Chapter 2: Pain.

I bolt upright in bed, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. My body is drenched in cold sweat, and my heart feels like it's trying to pound its way out of my chest. I blink, trying to get a grip on my surroundings. The soft, familiar glow of my desk lamp casts long shadows on the walls. My books, my posters, my bed—all there. I'm home.

But the pain.

I wince as a sharp, searing agony tears through my arm. It's not a dream. I look down, and my stomach turns. My skin is blistered, the edges of the wound from that thing's claws still bubbling. Melting. It feels like my arm is being slowly dissolved in acid.

"Oh god… oh god…," I groan, clutching at my side where the monster had also slashed me. The fabric of my shirt sticks to the wound, and when I pull it away, the skin comes with it, wet and red. The smell of burnt flesh rises, and I nearly throw up right there.

"What… what the hell?" I whisper to myself, my voice shaking. How is this even possible? I'm back in my room, but the wounds are real. The mirror... the monster… all of it. It really happened.

A fresh wave of pain washes over me, and I grip the bedpost with my good hand, trying to steady myself. The burns on my arm throb with every heartbeat, like someone's pouring molten metal into my veins. My fingers twitch, instinctively reaching to scratch the seared skin, but even the thought of touching it makes me want to scream.

Acidic. Its claws were acidic.

The skin on my arm is cracked and discolored, like a piece of plastic left too close to an open flame. I can still feel it eating away at me, slowly, cruelly. My breath hitches as I carefully lower myself to the floor, desperate for anything to stop the agony.

I glance at my mirror—the same one that pulled me into that nightmare. I should smash it, destroy it. But even the idea of going near it sends a jolt of fear through me. I can't trust that thing. Not again.

I grip my side harder, trying to stop the bleeding. The heat from the wounds radiates through my body, making my vision blur. I bite my lip, trying not to scream. Why isn't it stopping? The pain, the burning... it's all too much. I can feel my strength slipping away, but I can't pass out. Not now.

I need to think. I need help. But who would even believe me? What am I supposed to say? "Oh hey, mom and dad, I just got pulled into an alternate dimension where I was nearly eaten by some nightmare fuel with razor-sharp claws that melt your skin. No big deal!"

No way. I'm on my own.

Tears well up in my eyes as I stare down at my arm. The skin is peeling away in parts, raw and exposed. I feel a wave of nausea rise up as the stench of burnt flesh reaches my nose again. Focus, Liang Wei. Focus.

I need to do something. Anything. My head's spinning, and the pain is unbearable. I try to think clearly, but every thought slips away as soon as it comes, overwhelmed by the burning.

I stumble toward the bathroom, half-dragging my leg, clutching my side. If I can just… get to the sink… Maybe cold water will help. Maybe it'll stop the burning.

I enter the bathroom, barely able to keep my balance. My legs feel weak, like they could give out any second. My reflection in the mirror looks like someone else—pale, eyes wide with fear, hair sticking to my sweaty forehead.

I ignore it. The only thing I can think about is the pain, the burning, the sensation of my flesh melting. My arm feels like it's on fire, and the wound on my side isn't much better. If I don't do something now, I might pass out for real this time.

The sink. Cold water. It'll stop the burning, right?

I turn the faucet on and shove my arm under the freezing stream. Big mistake.

The moment the water hits the wound, a stinging pain erupts, so intense it feels like a thousand needles are being jammed into my skin. My vision goes white, and I nearly collapse right there. I bite down hard on my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I force myself not to scream.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" I mutter through clenched teeth, pulling my arm away from the water. Tears spill down my cheeks as I brace myself against the sink, my whole body trembling. The water is supposed to help, right? But no—it's like the cold only aggravated the acidic burns.

The skin on my arm looks even worse now, red and raw, blistering from the exposure. What am I supposed to do? I can't even think straight. My whole body is shaking, my breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps.

After what feels like an eternity, I grab a clean towel, pressing it against the wounds, trying to mop up the water. Every touch is pure agony, but I have no choice. My only option is to bandage it up—anything to stop the burning and hold myself together.

With trembling hands, I open the first aid kit under the sink. Gauze. Bandages. I try to wrap my arm as best as I can, wincing every time the fabric brushes against the exposed skin. My side is a mess too, but I manage to slap some bandages on it. It's not perfect, but at least it's covered. At least I'm not bleeding everywhere.

Then I see it.

The tattoo on my left hand. It's still there, faintly glowing under the bandages, like it's mocking me. Like it knows something I don't. I stare at it, the same strange symbol that appeared in the mirror world.

I frown, rubbing at it, hoping it'll come off, but it doesn't budge. My heart starts racing again. I don't want to look at it. I don't want to think about what it means.

I grab another bandage and cover it up. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

But even as I wrap it, I know it's not that simple. None of this is.

As I sit there, huddled on the bathroom floor, I try to ignore the creeping sense of dread washing over me. The wounds, the tattoo, the mirror—it's all connected. And I have no idea what it means.

I don't know what time it is when I finally stumble outside, the cool night air hitting my face like a splash of cold water. I feel lightheaded, like I'm barely connected to the ground beneath me. My whole body is still shaking, my wounds wrapped in sloppy layers of gauze that cling to my skin. I can't stay inside anymore, not with all this swirling in my head.

I need to breathe. I need to think.

The streets are quiet at this hour, with only a few cars passing by and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. I walk without direction, my mind too foggy to care where I'm going. The park nearby seems as good a place as any. It's always been peaceful there, a good spot to clear my head. I could use a little peace right now.

The trees sway softly as I step onto the park path, the night sky above framed by branches. The quiet is almost eerie, but I welcome it. Anything is better than being trapped in my room, alone with my thoughts and that... that thing on my hand. The bandage over the tattoo feels warm, almost like it's pulsing with heat. My nerves are on edge, like my body's waiting for something else to go horribly wrong. Like it's not over.

I stop in my tracks when I notice something strange by the path. A small, unmoving shape in the grass. My heart skips a beat as I step closer, my stomach churning when I see what it is—a rabbit. Dead.

It's curled up as if it was sleeping, but its eyes are glazed over, its fur matted. I crouch down, biting my lip as I inspect the poor thing. There's no blood, no visible wounds. It just… died. Maybe of old age, judging by how frail it looks.

I reach out with my left hand—the one with the tattoo—hesitating for a moment. Why am I doing this? I don't even know. I just feel… drawn to it. The bandage around my hand shifts as I get closer, almost like it's itching to touch the thing.

And that's when I hear it.

"DEVOUR."

The voice slams into my consciousness like a freight train, loud and commanding. My head snaps up, but there's no one around. I clutch my hand to my chest, my heart racing.

Did I just imagine that?

I glance around the park, but it's empty. It's just me and this dead rabbit. My breath comes out shaky, my mind spinning. The word repeats in my head like an echo: Devour.

Without thinking, I whisper it, barely audible. "Devour…"

As soon as the word leaves my mouth, a strange sensation floods my left hand. The bandage over the tattoo begins to glow, a crimson light bleeding through the fabric. I stumble back, eyes wide, as the light grows brighter, hotter, until the bandage is glowing just like it did in the mirror world.

"What the hell—" I gasp, pulling my hand away, but it's too late. The dead rabbit jerks unnaturally, the light from my hand seeming to pull at it. I watch, horrified, as the rabbit's corpse begins to shrink, collapsing in on itself as if something is draining it dry. Its fur wilts, its bones shrink, until it's nothing more than a flattened, shriveled husk lying in the grass.

I back away, my breath catching in my throat. My mind races, trying to make sense of what I just witnessed, but there's no sense to be found. It's like the rabbit was absorbed… like something sucked the life out of it, leaving behind nothing but an empty, lifeless rug.

And it was me. Or at least… whatever this tattoo is.

"No. No, no, no…" I mutter, stumbling back further, my heart hammering in my chest. I stare at my left hand, which is now cool and calm again, the glow fading into nothing.

But the pain—it's… gone? I blink, suddenly realizing that the throbbing, burning sensation in my arm and side has eased. It's still there, but muted, like someone's dialed it back.

I tear at the bandages covering my arm, heart pounding as I uncover the wound. The skin is still red, still raw, but… it's healed. Not completely, but the edges aren't blistering anymore. The burn marks have receded, and the pain has dulled to a manageable ache.

My side too. I unwrap it, my fingers trembling. The gash has closed slightly, the bleeding stopped. What the hell just happened?

I look back at the rabbit's corpse—what's left of it, anyway.

My body feels cold, but my mind is racing. That voice. The tattoo. The devouring. What did I just do?

And what else can I do?

I take off running, the park's dim lights barely guiding me as I sprint through the grassy paths. My mind's a mess, but there's one clear thought cutting through all the chaos: Find more. Find more corpses.

It's insane. I know it. But my body is moving on its own, fueled by this strange, new energy I can't explain. The pain in my arm and side is still there, but it's a faint, dull ache now. My legs, which were heavy and sluggish before, feel lighter, almost springy. I'm faster, more alert, as if every part of me has been rebooted. The fatigue I've been dragging around since I left my house? Gone.

I zigzag through the park, my eyes scanning the ground, hoping—no, praying—to find more dead animals. What am I even doing? I would've gagged just thinking about it an hour ago, but now… now it feels like salvation. Like heaven is throwing me a lifeline.

And then I see them: a small pile of mice, all huddled together, lifeless in the grass. My heart skips a beat. There! I rush over, barely caring why they're there or how they died. But as I approach, I catch sight of the neighbor's cat—the little hunter responsible for this mess—sitting proudly a few feet away, licking its paws, completely oblivious to the chaos in my head.

"Oh my god," I blurt out, laughing in a way that sounds just a bit unhinged. "You're a legend! A literal life-saver! I'll get you all the tuna you want tomorrow, promise. Best boy ever!" I crouch down, holding out my arms. "Come here, let me hug you."

The cat gives me the side-eye like it's debating whether I'm worth the trouble. I reach out, practically begging for some affection, but instead of purring or rubbing against me, the ungrateful little jerk scratches me.

"Ow! Rude!" I yelp, but I laugh it off. What's a scratch compared to melting skin?

The cat, clearly done with me, darts off back toward its house. "Yeah, whatever, you'll still get your tuna," I call after it, rubbing my scratched hand.

I turn my attention back to the real prize—the dead mice. This time, I don't even say it out loud. I just think it, the word swirling in my mind like some strange command: Devour.

As soon as I do, the same crimson glow returns to my hand. My body tenses, feeling the same pull as before, and the mice's tiny bodies begin to shrivel up, collapsing inward as though something is draining them, just like with the rabbit. Their fur mats down, their little bones crumple, and within seconds, they're nothing more than shriveled husks—completely drained of any life they once had.

I back away again, the glow fading as quickly as it came. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, but… the pain in my body? Gone.

I tear off the bandages on my arm, my heart racing. The burns are still there, but… they've healed. Not completely, but damn close. My side, too—it's still tender, but the gash has knitted together more. No more burning, no more stinging agony.

There are scars, though. Ugly, thick, jagged scars crisscrossing my arm and side where the monster had clawed me. I frown, running my fingers over them, but then shrug, forcing a grin.

"Well, there goes wearing tank tops for a while," I mutter. "Guess scars are in now?"

The rush of relief is overwhelming, and before I know it, I'm jumping up and down, laughing like an idiot. I feel… free. The pain that had consumed me, the fear—it's all melting away. I'm alive, more alive than I've felt in forever. And this energy, this power—it's coursing through me. My body feels light, my legs strong. I could run a marathon right now.

Which is exactly what I do—or close enough. I take off running toward the supermarket, my feet barely touching the ground as I sprint through the streets. I've never run this fast in my life, and it's not just because I'm scared. It's like my body's changing—stronger, faster. Is this what the tattoo does?

Absorbing those corpses didn't just heal me—it's made me better.

I skid to a stop in front of the supermarket, panting but not winded in the same way I normally would be. My muscles don't ache, and my breath isn't ragged. I'm still me, but I'm also… not. This devouring thing—it's not just about healing. It's like I'm siphoning something else from those dead animals. Their energy, their strength.

I catch my reflection in the store's glass door, staring at myself for a second. I don't look any different. But inside? Inside, I'm a whole new person.