After being thrown into the rift of darkness, Ethan's consciousness felt as if it had been tossed into a blender. Up and down, left and right—everything lost meaning. His soul was churned, stretched, until he thought he would be torn into countless fragments.
When everything suddenly stilled, he realized he was standing on a gray-white plaza.
There was no sky, no ground—only an endless gray fog that wrapped the entire world tightly. At the center of the plaza stood a towering stone monument, covered in unfamiliar symbols. Each symbol seemed to flow, as if it might crawl out of the stone at any moment.
Beneath the monument, nine black-robed figures sat solemnly.
Their faces were completely hidden behind masks: crying, angry, apathetic, grinning… each different. Nine pairs of eyes fixed on Ethan, giving him the sensation of being an experimental subject on a dissecting table.
"Soul number: 7351."
A cold voice rang out.
Ethan instinctively raised his hands. "Oh, not this again. Can you give me a proper name instead? Sounds like a frozen food batch number."
The nine figures didn't react, and the air was oppressively silent.
Suddenly, one of the masks flickered slightly, and a hoarse voice spoke:
"Death… or allegiance."
Ethan froze, nearly laughing. "You're really straightforward, huh? No 'Welcome to the Court of Judgment,' no complimentary coffee?"
"Choice." A second voice fell, deep and resonant.
"Death." A third voice followed.
"Allegiance." A fourth echoed.
One after another, their voices chimed like ancient bells, reverberating across the empty plaza.
Ethan felt suffocated under the weight of their words, his chest pressed as if by a thousand-pound stone. Yet, his mouth spoke before reason could intervene:
"Can I request a third option? Like… 'I choose to go home and take a nap'?"
The plaza fell utterly silent. All nine masks tilted downward simultaneously, as if silently vetoing his joke.
In the next moment, all the symbols on the monument flared to life, and countless illusions emerged from the gray fog.
He saw himself collapsed at the tavern entrance, blood spreading; a familiar figure turning away; countless unfamiliar hands reaching to drag him deeper into darkness.
The images intertwined, like a cruel mirror, magnifying the final moments of his life infinitely.
Ethan's throat tightened. His instinctive humor finally faltered. The small flame of defiance still burning in his chest told him: he was not resigned.
"…I do not choose death." His voice was low, yet resolute.
All nine masked figures simultaneously lifted their heads, their gaze fixed sharply on him.
"Then—allegiance."
The monument suddenly erupted with blinding gray light. A narrow rift opened at the center of the plaza. Inside was neither the flames of hell nor the light of heaven, but an ancient hall.
The walls of the hall were adorned with countless eyes, watching all who entered like hunters. At the center stood a long table, scattered with dossiers, maps, and bizarre bone-made tools.
A voice emerged from the rift:
"Welcome to—The Nightmare Investigation Bureau."
Ethan stared at the rift, his chest tightening.
He knew clearly: stepping through this meant he was no longer a free soul, but… a pawn bound by fate.
Yet, there was no turning back.
He took a deep breath, forcing a faint smile to his lips:
"Alright, if I have to work, I hope this job at least comes with paid leave."
With that, he stepped into the rift.
Behind him, the rift slowly closed. The plaza fell silent once more, leaving the nine masked figures wordlessly watching the direction where he had disappeared.