The image of the ruined city lingered in Kai's mind, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers clawing at a crimson sky, the ground a desolate wasteland littered with the remnants of a shattered civilization. He had woken up that morning in his own bed, the lingering chill of the nightmare clinging to him even under the warm blankets. The dream, or vision, or whatever it was, clung to him like a shroud, its chilling details refusing to fade. It felt so real, he thought, a shiver running down his spine. The grotesque figures, the swirling vortex of human suffering, the chilling emptiness of the ruined world… it had all felt so real. School had become a distant memory since Ethan… since… He couldn't even bring himself to finish the thought. The world outside his room, outside the oppressive weight of this vision, felt muted, unreal. He couldn't face it, not yet. Not while this… this thing was gnawing at him, twisting his insides with fear and confusion.
He could call Kara and Dennis. His phone was right there on his nightstand. He could text them, tell them about the nightmare, the desolate landscape, the feeling of utter hopelessness. He could share the burden of what he was seeing, what he was feeling. But the words caught in his throat. How can I burden them with this? He thought, his hand clenching into a fist. They were already worried about him, he knew they were. He couldn't drag them into the darkness that was consuming him. He imagined their reactions, the concern in their voices, the worry etched on their faces. No, he thought. I can't do this to them. Not over the phone, not in hurried texts. Not until I understand what's happening. He needed to face this alone. He couldn't risk them. Not until he knew what he was dealing with, not until he had some semblance of control. He needed answers, and he knew where to find them.
He couldn't shake the feeling of dread, the weight of the choice he knew he had to make. The voice of the older Kai echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the power he could wield, the responsibility he now carried. Accept it, the voice had urged. Become what you were meant to be. He had said yes, hadn't he? In the depths of the nightmare, with the image of the ruined world burned into his mind, he had agreed. But now, in the harsh light of day, doubt gnawed at him. Was this the right choice? What would he become?
He threw back the covers, the cool air a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of his bed. A sense of urgency propelled him. He pulled on the clothes he'd discarded the night before, the fabric feeling rough against his skin. Each movement was driven by a need to escape the confines of his room, to confront the source of the visions that plagued him. He slipped out of the house, the familiar streets seeming alien under the weight of his fear. The warehouse, a silent sentinel on the edge of town, beckoned him.
He found himself drawn to the abandoned warehouse again, the desolate space a reflection of the turmoil within him. The silence was broken only by the creak of rusted metal and the distant rumble of traffic. He closed his eyes, seeking solace in the solitude, but the images of the nightmare returned, vivid and unrelenting. He opened his eyes, trying to ground himself in the reality of the grimy warehouse. It wasn't real, he thought, trying to convince himself. It couldn't be. But the feeling… the feeling was real. Especially yesterday's. Was it a vision? Or something else? He contemplated accepting… whatever it was. But the repercussions… Do I have to research? But where? And how? If it's real, maybe I'll get the answers I seek if I seek the entity behind this. Maybe he will talk. Whatever happens, happens. Already tried to end it anyway, he thought, trying to project a tough exterior, but a knot of worry tightened in his stomach.
Waiting in the silence, he tried to communicate, to reach out to the apparition, or whatever it was. Nothing happened. Where are you? he asked silently. Are you real? Am I going crazy? I want answers. Are you even gonna speak? He waited, the silence stretching, becoming almost unbearable. He began to feel a prickle of anger, a surge of frustration. What am I doing? he thought, a wave of self-deprecation washing over him. Waiting for a voice in my head? Talking to myself in an abandoned warehouse? I've officially lost it. "Okay, I accept you," he muttered sarcastically, the words echoing in the empty warehouse. "Isn't that what you want? Happy now?"
Still nothing. His patience snapped. He dropped to his knees, a mix of frustration, confusion, and fear churning within him. Why did his dreams, his nightmares, now feel so real? It's not real, he whispered, trying to convince himself, but even as he spoke the words, a part of him knew he was lying. He felt a surge of anger at himself, at his own stupidity. How could I be so gullible? he thought. Falling for some voice in my head, some ridiculous promise of power… He felt a fool, a desperate, pathetic fool.
Frustrated, he ripped off his shirt, crumpled it into a tight ball, and hurled it against the grimy concrete floor with a guttural cry of frustration. He began to scavenge the warehouse floor, picking up loose stones and chunks of broken concrete, hurling them into the shadows with increasing fury. "Where are you?!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the vast space. The stones clatter and bounce, the sounds amplifying his rage and desperation.
As Kai throws another stone, his gaze catches a distorted reflection in a thin, watery rivulet snaking across the concrete floor. The reflection, initially just a shimmering distortion of the warehouse's dim light, begins to pulse and swell. The rivulet, reflecting the shadow, starts to bubble and churn, the water turning a sickly, dark red. The dark red liquid seems to be overflowing from the inside of the shadow. A small, grotesque bulge erupts from the shadowed reflection, rapidly expanding outwards. The bulge pulsates, its surface rippling and contorting, as if something is forcing its way out from within. The bulge expands very fast, the rivulet now overflowed with the dark red liquid.
For a fleeting, desperate moment, a surge of twisted hope flares within Kai. "Is this it?" he thinks, his heart pounding. "Is this the entity I've been waiting for?" But the hope is instantly extinguished as the burgeoning form continues to mutate, its expansion becoming a grotesque, unnatural transformation.
The skin wasn't like an exoskeleton nor scaly; it was more like human skin, stretched taut and glistening, veins visible beneath the surface. The creature's flesh rippled, and fresh eyes burst forth, popping into existence like grotesque, wet bubbles multiplying across its skin. Its eyes, burning with malevolent intent, fixed on Kai. He stumbled back, a gasp escaping his lips. "This isn't real," he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "This can't be real." But the stench of decay, the wet, sickening squelch of its movements, felt disturbingly real.