Aarav's scream had never escaped his throat. He stood frozen in the black void that swallowed his room. The only thing alive was the faint pulsing glow of the symbol, breathing like a heartbeat.
He blinked once. The room returned—but not as it should. The colors were drained, the walls stretched unnaturally tall, and shadows bled across the floor like spilled ink. His desk, his bed, even the window looked… wrong. Distorted, as if he had stepped into a twisted reflection of his own world.
The figure was still there. But now it wasn't in the corner. It was closer. Too close.
Aarav could see the outline of its face—except it had none. Just smooth, shifting darkness where features should be. Still, he felt its eyes. Cold, piercing, unblinking.
The whispers in his head grew louder. Multiple voices at once, overlapping, impossible to separate:
"He doesn't belong here…"
"Take him back…"
"No… he belongs to the Abyss."
His chest tightened. His heart slammed against his ribs.
The figure slowly raised its hand. Aarav staggered backward. The walls warped with his movement, stretching further, twisting, until the symbol carved itself into every surface around him.
The object from his desk reappeared at his feet. But now it wasn't metallic—it was glowing, burning hot, vibrating like it contained something alive. Against his better judgment, Aarav picked it up.
Instantly, a scream—not his own—ripped through his mind. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as images flashed:
A faceless crowd staring at him.
Blood splattered symbols glowing on walls.
His own reflection smiling back at him with eyes that weren't his.
The whispers grew unbearable. Then, suddenly, silence.
He opened his eyes. The figure was standing right in front of him now, only inches away. Its head tilted the same way as before.
And then, in a voice that sounded like a distorted version of his own, it whispered:
"…You can't escape me, Aarav. I've always been here."
Aarav's hand trembled. He looked down at the glowing object—its surface now cracked, leaking a faint black mist. The mist curled upward, wrapping around his fingers, seeping into his skin.
Panic surged. He tried to throw it away, but his hand wouldn't move. The object had fused into his palm, veins of darkness spreading up his arm.
His last thought before the room plunged into complete silence was a terrifying one—
What if the shadow wasn't trying to enter his life?
What if it had been inside him all along?