chapter 02:Nightmare

Chapter 02: Nightmare**

"Do you believe in life after death?"

"No. Death is the end of it all," Jack answered his childhood friend Bedz.

Jack looked younger now, around twelve years old. This was a memory of his childhood—a time that was both his happiest and his saddest. The scene around him was vivid: a sprawling courtyard with a luxurious mansion at its center. The house belonged to a wealthy family, one that lacked nothing. Yet, even in its opulence, there was an air of emptiness, as if the walls themselves were hollow.

"Come, Jack, it's time for mass," Bedz called out, snapping Jack from his daze.

"Coming," Jack responded, though his voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else. He followed Bedz inside the mansion, the grand doors creaking open to reveal a dimly lit interior. The air was heavy, suffocating, and the silence was deafening. Jack noticed that the mansion seemed devoid of life, as if it were a shell rather than a home.

Suddenly, Jack felt a sharp sting in his abdomen. He looked down and saw blood seeping through his shirt. His hand instinctively went to the wound, and when he pulled it away, his fingers were slick with crimson. His head spun, the room tilting as his vision blurred.

Bedz stood before him, a sly grin spreading across his face. In his hand was a knife, its blade glistening with Jack's blood. "You shouldn't have trusted me," Bedz said, his voice dripping with malice. "You were always too naive, Jack."

Jack stumbled backward, his legs giving out as he collapsed to the floor. The pain was excruciating, but worse was the betrayal etched into Bedz's expression. Jack tried to speak, to ask why, but no words came. His vision darkened, and the world around him dissolved into chaos.

---

The nightmare shifted.

Jack found himself in a vast, endless void, the ground beneath him a swirling mass of shadows. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the only sound was the faint echo of whispers—voices he couldn't quite make out. He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains.

"Jack," a voice called, deep and resonant. It was neither kind nor cruel, but it demanded attention. "Do you know why you're here?"

Jack shook his head, his throat too dry to speak.

"You were chosen," the voice continued. "Not by God, nor by the angels, but by the Abyss itself. You are a vessel, Jack. A conduit for the darkness that thrives in this forsaken world."

Jack wanted to protest, to deny the voice's words, but he couldn't. The shadows around him began to take shape, forming grotesque figures with glowing eyes and twisted limbs. They circled him, their whispers growing louder, more insistent.

"Survive," one of the figures hissed. "Endure."

"Prove your worth," another added, its voice a guttural growl.

The figures closed in, their claws digging into Jack's flesh. He screamed, but no sound came. The pain was unbearable, each touch searing his skin like fire. He tried to fight back, but his arms were pinned, his body immobilized.

"Let go," the voice from the void commanded. "Embrace the darkness, and you will find strength."

Jack's vision blurred as the figures tore into him, their laughter echoing in his ears. He felt himself slipping, falling deeper into the void. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the nightmare ended.

---

Jack woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. He was no longer in the church but standing in the middle of the village, the cold night air biting at his skin. His hands were sticky, and when he looked down, he saw blood—so much blood.

At his feet lay the body of a villager, their throat slit and their eyes wide with terror. Jack stumbled backward, his heart pounding. He didn't remember leaving the church, didn't remember killing anyone. But the evidence was undeniable.

The villagers began to emerge from their homes, drawn by the commotion. Their eyes locked onto Jack, their expressions a mix of fear and anger.

"Murderer!" someone shouted.

"Monster!" another cried.

Jack wanted to explain, to tell them it wasn't him, but the words caught in his throat. He turned and ran, the villagers' shouts echoing behind him. He didn't stop until he reached the church, slamming the doors shut and collapsing to the floor.

As he sat there, trembling and covered in blood, the voices in the church began to whisper.

"Welcome back, Jack."

"Did you enjoy your walk?"

"The darkness is growing stronger."

Jack buried his face in his hands, his mind racing. What was happening to him? Was he losing control, or was something—or someone—pulling the strings?

The nightmare wasn't over. It was only beginning.