Chapter 1: Unseen Marks & the Man of Nightmares

Eric Yang inhaled deeply, as if preparing to step into a tunnel with no end in sight. With a trembling left hand, he pushed the door open, his heart heavy with dread. His thoughts were scattered, lost in the labyrinth of his mind, refusing to coalesce into anything coherent. The urge to flee was overwhelming—to turn away, to never look back, to leave behind the horror that had tormented him in endless nightmares. But he stood firm, mustering all his strength. With a slight twist of his wrist, he turned the knob of the wooden door. The door creaked open with a sound that echoed through the silence, his heart pounding and his body breaking into a cold sweat. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. With one final push, the door opened just enough for him to step inside.

He crossed the threshold, entering a room that felt like the lair of an untamed beast—the creator of his nightmares, the reason his reality was painted in shades of crimson. As he stepped inside, a pungent scent of alcohol mixed with tobacco hit his nostrils, undercut by the faintest hint of a man's cologne. It was a scent he knew all too well, one he had once worn and loved, engulfing himself in its familiar embrace. But now, as it assaulted his senses, it made him nauseous. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he abandoned that scent, since he had given up on his own happiness.

With a heavy heart and a scattered mind, he took a few steps forward, now standing in the center of the room. It was dimly lit, the windows closed tight, and the curtains drawn, except for one that was half-open at the far right end, allowing just enough light to navigate the shadows. It was as if the room's owner had wished to keep the world out, to ensure that no light could penetrate this abyss and reveal the atrocities committed within these walls.

As Eric moved further in, his feet, encased in leather shoes, came into contact with a web of scattered pages on the floor. He bent down and picked one up, his eyes widening as he took in the content. Disgust, mixed with surprise and a deep-seated hatred, surged within him. His fist clenched, and the paper crumpled under the pressure of his vengeful grip. At that moment, as if the heavens themselves wanted him to confront the scenes from his tainted past, a loud thunderclap shattered the room's deadly silence, a flash of lightning illuminating the space through the half-open curtain.

Startled by the sudden noise, Eric involuntarily lifted his head, only to be confronted by the sight of the wall before him. It was covered in sketches, drawn on coffee-colored sketch paper, glued haphazardly across the surface. A red string, like the ones used in ancient love stories to depict bonds that transcend worlds—the 'red string of fate'—was draped across the sketches, pinned into place with small steel nails. From afar, it looked like a chaotic cobweb, forming a maze that seemed impossible to untangle.

Beneath this tangled web of red string, the sketches sprawled across the wall. Eric's body froze, his heart feeling as if it might stop from the overwhelming surge of hatred and filth that consumed him. His eyebrows twitched, and his face grew as cold and sharp as an ice shard. It felt as if a mountain of horror and agony had been placed on his chest, crushing his bones beneath its weight and leaving him paralyzed. He inhaled sharply and moved closer to the wall, desperate to see what his mind refused to believe. As he approached, another flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by the distant roar of thunder, offering him a brief moment of clarity. In that instant, Eric saw the sketches clearly.

He held his breath, his face pale as if he had seen a ghost with seven heads. The sketches were of him—of his body wrapped in blankets as he slept in his office, of his profile as he stood at the edge of a bridge, of his small nose and perfectly kissable thin lips, of his honey-colored eyes, slightly upturned at the corners, of himself sitting in front of a laptop, of himself crying while clutching a torn flower, of himself lying in bed with his torso exposed to the room's light, his head tilted to one side, his jet-black hair falling across his forehead.

Eric felt a jolt of electricity course through his body, the hairs on his arms and nape standing on end as if he were drowning in icy water, freezing his blood and causing his heart to lose its rhythm. He was shocked, disgusted, angry, and terrified all at once. As he absorbed the sight before him, he heard a muffled sound, like someone whispering. With dread in his eyes, he turned to his left, his gaze landing on a figure sprawled on the sofa in the corner of the room.

Even in the dim light, Eric knew who it was. He could recognize this man anywhere, even if he were surrounded by all the demons and devils in the world. How could he forget the man who had stolen his dignity, destroyed his dreams, and driven him to the brink of insanity?

While Eric was lost in his thoughts, the man on the couch coughed lightly, trying to lift himself up. A torn piece of sketch paper was clutched in his hand, as if it were his lifeline. With the little strength left in his body, he struggled to stand. As soon as he got to his feet, a pounding headache pierced through his veins, driving him to the edge of madness. His hands instinctively flew to his head, gripping it tightly. He lifted his gaze and tried to focus on the silhouette standing in the middle of his den, in front of the wall of his bruised memories and painted tyranny. He forced his eyes open, taking one slow, unsteady step after another, his body heavy under the influence of the alcohol he had downed in one go before his visitor violated his scarred sanctuary.

As he drew closer, he could see that the person standing before him was a man with long legs and a lean, muscular frame. The man, under the influence of drugs, swayed as he lost his footing, almost tripping over the glass bottles scattered across the floor. His right forearm was marked with needle tracks, evidence of the toxic and addictive substances he had been abusing, some of the marks still fresh as if they had been made just hours before this sudden intrusion. There was a tattoo on his right arm, but in the dim light, it was hard to make out the words. It seemed to be a line of text in English, running from his elbow down to his wrist, ending just above his hand.

With a pounding heart, the man reached out towards Eric, trying to grab hold of him. Eric recoiled as if he had been struck by lightning, pulling away from the man's touch like he was avoiding the plague. Now they stood face to face in the middle of the room, just an arm's length apart. Eric's eyes were wide open, refusing to acknowledge that the man before him was the same person who haunted his nightmares. He wanted to run away, to put as much distance between them as possible, but it was as if his feet were glued to the floor. He couldn't move a muscle.

The man blinked, his eyes gradually clearing. Recognition flickered in his gaze, followed by a complex mix of emotions that Eric couldn't decipher. His lips, dry and cracked, parted as he whispered, "Eric, is that you?"

Eric didn't move. He held his breath, standing as still as a statue, as if any movement might provoke the creature before him.

"Eric, it's you, right? See, I told Damien I could see you. This… this stuff is really good. It… it makes me see your face. It's the only way I can see you…"

The man kept talking, his words slurred and incoherent, but Eric could barely register what he was saying. Disgust welled up inside him, and before he could react, the man stretched out his right arm, his sleeve rolled up to reveal the scars left by the needles, and tried to touch Eric's cheek. Eric flinched, pulling back as if he had been burned. The man's hand hovered in the air, an emotion flickering in his eyes—yearning, sadness, and despair.

"Even in my dreams, you still hate me," the man murmured, his voice trembling as tears began to fall. "You're still disgusted by me, by my touch, by… by my gaze… I… I…"

He choked on his words, his sobs growing heavier. Eric was taken aback, watching as the man panted heavily, struggling to breathe. "Is he hyperventilating?" Eric wondered, but he didn't care in the slightest.

Eric was lost in thought, overwhelmed by the chaos of the moment. The man on the floor, clutching his neck with trembling hands, struggled to breathe, his gasps filled with a desperate effort to find some reason to live amidst his crushing despair. He slid down onto his knees in front of Eric, his body surrendering to the weight of his anguish.

A thunderclap jolted Eric from his trance, shaking him from the stifling atmosphere of the room. Instinctively, he stepped back, yearning to escape. As he reached for the door handle, a voice pierced through the oppressive silence. It was a voice he had heard before, on a rainy night when he stood in the office corridor, clutching a box of his belongings. He had never truly believed it then, and hearing it again now was no different.

The man's voice, choked with sobs and tremors, filled the air.

"Eric, please… please look at me… I beg you… I'm sorry… I wasn't in my right mind… I'm sorry… please… look my way. Don't leave me… even in my dreams… I can't… I can't live with your hatred… it's suffocating… I… beg…"

The man's words were interrupted by harsh, ragged breaths. He collapsed onto the floor with a thud, shards of broken glass embedding into his skin, drawing blood that mingled with the broken bottle. Yet, he seemed oblivious to the pain, his eyes locked onto Eric with a mix of desperation and sorrow.

Suddenly, a strange blue light began to glow from the man's neck, casting an eerie luminescence across his face. The man went still for a while. After a few seconds when he reached up to touch the source of the light, it intensified, momentarily revealing a black and blue mark created by the light on his neck. Eric, frozen in horror, gripped his own collar, trying to hide the identical mark that had appeared on his shoulder as the same light radiated from him. The light flared up again, then faded, leaving a matching bruise on Eric's skin. The sight was overwhelming, sending chills down his spine.

Eric felt lost. If it was what he thought this was, it was terrifying for him. This can't be happening, no, he did not do anything to get caught up in this. Cold sweat beads started to form on his forehead, his body was trembling like a leave. Without thinking more, he rushed towards the door, twisted the door knob and in a moment stepped out of the room closing the door behind him. But as he was closing the door, the man in the room caught the other end of the knob trying to pull the door open. Realizing he couldn't confront the deranged man, Eric sprinted toward the stairs. They were on the third floor of this deserted building. The man, driven by desperation and drugs, followed, moving with the erratic energy of a beast that got unleashed a few moments ago.

Eric raced down the stairs, skipping steps as he went. Behind him, the man stumbled, his drugged state causing him to fall on the third step. He tumbled down, rolling onto his back and crashing into the railing, his forehead split open and blood started streaming from the wound. As his consciousness waned, he whispered Eric's name, his voice trailing off with a final, pained murmur.

"Eric… you're running from me… even in my dreams…"

With that, the man's eyes closed, his head tilted towards the mark on his neck. He drifted into unconsciousness, consumed by the man who had once again fled from him.

Eric ran out of the building and raced to his car, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys. He collapsed into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. With his heart pounding, he pulled out his phone and typed a message with trembling fingers:

"I met him as I promised you. But I don't want to get involved in this again. Don't ever contact me."

He hit send, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat as he started the engine. The pain in his shoulder flared again, sharp and insistent, but he ignored it. He couldn't think about that now. He had to get away, to put as much distance between himself and that place as possible.

As the car roared to life, Eric pressed his foot to the gas pedal, the tires screeching as he sped away, leaving the memories and the man in the dust. But no matter how fast he drove, he couldn't escape the feeling that something had changed, that something had marked him in a way he couldn't outrun.

As he drove, the shadows on the road began to warp and twist, blurring his vision. The streetlights flickered, casting eerie blue glows across the windshield. Eric's hands tightened on the steering wheel as a chill ran down his spine. He glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see something lurking in the backseat, but there was only darkness.

A blue light, like the flicker of a dying star, danced on the horizon ahead of him. It pulsed and shimmered, its glow almost hypnotic. As he drew closer, the light grew brighter, more intense, filling the car with an otherworldly glow. Eric's breathing grew shallow as the light enveloped him, the shadows in the corners of his vision growing darker and more menacing. He pressed harder on the gas pedal, but the car seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if the road stretched out before him in an endless loop.

And then, without warning, the blue light disappeared, leaving only the cold, empty road ahead. Eric blinked with a racing heart. He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. But even as the blue light faded from his vision, its presence lingered in the back of his mind, like a whisper he couldn't quite hear, a shadow he couldn't shake.

To be continued.....