Chapter 22: Descent into Madness

Nathan's world was unraveling.

The moment the chains shattered, reality fractured. Shadows bled into light, walls twisted into spirals of impossible geometry, and the air itself became thick with something unseen—something alive. He tried to scream, but his voice was stolen by the factory's relentless hum, a vibration that resonated in his very bones.

He fell.

It wasn't a normal fall. It wasn't downward, or upward, or in any direction that made sense. It was infinite, weightless, like sinking into the fabric of existence itself. The world around him warped, flashes of memories—his, but not his—splintering through the abyss.

His mother whispering warnings by candlelight. His father's silhouette swallowed by the factory's endless corridors. A version of himself, standing in the shadows, watching.

Then—

Impact.

Nathan hit the ground, his body convulsing from the shock. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning. The world around him had settled, but it was wrong. So very, very wrong.

The factory was gone. Or rather, it had transformed. The walls were still metal, but they pulsed, shifting like muscle beneath translucent skin. The pipes overhead no longer carried steam, but something thicker, darker, moving sluggishly like veins pumping lifeblood through a decaying body.

And then there were the voices.

Not whispers anymore. Screams. Echoing from the walls, the floor, from inside his own head. A cacophony of pain, of pleading, of something ancient and forsaken.

Nathan staggered to his feet, his balance unsteady as the ground shifted beneath him. His breath was ragged, uneven. He turned in slow circles, searching for an escape, for anything that made sense.

That's when he saw them.

Figures emerged from the walls, as if peeling themselves away from the metal. They had no faces, only hollow voids where eyes should be, their limbs twitching unnaturally. They stood motionless at first, but then, in perfect unison, they turned their heads toward him.

Nathan took a step back.

They took a step forward.

Panic seized him. He turned to run, but the factory—if it could even be called that anymore—shifted. The exit was gone. The walls stretched, elongated, twisting into a maze of endless corridors, each one darker than the last. He sprinted forward anyway, his only thought to get away.

The air grew thicker. His legs felt heavier with each step, as if something unseen clung to him, dragging him down. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, a frenzied rhythm against the factory's steady pulse.

Then, from ahead, another figure stepped into view.

Nathan skidded to a halt, breath hitching in his throat.

It was him.

No distortions. No shadows twisting its features. Just him, standing in the corridor, wearing the same terror-stricken expression.

Nathan's mouth went dry. "No."

The other Nathan mirrored his movements. "No."

His voice. His tone. His fear.

Nathan clenched his fists. "You're not real."

The figure smiled—a perfect, hollow replica of his own. "Neither are you."

The walls trembled. The screams grew louder. Nathan's vision blurred, reality tilting as if the world itself was rejecting his existence. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head as his mind split, fracturing like glass.

Memories—past, future, things that had never happened—flooded him. Endless versions of himself, all trapped in the same cycle, the same descent. The factory wasn't just consuming him. It was becoming him.

He looked up, gasping for breath, his hands shaking.

The other Nathan was gone.

Instead, the walls pulsed with movement. Shadows slithered toward him, figures reaching out, whispering his name. His mother's voice. His father's. His own.

You were never meant to leave.

Nathan clenched his teeth. No.

With a final, desperate push, he forced himself to his feet. The weight of madness clawed at his mind, but he wouldn't let it take him. He staggered forward, deeper into the abyss, toward whatever truth lay at the end of his descent.

The factory howled, the walls collapsing around him.

And then—

Darkness.