Chapter 3: Echoes of the Dead
Morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
The black iron gates of Aurelius Academy slid open as students streamed in, laughter and idle chatter filling the courtyard. To anyone watching from afar, it was just another ordinary school day—uniforms neatly pressed, bags slung over shoulders, life moving forward as it always did.
Leviathan walked ahead of the group, hands buried deep in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Paul followed close behind, eyes scanning their surroundings out of habit more than concern. James trailed them with his usual lazy grin, pretending everything was normal—pretending far too well.
Aria walked between with Mary, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tighter than necessary. Why does today feel… heavy? she wondered, unable to shake the unease clinging to her chest. Sophia, having finished school and completed her resonance mastery, stayed back at home.
They entered their classroom.
The air felt… wrong.
Not dangerous. Not hostile. Just off—like the moment before a storm breaks.
Classes had barely settled when the door burst open.
A boy rushed in, breathing hard, a phone clenched tightly in his hand. His face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief.
"Guys—listen—just look at this."
The room erupted instantly. Chairs scraped against the floor as students crowded around him. Whispers spread like wildfire.
"What happened?"
"Is it fake?"
"Play the video again!"
The screen glowed brightly as the news footage played.
A building—underground, sterile, unmistakably secure. Or at least, it had been.
The reporters spoke in hushed tones.
A mysterious organization had been discovered overnight. Every operative inside—dead and all drained of blood. The facility completely compromised. Security systems erased. No survivors.
Blood stained the walls. The floors. The ceilings.
Not splattered.
Arranged.
The camera shifted.
There—written across the floor in dark, deliberate strokes—were words no one in the room dared to read aloud.
Roses = Red
Violets = Blue
My heart = Dead
I'm coming for you
Silence swallowed the classroom.
No laughter. No whispers.
Just the low hum of the screen and the sound of breathing that felt far too loud.
Aria's heart dropped.
Mary's fingers trembled.
James's grin vanished.
Paul's jaw tightened.
And Leviathan—
Leviathan didn't move at all.
No…
That's not possible.
The realization hit them all at once, heavy and suffocating.
What we buried…
What we believed was gone for good…
It's back.
Leviathan's fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms. His pulse thundered in his ears. I killed him. I made sure of it. I watched him end.
Or so he thought.
Paul exhaled slowly, mind racing, already connecting pieces that shouldn't fit together. This isn't random. This is deliberate. A message.
James swallowed. So this is how it starts…
Aria felt cold.
Not fear.
Recognition.
He's not here for chaos alone, she realized. He's here for something… someone. Us
The screen flickered as the news anchor continued, voice trembling.
"No suspect has been identified. Authorities warn citizens to remain calm—"
The phone was lowered.
No one in the room spoke.
Outside, the sun still shone. Birds still flew. The world moved on, blissfully unaware that something had just stepped back into it.
Something that didn't come for pleasantries.
Something that came to finish what it started.
Leviathan finally looked up.
And for the first time that day, his eyes burned with something far more dangerous than anger.
So you crawled back from the dead, he thought darkly.
Fine.
This time… I won't hesitate.
The footage spread faster than the authorities could contain it.
By noon, every major network had picked it up.
By evening, the entire nation was watching.
Screens across homes, offices, streets, and phones replayed the same blurred images: a fortified underground facility reduced to silence, its personnel unmoving, its purpose erased. Commentators spoke in controlled voices, but their eyes betrayed them.
"This was not a robbery."
"This was not terrorism as we know it."
"This was an execution."
The government went into emergency session.
Closed doors. Raised voices. Cold faces.
"No suspect?" one official snapped, slamming his palm against the table.
"None," came the reply. "No fingerprints. No DNA. No heat signatures. The organization had a very terrible luck. They didn't even install cameras anywhere
A woman near the end of the table swallowed. "And the message?"
Silence.
"…It was written in blood," someone finally said. "The pattern suggests intent. Deliberate spacing. Almost artistic. But it seems the criminal already has a target, considering the content of the message"
The room grew colder.
Nationwide alerts were issued.
Curfews suggested, then denied.
Security tightened, then quietly doubled.
Police presence increased, but confidence plummeted.
People stopped going out at night.
Parents held their children closer.
Social media exploded with theories, panic, and fear.
Who could do this?
Is this the start of something bigger?
Are we safe?
No one had answers.
And the scariest part?
No one had seen who did it.
* * *
The house, though small, looked good and well structured
Warm lights. Laughter. The sound of dice rolling across a table.
A family sat together in the living room, halfway through a board game, as if unconcerned about the current city-wide panic. Holiday music hummed softly in the background, the kind meant to make everything feel safe.
"Hey, that's cheating!" one of the kids laughed.
"I am winning strategically," the father replied smugly.
The mother shook her head, smiling. "You always say that."
Then—
Knock.
Everyone froze.
A second knock followed.
Then a third.
Firm. Slow. Patient.
The father frowned. "Are we expecting anybody today?"
The mother shook her head immediately. "No. Not at all."
She glanced toward the kids. "One of you go and open the door."
The youngest boy stood up eagerly. "I'll go!"
He walked toward the door, humming softly.
The handle turned.
The door opened.
For a split second, there was silence.
Then—
A scream.
Sharp. High. Terrified.
Both parents shot to their feet.
"Hey! What happened?" the father shouted as they rushed forward.
They turned the corner—
And froze.
Their son was lifted slightly off the ground, held by the neck with one hand.
The one holding him was… the gas masked figure
His face was hidden behind the gas mask, dark lenses staring back at them without emotion. He wore simple clothes, spotless, untouched—like he didn't belong in the moment at all.
The parents' breath caught.
"Please—" the mother whispered.
The masked figure tilted his head.
His voice was calm. Almost playful.
"I'm not going to kill your son."
Relief flickered—just for a second.
Then he smiled beneath the mask. They could hear it in his voice.
"But…"
"I can't say the same for you."
The lights went out.
Darkness.
Screams tore through the house.
Furniture crashed.
Then—
Silence.
The lights flickered back on.
The parents lay still on the floor. Their eyes stared at nothing. Their bodies untouched by struggle—yet something was clearly gone.
No blood left in their system. All of it on the ground
The figure released the child, who was barely 17. He collapsed to the floor, shaking violently, unable to speak.
The masked figure turned slowly.
He knelt in front of him.
"My name is Alex," he said gently. "You can call me X."
The child sobbed silently.
X leaned closer.
"I'll be staying here for now."
A pause.
"And if you tell anyone what happened here…"
His voice dropped.
"I'll make sure you meet your parents in the afterlife."
He straightened.
"Understood?"
The boy nodded frantically.
X stood, adjusting his mask as if nothing had happened.
Outside, the world continued spinning.
Unaware that the nightmare had just knocked on its door.