Darkness.
Again.
And then… ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
A massive, rusted clock floated in the void.
I stood beneath it, but there was no ground. No air. Just that clock, and the ticking that burrowed into my mind.
This again.
[{Wake up.}]
The voice again. Calm. Measured. Ancient.
I didn't answer at first. I just stared at the clock. Its movement wasn't random—it was deliberate, but... wrong. Too wrong to be natural.
Then I spoke, quietly. "You're the one who told me to close the portal, aren't you?"
Silence.
"But why me?" I continued, not expecting an answer. "You drag me out of my world, throw me into some hellscape… and for what? What am I supposed to be to you?"
[(You must wake up…}]
I scoffed. "Of course. No explanations. Just commands. Wake up. Close this. Break that. What am I, your pawn?"
No answer. But the ticking grew louder—sharp, like the snapping of bones.
A shape emerged from the shadows. Vague. Tall. Watching.
I met its gaze—if it even had one. "Who are y-"
The ticking stopped.
I woke up. My body ached. My head throbbed.
"Why the hell do I have to go though all this?"
I sat up slowly. Everything always felt… off here.
"I need to understand this place," I muttered.
So I got up. Took a breath. Started walking.
The ground was dry. The air was still. Trees twisted like bones.
Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
I kept going. Eyes open. Hands ready.
If I was stuck here, I had to learn how to survive.
I walked for what felt like hours.
The sky never changed. Still red. Still silent.
No sun, no clouds, no wind. Just that endless, suffocating red... like the world itself was bleeding and hadn't realized it yet.
I stopped to catch my breath near a strange tree — tall, gnarled, like it had twisted itself in pain. I reached out and tapped it with my knuckles.
Clink.
My brows furrowed. That couldn't be right.
I stepped back, grabbed a broken branch off the ground, and inspected it. It looked like wood. Felt... heavy.
Too heavy.
I swung it against a rock.
Crack
My stomach turned. The rock cracked into pieces.
"What is this place...?" I whispered.
The trees, the ground, even the air — everything here was wrong. Unnatural. Hostile.
I kept walking, slower now. Observing. Testing. Learning.
I didn't know where I was, or why I was here — but if this world wanted me dead, it was going to have to try a little harder.
First I need shelter.
I keep walking around to fiind a good place.
I found a spot between two boulders. One entrance. Easy to defend.
The wind was quiet, but the silence felt wrong.
I grabbed some broken sticks. They were heavy. Hard as steel. I jammed them into the ground, one by one, to make a fence.
This would be my shelter. For now.
My throat burned.
I needed water.
I walked. The ground cracked beneath my steps, dry and rough. There was nothing but gray dirt and crooked trees.
Then I saw it—a still, black puddle in a shallow pit. It didn't smell right. It didn't look safe.
It smelled like shit.
But it was all I had.
I filled the bowl-shaped rock I found earlier and carried it back. My legs ached. The world felt heavy.
The base waited—just a fence made of broken sticks. Pathetic. But it was the only thing I had.
I lit a fire with shaky hands and set the bowl down to boil.
As the flames flickered, I sat beside them.
There was no sound. No voices. No footsteps.
Just me.
I stared into the fire, and for the first time in a while, I missed everything.
The noise. The people. Even the boring days.
Now there was only silence. And the smell of smoke.
I sat by the fire, watching the black liquid bubble in the bowl.
It smelled awful.
But I was thirsty. My throat was dry, lips cracked. I didn't have a choice.
I let it boil longer, just in case.
When the flames died down, I waited. The bowl was hot in my hands.
I hesitated. Then took a sip.
Warm. Bitter. But nothing happened.
I stared at the surface.
Then drank more.
The bowl slipped from my hands.
Pain.
It hit me like a hammer—my chest burned, skin tightened, bones ached.
I gasped. Clawed at the ground.
Something was wrong.
My hands bent the wrong way. My thoughts blurred.
Voices. Visions. Something inside me laughed.
I was mutating.
I screamed.
Then—tick.
A sound, deep inside me. Like a clock.
Everything paused.
The pain… pulled back.
My skin stopped crawling. My mind cleared.
The voices faded.
I was still me. Barely.
But I was still me.
It took some time for me to recover from the pain.
But eventually, I slept.
I don't remember when.
The fire was still crackling when my eyes shut. Or maybe it wasn't.
I dreamt of nothing. Just black. No voices. No clocks. No Eve.
Just cold.
When I opened my eyes, it was still dim.
I was still alive.
My body didn't ache like before. The shaking had stopped.
My head felt clearer.
I sat up, blinked at the faint red glow of the dying embers, and whispered to no one,
"Still here."
Then I got to my feet.
Hunger.
That was the first thing I felt after waking.
It clawed at my insides, sharp and angry.
I hadn't eaten in—hell, I didn't even know.
I stared at the empty space beside the fire. No food. No scraps. Nothing.
The shelter felt too small. Too quiet.
I needed to move.
So I grabbed the pointy stick I sharpened yesterday and stepped outside the fences.
The cold air wrapped around me. The trees stood tall and still, silent like statues.
My stomach growled again. Louder.
I whispered, "Alright. Let's find something to eat."
And I walked.
After some time walking, I saw it.
Something moved between the twisted trunks.
Not like the monsters that chased me before—this one was smaller. Slower.
It had too many legs. Its skin shimmered, like wet stone.
It didn't see me.
I crouched low, tightening my grip on the stick.
Heart pounding. Mouth dry.
This could be food. Or death.
Only one way to find out.
I moved closer. Quiet. Careful.
My foot pressed a root. It cracked.
The creature snapped toward me, hissing—jaws opening sideways.
I didn't think. I ran.
But not far.
I turned back.
Why am I running?
My legs… they didn't burn. My breath wasn't heavy.
I was faster. Quieter. Stronger.
I could feel it.
Something had changed.
The stick in my hand didn't shake like before.
The fear was still there. But it didn't control me.
Maybe I could win this.
Maybe I had to.
It lunged.
I stepped aside. Too slow. Its claws grazed my arm.
Didn't matter. I was already moving.
Stick in hand, I waited. Let it think I was scared.
It roared, eyes locked on me.
"That is it?"I muttered.
It charged.
This time, I didn't dodge. I stepped in. Jammed the stick straight into its open jaw.
It bit down. Wrong move.
With a twist and a shove, I drove the splintered end deeper.
The thing spasmed, gagged—then dropped.
I stood over it, breathing hard.
Still alive. Stronger than yesterday.
Dragging the corpse took everything I had.
It was heavier than it looked—like it was made of stone and hate.
When I finally got there, I collapsed beside it, breathing like I'd just run from death again.
Maybe I had.
The fire was still warm. Good. I didn't want to fight with sparks tonight.
I got to work.
Stripping the creature was... unpleasant. Its skin peeled like wet leather, and the stench underneath made me gag. I kept going anyway. Hunger was louder than disgust now.
I cut the meat into chunks using the sharpest stick I had. Skewered them. Set them over the flames.
Minutes passed. Then more. My stomach growled, twisted, ached.
When I finally bit into the meat, it was like chewing on rubber soaked in ash.
I swallowed.
"Tastes like a tire fire and misery," I muttered. Then I took another bite.
This was my life now.
Hunt. Kill. Drag it back. Cook it. Try not to go insane. Repeat.
Day by day. Meal by meal.
One step at a time.