3rd Person POV
Beyond the boundaries of existence—where logic fractured and meaning unraveled—a man sat upon a structure beyond mortal understanding. It wasn't a throne, yet it bore the gravity of authority. He sat motionless, lost in contemplation. His gaze drifted into the void, reminiscing the distant past.
*Zwhoop.*
A portal split open before him, humming with unstable energy. From within spilled a being of twisted form, its shape ever-changing and bristling with eyes that shimmered with agitation.
"Lord *@#$&*#@&#, your brother has committed another transgression!" it cried, its voice shrill with urgency.
The man's brow furrowed. For a moment, his hand clenched into a fist.
"Calm yourself, @#$&#*#$," he said, voice low and even. "There's no need for alarm."
The being shuddered, offended. "No need?! The last time you stayed your hand, it nearly shattered the balance! You MUST intervene!"
"There is no need to worry," the man repeated, eyes steady and ancient. "I am already taking action."
"You better be! Or we'll all suffer for it!"
Still bristling with fury, the being turned and vanished through the portal without waiting for a reply.
*Zhwoom.*
Silence returned.
The man stood, slowly, deliberately. Then he raised his hand, and a glowing cube pulsed into existence in his palm, humming with purpose.
"When will you learn, brother…" he muttered, the words carrying a weight only time could forge.
He lifted the cube, and it responded to his will. Circles of light formed around it, each etched with symbols no mortal tongue could pronounce. As he moved his fingers, the symbols rotated, locking into place. Golden lines of energy raced across the cube's surface, pulsing brighter.
*Zhaam.*
With a sharp pulse, the cube compressed back into his palm. Then he gestured with his other hand, pointing two fingers forward, as if slicing something in half.
*Zriiip.*
A rift opened before him—an incision in the fabric of existence, beckoning.
"This should suffice for now," he murmured, casting the cube into the rift. "Though knowing my brother… this will barely slow him down."
He eased back into his throne-like seat with a tired exhale.
"Time to scour the multiverse for souls…"
He rested his head against the chair's impossible frame.
"What a hassle."
Far ahead, the rift shimmered faintly—its glow fading into the dark.
Unknown POV
It was a cold night, and the neighborhood was eerily quiet. The fireplace crackled, giving me warmth as I watched the news on the television.
"A dead woman was found at an abandoned school, a burn mark on her palm in the shape of a letter. Authorities believe this is the work of the Bloody Letter," the reporter announced.
"Another one... the rate of crime sure has increased," I quietly mumbled with a dry chuckle.
'Though I'm not really that different from them,' I thought as my gaze drifted to the flickering flames.
*Rrring Rrring*
I grabbed my phone and answered. "What is it this time? I told you—"
"Charles, listen. You need to leave. Now!" the voice on the other end interrupted me, frantic.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused and unsettled.
"It's hard to explain, but there's this crazy guy out there—he's targeting us. We need to hide."
*Knock. Knock.*
"Hold on. Someone's at my door," I said, walking toward the window.
"Don't... f**k, don't do anything stupid, Charles—" *Beep.*
The call ended.
I peered through the window, but no one was there. Confused, I stepped outside to check. Then, a sharp, metallic scent invaded my nostrils—like rust.
A crimson-red letter sat on my doorstep, slightly damp and stinking of blood and iron. My hands trembled as I picked it up and opened it.
"Dear Charles Fallow,
It is time to pay for your sins.
Yours Truly, The Bloody Letter"
Panic seized me, and I rushed to get back inside—
*Bonk.*
Everything went black.
I awoke tied to a cold metal chair. My head throbbed. The room was unfamiliar, dim, and thick with the scent of mold.
Somewhere in the dark, someone was humming a merry tune—too cheerful for this place. It sent shivers down my spine.
A whisper of laughter echoed. Through my blurred vision, I saw a man step out of the shadows, wearing a bloodied mask.
"I told you," he said in a cold, unnervingly gentle voice. "You're going to pay."
Suddenly, pain exploded through my body like fire in my veins. I seized up, unable to move. My screams were met with a lullaby—his humming, calm and haunting.
He laughed as he watched me suffer.
The pain eased… then surged again, even worse than before.
The torture dragged on, feeding his sick delight, until he finally stopped. My muscles slackened, but the ache remained. I was still shaking. My throat burned from screaming.
He stepped forward, holding a gun. I flinched.
"Time to sleep… Forever," he whispered, sounding almost satisfied.
*BANG.*
My body lurched. Darkness crept in.
Regret flooded my thoughts.
'What a failure I am... I lost everything and stooped so low. In the end, nothing changed.'
Unknown POV
I was just an ordinary farmer. My days were simple—tend to the crops, sell the harvest, and scrape by for another month. It wasn't much, but it was all I knew.
One afternoon, while selling produce at the market, I overheard a conversation from a neighboring stall.
"They say there's an abandoned castle on a hidden island," one of them whispered. "Untouched for centuries. Filled with treasure beyond imagination."
A hidden Island… full of treasure? My hands curled into fists. It sounded like nonsense, but the idea rooted itself in my mind. What if it was real?
I was about to lean in when a voice snapped me out of it.
"Hey, Jhon. You spaced out there for a sec."
It was one of my regular customers, a familiar man with a crooked smile. "Something on your mind?"
"Sorry, just thinking," I said quickly. "What did you want again?"
"Seems like you were deep in thought. I just got here," he chuckled. "I'll have the usual."
I nodded and picked out his usual order, making sure everything was good quality.
"Hey, Josh," I asked, handing over his produce, "do you know anything about that hidden island people talk about?"
He raised an eyebrow. "The one with the castle and treasure? Come on, Jhon. If it were real, someone would've looted it already."
"You're right," I mumbled, passing him the bag. "Same price as always."
He paused, then gave a half-smile. "Just a bit of advice—don't fall for those petty tricks."
As he walked away, I frowned. 'Petty tricks, huh… But still, what if it was true?'
That night, as I lay in my cramped shack, I dreamt of treasure—gold spilling from ancient chests, a life free from debt and struggle. Even as sleep took me, the dream refused to let go.
*BANG! BANG!*
I jolted awake to the pounding on my door.
"Jhon! Open up!"
It was my landlord, voice sharp with frustration. "One more month. No more delays."
Not long after he left, another knock came. This time, a man in a suit stood at my door. Cold expression. Business-like.
"Good morning, Mr. Calloway. Your loan is due in three weeks. We expect payment."
Three weeks. I didn't even have half of the money to repay it.
No matter how hard I worked, I'd never catch up. But if the island was real… I wouldn't have to worry again.
Driven by desperation, I went to the city and sold my tools. I asked everyone—beggars, bartenders, sailors—about the hidden island. All I got in return were scoffs and pitying glances.
"Just another fool chasing fairy tales," they said.
For three days I searched. From bar to bar, alley to alley. My boots wore thin. My hope thinner. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. I couldn't even afford a decent meal. Just a few pathetic coins rattled in my pocket—mocking me.
During one of my aimless walks, I caught a snippet of conversation between two carpenters.
"Did you hear? There's a serial killer on the loose. One of the victims was tied to a metal chair—electrocuted and shot. Real messed up."
'A serial killer, really? Just great,' I thought, barely registering the words.
*Bump.*
"I'm sorry," I muttered on instinct, looking up.
The man I'd bumped into stood tall, dressed in a long trench coat and dark hat. He stared at me briefly—calm, unreadable—then walked on without a word. I didn't think much of it.
By the third evening, I found myself slumped on a bench in a narrow alley, head low. The city buzzed around me, uncaring.
'Maybe… I should find other ways to make money,' I thought bitterly. 'Theft? Prostitution? Is that what it's come to?'
Someone sat beside me. I didn't look up.
"You seem troubled," the man said, voice oddly gentle.
"I'm in a bad place," I muttered. "The one thing I hoped would save me probably doesn't exist. I've been looking for information on the hidden island for days, and all I got is laughter and pity."
"The hidden island, the one with treasure?" he said, grinning. "You're not the first to seek it. Lucky for you, I might know something."
I finally looked at him. A wiry man, clothes patched with odd fabrics, uneven teeth, and eyes that flicked around like a rat. Everything about him screamed scam.
"Of course," he continued, "nothing in this world is free. And I could really use some coins."
I hesitated. He was suspicious as hell. But if what he said was true…
I handed over nearly all the money I had left.
'A small price for a chance at a better life,' I told myself. 'Better this than breaking what morals I still have.'
"Pleasure doing business," he said, grinning as he passed me a rolled-up parchment.
I took it carefully, unrolling it to reveal a map. My heart pounded.
"Thank you," I quietly muttered.
With what money I had left, I bought a boat and supplies. I should've bought cheaper rations—even if they tasted like rot—but I wasn't thinking straight.
I set sail. The wind carried my hopes across the waves.
Two days passed. The sea rocked me gently, but my supplies dwindled. My throat parched. I was already running low on food.
'Is this really worth it?' I asked myself. 'Why am I even doing this?'
On the fourth day, with nothing left to eat and my lips cracked from thirst, I saw it—rising on the horizon.
An island.
Relief hit me like a wave. I stumbled onto the shore, dragging myself onto dry land. I unfurled the map and began the search.
When I reached the spot… all I saw were ruins. No castle. No treasure. Just crumbling stone and empty silence.
I searched. Frantically. For hours. Surely, I missed something—some chamber, some trapdoor—but there was nothing.
Only dust.
Only lies.
"You were right, Josh," I said aloud, laughing dryly. "I shouldn't have fallen for those petty tricks."
I set up a small, miserable camp. That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the cliff, watching waves slam into rocks. The wind howled like it was laughing at me.
"Stupid," I muttered. "I gave up everything for this… Sold my tools. My home's probably being picked clean by now. I have nothing left."
Then, I heard it.
*Crunch.*
A footstep?
I turned.
No one.
"Hah. Even my mind's mocking me," I said, slowly rising.
The edge of the cliff was right there—sharp rocks below, waves crashing like they were calling to me.
'I've lost everything. What's the point anymore?' I thought.
And then, I jumped.
Regret filled me as I fell.
Unknown POV
I trudged through the underbrush, spear dragging at my side like dead weight. The sky was already bleeding orange, and I had nothing to show for the entire day—no kill, not even a track worth following. My satchel swung empty against my back, a constant reminder of my failure.
'Tomorrow is my last chance.'
One final trial. One more opportunity to prove I was worthy of being called a hunter—the hunter—son of the chieftain. Not just another failure hiding behind a title.
I hated that title. Son of the chieftain. It always came with expectations, with eyes watching, waiting to see if I'd rise or fall. They really don't have to. I always fail anyway.
As I neared the cliff trail—the one that overlooked the ocean—something caught my eye. A flicker of light. A campfire. Someone was here. Maybe they'd let me rest for a bit.
I approached the camp, but no one was there. Looking around, I saw a man sitting at the edge of the cliff. I took a few cautious steps toward him, ready to ask if I could stay—
*Crunch*
A branch gave way beneath my foot. I froze, then darted behind a nearby tree without thinking. My heart pounded.
'Why am I hiding? There is nothing to fear. Stupid idiot.' I silently berated myself.
I peeked from behind the trunk just in time to see him stand.
Then he jumped.
He didn't hesitate. No scream. No flailing. Just… silence.
I froze in shock for a moment.
I stumbled forward, eyes wide as I rushed to the cliff's edge. Below, jagged rocks jutted like the teeth of some buried beast—and there he was. Impaled. Crumpled.
Blood stained the stone like spilled ink, vivid and unsettling.
A wave surged in, and in a matter of seconds, the sea reclaimed him. Like he was never there.
I fell to my knees, bile rising fast. I retched onto the ground, the splash hitting my legs, soaking into my clothes. The smell, the taste, the image—all of it clung to me like oil. I couldn't stop shaking.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to hold back another vomit. But it wasn't just nausea—it was shame. Horror. Guilt. I had stood there. Hidden like a coward.
I don't remember the walk back.
By the time I reached the village, my limbs moved on their own. My skin felt cold and too tight, and my gait was unsteady. I mindlessly made my way towards our home.
Father stood waiting at the doorway. His gaze, as always, was sharp—unflinching.
"Son, we need to talk," he said. The weight in his voice left no room for refusal.
We sat by a nearby campfire, the fire crackling with great intensity, yet its warmth did not ease my trembling body.
Father sat across me, his eyes unreadable. There was a moment of tense silence before he spoke.
"Kali, you are my only son," he said, "and you will become my successor one day."
His eyes wandered, as if reminiscing the distant past. "The people of our village see you as a failure. When the time comes for you to take the mantle, it is crucial that you have their respect."
"Tomorrow is your last chance to prove to them that you are worthy," he said as he opened his eyes—gone were the sharp eyes that demanded respect, now replaced with a gentle, caring gaze.
I nodded. "Yes, Father," I murmured. My voice barely carried past the crackling fire.
"Rest. You'll need your strength."
But sleep never came.
That moment replayed in my mind again and again—the blood stains, the body impaled and crumpled, the putrid scent of my vomit.
By dawn, my body was heavy, but hesitation was not permitted.
"It is time," Father said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "You will bring home something great today."
I gave no answer.
I entered the woods, bow in hand, the leather grip slick against my clammy palms. The forest breathed around me, vibrant and alert, but I felt hollow, as if I were walking through a dream that didn't want me in it.
Then the forest went quiet.
A low guttural growl came from the nearby shrubbery. Twigs snapped behind me.
I turned—eyes wide, breath shallow.
Golden eyes flashed between the trees. One pair. Then two. Then more.
Wolves.
I stumbled back, but my legs moved like they were caught in mud. The world tilted. My limbs were slow, my thoughts slower. I couldn't focus—I couldn't think.
They pounced.
A mouth clamped down on my calf. Fire bloomed through my nerves as I hit the ground. My bow fell, forgotten. Another set of teeth tore into my shoulder. I screamed—raw, instinctive.
I fought, but I was slow. Too slow. Claws shredded my stomach, warm blood pooling beneath me, mixing with dirt and leaves and fear.
As my vision dimmed, the memories of my failures and the vivid image of the impaled body burned into my mind.
I had failed again.
'Even in death… I am still as pathetic as ever.' I thought as I breathed my last.
Unknown POV
The sun was high in the sky. I wiped the sweat off my brow, shifting the weight of the ore sack on my shoulder. Business had been good today. The islanders traded fairly, and the trip had been worth it.
As I was packing up, a man approached me—the village chief. His face was lined with age, but the exhaustion in his eyes ran deeper. His expression was one I knew all too well.
He picked up a piece of Iron ore and inspected it, though his eyes barely focused. I'd known him for years, ever since I started selling ores on this island, yet this was the first time I saw him like this.
"How much is this?" he asked, voice hollow and distant.
'Did something terrible happen?' I wondered.
"Same price as always," I replied. "Is something wrong, chief?"
His gaze wavered like he was debating whether to speak. His body tensed, then finally he let out a breath.
"My son was killed by wolves," he said, hanging his head low.
I stayed silent. My suspicions were correct.
His grip tightened around the rock. "If I hadn't pushed him… if I had just let him wait—"
'Ah… those words again,' I thought. 'That all-too-familiar regret.'
"Don't blame yourself, chief," I said quietly. "No one could've known."
Something tightened in my chest.
"There's no point in 'if'."
Those words weren't just for him. They were for me too. They struck right where it hurt most.
*FLASHBACK*
"Uncle Miguel! Help me!" His voice pierced through the rubble—scared, desperate.
Panic welled up inside me. A pile of rubble blocked the narrow path. I clawed at the rocks, desperate to reach him.
"Miguel don't worry! Just stay put, I'll come back with help!" I shouted, praying my voice reached him.
Just as I reached the end, the cave gave way.
*CRASH*
I stood there, frozen in shock. Then, adrenaline took over. I ran to the nearby settlement, gathered help, tools, bodies—but it was already too late. The stone didn't care about our tears.
I stood before his grave, words caught in my throat.
'Miguel… I'm sorry I couldn't save you.'
"Manuel… come join us and eat," my brother said quietly, trying to hide the pain in his voice.
For weeks I couldn't sleep. I locked myself away, haunted by Miguel's voice. I had told him it was safe. That I'd protect him.
I was wrong.
*FLASHBACK END*
"My nephew died in a cave-in," I admitted. The words escaped like dust from a long-sealed tunnel.
"He followed me into the mines. I told him it'd be fine. That I'd protect him." I exhaled shakily. "I failed."
The chief closed his eyes. "You pushed him into it too, didn't you?"
"I did," I said with a dry, bitter laugh. "And I thought I was doing the right thing."
He didn't respond. Neither did I.
We stood there, letting the silence stretch.
Eventually, he sighed. "Well… what now?"
"We live with it," I said, unsure if I believed it myself.
He gave a sad smile. "That's the hard part, isn't it?"
I nodded. It was.
Days passed. I returned to the mainland, and the work resumed. The mines waited for no one.
*CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.*
The sound of metal rang out as I struck the vein of ore again and again.
'Something feels strange… like I've been through this moment before,' I thought.
Then—
*BOOM!* *TREMBLE*
"CAVE-IN!" The shout tore through the air.
Wooden supports cracked like twigs. Dust and panic filled the tunnel. Miners scattered, scrambling for the exit.
I ran at first, driven by instinct. But halfway there, my steps faltered.
'What am I doing?' I stopped. 'I'm the foreman. Their lives are in my hands—if I run now, how can I ever face myself again?'
I turned around.
One miner tripped—my hand shot out, pulling him up.
Another stumbled—I shoved him forward, yelling for him to keep moving.
"Don't stop! Go! Keep going!"
One by one, I helped them through the chaos, pushing them toward the light.
Then—
*CRASH*
A deafening crack above. The tunnel groaned. Rubble rained down, and everything went dark.
My legs were pinned. I tried to move, but the weight was crushing. Dust filled my lungs. The air was stale, thick with the scent of earth and iron.
'Did they all make it out?' I wondered.
I let out a shaky breath.
'They're safe… that's enough.'
I leaned back, resting my head against the cool rock.
My stomach growled, I hadn't eaten before entering the mines. My body ached, but my heart was quiet.
'Was this how Miguel felt?' I wondered. 'Alone. Trapped. Waiting.'
Still, I didn't regret anything.
For once, I did what I had to do.
I smiled faintly, letting the fatigue take over. My breathing slowed.
*CRACK*
The stone above groaned. My eyes snapped wide open.
*CRASH*