Chapter 2 : Suffering

Pain. It's the only thing I'm feeling right now. I can't even remember the last time I felt this kind of pain. The Agonizing pain hasn't left since everything collapsed. This is not how I imagine this trip will end. This wasn't supposed to end like this. I should have just left when I had the chance. But I didn't, I stayed. I tried to help, doing something out of my field. And for what? All those people are gone… and now… So will I.

Minutes. Hours. Days. I can't tell anymore. Pain is the only thing that keeps me grounded. reminds me I'm still here, that I'm still alive.

Sometimes, I just want to pass out. But staying awake is better—even in this hellish situation. Because when I sleep, something else is waiting for me. Something worse. Something terrible. Something sinister is out to get me.

Every time I fall asleep, I find myself having these dreams—old memories from my childhood. Scenes I haven't thought about in years—playing games, laughing with friends whose faces are long forgotten, buried in my subconscious.

I've always cherished those moments, even as they start to fade. I was different then—brighter, louder, more open. Nothing like who I am now.

In those dreams, we played games from my childhood—tag, hide and seek, even tug-of-war. We played other games, but those three were my favorites. I loved playing games back then. I was strong, a little quick, and people said I was clever. Winning felt natural, sometimes even expected.

And in these dreams, I always win. No matter who I play against—except for one. Someone, or something... I don't know.

It was something dark—not a shadow, but dark enough to be barely visible. As if the darkness had merged and formed a body for itself.

In tag, even with a head start, it catches me in seconds.

In hide and seek, no matter how plain or great my hiding spot is, it always finds me.

And in tug of war… that's when it toys with me. It lets me believe, just for a moment, that I have a chance. That I might actually win. And then, with no effort at all, it pulls me down.

At first, I won every single time. I was great—I dominated everything. But then... it appeared. The moment it decided to play, it was just over. Plain and simple. Nothing I did worked. It defeated me instantly.

Don't get me wrong—losing is frustrating. But that's not what scares me.

Because every time I lose, I can see something change... How do I explain this? Some part of the shadow returns, like it's reclaiming something. Its darkness slowly fills in, its color gradually returning.

And each time, I feel like I'm losing more than just a game. Like something is being taken from me. Like, piece by piece... it's stealing something—something I can never get back.

And now, after this latest loss, the shadow is almost whole. It feels alive.

And me? I've never felt less alive. Every time I close my eyes, I can feel it—like I'm slipping, like something is pulling me closer to the edge. Closer to... nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up to the feeling of raindrops on my face.

Without thinking, I parted my lips, letting the water trickle down my throat. I remember reading somewhere that a person can last weeks without food, but without water? Days, at best.

So, in a way, this storm is a blessing. If I'm lucky, maybe the rain will soften the debris pinning me down. Maybe I'll be able to slip free.

Maybe.

I can hope, right?

But who am I kidding? Even if I somehow got out, at least a third of my body is crushed under these rocks. A third of me—broken.

The pain is fading now. That should be a good sign, but... it scares me. Because I don't know if I'm getting better or if my body is just getting worse.

Someone should've found me by now… maybe? I don't really know. I've been here for a while. Someone must have noticed, right? But… would anyone even know where to look for me?

'Don't do anything stupid,' the receptionist had said. I remember her condescending voice.

I'd rather die than prove her right. Just thinking about her face pisses me off.

I exhale sharply. 'Okay, Ariane, calm down. This isn't you. Just… breathe.'

I repeat the words under my breath like a mantra. But it doesn't help.

I take a slow breath and force myself to look around.

First, everything is gone. The temple, the arches, the courtyard—reduced to rubble. If the earthquake did this much damage here, the rest of the island must have been hit just as hard. Is that why no one has come for me? I hope not.

Second, it's too quiet. Before, the island was alive—birds, insects, the rustling of leaves, the sound of waves in the distance. But now… nothing. No movement. No sound. Like everything just vanished.

And the third thing—the one that unsettles me the most—is me.

I should be panicking. I should be feeling something. But I don't. The fear, the hopelessness—they were there before. But now? Nothing. Just a dull awareness that something is very, very wrong. But that's only when I'm awake.

The moment I feel my consciousness slipping, the fear returns—suffocating, unbearable. It crushes me, heavier than the debris pinning me down.

Because at that moment, I knew that one waiting for me in those nightmares, that entity, is more dangerous

And now, it's happening again. That familiar pull, dragging me toward the dark. I could try to fight it, but what's the point? My body is too weak, too tired. Resistance is meaningless.

All I can do is fear what comes next. Because sooner or later, my mind will slip away. My eyes will close one final time. And I won't wake up.

The dream begins like all the others. My younger self, playing with my friends—winning, always winning. The sun is bright, the grass soft beneath my feet. Every victory earns me cheers, laughter, a warmth that feels almost real.

And then, it arrives.

The entity—though I can't call it a shadow anymore. It doesn't just appear; it manifests, like it was always meant to be here. And now, looking at it, I understand why it feels so familiar.

Worn-down hiking boots. Brown cargo shorts. A fitted white v-neck. My clothes.

It looks like me. A distorted, twisted reflection staring back

I instinctively look at my body—it's dark, like a shadow, an empty void. Eerie, like a glitch in the fabric of reality. Like reality itself refuses to acknowledge me.

Am I even still here? Am I still real?

A wave of emotion crashes over me—fear, anxiety, something deeper I can't name. That same suffocating hopelessness grips me, pressing down on my very being.

Because I know what comes next.

The entity moves, pacing in slow, deliberate steps. My eyes stay locked on it. It's taunting me. It feels like it's laughing at me, mocking my very existence.

It starts walking toward me—slow, with that stupid, confident stride, like it already knows how this will end.

It gets closer. Intimately close.

I can feel its nonexistent eyes lock onto mine.

Even without a face, without features, I can somehow see it smirking. Its dark, empty void of a face pulses with excitement—like it has been waiting for this moment.

Without a sound, the entity materializes in its hand—a wooden stick, maybe two or three feet long.

Then, it hands me one.

I don't want it, I don't want to take it. But somehow, it ends up in my hands anyway.

The entity steps back, just enough to create distance. Then, slowly, it raises its own stick and points it at me,

Does it… want me to fight?

This makes me even more nervous. If it really wants me to fight, then I will surely lose.

At least with the games, I had some experience. I knew I had a small chance of winning. But this? I don't know the first thing about fighting.

I don't want to fight this thing. But I doubt it's something I can negotiate with.

I tighten my grip on the stick, my fingers pressing into the rough wood. The entity is shaking now—whether from laughter, excitement, or something else, I can't tell. Slowly, hesitantly, I take my first step forward.

The moment I move, its entire demeanor changes.

Any signs of amusement are gone. Now, it looks serious—like it actually sees me as an opponent. Its head tilts slightly, watching, studying my every move.

Then, I noticed it. A faint red mist, curling from the stick in its grip.The same mist I saw back at the temple

The moment I step within striking distance, the entity shifts—its stance adjusting, ready to counter.I swing, aiming for its side. It deflects the strike effortlessly, like it was nothing. I back off, trying to think. But let's be honest—even if I come up with a plan, my body won't keep up.

"Fuck it," I mumble under my breath.I lunge forward, swinging wildly. Fast, reckless, desperate. Maybe, if I keep attacking, I'll land a hit. Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe.

I try everything. Fast, slow, methodical, random. Anything to land a single hit. But every swing, every strike, every desperate attempt—nothing.

The entity dodges, blocks, deflects. Effortless. Precise. And the worst part? It doesn't just avoid my attacks. It glides through them, moving with an unnatural grace. Almost Like it's dancing.

As I tried to hit it, I noticed something. Every Time I missed, or when it blocked me, the mist around the stick it was holding was getting thicker- now it's more visible compared to earlier. It reached the point that it was suffocating – literally suffocating, I was having a hard time breathing as the fight went on. Yes, I know not I'm not exactly a great example of physical strength, But I'm not this weak.

But I keep moving.

Every swing saps more of my strength. Every step drags me down. My legs are lead, and my lungs feel ready to give out. The red mist coils tighter around me, draining whatever's left.

I push through. Give it everything I have—until my legs finally give out beneath me.

I was on my knees, struggling not to collapse, using the stick to prop myself up. The mist still suffocated me, pressing tightly against my chest. I locked eyes on the entity as it walked toward me—calm, staring down at me.

It raised its hand, and with a gentle tap, I fell to the ground.

It hadn't even tried to attack me—not once. Until the very end, it was just playing with me. It could have defeated me instantly. But it didn't.

Lying on my back, I could see the sky—a dark void looming endlessly above me. I felt the frozen ground beneath me. Why was it frozen? It had been grassy just a few moments ago.

The silence was suffocating

I looked around, but there was nothing—literally nothing except for the entity. It was as if I had fallen into a void, trapped here with it.

The entity paced around me, as if hyping up a crowd that wasn't there. Every step it took felt deliberate, savoring its victory.

I felt empty. No fear. No desperation. No anxiety. All the emotions that had once suffocated me were gone.

It stood over me, staring down. Even without a face, I could still feel it laughing—mocking me.

It grabbed my neck, squeezing tightly. I felt it draining my essence, pulling something vital from me. I should have been terrified—but no, I felt calm. almost peaceful

I just gave in, waiting for everything to end.

As darkness closed in, I saw its face—the void shifting, morphing into something.

I saw her.

I saw me.

A version of me, at least. She was smirking—a twisted, confident grin I couldn't replicate, even if I tried.

That was it. It was over.

I closed my eyes.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The biggest surprise of my life? Probably waking up today.

I wasn't expecting to open my eyes again. Yet here I am, breathing—barely. I'm not sure if I should feel grateful, or just... tired.

Well… Let's be honest here—no one actually thought I'd survive that, right? The odds were stacked waaaay against me. Two-thirds of my body crushed under rocks, and some shadowy nightmare-thing was literally draining my essence. Honestly, I half-expected to wake up to Saint Peter with a clipboard greeting me to my new home.

But here's the weird part. When I opened my eyes, I wasn't buried anymore. No rubble. No crushing weight. My limbs moved freely.

It was just me, lying on dry, dusty soil.

Everything was... fine?

Well, I still hurt like hell, but oddly enough, nothing seemed broken.

At first, I was too nervous to move—terrified I'd discover some hidden injury. Maybe something broken, maybe something worse. So I stayed put, just lying there, staring at the sky, my mind racing to figure out what the hell had happened. The sky was a perfect blue, dotted with soft, lazy clouds. The same sunny, peaceful weather I remembered from my first visit to these ruins.

For a while, I did nothing but enjoy the view—just breathing, letting the world remind me I was still alive. It felt peaceful, almost like the universe had hit pause. A rare, fleeting moment of calm before it decided to mess with me again.

"I should really get up now," I told myself.

But my body wasn't quite on the same page yet. Lying there still felt too good, like I could hold on to this peace just a little longer

I tried to stand and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in my body felt like it was on fire. Every tiny movement sent a wave of pain screaming through me.

The peace I'd felt earlier had lulled me into thinking everything was fine—except nothing was actually fine.

I dragged myself forward, pushing up as I went. It was clumsy—awkward, even—and I stumbled more than once. But somehow, I managed to get back on my feet in the end.

I grabbed the pillar nearby to keep myself from falling. Even keeping my balance felt like a monumental task. Leaning my back against the wall, I steadied myself, taking a deep breath as I thought about my next move. I looked around the ruins—everything was just as I expected.

The temple was gone, replaced by a massive crater, as if the earth had swallowed it whole. The grand arches that had greeted me earlier were now nothing but piles of rubble, scattered and lifeless. Everything felt wrong.

Then I saw it—the pile of rocks. The same ones that had crushed me in my dream. Every angle, every surface, even the texture matched perfectly. My stomach twisted, and flashes of the dream filled my mind like a relentless slideshow.

'It was just a dream,' I told myself. Trying to cope with all the weirdness

I kept moving, still searching for anything that could help or explain what had happened to me. I reached the courtyard—the one with those beautiful fountains. Even they hadn't survived the calamity.

'Okay,' I mumbled to myself. 'Nothing's going to make sense right now. I just need to get out of here first.'

Two goals popped into my mind—find my backpack or, at the very least, the key to the cart I used to get here.

Finding the key was easy—it was still in my pocket. Now, the bigger issue was whether the cart would even work. I'd been here a while, and I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that electric vehicles can't hold a charge for too long when left unused. Is that true? No idea. Guess I'll find out soon enough.

One thing off the list. Now, I just needed to find my backpack. It had all the essentials—phone, wallet, Hotel key. Oh, and the most critical thing of all: snacks. I'm starving, and if I don't find something to eat soon, I swear I'm going to lose it.

Walking around the ruins is pure hell. I have no energy, every part of my body still hurts, and hunger is making me dizzy. It's probably been about fifteen minutes since I started looking for my bag, and there's still no sign of it.

"this is hopeless," I muttered, leaning back against a broken wall to save whatever energy I had left

I tried to think back to the moment I theoretically lost it. I tried retracing my steps in my head. I was sure I had my backpack when I was running away from the temple. Pretty sure I still had it when I passed out too.

So, logically, it should be near where I woke up. Unless it magically sprouted legs and walked off on its own.

I staggered slowly, scanning the area for my backpack. No luck.

Great. Of course, it's not here.

Then a thought hit me—what if it's still in the place where I was buried in my dream? As ridiculous as that sounded, at this point, I was ready to believe anything.

When I got there, I wasn't even surprised.

My bag was sitting right where I'd been "buried."

It was tattered in some places—maybe an animal got to it and dragged it here. I checked the contents. Most of my stuff was still inside... except, of course, the most important thing.

The food. Gone.

I checked my phone, even though I knew it should be dead after everything I went through. No way it could still have battery, right?

But, surprise surprise—it turned on.

The weirdest part? The clock said only an hour had passed since the earthquake.

One hour? One freaking hour? How is that even possible? I was sure I'd been buried for at least a week.

So... was everything I experienced just my imagination? Just a really vivid nightmare?

But no—everything felt real. Every ounce of fear and suffering.

And if it was just a dream, why am I hurt? Why does my body feel like this? None of this makes any sense.

'Get back to the hotel first, and then try to make sense of it,' I told myself, trying to stay focused. One step at a time. 

I did my best to fix the bag, tightening the straps and tucking in the torn edges. At least nothing important was spilling out—yet.

Now, I just had to walk to where I left the cart—a two-mile trek through a green hell of branches and leaves. I'd like to point out that the first time I walked through here, I was at peak physical condition. Not that my peak was impressive or anything, but still.

Now, I get to do it again, except this time with a body that feels like it's held together by duct tape, pure human will power and hope.

A couple of broken bones, strained muscles, and what I'm pretty sure is a puncture wound in my shoulder. This is going to suck.

At least, that's what I thought. The hike—more like a lazy stroll—was way easier. The path was clear now, almost like someone had laid out a proper walkway compared to the overgrown mess I'd trudged through before.

What happened? Did the cultists do this?

That thought unsettled me—though not for the obvious reasons. It's the idea that someone—or something—might still be watching.

Not that I'm complaining, but the stroll was still brutal. I had to take a break every few minutes just to catch my breath and check my injuries. My pace was painfully slow.

When I finally reached the cart, I couldn't believe my luck—or lack thereof. The cart was completely destroyed.

Was it the earthquake? No, that didn't seem right. It had to be those damn cultists. I can't believe they wrecked it as they passed through here. Of course, they couldn't just leave it alone.

What now?" I grumbled.

Should I just walk or wait for someone to pass through and ask—no, beg—for a ride?

But… would anyone even come? Considering the earthquake earlier and how remote this place is, I highly doubted it.

So, I decided to walk and see if I could get a ride somewhere else.

But it seemed fate was determined to make a point—just to rub in how unlucky I was. It took me hours to get back, and there was literally no one the entire way.

By the time I reached town, it was already dark. Somehow, the place felt different. The usual colorful, vibrant vibe was gone, replaced by something dark and gloomy.

That's what an earthquake will do to you, I guess."

It didn't seem like much had been destroyed, but there wasn't a single person in sight.

Maybe they were already asleep? With no power, maybe they'd all gone to bed early, conserving their strength for tomorrow?

I reached the hotel without seeing a single sign of life. Even the lobby—normally alive with activity, even at this hour—was eerily silent.

And the receptionist… Oh god. How was I going to explain the destroyed cart? The cult? How was I supposed to even begin to report what I'd seen?

That's when everything hit me all at once. A flood of memories—every terrifying second of the day—surged through me, overwhelming and unstoppable.

I barely had time to react before I doubled over and threw up.

II shuffled my way to my room—if you could even call it that. The elevator was out, so the stairs it was. Stairs and I have never been best friends on a normal day. Today? Pure torture.

Every step felt like a test of patience, and my mind didn't help. It kept running through every possible scenario. What if I actually tried to report what happened? Would anyone believe me? Would I end up tangled in some official investigation?

Then there was the most unsettling thought. What if the locals—all of them—were part of the cult? Yeah… that is… just… dumb I guess?

I finally made it to my room, and oh my god… best feeling I'd had in forever. All the overthinking? Gone. For the first time today, I actually felt safe.

I didn't even bother to change—I just collapsed onto the bed like a sack of potatoes. 'There goes my deposit,' I thought, even though, technically, the room was free.

The thought of going to the hospital did cross my mind. But since I wasn't feeling any major injuries or anything life-threatening, I decided to put it off until tomorrow.

"Rest now, hospital tomorrow," I mumbled as I drifted off to sleep.

I thought I was done with all the weird dreams once I reached safety. But nope—apparently not. Here I am again, dreaming about… something. At least it's not the shadow or some distant, repressed childhood memory this time.

In this dream, I was walking along a beach—one that looked eerily similar to the beach on this island. Wait... no, I'm sure of it now. It was the same beach I visited on my first day here.

It was a warm afternoon. I was… the person? The person whose memory I'm currently reliving? We were walking along the shoreline, the waves gently brushing against our feet. Our hands were interlocked with someone—I assumed it was the person's boyfriend or something.

It was a scene I could only describe as sweet. We were talking about something—though it all sounded like gibberish to me. Yet, somehow, the voice coming out of me, this girl, felt oddly familiar. We kissed once. It was... good, I guess? I mean, not that I have much to compare it to. But still, not bad.

It was a perfect date. We ate good food, did fun stuff on the beach—the kind of carefree day you'd see in a cheesy romance movie. And honestly? Even I, a total introvert and loner, could enjoy something like that.

We kissed again. That was... good, I guess?

The dream went on for a while. I think it was around 11 p.m. when we started heading back to what I assumed was our lodging. The walk was nice—quiet, peaceful, with just the two of us. The cold sea breeze brushed against my skin, and his arm was wrapped around me.

It was... perfect.

Until we heard it.

"Help!" A desperate shout broke through the calm, echoing from a dark alley nearby.

The guy I was with immediately tensed up, and without even hesitating, he started moving toward it. I grabbed his arm, panicking. We argued—well, I think we argued. I couldn't understand the words, but I knew exactly what I was trying to say: Don't go alone. Get help first.

He didn't listen. He just ran into the darkness.

I stayed behind, frozen. One minute passed. Two. Three. Five. The silence dragged on, stretching and twisting with each passing second. My heart thudded against my ribs, every beat louder than the last.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I took a deep breath and followed him.

"Blake," I whispered. Probably the name of the guy I was with.

It was dark, I could barely see anything. I half dragged my feet to not trip on anything. I can't see him or the man who's asking for help. 

"Blake," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady as I crept forward. Every step felt heavier, the darkness pressing in on all sides.

I wandered for what felt like forever before I heard it—a faint shuffling deep in the alley. My breath hitched, and my chest tightened. "Blake… is that you?" I called out, my voice strained and quiet, like I was too scared to hear the answer.

Following the sound, my eyes locked onto a shape on the ground. My heart stopped. It was him.

"Blake!" I rushed over, panic swelling so fast it felt like I couldn't breathe.

I knelt beside him, trying to help, but it was hard to see anything in the darkness. My hands brushed against something warm and sticky—blood, dripping from his face.

"Blake," I whispered, my voice trembling. I pressed two fingers to his neck. His pulse was faint and erratic, but he was still alive.

"Help!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the alley.

"Help!" I called again, more frantic this time. But the silence swallowed my cries. No one was coming. Blake's body was starting to feel cold beneath my touch, and the blood loss was getting worse. Time was running out.

That's when they appeared—the hooded figures. The same ones I'd spotted wandering around the island. The cult.

They came at me fast. I swung wildly—punching, kicking, anything I could do to keep them away—but it didn't matter. They were too strong. Rough hands grabbed me, locking me in place, and before I could even process what was happening, they had me tied down.

"Blake! Help!" I screamed. But he didn't move. He just lay there, still and lifeless.

Panic surged through me, but then something else hit—a realization. The voice I was hearing in my mind, the one whose life I'd been stepping into piece by piece… It was her. The girl from the temple. The girl who'd been sacrificed.

A chill shot through me, and everything inside me froze. I wasn't just dreaming. I was reliving her final moments.

"We only need the girl," a commanding voice declared from the shadows. "Take the girl, get rid of the boy."

Panic surged through me, but I was helpless—tied, bound, and powerless to stop them. The hooded figures closed in.

I don't know what happened to Blake after that.

The dream shifted after that. Everything blurred until I saw her again—the girl, inside the coffin.

I felt it all—the suffocating fear, the overwhelming despair, the bitter resignation of knowing death was inevitable. Her emotions consumed me like a flood, each wave crashing harder than the last.

Even in those final moments, she never stopped. She begged, silently and desperately, for help.

Then I heard it—the familiar crack. The one I heard back at the ruins.

And just like that, everything was swallowed by darkness.