eybaba

Arthur Winner is a boy who lives in the modern world, unaware of the dark legacy within him—the last fragment of Azrael’s soul, the Angel of Death. Since childhood, his life has been filled with pain and suffering; his mother once tried to kill him, but his father saved him at the last moment. Years later, betrayal strikes again when his girlfriend cheats on him with his closest friend, shattering the little trust he had in the world.

On one of the darkest days of his life, after a fight with that very close friend led to his temporary suspension from school, he spent the first day of his suspension in quiet solitude at home. But that silence didn’t last long. A mysterious voice called out to him… and following the sound, he was led to the basement, where a truth beyond his comprehension awaited him—a secret that might change his destiny forever.

But is he ready to accept the fate that has been written for him?

Legacy of Death

Arthur staggered to his feet, his breath ragged, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. The room felt colder now, as if the warmth had been drained from it entirely. The shadows that had crept closer no longer seemed like tricks of the dim light—they were moving, pulsing, breathing.

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to get the hell out of this suffocating room, but where would he even go? The feeling under his skin, the thing shifting beneath his flesh, wasn't something he could escape.

"Look, Master… Look and see what you are becoming."

Arthur turned, slowly, reluctantly, toward the full-length mirror in the corner of his room.

The reflection that stared back at him was his own. And yet—it wasn't.

His face was pale, skin slick with sweat. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits of unease. But that wasn't what made his stomach churn.

Thin rivulets of blood trailed from the back of his neck, snaking down his skin like crimson threads. But the wound itself—it wasn't just a cut. It was shifting. The skin pulsed unnaturally, twitching as if something inside was trying to push its way out.

Arthur's breath came faster. His fingers flexed, clenching into fists as his reflection seemed to lean forward.

His body hadn't moved. But the reflection had.

His gut twisted violently, an ancient kind of dread unfurling in his chest. Every cell in his body told him not to move, not to blink, not to acknowledge it. But he couldn't stop himself.

The reflection's lips curled into a smirk. Arthur's own smirk.

And then, in a voice that wasn't his own—

"You were never meant to be just Arthur Winner."

A sharp breath. A step back. The wooden floor groaned under his weight.

But the reflection didn't step back.

It stayed there. Watching. Grinning.

Arthur's stomach twisted. His throat felt dry as sandpaper, but he forced his voice out, laced with as much sarcasm as he could muster through the pounding in his skull.

"Great. I've officially lost my mind. Fantastic. Do I at least get a cool straightjacket, or do I just start screaming at walls now?"

The reflection laughed. A low, rasping sound that sent ice through his veins.

"Oh, Master… You still think this is madness?"

The shadows behind the reflection twisted, stretching unnaturally, curling toward him like reaching fingers. His pulse slammed against his ribs.

Arthur jumped, whipping toward his bedroom door. His heart hammered against his ribs as the knock came again, steady. Measured.

The shadows stilled. The air in the room seemed to snap back to reality, as if something had been forcibly cut away.

"Arthur?" Eleanor's voice, firm but cautious, came through the door. "Dad wants to talk to you."

For a long moment, Arthur just stood there.

The reflection was normal again. Just his own exhausted, pale face staring back at him. No smirk. No voice. No twisting shadows.

A dream. A hallucination. A goddamn nightmare.

Except for the blood on his hands.

Arthur exhaled slowly, dragging a shaky hand down his face. He pushed everything else down—the whispers, the moving wound, the thing that had been in his reflection. He shoved it into the farthest corner of his mind and locked it away.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice rough as he opened the door. "Let's see what Dad has to say."

The Hollow Reflection