In the pale light of dawn, Ansel's eyes fluttered open. The remnants of a restless night clung to him, but urgency propelled him out of bed. He barely remembered the four hours of sleep he had managed to snatch before the first light crept through the curtains.
For him, it was more than enough.
He hurried across the room to where Heka usually rested. The absence of Heka's usual presence in his own room was telling. Heka was awake.
But where was the Lexus? The sleek, enigmatic vehicle that always arrived with the promise of a Soul Delivery was nowhere in sight.
"Maybe today is not the time for Heka to get a soul delivery. Maybe tomorrow." He whispered to himself, trying to hold onto hope.
He bent down and peered under the bed, where a familiar black shadow lingered. The spirit had not left. It was still there, tethered to the fragile thread of Heka's existence.
"It turns out that the spirit is still there and hasn't left yet." He murmured.
Ansel was waiting until tomorrow. He prayed that Lexus would come soon and gave Soul Delivery to Heka.
But when the next day dawned, the Lexus still did not come.
Ansel's unease grew into a gnawing fear. Each moment without the Soul Delivery was a step closer to losing Heka forever.
The body that housed Heka's spirit was growing weaker, its vitality was slipping away like sand through fingers. Ansel's own hands, skilled in healing, could do nothing to restore what was fading beyond his reach.
He understood the cruel paradox: if Heka's body recovered too quickly, Lexus would never come. Because Lexus only delivered souls to those marked as Shenmorta-those destined to transcend death.
This cruel twist tightened the grip of anxiety around Ansel's heart. no Soul Delivery would be granted.
"Tonight I definitely won't be able to sleep." He vowed, closing the door behind him with a soft click, shutting out the world and locking himself in with his fears.
At night something happened unexpectedly. Lately, Ansel has been very nervous. Usually it makes it difficult to sleep. But not for that night, he felt sleepy and fell asleep easily.
In the soft glow of morning light, Ansel slowly woke from a deep, uninterrupted sleep. His eyes immediately sought the clock on the wall, which clearly showed 07:00.
Eight hours of sound sleep, something unusual for him, who had been plagued by restless nights and anxiety. A strange feeling stirred within him, a mixture of relief and unease.
Without hesitation, Ansel rose from his bed and hurried down the hallway to Hansel's room.
His heart pounded with anticipation and a flicker of hope. When he opened the door, he found Heka standing by the window, bathed in the gentle morning light.
Heka's posture was relaxed, his breathing steady, and his appearance vibrant. He looked healthy, as if the weight of his recent struggles had lifted.
Heka sensed the door opening and turned around with a calm smile. He greeted him softly. "Good morning."
Ansel's legs suddenly felt weak, and a wave of helplessness washed over him. He barely managed to steady himself against the doorframe. The sight of Heka's recovery was both a blessing and a mystery.
Heka's insomnia, which had tormented him for so long, had vanished overnight. Yet, this newfound peace felt ominous rather than comforting.
But for Ansel, it was something very bad. "Why didn't Lexus come? What exactly happened?"
Than comforting. Something was amiss. He glanced under the bed, where the black shadow. The spirit he had seen the night before, had once lingered. Now, it gone.
The realization struck him like a thunderbolt: it was not the Lexus who had brought the Soul Delivery to Heka. It was the spirit itself that had given Heka strength and restored his soul.
Fear gripped Ansel's heart. He had no idea what this meant for Heka's future. One thing was certain. It was bad, and it was dangerous.
"Good morning too, you seem so healthy. You slept well and longer. It is more than 24 hours." Trying to steady his voice, Ansel forced a semblance of normalcy.
"Where is Mr McVeigh? I don't see him." Heka's eyes flickered with curiosity and concern.
Ansel hesitated, then replied. "He visited somewhere. What's wrong?"
Heka's gaze shifted away, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He thought about going home soon. The house, once a refuge, now felt confining. After all, he felt well again-strong enough to leave.
"I want to say goodbye." Heka said quietly, revealing a small bag he had packed.
"You just received Soul Delivery. It's better rest here first." Ansel's concern deepened.
Heka shook his head gently. "Thanks. I don't want to bother you. Meanwhile, I feel more comfortable when I rest at home."
"That means you want to go straight away." Ansel's voice softened with reluctant understanding. "Well, I'll drive for you."
Heka smiled faintly but declined. "It's okay, I can go home by myself. Thank you so much for your help. I owe you my life." .
As Heka moved toward the door, Ansel followed silently. At the threshold, Heka paused and turned back. "Give him my regards, please. Thank you for helping me. Well, I'm going to leave."
"Okay." Ansel replied, watching as Heka opened the door.
The moment the door closed behind him, a profound sadness settled over Ansel. A sharp pain throbbed in his head, as if the weight of what had just transpired was pressing down on him physically.
It made him unable to stand up. He leaned his body against the wall. Slowly, he dropped his body on the floor.
Ansel's heart was heavy with a crushing guilt that gnawed at his very soul. He had offered Heka the Soul Delivery, a gift meant to save, yet in his eyes, it had become a curse. He dropped him into the abyss.
"Heka, I'm sorry." He whispered into the silence, the words trembling on his lips but never fully spoken aloud.
It was the only apology he could never bring himself to say directly to Heka's face, the only confession he dared not.
The burden of responsibility weighed on him relentlessly. Ansel knew that by bringing Heka into this world of shadows and soul deliveries, he had also dragged him into a storm of suffering.
He was bound to endure the consequences, to carry the weight of every dark event that might unfold. He understood the cost all too well. It would drain his body, mind, and spirit. It left nothing behind but exhaustion and despair.
In the depths of his mind, a haunting vision replayed endlessly: the bloody marriage. It was a nightmare that clung to him like a shadow, a scene so vivid and painful that it pierced his heart with every recollection.
He saw delicate flower petals falling, fragile and beautiful, only to explode violently in midair. From the shattered petals, blood seeped and dripped, staining the ground beneath.
Ansel could not grasp the full meaning of the bloody marriage. The details were blurred, fragmented like shards of a broken mirror. But one thing was clear, there would be an explosion at the wedding party. What exactly would explode?
"Explosion. But what exploded?" The question echoed endlessly in his mind, a maddening riddle with no answer.
The more he tried to decipher the meaning, the more his head throbbed with unbearable pain. It was as if his brain was caught in a vice, squeezing tighter with every thought.
Slowly, Ansel pushed himself up from where he had been sitting, his body weak and trembling. He reached out, clutching the wall for support, afraid he might collapse. His vision blurred, and each breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.
He knew the source of his torment, the relentless pressure in his head, the unbearable ache that clouded his thoughts.
With unsteady steps, he made his way to the kitchen. His fingers trembled as he reached for the medicine box perched atop the refrigerator. He pulled out a single paracetamol capsule and swallowed it dry, hoping for some respite.
But the pain was relentless. One pill was not enough. Without hesitation, he took two more capsules and swallowed them quickly, chasing the bitter taste with a gulp of water.
Ansel had long prepared paracetamol on the refrigerator. That was half a year ago. Even though it was quite a while, he was sure that one day he would need it. It was just that at that time he had not found the answer yet.
Nowadays he knew the reason.
Ansel plopped down heavily onto the chair, the sudden release of tension causing the wood to creak beneath him. His body sagged forward until his forehead rested on the cool surface of the table.
He closed his eyes tightly, willing the relentless pain pounding in his head to subside. Slowly, the sharp ache began to dull, ebbing away like a receding tide.
The tightness in his chest loosened, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he could breathe freely again. His vision, once clouded and blurred, cleared, allowing the world to come back into focus.
"If there is a way to be able to turn time fast, I will do anything just for that. I hope everything happens soon. I can't keep up with all this anymore." He murmured to himself, voice heavy with exhaustion.
Ansel's mind drifted to the cruel reality he had come to understand. The vast difference in the flow of time between the human realm and the Immortal realm. What he witnessed, the events unfolding around him, were all measured by the Immortal realm's times.
Then, when those events returned to the human realm, time seemed to crawl, dragging each second into an agonizing eternity.
It was the immutable law, the Rules of Realm that governed both humans and immortals alike. A law so absolute that no one, regardless of power or wisdom, could alter or fully comprehend it.
This cruel disparity gnawed at Ansel's spirit. It made him yearn for something impossible. A new world, one where the relentless march of time could be bent or broken.
"Will there be a chance to change the rule? There is no time difference between the human realm and the Immortal realm. I'm so tired." He wondered aloud, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table.
But for now, Ansel remained seated, caught in the endless struggle against time itself, waiting for a future that seemed both distant and inevitable.