Something felt wrong.
Not fear — not yet — but the kind of pressure that made your chest tighten before you even knew why.
Sam stood in the center of his room, backpack still hanging off one shoulder, eyes unfocused. The air felt dense, like the atmosphere before a storm. His heartbeat thudded too loudly in his ears.
"What is this feeling…?" he muttered.
The room didn't answer.
Then —
A whisper.
So faint it might've been a trick of his mind.
His breath stalled.
"…Something's not right."
The words came out rough, scraped raw from his throat. A second later, the unease spiked — sharp, electric — like static crawling across his nerves.
Before he could move—
Reality collapsed.
---
The floor vanished.
Sam dropped into darkness, his body slamming onto something solid — cold — hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.
Pain detonated inside his chest.
"Ghh—!" He folded inward, fingers digging into his ribs as if something were crushing him from the inside out. "What… what the hell is—"
His heartbeat went feral.
Not fast.
Violent.
Like it was trying to tear free.
Heat surged through his veins. His skin burned.
Crimson fissures split across his arms and neck, glowing like molten cracks beneath flesh. Beneath them, his veins darkened — black, thick, pulsing as if something else were using them.
"Help—!"
No sound came out.
His mouth moved. His lungs strained.
Nothing.
Panic crashed through him.
*Move. Get up. Get away.*
He dragged himself forward on shaking arms, scraping across a surface that felt endless — searching for a door, a wall, anything real.
His vision smeared.
Then—
Nothing.
---
His eyes snapped open.
Silence.
He wasn't in his room.
He wasn't anywhere.
The void stretched infinitely in every direction — weightless, colorless, soundless — like reality had been erased and forgotten.
Sam swallowed.
Then something brushed his arm.
He flinched.
Hands emerged from the darkness.
Not solid — not fully — but close enough to feel.
Fingers grazed his sleeves. Tugged his collar. Skimmed his skin like cold breath.
And voices followed.
"Sam…"
From behind.
"Sam…"
From above.
"Sam…"
From everywhere.
His pulse spiked.
The last nightmare slammed into him — the pressure, the veins, the heat under his skin.
"No," he whispered. "No—no—no—"
His knees buckled. His breath turned shallow, sharp, ragged.
Then—
A voice entered his mind.
Not sound.
Not speech.
**Command.**
(Kill kill kill kill kill
Kill kill kill kill kill kill
Kill kill kill kill kill kill
Kill kill kill kill kill kill
Kill kill kill kill kill kill)
The words didn't echo.
They *hammered.*
Each repetition struck deeper, driving into his skull like a blunt instrument. His thoughts blurred. His vision warped. His heartbeat synchronized with the chant — fast, brutal, merciless.
Sam clutched his head.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Blood slid warm from his ears.
"Stop—" he choked. "Stop—!"
The chant only intensified.
The darkness pulsed — once — twice —
Like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Then—
Eyes opened.
Not one.
Not ten.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Red, burning pupils ignited throughout the void, locking onto him from every direction.
Not staring.
*Targeting.*
Judging.
Claiming.
Sam's breath broke into a sob.
"STOP IT!"
He screamed with everything he had left.
---
His body crashed back into reality.
Hard.
Cold floor against his spine. Air detonated into his lungs as he sucked in breath like he'd been underwater too long.
"Hah—! Hah—! Hah—!"
His arms trembled violently as he pushed himself upright, sweat soaking through his clothes. His heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest.
Black veins faded from his skin.
The red cracks vanished.
The pain receded.
The terror didn't.
"What… what the hell was that…?" he whispered, fingers digging into his hair. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
His ribs still ached.
His ears rang.
His skin felt wrong — like something had passed through it and left residue behind.
Am I losing my mind?
His breath came uneven as fragments of memory collided inside his skull.
The hospital bed.
The white lights.
Doctors whispering outside the curtain.
*"He collapsed without warning."*
*"No external injuries."*
*"Vitals are unstable, but tests show nothing."*
Then his parents' faces — pale, strained, pretending not to panic.
And before that—
Darkness.
Pain.
That same crushing pressure.
His stomach twisted.
"…So it wasn't a dream," he muttered.
He staggered to his bed and dropped onto it, palms pressed to his face.
"First the hospital," he whispered. "Then this… thing. And now monsters are real, heroes are real—"
His voice cracked.
"And I'm hearing voices."
He exhaled shakily and stared at the ceiling.
"Great," he muttered. "That's… fantastic."
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the images away — the eyes, the chant, the hands — but they kept bleeding through.
Kill kill kill—
"Stop," he hissed, dragging a pillow over his head. "Just… stop."
He grabbed his phone, desperate for something solid, something normal.
The screen lit up.
And reality shattered again.
---
*MONSTER ATTACKS ACROSS FIVE CONTINENTS*
*ENTIRE DISTRICTS EVACUATED*
*ARMED CIVILIANS DISPLAY SUPERNATURAL ABILITIES*
"…What…?" Sam whispered.
He scrolled.
Videos flooded his feed.
A creature the size of a bus tearing through cars.
A woman in silver armor driving a spear through its skull.
A man wrapped in flame punching through concrete walls like paper.
People screaming.
Buildings collapsing.
Magic.
Weapons.
Chaos.
"…Heroes?" he murmured.
His chest tightened.
"When Mom and Dad said monsters attacked the city…" His voice dropped. "…I thought it was shock. Trauma. Some kind of exaggeration."
But this—
This was everywhere.
Every country.
Every language.
"…It's real," he whispered.
He stared at the screen until his eyes burned.
"What happened to this world…?"
And worse—
Why did none of it feel as shocking as it should?
A month ago, this would've broken his brain.
Now, it felt distant — muted — like the part of him that should be panicking had been unplugged.
That scared him more than the monsters.
"…Am I numb?" he muttered. "Or just broken?"
His thoughts drifted back to the darkness.
The chant.
The eyes.
The pressure beneath his skin.
A chill crawled up his spine.
"Nope," he muttered, tossing the phone aside. "Not thinking about that."
He lay back and stared at the ceiling.
"If I think about it," he whispered, "I'll lose it."
He shut his eyes.
"I just need sleep," he muttered. "That's all. Just sleep."
As his consciousness faded, one last thought surfaced —
*If I don't dream… maybe none of this is real.*
---
"Nina, go call your brother. Dinner's ready," his mom said, stirring the pot on the stove.
"Okay, Mom!" Nina replied, eyes still glued to the TV.
She hopped off the couch and sprinted upstairs.
"Big brother!" she yelled, pounding on his door. "Open up!"
Inside—
Sam stirred.
"Mmm…" he groaned, voice thick with sleep. "Coming…"
He rolled off the bed and stumbled toward the door, hair sticking out in every direction.
Nina grinned and ran back downstairs before he could even open it.
Sam rubbed his eyes and checked his phone.
"…Seven already?" he muttered. "Did I seriously sleep the whole day?"
He exhaled slowly.
"After what happened…"
He froze.
The darkness.
The chant.
Those burning eyes.
His stomach dropped.
His spine went cold.
"…Don't," he whispered to himself. "Don't start."
"BROTHER, HURRY UP!" Nina shouted from downstairs.
Sam nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Jesus—!" he snapped, clutching his chest. "Don't scream like that! You trying to kill me?"
He opened the door and looked down at her.
"Nina. Indoor voice."
She only smiled innocently.
---
At the dining table—
"Where's Dad?" Sam asked, sitting down.
"He'll be late," his mom replied, placing plates on the table. "Work emergency."
The smell of grilled meat hit Sam's nose.
His stomach growled loudly.
*Grrrrrr.*
Both his mom and Nina stared.
"…That hungry?" his mom asked.
"Starving," Sam said without hesitation.
He started eating immediately.
And didn't stop.
In minutes, his plate was empty.
"…Uh," he said, blinking. "Mom, one more?"
She stared at him for a second before serving him again. "Since when do you eat this fast?"
"I dunno," he muttered. "Guess I skipped lunch."
She sat down across from him but didn't eat right away.
She watched him.
Not openly — but not subtly either.
After a few seconds—
"Sam," she said carefully. "Are you feeling okay?"
He looked up. "Yeah. Why?"
She hesitated.
"It's just…" Her fingers tightened around her fork. "When your father told you about the monster attacks. The deaths. The evacuations…"
Her voice softened.
"…You barely reacted."
Sam stiffened.
"You didn't seem scared," she continued quietly. "You didn't seem angry. Or shocked. It was like it didn't reach you."
Something twisted in his chest.
He forced a smile.
"I'm fine, Mom," he said quickly. "Really. You don't need to worry."
Her eyes didn't change.
But she nodded.
"…Okay."
Silence settled over the table.
Nina kicked her feet under her chair, oblivious.
Sam ate the rest of his food without tasting it.
Afterward, he stood.
"I'm going to sleep."
"No!" Nina protested immediately. "You promised to play with me!"
"Nina," their mom said gently, "your brother's tired. He'll play tomorrow."
"…Fine," Nina muttered, slumping.
Sam smiled faintly. "Good night."
He turned toward the stairs.
---
Halfway up, he stopped.
Something felt off.
Not threatening.
Just… wrong.
He glanced back.
His mom was standing near the sink, staring at nothing.
Her reflection in the dark window didn't move when she did.
Across the room, the TV was on mute — footage of burning streets playing silently — but neither she nor Nina seemed to notice.
Sam frowned.
"Mom?" he called.
She turned too slowly.
"Yes?"
"…Nothing," he said after a second. "Good night."
Her smile lingered a beat too long.
"Good night, sweetheart."
As he climbed the stairs, a strange thought crossed his mind —
*Since when does Dad come home late this often?*
He reached his room before the question could form fully.
---
One month later.
The world was unrecognizable.
Every screen screamed disaster.
Cities burned.
Sirens howled.
Entire districts vanished beneath claw, fang, and fire.
On one channel, a male anchor sat before looping footage of ruined skyscrapers and smoke-choked streets.
"Good evening," he said tensely. "As you can see behind me, monsters of unknown origin continue to attack major population centers worldwide. Military forces are engaged, but casualties rise every hour."
Behind him:
A creature smashing through a highway overpass.
Jets firing uselessly into armored flesh.
Civilians running through streets filled with smoke and screams.
"But that's not all," the anchor continued. "Alongside these attacks, individuals wielding unexplained powers have emerged — wearing armor, wielding weapons, and using abilities that defy known science. Eyewitnesses are calling them… hunters."
Footage shifted.
A golden-armored woman cleaving an orc-like beast in half.
A robed man incinerating monsters with fire from his palms.
Groups of fighters escorting civilians through collapsing buildings.
"In response to the crisis," the anchor continued, "organizations known as *guilds* are forming worldwide. These guilds gather those who have awakened abilities since the attacks began. Governments are officially recognizing them as humanity's frontline defense."
He paused, expression tightening.
"And now… another development."
The screen cut to a press conference.
Men and women stood behind a podium wearing ancient cloaks, engraved armor, and symbols older than modern nations.
Their leader stepped forward.
"We are descendants of demon hunters who have existed for nearly a thousand years," he announced.
The room erupted.
"We have fought in secret, preserving the balance between worlds," he continued. "But now… the barrier separating them is breaking."
Reporters shouted questions.
"The monsters you see today are only the beginning," the leader said. "Those who awaken abilities must join guilds and train. This is not a temporary disaster."
He paused.
"This is the return of an ancient war."
The broadcast cut back to the anchor.
"Within weeks," he said solemnly, "guilds have formed in every major nations. New awakenings are reported daily. Ordinary civilians are developing powers once thought impossible."
He looked directly into the camera.
"The world we knew… no longer exists."
"A new era has begun."
---
In a quiet bedroom miles away, Sam lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The chant whispered faintly at the edge of his mind.
Kill—
He clenched his jaw.
"No," he whispered. "Not tonight."
His phone buzzed beside him.
A notification.
*Unknown Sender.*
**WE SEE YOU.**
His breath stopped.
**Chapter 3 — End**