The moment the Echo ended, the world around them snapped back into reality.
But their bodies—**their minds—**were still trapped in the horror they had just lived through.
And then—
They screamed.
Samuel fell to his knees first.
His entire body jerked forward, his hands slamming onto the cold floor as a gut-wrenching scream tore out of his throat.
He clutched his legs, gripping them desperately, his fingers digging so deep into his flesh that his nails nearly broke the skin.
His body was shaking violently, his chest rising and falling in rapid, erratic gasps.
The pain was still there.
He could still feel it.
The axe digging into his legs.
The crunch of bone splitting apart.
The sensation of being dragged across the concrete, flesh tearing away.
His legs were still attached, but his mind wasn't convinced.
He tried to move, but his muscles refused.
Because his brain still believed—he had lost them.
He was still dying.
And when he finally tried to take a breath—
He vomited.
His stomach twisted violently as he threw up onto the floor, his entire body wracked with spasms as if it was still trying to fight off the agony of death.
Jace staggered back, his balance gone.
His usual composure—destroyed.
He let out a choked gasp, stumbling until his back slammed against the nearest wall.
His legs buckled underneath him.
He slid down, hitting the floor, his hands clutching his throat.
He could still feel the chain.
Still feel it tightening.
Still hear the POP—the moment the man's head was ripped from his body.
His jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt, his fingers shaking as he ran them over his own intact neck.
Checking.
Making sure he was still whole.
Making sure he was alive.
But even as he told himself it was over—
He couldn't stop shaking.
Owen screamed.
Not just in fear—but in pure, primal agony.
His body collapsed onto the floor, his legs too weak to hold him up.
His hands gripped his hair, his chest heaving violently as he curled into himself.
His breathing was ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it hurt.
"No—no, no, no, no—"
He kept repeating it, his voice breaking into a desperate sob, as if trying to convince himself that none of it had been real.
But he had felt it.
He had felt everything.
The axe sinking into his legs.
The searing pain.
The helplessness.
The unbearable, suffocating terror of knowing he was about to die.
And the worst part?
He still felt like he was dying.
His body was here, in the real world—but his soul was still trapped in that moment.
In that prison.
In that hopelessness.
And for a terrifying second—
He wondered if he had ever really escaped.
Victor stood among them—
Silent.
Still.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his fingers twitching at his sides.
And then—
A shaky breath.
His shoulders trembled.
His fingers slowly curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
A sound broke from his throat.
A choked, breathless—sob.
Tears fell down his face.
But it wasn't grief.
It wasn't fear.
It was something twisted.
Something unfathomable.
A feeling of pleasure.
Of ecstasy.
Of pain.
Of beauty.
His body shuddered, his breath hitching, his lips parting slightly as if he was on the brink of something euphoric.
His voice quivered with something beyond comprehension.
And then—
He laughed.
A soft, breathless chuckle that turned into a broken sob.
"That…" he whispered, his voice shaking, weak, trembling.
He wiped his tears away, smearing them down his cheeks as his lips curled into a slow, shaking grin.
"That was… beautiful."
His voice was hoarse.
Wrecked.
Like someone who had just seen something divine.
Something perfect.
The others were too lost in their own horror to even react.
Because in that moment they were all too broken to care.
And they knew this phase had only just begun.
Samuel gasped for air.
His chest heaved violently, his stomach still twisting from the overwhelming sensation of dying.
Even though he was back.
Even though it was over.
Even though his body was completely fine.
But his mind—his mind was broken.
Tears spilled down his face, mixing with the remnants of bile still lingering on his lips.
His hands trembled as he pressed them against the cold floor, trying to ground himself.
To remind himself—he was here. He was alive.
But no matter how many times he told himself that, his body refused to believe it.
Because that death—that pain—was real.
Too real.
He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing himself to move, his arms weakly pushing him upright.
And then—he looked around.
And his stomach twisted all over again.
Jace stood there, but he wasn't standing strong.
His usually firm, confident stance was gone.
His feet were uneven, his entire body rigid, stiff—as if any sudden movement would make him collapse.
His hands were locked into fists, shaking slightly at his sides.
But it wasn't anger.
It wasn't frustration.
It was shock.
Pure, crippling shock.
Samuel could see it in his face.
The way his brows were slightly furrowed, the way his mouth tensed as if holding back some kind of reaction.
Jace—who was always composed, always controlled, always the strongest among them—
Wasn't thinking clearly.
He wasn't even blinking.
His expression was vacant, his eyes slightly unfocused.
As if his mind was still there.
Still trapped in that final moment.
Still hearing the sound of flesh being torn apart.
Samuel turned his head slightly—and his heart nearly stopped.
Owen.
Owen was on the ground.
Curled up.
His entire body was wrapped into itself, his arms gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were completely white.
His head was buried into his chest, his shoulders slightly shaking.
He wasn't making a sound.
No crying.
No words.
Just shaking.
A silent, frozen ball of fear.
As if his body was trying to protect itself.
As if he still thought he was dying.
And then—Samuel saw Victor.
Crying.
But not like Owen.
Not like him.
Victor's tears were different.
His face was streaked with them, but there was no sadness in his expression.
His lips were trembling, his breath unstable, his entire body slightly shivering—
But it wasn't from horror.
It was from pleasure.
He exhaled sharply, a soft, shaking breath slipping past his lips.
His eyes were slightly red, unfocused, distant—like someone lost in something euphoric.
His fingers twitched at his sides, as if longing to grasp something that wasn't there.
And then—he let out a small, choked laugh.
A broken, ecstatic sound.
Samuel's stomach twisted.
Victor was experiencing the same pain.
The same agony.
The same memory of dying in the worst possible way.
But instead of breaking down in fear—
He was enjoying it.
Like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
The Crushing Realization
No one spoke.
No one dared to.
Because no one could.
The silence wasn't just silence.
It was the weight of what they had just lived through.
It was the suffocating, unbearable truth that they had just experienced a death so horrifying, so brutal—
That now, even though they were fine…
Even though their bodies felt normal…
Their minds would never be the same.
And Samuel realized that.
The Echo Effect wasn't just a memory.
It was a curse.
It was something that would stay with them.
Something that had crawled inside them, sinking its claws into their brains, poisoning their thoughts.
Now—they wouldn't be able to think clearly.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
And the worst part?
This was just the beginning.
Samuel's breaths came in jagged, wet gasps—each one too shallow, too weak, as if his lungs were lined with broken glass.
The air burned on the way in, searing his throat, and his ribs shuddered with the effort of dragging in another desperate mouthful
I feel sick.
The thought slithered through his mind, cold and nauseating. Not just sick—wrong
I don't feel good.