Arthur still crouched at the edge of the lake in front of him.
If what he saw could even be described as a lake, even though it reminded him of a mirror. The water just seemed too perfect, now all black after Arthur took a peek at the surface.
"Man, I don't know anymore, it just seems way too abnormal to be true." Arthur sighed.
He didn't know what to do, and just this moment his hand started to move by itself. It now moved towards the surface trying to touch and dive into it.
But just before he touched it Arthur gave himself a slight slap across the face and came back to his senses. The pain sent through his body was just enough for him to feel it and stagger back a few centimeters.
"What the hell am I doing?" Arthur started to doubt himself.
"This is... This is normal," he muttered, trying to steady himself. "Weird lake, weird forest. Just... messed-up dreams. Nothing new."
But deep down, he didn't believe it.
He hadn't believed that since the moment he first felt the pain tear through his bare feet. No dream hurt this much. No dream bled so easily under his fingernails.
And now this — this perfect, wrong lake — felt like something waiting.
A low growl echoed from the woods behind him. A sound so deep it made the ground vibrate under his knees.
Arthur flinched but didn't turn.
Didn't dare.
He was too thirsty to hesitate again. Too empty.
After all, he hadn't had something to drink for at least 2 Days, his mind was too blurred to even think straight.
His throat burned. His lips were cracked and bleeding. His tongue felt like sandpaper against his teeth.
The water gleamed, dark and full of rich taste.
He hesitated for one last heartbeat — and then, without thinking, without choosing, he plunged his hands into the lake and scooped the water to his mouth.
It was cold, but it also felt really refreshing to his mouth.
It burned going down — not like fire, but like ice shards carving a path through his insides.
He gagged, coughed, almost retched it up.
And then the world exploded into tiny particles, as if his surroundings were devouring him from inside. He tried to fight back but was too weak physically and mentally alike.
Darkness slammed into his mind. Throwing him out of his consciousness
Not blindness. Darkness. Like falling backward into an endless black ocean, crushed under invisible waves.
The stars vanished.
The trees melted.
The air itself folded inward.
Shapes loomed in the black — massive, coiling things, larger than mountains, scraping against unseen walls.
Hands — endless hands — reached out, beckoning.
Arthur tried to scream but no sound came.
His body floated. Weightless. Powerless.
Small.
Tiny.
Something brushed against his skin — a caress colder than death.
And then he was back — snapping into his body like a puppet on a string.
He staggered from the lakeshore, clutching his head.
Everything around him spun.
The trees leaned in, impossibly close, their branches writhing like they were breathing. The moss underfoot pulsed, black veins threading through it. The stars above twisted, forming symbols he didn't understand — and didn't want to.
His stomach heaved.
Arthur dropped to his knees, retching dryly until bile burned his throat.
The hallucinations worsened.
Shapes flickered at the edges of his vision — tall, gangly silhouettes with too-long limbs and faces blurred like smudged ink. They didn't move like people. They slid, shimmered, flickered from one moment to the next.
But they never came near him, they stood at the edge of his view and stayed there. Arthur heard some giggling, laughing and some suspicious noises. But he wasn't in the condition to do something about it.
He stumbled through the forest, coughing, tripping over roots, hands slashing through low-hanging branches. With only about half his vision and the rest blurry, he nearly fell and kissed the ground but caught himself on a low-hanging branch.
No matter where he went, the shadows followed. Without a sound now and perfectly synchronized with his movements. He couldn't outrun them, but he also couldn't accept them.
They never touched him directly. Not yet. But every time he blinked, they were closer. Closer. Watching with faces that had too many eyes, or none at all.
He drew lines in the dirt as he collapsed beneath a crooked tree, desperate, childish defenses — thinking, hoping, that if he slept and the lines stayed untouched, he'd be safe.
But even as he dragged his finger through the cold mud, he could feel them pressing in.
Breathing.
Whispering.
Arthur curled against the roots of the tree, convulsing in silent terror. He needed to recover fast, but how.
Tears blurred his vision, but he couldn't cry out. Couldn't even think straight. His body shook violently, muscles spasming from fear and the cold blackness still roiling in his gut.
Arthur hadn't cried for years and years. He lived on the street, where many bad things happen daily. He wasn't in the position to cry.
"Just a dream," he whispered brokenly. "Just... a dream." "It isn't more than a stupid dream." He said these words with such uncertainty that it sounded like a lie.
But even that lie tasted like deadly poison now.
His stomach clenched again. He gagged violently and vomited onto the dirt, dark and bitter and wrong. Something in the bile writhed before sinking into the soil.
Arthur recoiled.
He pressed his forehead against the cold earth, hugging himself tightly, trying to make himself small. Invisible.
But nothing helped. He still was as helpless as ever, just a puppet dancing on a string, without even noticing it.
The trees seemed to lean closer, their branches forming a jagged crown around him. The stars above spiraled crazily, whirling like water circling a drain.
The darkness inside him pulsed. Slowly expanding to consume him completely.
And then — something pulled him.
Like a string yanked inside his chest. At least it held and didn't get cut...
He gasped, head snapping up, eyes burning. Not just the eyes, everything burned. A few drops of blood came out of under his eyes, as if he was getting burned alive and getting tortured at the same time.
The lake. The perfect mirror.
It wanted him back.
He stumbled forward — dragged by something unseen — back to the black shore.
The water was still there, perfect dark and glassy, untouched by wind, nature or time.
He fell to his knees at the edge, panting and gasping for air.
And the lake reflected him again.
Only now...
It wasn't just one reflection.
It was thousands.
The entire surface of the water had fractured into endless shards — and in every shard was him.
Each version identical.
Each one staring back with hollow, broken eyes, Black hair, Blue eyes and the same torn clothes.
He raised a trembling hand — and ten thousand hands rose with him, perfectly synchronized.
No ripples disturbed the surface.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
Arthur swallowed hard, nausea churning in his gut.
He was being watched.
Not by creatures or shadows this time — but by himself.
An army of himself, stretching into infinity. His mind was either playing a trick on him, or he was already completely crazy.
It felt as if he was floating, hovering in a room cut out of space and time just made for himself, where he, and all his other versions were. For normal humans, it's called "The Soul".
For specialists, tho, it is way more interesting than one might think when hearing the word 'Soul'.
After all, memories, emotions, one's personality and of course dreams all have their root in the soul of a living being.
Also, every living being has a soul, because it is, it's core. It's best defense, and it's most important part. The brain, resembling a control center, is controlling the body, but the soul is way more important. After all, if the soul doesn't exist, the body can't exist either. Like it's cut out of space.
Arthur was able to see every reflection, he could see the seed of Darkness blooming quietly behind their eyes — a black flower opening petal by petal, slowly consuming him more and more.
He backed away, hands scraping the ground, but the reflections didn't break.
They simply waited.
Watching.
Silent.
Patient.
Arthur curled again under a nearby tree, heart thundering against his ribs. His body trembled so hard he thought it might tear itself apart.
And the lake — the impossible mirror — watched him sleep.
Waiting for him to break, fall into madness and become its new puppet.
Waiting for him to become something else.
The Lake was still shining with its black neon-like glow that now even gave its surroundings a slight darker shadow.
But Arthur would not let himself get devoured, after all he had to push through way harder challenges, and he still stood. That was the best proof there is...