When Shadows Bleed

The hallway should've been safe.

After what we'd seen in the art room—after Devano vanished and reality shrugged it off like a bad dream—every part of me wanted to believe we were done for the day. We'd found the sigil. We had notes. We were breathing.

But then the air changed.

And I knew something was wrong.

It wasn't like the usual chill or dread. No. This was deeper. Older. Like the building remembered something it didn't want to. Like the walls had started whispering to each other.

We were on the way back to the central atrium of Naraya Dharma International School—our not-so-beloved marble temple of higher learning. And for once, it felt like the school wasn't watching us.

It was hiding.

It started with the glass.

One of the tall bay windows shattered—no warning, no impact.

Just a sudden, terrible crack, and shards exploded across the corridor like knives caught mid-scream.

We ducked.

And then we heard it.

A sound that shouldn't exist.

Low. Wet. Wrong.

It dragged itself out from behind the lockers like it had been waiting.

A creature—if you could even call it that. Its limbs were too long. Its fingers scraped the tiles with claws that bent backwards. It had no face, just a skin-stretched mask of motionless flesh, pulsing like it was breathing through memory.

Raka cursed. "Nope. Nope. This is above my pay grade!"

Nayla had already backed against the wall, tablet clutched like a shield.

I stood frozen.

Because I recognized it.

Not from school. Not from dreams.

From Avici's memories.

"A Mindless Hollow. A thing unmade. Born from fractured remembrance. It should not be here."

The creature jerked violently, like it heard him. Its head twitched. A mouth opened where no mouth should be.

"RUN." Avici's voice slammed through me.

Too late.

The floor beneath us cracked like glass.

And we fell through.

We didn't land in the hallway.

We didn't land in school.

We landed somewhere else.

A place that looked like Naraya Dharma—but twisted. The architecture was wrong. The angles hurt. The walls bled symbols that pulsed like heartbeats. The sky above us was red. Not sunset red. Blood diluted with ink.

"Where the hell are we?!" Raka shouted.

"This isn't Earth," Nayla said. "It's a... mirrored construct."

"You are within a fold. A breach-space. This dimension was carved by Narakasura. A distorted echo of your world. It should not exist. Not yet."

The Hollow screeched.

Its limbs lengthened.

And it charged.

Vicki didn't think.

Didn't scream.

He just did the only thing he could.

He stepped forward, heart hammering, blood rushing like fire.

It doesn't happen all at once.

It starts with the silence.

A complete, deafening, unnatural stillness. Like the air itself holds its breath in fear of what's coming.

Then comes the pressure—like the atmosphere folds in on itself, crushing everything down around him. Even the light starts to dim, bending inward like it's being devoured.

Vicki's eyes snap open.

Not his usual tired, mortal eyes. Now, they glow—a dull, flickering crimson, like coals in an ancient forge that never truly went cold. They pulse. Once. Twice. Like something old is remembering how to breathe.

The shadows around him twist unnaturally. Not growing, not spreading—coiling. Like they're bowing to him. Like they remember who he is.

Then he speaks.

"AVICI NARAK."

The moment the name is spoken aloud, everything changes.

His voice—Vicki's voice—echoes with two overlapping tones:

One, the boy.

The other, deeper. Older. A second voice that seems to rise from beneath the world itself, scraping across bone and flame.

Vicki's posture shifts. No longer slouched, no longer hesitant.

He stands straight, regal, as if the weight of centuries rests on his shoulders and he has learned to wear it like armor.

Veins darken along his skin. Not with blood. With marks. Ancient runes, like molten script, race across his arms and neck—glowing faintly in red and gold. Not tattoos. Not scars. They move.

His hair, touched by the distortion of Avici's presence, seems to ripple slightly—unnatural motion like a breeze in a sealed room.

He doesn't blink.

He doesn't flinch.

Because this is no longer a seventeen-year-old boy in school uniform.

This is Avici Narak.

Bound Flame. Keeper of Oaths. Soul Walker of the Forgotten Blood.

And when he speaks again, it is not a question.

It is judgment.

"I am called. And I answer."

Avici had taken over.

And everything changed.

He moved like water through fire.

Effortless. Unstoppable.

The Hollow lunged. Avici sidestepped, barely shifting weight, then slammed his palm forward—runes erupted mid-air, glowing red and gold, forming a barrier sigil that cracked like glass but held.

"Va'sharth. Kera-Luth."

The sigil pulsed, then exploded, sending the Hollow flying.

It screeched, limbs twisting in ways that mocked anatomy, but it didn't stop. It vanished into a pool of shadow—then reappeared behind him.

But Avici was already moving.

He spun, fingers forming a sequence. My hands—not mine anymore—etched the air with fire.

"Thir'al. En'ka!"

A lance of red flame launched from his palm, pierced the creature's chest.

The Hollow didn't bleed.

It unraveled.

Like thread pulled loose from an ancient tapestry.

It let out a sound—part scream, part memory dying—and collapsed into dust.

Avici turned.

Faced Raka and Nayla.

They both stared like the laws of physics had just written them an apology.

"Vicki?" Raka whispered.

Avici tilted my head.

"Temporarily unavailable."

Then he smiled.

And for the first time since the curse began, I understood:

This thing inside me?

It wasn't just power.

It was war.