The darkness wasn't just around him.
It lived in him.
It threaded through every breath he took , every heartbeat, every moment that didn't kill him fast enough.
Thirteen years ago, he had no name. only a number.
SUBJECT 49.
A number stamped on his file.
On his cell.
On his soul.
Because if you didn't have a name, you weren't real.
And if you weren't real, they didn't have to feel bad when they broke you.
And oh-
they broke him.
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The basement was a horror nursery.
A breeding ground for pain.
No sunlight.
No clocks.
Only the buzz of a flickering light, and the reek of bleach failing to hide the truth.
He sat in the corner, curled like a molted shell.
Ribs sharp enough to slice paper.
Eyes too wide. Too hollow.
He didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
The first rule in that place?
DON'T CRY.
Crying invited them in.
And they were always hungry.
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The worst day wasn't the beatings.
Not even the...worse thing.
It was her.
YENA.
She'd share her food. Whispered silly stories. Braided his hair one shaky night and said:
"you're too soft. Let me be hard for both of us."
He had smiled.A rare thing. A stupid thing.
Because the next day the door opened. She was there.
Standing behind the monsters.
And she didn't say a word.
Just stepped aside when they grabbed him.
He begged her.
Begged.
"please."
She blinked.
Didn't speak.
Didn't stay.
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They ripped him open.
Inside and out.
The light above him flickered like it couldn't watch.
He counted the blinks between the screams.
He lasted 3 minutes before his voice cracked.
Then he just screamed in his head.
Because no one was coming.
Not god.
Not the girl.
Not even mercy.
Just blood.
And bones.
And the endless tastes of the metal.
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That night, he shook so hard he thought his bones might snap.
Then-
A touch.
Cold. Feather-soft.
He flinched.
Ready for pain.
But it never came.
Just her.
She knelt infront of him, a dream wrapped in blood-red silk.
Eyes ancient.
Skin glowing like moonlight caught in sorrow.
"Are you going to hurt me...?" he rasped.
She tilted her head.
"No. I'm going to keep you alive. Even if you don't want to be."
said AURELA.
She didn't remember how long she'd been dead.
Only that it hurt less when she was with him.
She told him stories.
Hummed lullabies.
And when he shook too hard, she wrapped phantom arms around him and whispered,
"You're not alone, not while i'm here."
Sometimes she was see-through.
Sometimes she was almost solid.
But always-she was there.
His only warmth in hell.
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The first he laughed after weeks?
It was because of her.
He was staring at the wall, whispering "kill kill kill" like a mantra, and she suddenly said,
"If i had legs, i'd kick that guy's balls into next week."
He blinked.
Paused.
Then snorted.
Just one sharp sound. But it was real.
She looked offended.
"Don't laugh at me! Ghosts can still be violent."
He tried to smirk. Failed.
"You can't even open doors."
Aurela floated up and crossed her arms.
"Excuse you. i open emotional doors.
And i could haunt your life if i wanted."
He looked at her, eyes dull but slightly...less empty.
"You already do."
She giggled.
And he realized it was the first sound in that place that didn't make him want to die.
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She was the reason they started dying.
Whispers in their ears.
Nightmares painted behind her ears.
She couldn't touch much.
But she didn't need to.
She had rage.
And he had nothing to lose.
One by one, they fell.
And he stopped being a prey.
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He asked her once, in a whisper:
"Do you ever miss being alive?"
She blinked. Thought for a long time.
"No."
Then she smiled at him.
"You're the best part i've had in either world."
He looked away, suddenly too full of something he didn't recognize.
Was it love?
Was it guilt?
He didn't know.
He just knew he wanted to keep hearing her giggle.
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The night he escaped was fire and fury.
Four dead men.
One knife.
A room full of screams.
Aurela lit the match.
He dropped it on the floor.
And hell burned behind him.
He stood in the rain, barefoot and blood-slicked.
And when Aurela floated beside him, shimmering like a dream in the dark, he whispered:
"I'm not subject 49 anymore."
"Then who are you?" she asked.
He looked up at the sky.
"I'm what happens when god forgets a child."
She kissed the corner of his mouth like the wind.
"And i'm what happens when a ghost refuses to forget him"
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PRESENT DAY
The drawer opened with a quite click.
A glock.
A vial of poison.
A photograph.
YENA.
That traitor. That girl. That liar in cherry lipstick.
He stared at the photo for a long time.
Aurela appeared beside him, silent.
She placed her cold hand against his cheek.
He leaned into it, instinctively. Soft. Vulnerable. HERS.
"She's close," Aurela murmured.
"I know."
"What will you do?"
He was quite. Then:
"Nothing."
Pause.
Then he glanced at her. Smile twitching.
"...Until she tries to run."
She smirked. "Still petty after all these years."
He tilted his gead, voice low.
"You love it."
"I do."
"Say it again."
She rolled her eyes. But there was a blush in her ghostly cheeks.
"I love it."
"No. Say it."
"...I love you, you unhinged shadow monster."
He grinned. Actually grinned - the kind of grin that would terrify anyone else.
"Better."
She giggled. And for a second, just a second, she didn't look dead.
She looked young.
free.
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He leaned back in his chair, legs kicked up, chaos in his veins.
And Aurela floated just above him, lying midair on her stomach, chin in her hands.
They looked like a twisted portrait:
Death and the boy she saved.
"One day," she murmured, "someone's gonna fall in love with you for real, you know."
His eyes flicked to her.
Dangerous. Soft.
"Too bad. I'm already taken."
"Oh?" she teased. "By whom?"
He stood. Walked to her. Reached out- his fingers brushing the curve of her ghostly jaw.
"By the only person who ever stayed."
Her smile cracked a little.
But it was beautiful.
She took his hand. Even if she couldn't quite hold it.
"then let's destroy the world together my love."
"Only if you giggle while we do it."
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And outside, the city kept sleeping.
Unaware. Unready.
Because the boy god forgot?
He didn't just survive.
He made the ghost fall in love with him.
And now he's coming back to burn past alive.