Everything was black. There was no sky, no ground... not even a point of reference to hold on to. Just an absolute emptiness. The pain, however, was there. A stabbing, heart-rending pain, as if an invisible hand pierced my chest again and again. He felt cold. A cold that was not only physical... but it got into my bones, into my soul. And, above all, a desperate desire to cry... to scream... to ask forgiveness for something I didn't even fully remember.
So, I listened to him. A body dropping to the ground with a thud, followed by a broken sigh, laden with a regret that seemed to weigh tons. That person's breathing was irregular... breathless... almost as if it were on the verge of a collapse.
Gradually, the blackness began to unravel. The infinite background was torn, revealing a white, intense, cutting light... like the cruel glow of an interrogating spotlight. I blinked, and the scene materialized in front of me. He was lying on the ground... But it wasn't just that he was lying down: he was in exactly the same position he had died in. My shirt was soaked... and the heat that was once hot blood was now cooling, sticking to my skin.
My eyes slowly dropped... and there it was. The knife. Buried in my chest, like a final mark, a seal of my last moment.
In front of me, kneeling, my father. His hands trembled, covered in red, and his gaze was a mixture of muted fury and horror at what he had just done.
I tried to move... but my body did not respond. However, I felt that something was detached from me.
I raised my head with difficulty, searching the darkness for any sign of my surroundings. That's when I saw it: the knife, stuck in my chest, shiny and dripping with blood that seemed to gush from a body that was no longer alive.
Why was he here? What the hell was going on?
I tried to move, fearful, doubting that it was possible. But then, I felt a shudder. My hand answered. Then the arm, the leg, the head. I could move every part of me, even though my body lay stiff on the cold floor, as if it were just an inert shell.
I looked at myself, amazed and terrified at the same time. I was but a spectre, a shadow of what I once was.
An icy fear ran through me. Everything was strange, unknown. I didn't expect to see or feel anything after I died.
And yet... Here it was.
"Money..." Fucking money..." my father muttered, on the verge of madness. His nails scratched his own face again and again, leaving red and open furrows; In some places, blood was already beginning to gush out.
I sat up slowly. It was as if I were a specter, an echo of myself, and my father... He couldn't see me. Still, an irrational fear chilled my insides, as if at any moment it was going to turn around and kill me again.
When I managed to get to my feet, the scene hit me like a punch in the stomach. There I was... or at least, my body. Lying on the kitchen floor, the same place where we were once a happy family. A knife protruded from my chest, sunk to the bottom, and a pool of dark, thick blood stretched out beneath me. My father stood, his hands smeared up to his wrist, his breath short, and his eyes lost somewhere where guilt and despair mingled.
"Y-I... no... no—" he whispered, as if trying to convince himself of something he didn't believe himself.
"Wow... What a depressing scene, don't you think? said a female voice behind me.
I turned sharply, my heart—or what was left of it—pounding in my ears. There she was: a female figure who seemed oblivious to the horror around her, gazing at my corpse with an eerie calm.
A shiver ran through me, bristling every hair on my spectral body.
"W-who are you?" I asked, still in shock.
She smiled at me with a strange sweetness, as if none of it mattered, as if I were not dead at her feet.
"Are you so interested in knowing who I am at this moment?" He said, cocking his head in a playful gesture. Look, you're curious... you give a bad vibe! He added in a childish tone, too out of place for the situation.
I looked at my body again, trying to take in what was happening. With each passing second, the feeling of unreality became heavier... and more unbearable.
I approached slowly, as if I were moving into a dream from which I could not awaken. I crouched beside my corpse, watching the knife plunge into my chest.
The idea was automatic, desperate: If I touch it... maybe I'll come back. Maybe it will work like the other time.
I stretched out my hand slowly, fingers trembling as I approached the handle covered in dried, glowing blood. The instant I brushed it, an electric whiplash pierced me from head to toe.
"Fuck!" I cried, pushing my hand away and hunching over in pain. An involuntary tremor shook me as if my bones were about to break.
"Ouch! she exclaimed with an exaggerated gesture, as if she felt my pain. That hurts a lot. He leaned over to me, smiling. I wouldn't try to interact with anything in this scene..." His gaze swept over to my father, who was still muttering and scratching his face frantically. Not even with your father.
His voice was playful, as if he were watching an absurd theater performance, but in his eyes... there was something else. Something that was evaluating me.
He crouched down right next to me and looked at me with a mixture of mischief and a lust that churned my insides. He gave a very bad vibe, as if he wanted to rip my soul out while smiling. I wanted to scream for my life once again, right in the same kitchen where years ago I had begged for mercy.
"Come on man, why that long face?" he said, cocking his head mockingly. Don't be sad... You were reborn in another world, with another family that values you much more. You should be jumping for joy!
My eyes were fixed on his. They were different, mesmerizing: the right blue as ice, the left yellow with an orange hue, vibrant and wild. I felt strange, as if I already knew her from something, from somewhere.
"What's going on?" Have you fallen in love with eyes like mine? He laughed, playing with the idea.
"Do we... do we know anything? I asked, awkwardly.
She shrugged her shoulders in feigned doubt, but it was evident that my question seemed logical to her.
"For me it's the first time I've seen you, Yuu," he replied with a mischievous smile.
That name... It was my name in this life, the one I had lived before this current one. My eyes were still fixed on his, unable to take them away. They were stuck together like a magnet held them together.
She, noticing my reaction, covered her mouth with her hand, amused, and said in a cheerful tone:
"Oh... I'm sorry, little one. Your name is Nakhúr, right? Look, I'm silly..." She hit the back of the head, making a face that, rather than sounding nice, gave me a feeling of disgust.
"W-how do you know all that about me?" I asked with fear growing inside me, like a shadow that spread through every corner of my body.
She smiled with that strange mixture of sweetness and mystery. His voice, soft, almost caressed my ears, but each word penetrated deeply, like an invisible dagger.
Her clothing was striking, without falling into the macabre, but with a dark touch that fit perfectly with the surroundings. She wore a Gothic style dress: the top, a black corset with laces at the front, fitted to her figure. The sleeves were long and wide, ending in light gray cuffs with a subtle and elegant design. The skirt, dark and layered, fell with ruffles that moved with every little gesture of hers. In addition, he wore black fingerless gloves that showed his painted nails.
Higher above his head were small, slightly curved horns, nothing that compared to the towering horns of an oni like Nimue or me.
"You ask a lot of questions, did you know?" She said with a long sigh, as if she were tired of explaining the obvious.
I looked back at the scene in front of me. My father was closer, in front of my lifeless body. His face seemed to have faded, and his body seemed to have left him long ago.
She continued, in a voice that sounded more like an observation than a reproach:
"Humans are strange, you know? Why regret it after doing something terrible? The easiest thing to do is to ignore it, turn the page, and pretend nothing happened. Don't you think, Nakhúr?
I was completely gone, as if my mind had become disconnected from the rest of the world. I felt nothing but the dull, heavy beating of my heart in my chest. My eyes, wide open and fixed on his, were the only visible sign of my bewilderment, lost in a world that, ironically, I knew perfectly.
"What the fuck are you saying?" I asked disdainfully, annoyed by the way he treated me and skeptical of his absurd question.
"He killed you out of a sudden impulse of hatred, it's nothing out of the ordinary," he replied indifferently.
"Are you telling me that murdering your own child is the most normal thing in the world?" I insisted, my voice breaking between disbelief and anger.
She shrugged, as if talking about it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I had to kill my whole family out of duty," he said coldly.
"Duty," I murmured, as if that word had a curse attached to it.
"Exactly. But this is not the time to talk about it," he added, taking a small leap of joy, pointing to my father enthusiastically.
"Look! Scope! He's about to do something suuuper interesting," he exclaimed, his squeaky voice cutting through the silence like a knife.
My father, with the knife still in his hand, no longer had it stuck in my chest. Now she held him in front of him, her hands trembling and stained with her own son's blood
My father's phone, lying on the floor with a few drops of blood, began to vibrate, illuminating a small spot in the kitchen. I couldn't see the screen clearly, it was as if something was preventing me from reading the contents of it.
My father's eyes didn't roll for a second, as if he didn't hear the ringtone or vibration of the device. He clenched his hand even tighter, holding on to the knife with all his might. Slowly he began to ascend his hand until he placed the knife on his neck.
A small tear began to come out of one of his eyes. He was going to commit suicide.
"How pathetic... He's going to commit suicide!" She exclaimed without remorse.
Suddenly, my father's head began to turn slowly until he fixed his gaze on mine. His eyes, completely black, lacked pupils. His face showed no feeling, no regret, no pain, just a cold emptiness, as if that decision was no longer his, but that of someone else who could not bear his own existence.
"P-pa..." I couldn't say that word, not after all he'd done to me.
"I have a feeling that, deep down, you still love him, for some reason," the woman murmured, in a strangely soft and mocking voice.
His fingers wrapped around my face. They were damp, as if they were made of living water.
I didn't know if it was because of the contact or because of my vulnerability to the scene, but for a moment I felt a twinge of compassion. He ended my life, but I didn't want him to end his.
"Don't," I murmured, staring into the black abyss of his soulless eyes.
He didn't answer, he just stood there, motionless, not seeing or hearing me.
"Don't try, it's useless, he doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you," she whispered, caressing my face with a mixture of lust and sadness.
Tears began to flow uncontrollably from my eyes, and my heart raced with unnatural force.
I didn't want that woman to touch me, but I felt like I needed it. Its pointed tail, like the pike of a letter, gently surrounded me, imprisoning me.
"I can make you meet him again," she said in a calm, almost motherly voice.
Why would he want to help me reconnect with someone who had torn me apart? Perhaps, deep down, I loved him too. I wanted to talk to him, to fix what was broken.
"Why would you do that?" I asked, looking for sincerity in his heterochromatic eyes.
She laughed playfully, sliding her index finger down my cheek, caressing it.
"Because you need it," he murmured.
I brought my hand to my face, following the line that his finger had drawn, and I saw it stained with blood.
I brought my hand to my face and passed it right where his finger caressed me; looking at her, I noticed that she was stained with blood. "A deep guilt has been running through your body for all these years, Yuu. You must free yourself from it," he said, sliding the tip of his tail across my chest with an unsettling softness.
I looked down for a moment. I was right. Deep down, I did want to be able to explain things to him, to speak them clearly in a world where money was not everything, in a world different from this one.
"How do I meet him again?" I asked, without looking up from the ground.
"Leave that to me. I just need you... do me a little favor," he answered, moving away a little and ceasing his caresses.
"A favor?" What kind of favor? I asked, my heart beating fast with uncertainty.
His smile widened, showing a mixture of mischief and something dark. "Your new rabbit friend has a very powerful mana crystal... You know? I would love for it to be under my control.
I glanced at her sideways, doubting whether what she was about to ask for was a deal or a trap.
"What do you want it for?" I asked, doubtful, but without much desire to argue. I can't tell you, my love," he replied with a mysterious smile. If you do as I ask, I will return the favor and let you speak to your father once more.
His voice became soft, almost a whisper that enveloped me like a shadow. I felt the weight of the decision before me: a shady deal, but perhaps the only chance to close that pain that consumed me.
Would you be willing to accept, even if you didn't know everything?
"Wake up, Nakhúr," my father's voice echoed, broken and firm at the same time.
I looked up suddenly, looking into his eyes. "P-dad..." I murmured, my soul broken in two, as if that simple sound was tearing me apart from within. I hadn't heard his voice for years.
"Nakhúr, wake up, it's time to go," he insisted, with an urgent tone and a hint of concern.
The woman next to me shrugged, and her playful smile faded, leaving a trail of melancholy. It seems that our romantic talk is over," he said, his voice losing that spark of joy.
Then, the environment began to transform. The shadows dissolved into swirls of silvery light, intertwined with flashes of impossible colors. The ground beneath my feet became ethereal, as if I were walking on liquid clouds, and the air vibrated with a whisper of old melodies that spoke of goodbyes and new beginnings.
I felt how my body became lighter, as if every thought, every pain, dissolved in that magical current that gently dragged me to another place. The memories of the kitchen, the knife, my father's crying, everything slowly faded, merging with the light that enveloped me.
A faint heat invaded my chest, a heat that seemed to open an invisible door, inviting me to cross into reality. My eyelids began to weigh down, but within that weight, a timid hope blossomed.
"It's time to wake up, Nakhúr," whispered a familiar, fuzzy voice, as the light embraced me completely.
And then, slowly, I opened my eyes.
The dim light of dawn filtered through the window. A sigh escaped my lips. I was awake. Once again.
"Wake up at once!" You even cry when you sleep," Nimue's voice broke the silence with that mixture of impatience and familiarity that characterized her. I sat up slowly, sitting on the floor carefully. A dull ache, as if I had been beaten, hammered my head and back. yes... I'm awake now, grumpy," I replied with a hint of disdain, still stunned by what I had just experienced. I ran my hand over my head, trying to relieve the pressure, and then I noticed something new in the room. I looked at the small table I hadn't seen before. "Nyari left us breakfast. It's out. Nimue said in a neutral voice, without a smile, but without a trace of bad intention. On the table, two cups from which rose a delicate and tempting vapor, charged with an aroma so delicious that I had never felt anything like it before. An almost irresistible desire invaded me: I wanted to try that drink without thinking twice.
"Hey... What were you dreaming?" Nimue asked curiously, her eyes shining in the mixture of intrigue and amusement. Crawling a little on the floor, I reached the table where the cups rested. I stretched out my arms and took one, which was warm, perfect for drinking. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, still savoring that captivating aroma. I replied, taking a sip of the drink as I spoke. Dad..." that you let slip into the night," he said, folding his arms with a mischievous smile. They woke me up more than once. They had a fear that made for a good horror story.
I froze for a moment, the cup brushing my lips without me daring to drink. Slowly, I lowered it until it rested on the table with a soft sound. dreaming that I was helping my father," I lied, trying to sound convincing. Nimue raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Because it sounded more like a cry than anything else.
Before he could answer, a loud bang echoed through the front door, echoing throughout the house. The silence became absolute. Nimue and I looked at each other, our pulses racing.
The blow was repeated, even more urgent.
"Who the hell can it be at this hour?" I murmured, feeling that something was about to change.
The door shook again under a last, dry impact.
And right there, everything was put on hold.