—Minutes passed.
"Is my spew... magical?"
Valen stood up slowly, his body still sore. He glanced around his room, wary.
"Maybe not," he muttered, bending down to pick up the scattered coffee beans.
How could he have vomited that much from just a single sip? It made no sense. A whole fountain of black liquid from one mouthful?
His eyes shifted to the cup sitting on the sink beside the coffee maker.
It was empty.
Utterly dry.
"...What?"
No drips. No residue.
Like someone—or something—had finished it for him.
He swept through the room, inspecting every corner, every crack in the floor. Nothing. No presence. No clues. Just silence.
His gaze landed on the door.
Fear tightened in his chest again.
But he had to know.
He had to see what was happening outside.
He gripped the doorknob and stepped out.
"I need to get to the police... This isn't something I can handle alone."
His thoughts ran wild. Maybe there was an evacuation. Maybe the world ended while he blacked out.
But as he moved farther away from the house, something strange began to happen.
His chest constricted.
With each step, it became harder to breathe.
The pressure was like a hand—cold, pale, corpse-like—tightening around his heart.
He had no idea it was there. Not yet.
Gasping, Valen staggered back toward his home. The moment he stepped inside, the pressure vanished.
Relief flooded his body.
"Something's stopping me from leaving…"
"Why?"
He searched the house again, this time more thoroughly—checking under furniture, tapping walls, lifting the floor mat.
Still, nothing.
He tried to step out once more.
The crushing grip returned immediately.
Harder.
Deeper.
"Damn it! Everything I do is pointless!"
Frustrated, he turned back to the only thing he had—the coffee beans.
They looked normal. Smelled normal.
There was nothing special about them.
At least, on the surface.
There was only one way to be sure.
Cautiously, he ground the beans and brewed a fresh batch using the rusty tap water.
The aroma filled the room—warm, familiar, deceptively comforting.
He took a sip.
Bitter.
Nothing more.
He waited. Tried moving things with his mind, focused on the cup, tried to feel anything.
Nothing.
Disappointed, he sighed.
Maybe I imagined it... maybe none of this is real—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"?!"
"Did the scent attract... it?"
Fear returned instantly, curling through his stomach like a sickness.
He clutched the cup tightly, ready to throw the coffee if he had to.
Another knock.
Then another.
He twisted the doorknob slowly. The knocking grew louder. More urgent.
And then—
He opened the door.
He saw it.
Outside.