Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
Your mind is completely submerged in pain and suffocation, as if the world has turned into a chaotic whirlpool. You know this should not be your end—this is not how it should be, absolutely not! But that cold force ruthlessly constricts your throat, and life flickers like a candle flame being snuffed out, ready to extinguish at any moment.
Your body feels lighter, as if it no longer belongs to this world, while your soul weighs heavily, dragged down by countless memories plunging into the abyss. In this chaos, images suddenly flash through your mind—fragmented and blurry visions, like shadows pieced together from shattered memories.
You see mountains, their towering silhouettes outlined against the night sky like a great beast, silent and oppressive. At the foot of the mountains lies a dense and dark jungle, where thick canopies intertwine to form an impenetrable ceiling. The ground is littered with dead branches and decaying leaves, exuding a damp chill.
You seem to recognize this jungle; perhaps you have seen it before or dreamt of it. You feel that she has always been there, silently waiting, like an inescapable part of your fate.
Then you see her—a figure both vague yet strikingly familiar. Her outline flickers in your mind, like a reflection obscured by mist. She stands poised and graceful, yet exudes an indescribable authority that makes you unable to approach or ignore her.
Strangely, in the face of this impending deathly fear, you feel an uncanny familiarity with this moment. It’s as if you have experienced this death hundreds of times before, perhaps even more. The sensation of being erased, the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe, and the familiar contours surging from deep within your memories all remind you—this is not the first time.
Her figure begins to drift, like a wisp of smoke that reappears in your mind over and over again. She seems to lack a face or expression, but you are certain she is watching you. Her gaze carries an indescribable weight, as if she is scrutinizing you or waiting for something—as if her existence is solely to witness each of your deaths.
A wave of inexplicable resistance and despair rises within you, along with a hint of absurd familiarity. "This isn't right; this shouldn't be my ending... but why do I feel so familiar with all of this?" Your consciousness teeters on the brink amidst such contradictions until everything begins to blur further, as if even memory itself is collapsing.
The shadow of death looms over you, completely consuming you. Yet in that profound darkness, her figure remains vividly entrenched in the depths of your mind, silently awaiting your arrival.
A nauseating sound erupts from deep within your neck—a sharp "crack" that is both crisp and eerie, like bones snapping and ligaments tearing echoing clearly in your ears. In that moment, all struggles and pain come to an abrupt halt; your body feels like a puppet with its strings cut, mercilessly discarded onto the floor.
Your back crashes heavily against the cold ground; your head rattles painfully, thoughts momentarily suspended for several seconds. Pain… no, there is no more pain. The intense agony that once consumed you seems to have been forcibly drawn away, replaced by a profound emptiness. Your limbs grow stiff; your body temperature plummets at an alarming rate as cold seeps into your skin; every muscle feels frozen in time.
But what is most terrifying is the blood spewing from your mouth. It no longer resembles blood but rather an indescribable viscous liquid. Warm blood spills from the corners of your lips onto the floor, reflecting an eerie mirror image that does not belong to you.
Your gaze is drawn to the gleaming blood, and amidst the chaos, a vision suddenly captures your attention—**several versions of yourself.**
In the reflection of the blood, they appear as fragmented images stitched together like a tattered canvas. You cannot make out their faces, as those outlines are blurred and even somewhat distorted. But you are certain that they are you, or rather, some existence similar to yours.
One of the figures kneels on the ground, hands clutching its abdomen, blood flowing continuously through its fingers. Its body trembles violently, as if trying to break free from some invisible shackles, yet its eyes have long lost their luster.
Another figure seems to be crushed, half of its body twisted in agony, its chest caved in as if it had been ground by some immense force. It lies on the ground, head tilted to one side, staring directly at you. There is no anger in its gaze, nor fear; only a cold acceptance, as if it has long grown accustomed to such an ending.
Yet another figure is ensnared by some invisible thread, suspended in mid-air, its legs dangling helplessly below, swaying like a discarded puppet. Its lips part slightly, seemingly whispering something, but those sounds are drowned out by the buzzing noise in your ears, rendering every word inaudible.
They are all caught in death. Each figure is trapped in a different form yet struggles and collapses in the same way. Their images twist with the flow of blood—sometimes blurred, sometimes clear—reminding you that this is not the first time, and you are merely one among them.
A wave of uncontrollable fear washes over you; this fear does not stem from death itself but from an inescapable sense of fate. You know you are dying, but why does that feeling of dying seem so familiar? Why does it feel so… repetitive?
Blood continues to pour forth, and your vision grows increasingly hazy. Those indistinct figures seem to draw closer to you, bringing with them the same despair and numbness until they completely engulf your remaining consciousness.
She stands there, hands clenched tightly, knuckles turning white from the strain. Her arms tremble slightly as if suppressing an emotion that cannot be released. Her gaze is fixed on the lifeless body before her, curled into a rigid posture like a sculpture abandoned by time. The surrounding blood slowly spreads outward; the thick liquid seeps into the cracks of the floor, leaving behind deep crimson stains as if everything here whispers to death.
Her chest rises and falls violently; each breath feels like it is clawed from her throat—heavy and rapid—as if some suppressed emotion is on the verge of exploding. She lowers her head and slowly utters a few words so faint they are almost inaudible yet carry an indescribable pain and anger:
“Why…”
This whisper pierces through the still air like a needle, trembling with an intensity that has been held back for too long. She raises her head and suddenly lets out a piercing scream that rends the very fabric of space. The sound is sharp enough to seem as if it could tear apart everything around it. It carries unmasked despair and madness, penetrating through the walls of the hotel like a cold wind sweeping through a dark forest; it lingers in the night sky, echoing endlessly.
"Why! Why are you always so disobedient!"
Her voice echoed through the space, transforming from accusation to a scream, eventually fading into a profound silence. She lowered her head once more, staring at his lifeless body, her eyes flickering with a complex array of emotions—anger, sorrow, helplessness, and madness intertwined, as if they were tearing her sanity apart.
Suddenly, her hand shot to her face, sharp nails bursting forth in an instant, glinting coldly under the light. Without hesitation, she plunged her nails deep into her skin and tore at it fiercely. Vivid red blood gushed from her cheek, splattering onto her hands, the floor, and even spattering against the walls.
"I'm so furious! I'm so furious!" she screamed wildly, her voice hoarse to the point of breaking. With each tear and scratch, she exerted more force; her nails sliced through her skin like blades, stripping away strips of flesh and revealing blurred muscle fibers and pale bone beneath. Her face quickly became a shattered mess, like a ruined canvas, with blood obscuring her features beyond recognition.
She knelt on the ground, blood dripping from her fingertips onto the floor, merging with the surrounding stains to form a sea of crimson. Her breathing became ragged and intermittent, yet the madness in her eyes showed no sign of abating.
"Why... why does it always have to be like this..." she murmured softly, her tone laced with an indescribable pain and guilt, as if punishing herself while also punishing the figure sprawled on the ground.
Time seemed to stand still; her hands hung limply at her sides, trembling like brittle branches in the wind. The scent of blood thickened around her, enveloping her like a dense fog. Yet even so, her gaze remained fixed on him as if she were trying to etch that fallen figure into her very bones.
In the end, she knelt there silently weeping, her sobs intermittent and fragmented, as if they were pieces squeezed from deep within her throat.
Comment 0 Comment Count