Aarav couldn't breathe. The object had fused into his palm, black veins crawling up his arm like wildfire. They weren't just marks—they moved, writhing under his skin as if alive, spreading toward his shoulder.
He clawed at his arm, desperate to tear them out, but the veins only tightened, digging deeper. His skin burned cold, like ice and fire at once.
The whispers returned. Louder. Clearer. Not one voice this time, but many—layered, broken, all chanting his name.
"…Aarav… Aarav… Aarav…"
He staggered toward the mirror. What he saw made his stomach twist.
His reflection wasn't him anymore.
The eyes were pitch black, the veins crawling across his face. And behind the reflection stood the faceless figure, resting its hand on his shoulder like a silent guardian.
"No…" Aarav muttered, shaking. "This isn't real."
The reflection smiled. His own face smiled back at him.
Suddenly, the mirror cracked—long fractures spiderwebbing across the glass. Each fragment showed a different Aarav. Some screaming, some laughing, some staring blankly into nothing.
He stumbled back, slamming into the wall. The glowing symbol burned brighter, searing into his vision. The black mist leaking from the object hissed as it touched the floor, spreading like smoke, curling into claw-like hands that reached for him.
The door rattled violently. Bang. Bang. Bang. Someone—or something—was trying to get in.
His ears rang. The whispers screamed. And through the chaos, one voice rose above the rest:
"…Let us in, Aarav. You can't fight it. You are the Abyss."
The veins reached his neck now, pulsing like a second heartbeat. His vision blurred, his hands shook, and for the first time, Aarav realized the horrifying truth:
The more he resisted, the stronger it became.
The last thing he heard before collapsing to his knees was the soft click of the door unlocking on its own…
And then—silence....