybe we should… just give him some time."
His father shook his head. "We can't just let him walk away like this."
"But forcing him back won't help either," she said, her voice wavering.
His father exhaled sharply, but he didn't argue. He just stood there, watching Ren's retreating figure.
Ren stood at the edge of the street, his fists clenched. His whole body was tense, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't even begin to untangle.
But he didn't turn back.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked into the night.
The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely felt it. He just kept moving, his feet carrying him forward without thought, without direction. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement. The further he walked, the quieter the world became, until all that remained was the echo of his footsteps and the dull roar of emotions he couldn't shake.
He needed a distraction. At some point, he found himself in front of the arcade. He didn't remember deciding to come here—his body had just taken him somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't home.
The neon sign buzzed softly above him, bathing the sidewalk in electric blue. He exhaled, then pushed open the door.
The hours blurred together as Ren bounced from game to game, losing himself in the noise and flashing lights of the arcade. It was easier this way—letting the glow of the screens swallow him whole, letting the sounds of explosions and victory jingles drown out the gnawing unease in his gut.
When he finally stepped outside, the sun had set, and the chill of the evening bit at his skin. The streets were quieter now, bathed in the flickering glow of streetlights. Shadows stretched long and thin, distorting familiar shapes into something more sinister. The hum of distant traffic filled the air, yet the world around him felt eerily still.
Ren shoved his hands into his pockets, his breath visible in the cool night as he wandered aimlessly through town. He wasn't ready to go home—not yet. But eventually, his feet carried him there anyway, as though drawn by some invisible thread.
The sight of his front door, once so familiar, now felt… wrong. The house loomed in the darkness, windows black and empty. There was no glow from the living room TV, no kitchen light spilling warmth into the hallway. Just silence. A deep, pressing silence that coiled around his ribs like a vice.
Ren's stomach tightened. His fingers hovered over the doorknob, then slowly turned it.
Click.
The door creaked open, the hinges groaning too loudly in the stillness. He stepped inside, the scent of old wood and dust immediately hitting him—but underneath, something else. Something acrid. Faint. Wrong.
His pulse quickened.
"...Why is it so dark?"
He flipped the switch by the door.
Nothing.
He tried another. Another.
Still nothing.
"What the... fuck?" The words slipped out, barely above a whisper.
The air felt heavy, oppressive—as if the house itself had been holding its breath. Every step forward was a fight against something unseen. His chest tightened with every heartbeat.
"Mom? Dad?"
Silence.
He moved further into the hallway, eyes adjusting to the faint sliver of moonlight bleeding through a cracked window. The walls were gouged. Furniture lay overturned. A shattered photo frame crunched under his foot.
He tripped over something.
He didn't look down.
The smell hit him next—metallic and foul, like rust and rot mixed with something sickly sweet. His gut twisted.
"Mom! Dad!"
Still no answer.
At the end of the hall, the door to his parents' room was… gone. Not open. Gone. Just a massive, splintered hole where the door used to be, jagged wood jutting out like teeth.
He took one shaky step forward. Then another.
What he saw inside would never leave him.
The carpet was soaked in blood. A wide, glistening pool that glimmered darkly in the moonlight. Viscera—torn remains—littered the floor like a slaughterhouse. Among them, half-submerged in the gore, was a head.
His father's.
Ren froze, breath catching mid-gasp.
"No. No, this isn't real. It can't be."
His knees gave out, dropping him to the ground as a strangled sound clawed its way up his throat. His body trembled, cold sweat pouring down his spine. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But he couldn't move.
And then… he saw her.
His mother.
She lay broken on the floor, eyes wide with agony, blood smeared across her face. Her mouth worked like she was trying to scream, but only choked sobs came out.
She was being devoured.
The creature looming over her was a nightmare come alive—its skin pale and translucent, stretched too tightly over its frame like wet paper. Veins pulsed beneath the surface, dark and swollen. Its hollow eyes leaked a thick, dark fluid, staining its sunken cheeks. It made a wet, gurgling sound, like something drowning in its own breath.
Then, it turned.
"R...Ren..." It hissed, the sound distorted—like static under water.
His mother's bloodied hand reached toward him.
"Run, Ren…" she gasped, tears mixing with blood as the creature wrapped its skeletal fingers around her again.
Ren's body finally obeyed.
He bolted, stumbling backward so fast he nearly fell over himself. His vision blurred with panic. The hallway was a distorted tunnel of shadows and broken shapes as he sprinted, his lungs burning.
He crashed into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, locking it with shaking hands.
"Think. Think! I need something—anything!"
His eyes darted around the room. There.
The shinai—his old wooden kendo sword—resting on the wall.
He lunged for it.
But before his fingers touched the grip—
CRACK.
The door exploded inward in a shower of splinters, a monstrous force slamming into Ren and sending him flying. He crashed into the far wall, the wind knocked from his lungs, his skull ringing from the impact.
Pain bloomed through his back like fire. He gagged on the coppery taste of blood.
Through blurred vision, he saw it.
The creature stood in the doorway, water pooling at its feet, dripping from its grotesque form. The room reeked of death and rot.
"Ren..."
Its voice curled around his name like smoke, thick and wet and ancient.
He crawled, vision spinning, fingers scrambling over the floor until they closed around the shinai.
His body screamed in pain as he forced himself up.
He was shaking. Bleeding. Outmatched.
But his grip tightened.
"I have to fight." He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
"Even if I'm going to lose."