Chapter 23: The Screaming Void
Kuragami was no longer sure if he was awake or dreaming.
The whispers had become screams. Not the kind that came from mouths, but from inside his skull—distorted, endless wails that overlapped and tangled, each one clawing at the edges of his mind like starving rats.
The figures around him did not move.
They only watched.
He tried to step forward, but his body didn't obey. His limbs felt wrong—too long, too thin, like they weren't his own anymore. His hands trembled as he looked down.
No.
His fingers were stretching.
The bones cracked, twisting in ways they shouldn't. The flesh bubbled, veins shifting beneath the surface like insects trapped under skin. His nails blackened, extending into jagged claws.
This wasn't just pain.
This was wrong.
"Not yet."
The voice came from inside him.
Kuragami gasped, falling to his knees as something writhed beneath his skin. His veins pulsed with shadows, crawling up his throat, pressing against the inside of his skull.
"You are not ready."
His reflection appeared in front of him, but it was not his reflection.
It was the thing from before—the other him.
Its face was twisted into a grotesque grin, its red eyes brimming with something hungry.
"You're still clinging to your mind, aren't you?" it whispered.
Kuragami tried to speak, but his voice came out as a gurgle, thick and wet. He coughed—something poured from his mouth.
It wasn't blood.
It was black, thick and pulsing, moving as if it were alive.
The figure laughed. "Ah. It's already starting."
He couldn't breathe. His throat tightened, his lungs burning as the black liquid filled them. His vision blurred, the world twisting, distorting—
Then—
Everything went silent.
—
Kuragami was in a room.
Small. Windowless. The walls were made of something fleshy, the floor pulsing like a heartbeat.
And in front of him—
Was his sister.
But it wasn't her.
She smiled, her face too perfect, too symmetrical. Her skin was too smooth, like porcelain. When she blinked, it was too slow. Mechanical.
"Johnny," she said, her voice hollow.
His breath caught in his throat.
She shouldn't be here.
"Do you miss me?"
He took a step back. His legs felt weak, his body wrong.
"Why did you let me die?"
Her head twisted to the side at an unnatural angle, her smile never fading. The flesh on her face cracked, splitting apart like old porcelain, revealing something dark and wet underneath.
Kuragami clenched his fists. "You're not real."
"Neither are you."
The walls shrieked.
The room collapsed.
And he was falling.
—
Kuragami landed hard on something solid. His body ached, his vision flickering in and out of focus. His heartbeat was too loud, hammering in his ears like a war drum.
Then—
Laughter.
Low. Ragged. Familiar.
He forced himself up, his muscles protesting.
And there, in the darkness—
Sat his mother.
Her arms wrapped around her knees, her long hair covering her face. Her body shook with laughter, but it was wrong—like a recording played at the wrong speed.
"Kuragami," she whispered.
His throat went dry.
She looked up.
Her face was ruined—her eyes hollow pits of darkness, her mouth stretched into an endless grin filled with too many teeth.
"Come home."
Kuragami ran.
The laughter followed.
—
He didn't know how long he ran. The world around him twisted, shifting between nightmare and reality. The walls bled. The sky screamed. His own skin crawled, as if it were no longer his.
The whispers returned.
"You will never escape."
"You were always meant to be ours."
"Let go, Kuragami. Let go."
His own reflection appeared again, laughing, its golden eyes glowing in the darkness.
Kuragami clutched his head, his breath ragged.
No.
He wasn't theirs.
He wasn't a puppet.
And he would never surrender.
With a scream, he tore into himself, his claws sinking into his own flesh. Pain surged through him—but it was his pain. His own suffering.
And through the agony—
He felt real again.
—
When he opened his eyes, he was standing outside the abyss.
He was still breathing.
But he knew.
The abyss had marked him.
And it was still watching.