(Marcus smith's pov)
I woke with a jolt, my throat raw, my chest heaving like I'd been drowning.
The room was dark, quiet… but in my ears, the echoes still lingered.
Screams.
Blood.
Faces I loved—mother, father, even people I couldn't recognize—dying in ways too brutal to describe. Their bodies broken, torn apart in flashes that clung to my skull like claws.
And through it all, one voice, deep and cruel, laughing, calling me the same word over and over again:
Worthless.
It still rang in my skull, as clear as if someone had whispered it in my ear.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I saw was red. And that star—just one star, faint and stubborn, shining in a void where everything else was destroyed. My fingers reached for it, even as the voice mocked me, even as blood poured from wounds that weren't real.
"Damn it…" I muttered, forcing myself to sit up.
Tears slid down my face before I even realized. They weren't loud sobs, just those silent, helpless tears you can't stop. I wiped them away with my sleeve, but my hand shook.
It wasn't the first time.
These dreams kept coming.
Night after night, I died. Sometimes burned alive. Sometimes torn apart. Sometimes killing others with my own hands until I couldn't even breathe from the stench of blood.
And always, at the end… the voice.
Sometimes it called me pathetic. Sometimes a monster. Sometimes… worse.
"You shouldn't have been born."
Even when the faces in my dreams were strangers, people I'd never seen in my life, they knew my name. They screamed it as they bled.
"Monster!"
"Villain!"
I bit my lip until I tasted iron. My chest felt tight, too heavy to breathe.
No. I had to check.
I pushed off the blanket and stumbled out of bed. My feet padded down the hallway, the old wood creaking under each step.
The first door on the left—my parents' room.
I pressed it open just a crack. The moonlight spilled across their bed, pale and cold. I held my breath until I saw them—my mother curled under the blanket, my father's steady breathing rising and falling.
Alive. Safe. Untouched.
Relief nearly buckled my knees. My chest eased for the first time since I woke.
"They're okay," I whispered to myself, voice trembling. "It's just a dream. Just a damn dream."
I closed the door carefully, not wanting to wake them, and leaned against the wall. My hands were still shaking. My throat felt dry.
Water. I needed water.
The kitchen tiles were icy against my bare feet. I grabbed a glass, filled it, and gulped it down like I hadn't drunk in days. The cool liquid steadied me—just a little.
Then the light flickered.
I froze.
The old bulb above me buzzed and stuttered, casting the kitchen in jerking flashes of brightness and shadow. For a second, it looked exactly like the nightmare—the world breaking, flickering between ruin and reality.
My stomach dropped. I hated horror. Always had. I wasn't built for the cheap thrill of jump scares or bloody movies. But this… this wasn't a movie.
I forced a laugh under my breath, trying to convince myself it was stupid. Just an old light. Just bad wiring. Nothing to be afraid of.
And yet, as the shadows stretched along the kitchen walls, my hands clenched around the glass so tightly I thought it might shatter.
I swore I heard something.
A voice, faint, from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Worthless."
The glass slipped from my hands and hit the sink, clattering but not breaking. My pulse thundered in my ears. I looked around—nothing. No one. Just me.
Still, my throat tightened. Because in that flickering dark, I could almost see them—faces from my dream. The strangers I'd watched die, the ones I'd killed with my own hands. They were there, for just an instant.
And every one of them was looking at me.
Not with fear. Not with sorrow.
But with hate.
"Monster."
"Villain."
"You shouldn't have been born."
My knees almost gave out. I stumbled back, pressing against the cold counter, eyes wide.
And then—silence.
The light steadied. The shadows retreated.
It was just my kitchen again. Just me, alone.
I pressed a shaking hand against my chest, feeling my hammering heartbeat.
"…What the hell is happening to me?"
I didn't know if I wanted the answer.
I leaned against the counter, breathing hard. The water hadn't helped. Not really. My throat was still dry, my palms clammy.
"Damn horror games," I muttered, forcing out a laugh that cracked halfway through. "This is what I get for playing that bloody zombie shooter before bed, and those damned freaky ass horror games. Adrenaline rush, my ass…"
Mom always told me not to play crap like that. "It'll rot your brain, Marcus. No wonder you have nightmares."
I could almost hear her voice nagging me, and for a second, I managed a sarcastic grin.
"Yeah, sure, Mom. Guess my brain's officially rotted."
But the grin died the moment I remembered the voice.
Worthless.
Monster.
Villain.
I shuddered. "It's not real. It's just dreams. Just stress. Just—"
Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!
The scream tore through the house.
Not a normal scream. Not a startled one. It was bloodcurdling, raw, the kind of sound that makes every muscle lock up before your brain even catches up.
It came from upstairs.
From my sister's room.
My body moved before I could think. My legs thundered against the wooden floor as I bolted for the stairs. My chest pounded—not from running, but from fear.
Why weren't Mom and Dad awake? That scream was loud enough to wake the dead. Why weren't they rushing out of their room? Why was it just me?
My hands shook as I grabbed the door handle. I almost didn't want to open it. My instincts screamed at me to turn and run.
But she was my sister. My little sister.
"S-Sophia?" I whispered, pushing the door open.
Moonlight spilled into the room. She was there, sitting on the edge of her bed, her back to me, staring out the window. Her long hair hung down, tangled and shadowed.
I swallowed hard. "Soph? Hey, are you okay? I heard you scream. What—"
She turned.
And my blood turned to ice.
Her pajamas were soaked in red, clinging to her like a second skin. Blood covered her arms, her legs, dripping from her fingertips. Her face—God—her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes… her eyes were pure white, like the moon had hollowed her out.
The moonlight caught her just right, and for a split second, she didn't look like my sister at all. She looked like something else wearing her skin.
She sobbed, choking on her words as she staggered to her feet.
"Why… why you? You're the one who shouldn't have existed!"
My mouth went dry. I stepped back, hands raised. "Soph, hey—hey, it's me. It's Marcus. Your brother. You're scaring me. Please, what's going on? Where's Mom and Dad?"
Her sobs grew louder, more broken, until they almost became wails.
"They won't come. They can't come. You ruined everything!"
Her voice cracked into a scream that rattled my skull.
"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!"
I stumbled back, tripping over the threshold, but she kept coming closer. The sound of her bare feet slapping against the floor made my stomach twist.
"No—no, stop—please! You're my sister! I love you, please don't—"
She didn't stop.
The moonlight glistened on the blood soaking her hands as she lunged. In one swift motion, colder than anything human, her arm plunged straight into my chest.
The pain was immediate. Blinding. A hot iron tearing through bone and flesh. My body convulsed as her hand closed around my heart.
I screamed—high, guttural, animal. My legs kicked weakly, my nails dug into her arm. "Sophia! Please—it's me! Marcus! Your brother!"
Her face was inches from mine now, streaked with blood and tears. Her sobbing grew louder, drowning out my cries. "Why… why… why did it have to be you?! Why weren't you never born?!"
My vision blurred. Blood filled my mouth. I coughed, choking on it, as I tried to speak, tried to beg.
Her hand squeezed.
White-hot agony exploded through my body. My heart crushed in her grip like wet clay.
I thrashed, wriggling helplessly, but her strength was inhuman.
My sister—my sweet, stupid, annoying little sister—stared straight into my eyes, her white irises glowing under the moonlight.
And she whispered through her sobs, her voice cracking like shattered glass:
"This time… I wish you could be free."
The last thing I saw was her tears dripping onto my face, mixing with my blood.
Then everything went black.
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