I thought I was dead. It didn't feel like sleep. It
didn't feel like rest. It felt like floating in a void
where even the idea of "up" and "down" didn't exist.
My body wasn't mine anymore. It was weightless…
but not free. I wasn't cold, and I wasn't warm. I
simply wasn't. It was the kind of nothingness that
made you doubt you'd ever been alive to begin with.
Then… I felt gravity. My eyes opened. A cave.
Black and grey stone stretched endlessly around me,
the walls jagged like a giant's teeth. The air was
damp, cold enough to sting my bones. My footsteps
echoed, but faintly—like the sound was being
swallowed. And under it… something else.
Screaming. Low. Constant. The sound was so deep it
felt like it was vibrating through the stone.
Hundreds, no, thousands of voices, too far to see, but
close enough to know they were everywhere. The
echoes didn't fade. They clung to me, like the sound
itself had teeth. I walked. And walked. The tunnel
didn't change. The walls were the same, the air the
same, the sound the same. No matter which way I
turned, it was like I was moving in circles. When I
tried to call out—nothing. No voice. No sound from
my mouth at all.
A sudden dip in the path made my foot slip. I
caught myself on the wall— And froze. The wall
wasn't just stone. It was bone. A skull stared at me
from the rock, mouth wide open, frozen mid-scream.
My eyes adjusted—there were more. So many more.
Humanoid skeletons fused into the walls, their
bodies twisted, hands clawing at the rock, their faces
forever contorted in agony. My stomach turned. I
stumbled back, but there was nowhere else to go.
This wasn't just a cave. It was a tomb. I thought I was
in hell. And then… I felt it. A presence. From the black
beyond the tunnel, something moved. Tall. Black.
Shape blending perfectly into the abyss. I couldn't tell
where it began or ended. But the silhouette was
familiar. My lips moved, but my voice barely existed:
"…Michael?" And then—its eyes appeared. Not
glowing. Not human. Just… wrong. Too big, too sharp,
too still. And they looked directly into me, cutting
through my skin, bone, and memory. Lots of hands
unfolded from its back—too long, ending in claws. It
stepped forward, and the sound it made wasn't
footsteps. It was the tearing of reality. It chased. I ran.
I didn't think. Didn't look back.
My bare feet slammed against the cold stone, my
chest burning with air I couldn't catch. The thing
behind me didn't run—it glided, like it was skipping
the act of moving entirely, always closing the gap no
matter how far I sprinted. I turned corners. It was
there. I went down tunnels. It was there. My lungs
screamed for air, but no sound came out. My throat
felt locked, as if something had tied my voice shut.
The screams in the walls grew louder, sharper, until
they became words I couldn't understand. Flashes
burst in my mind. Sarah's smile—gone in an instant.
My mother's last breath. Faces from my past—
bullies, caretakers, priests, nuns—all flickering like
broken film reels. They passed in seconds, but each
image stabbed my chest like a blade. The tunnel
curved ahead—and I saw it. A light. Warm. Pure.
Standing in it was… Me. A boy. Ten years old. Human.
Clean-faced. Dark hair. Innocent in a way I'd
forgotten I ever was. He raised a hand. "Come on!
Here!" There was no hesitation. I sprinted harder
than I'd ever run in my life, the shadow nearly
clawing my back. I reached the boy, grabbed his hand.
And everything turned white. I woke up.
When my eyes opened, I thought I was still
dreaming. The light was too soft, the air too still. But
then the reality hit—the heaviness in my chest, the
dryness in my throat that scraped like sandpaper
when I tried to breathe. Each inhale felt like it was
peeling the inside of my lungs. I was lying on the
same bed from the chapel. Familiar. Safe-looking. And
yet… nothing felt safe. My vision wasn't clear—it was
like looking through stained glass, every edge hazy,
every color wrong. And then the headache came, not
like a sharp stab, but a crushing pressure, like
someone had pressed a slab of stone onto my skull.
I tried to move... I should have stayed still. The
moment I twitched, pure hell tore through my body.
Not just pain—this was fire, electricity, and knives all
braided together, running through every muscle,
every vein. My teeth clenched on instinct, but it
didn't stop the burn. I screamed, but what came out
wasn't even human—just a broken, mangled sound,
deep and raw, tearing my throat worse than before.
And then I heard her. "Adam! Stop—don't move,
please!" Sarah. She rushed to my side, and I saw her
face—eyes wide, tears clinging at the corners. She
looked more fragile than I'd ever seen her.
It was only then I realized—my whole body was
wrapped in thick white bandages. Head to toe. A
mummy. My chest heaved under them, but every
movement sent lightning through me. I looked at
her. Pure shock. Pure despair. It wasn't even about
the pain—it was the helplessness. Sarah's voice
shook. "I know… I know, trust me, I'm trying, okay?
I'm so sorry, Adam." That's when I heard him. "Do
you really still trust her?" My eyes darted to the
corner of the room. It was him. Me. The boy. My
younger self. He stepped forward from the shadow,
looking at me with that same unblinking stare. "I
mean… she's Michael's daughter, after all. How can
you trust her? Look at her—she's useless. She can't
help you." I wanted to speak, but my throat fought
me. Sarah's voice trembled. "Why, Adam…? Why
were you so angry…? Why?" Kid-me scoffed. "They
pushed you to your breaking point. You had the
right to be angry. And now what? Michael—'the one
above all'—needs your help to take care of his
daughter? What a loser. You're not his servant. Come
on—run away. You don't belong here. They're all
using you. She's using you."
I hesitated. Sarah leaned in, carefully wrapping her
arms around me, not pressing, just holding. "Forgive
me… you didn't deserve this. But I will fix it. I
promise. Trust me." Kid-me tilted his head. "Trust
her, Adam? You sure? Remember how that ended?"
I kept staring at him. And then— A priest stepped
into the room. Out of nowhere. His hand rested on
kid-me's shoulder. "You didn't deserve this. But I
will fix it. Trust me." And then—he hugged him. I
remembered the traumatizing event in my
childhood, lies, predators, Before I could stop myself,
my power flared—through the pain, through the
bandages—and I shoved Sarah away. Her eyes
widened. "Adam! What is it?!" Through my ruined
throat, I forced the words: "S… stay… away from…
me…" I couldn't believe I'd said it. To her. The one
person who'd stood by me. But what if—what if the
whole 'Sarah the angel' thing was just another mask?
I didn't think. I just moved. I got up. My body
screamed at me. Every step felt like stepping
barefoot on glass, but I didn't stop. "Adam! Where
are you going?!" Her voice chased me down the
hallway.
"Adam, please stop! You're going to hurt yourself!
Please!" I didn't listen. I pushed through the chapel
doors and into the wild. The cold air hit my lungs like
knives, but I ran. The invisible eyes were back. I
could feel them watching from the trees, from the
shadows, from nowhere and everywhere at once.
I ran until the forest broke, until the ground dropped
away into a cliff over dark water. There was a tree
nearby, twisted and bare. I collapsed under it,
clutching myself like I was trying to hold my ribs
together. And then I saw him again. Kid-me. But
worse now. Clothes torn, dirt and blood smeared
across him, bruises blotting his skin. "I bet you don't
even remember going through this," he said quietly.
"Running from the church. From the orphanage.
Your mind just… forgot. And then came that strange
woman you thought was your mother. Adoption,
huh? Crawling out of one hole just to fall into
another." His eyes were sharp. "Ironic, isn't it? You
hated the church. You hated their talk about the
divine. Lies, all of it. And yet, you met the one above
all and his daughter—and it didn't go well, did it?
You trusted Nasira, our real mother, right? Well… I
think not. She wasn't strong enough to protect us.
She let them take us. She picked a worthless
husband. Trusting her was a mistake, too." He
stepped closer. "Trust no one but yourself, Adam.
Trust yourself... Trust me." That phrase. Trust me.
I'd heard it a million times. From every liar. Every
manipulator. Every hand that had ever hurt me. I
couldn't even trust myself. I pushed against the
tree and stood. My laugh came out broken, pained.
"Trust you? … You're right… trust no one. But what
makes you think… I can trust you? What's the
difference?" I looked him dead in the eyes. "We're
all untrustworthy assholes." He tilted his head. "So
you're going to live your life without following
your own mind?" I shook my head slowly. "No... No
need... No more... No more pain... You trust me on
that one." I limped to the cliff's edge, the wind
howling below. I looked back at him, tears in my
eyes. My laugh was hollow, sharp, broken. "I know
the way out of this forsaken world… trust me." I
gave him a mocking salute— And jumped.
The wind roared in my ears as I fell. It wasn't
the rush you'd expect from a leap into the void—
no thrill, no adrenaline—only the heavy, slow pull
of inevitability. My limbs dangled as though they
no longer belonged to me. The cold air clawed at
my skin, tearing at the bandages, burning my
wounds, and yet… the pain was distant. I didn't
fight it. Every second of descent was another
thread in the long tapestry of my mistakes. Was it
all worth it? Had anything I'd done mattered? Or
had I been nothing more than a stone thrown into
a vast, uncaring ocean—making ripples that faded
before anyone even noticed? The faces came. All
of them. Some kind. Some cruel. Some I'd trusted.
Some I'd lost. All blurring together. I couldn't tell
the saints from the devils anymore. And then—
her. Mother. She was standing there, not in the
air, not in the water, but in my mind, looking at
me the way only she could—soft, steady, and
unbearably sad. Her lips trembled, but her eyes…
they said everything. This was not what she
wanted. Her voice—her last words—came like a
whisper against the howl of the wind:
"It's okay, honey. Look at me… smile, alright? For
me. Be happy for me. That's all I ever wanted. Seeing
you with Sarah… it made me happy. So happy." The
memory cut through me sharper than the fall. For
the first time, I doubted. Had I made a mistake? Yes.
I think I had. But by the time that thought fully
formed, it was already too late— Only… I wasn't
falling anymore. At first, I thought death had
claimed me. That maybe the nothingness came
quicker than I expected. But then I looked… and
there she was. Sarah. Her hand were wrapped
around my leg, the other hand with her claws held
on to the rocky wall, her grip like iron. I had never
seen her this strong—her muscles tense, veins black
and bulging beneath her skin, her eyes darker than
I'd ever known them to be. Her teeth… sharp,
animal, bared like a cornered predator. "Not gonna
happen…" she snarled through her breath. "I won't
let you die. Not on me. Not again. Not you and Mom.
Enough!" Tears streaked her face, but they didn't
make her look weak—they made her look human,
even in her monstrous form. With one impossible
pull, she yanked me back from the edge, dragging
me onto the ground.
She hugged me. Hard. Pain flared everywhere, but
I didn't push her away. Her voice cracked. "You
won't die like this… not as long as I exist." The Sarah
I knew—bright, cute, hopeful—was gone. Before me
now was a creature born of grief and fury. A beast of
sorrow. "I will help you… like it or not. Stop running
away." She pulled me closer, burying her face in my
shoulder. "You and me can fix this. I know I'm a
failure. I don't have a healing touch, or a light to give.
I'm just… death. Rot. Decay. I kill everything I
touch." Her voice broke again. "I'm not destined to
be some doctor that heals others… no. That's not
me." Her breath hitched. "I killed my mother.
Because of me, your mother was killed. And now
you?!" Her hands shook, but her grip never loosened.
"No! I don't want this." She paused, searching my
face as though begging for something she couldn't
name. "Adam… I… I'm not what you think. I was
born to be… a soul collector. A reaper. An angel of
death—that's what I truly am." I didn't know what to
say. Because in that moment, I realized—our lives
were different battles fought in the same war. I had
built walls so high that no one could reach me.
She had been born a creature that no one wanted to
reach.
I could not trust. She wanted—no, needed—to be
trusted. We were two sides of the same coin. Both
marked by loss. Both forsaken in our own way. It struck
me then—not with the force of revelation, but with the
quiet inevitability of truth—that maybe, just maybe, we
were meant to carry each other. I had spent my life
trying to survive alone. She had spent hers searching for
someone to survive with. It's easy to believe we can live
untouched. That strength is solitude, and that self
reliance is the highest virtue. But in truth… a soul
without another is like a blade without a wielder—
sharp, but pointless. We are not meant to stand alone
against the world. We are meant to lean, to share the
burden, to hold and be held. Even the strongest warrior
is nothing without the one who tends his wounds. Even
the brightest flame is nothing without something to
burn for. And so it is with us—we give each other reason.
We give each other purpose. Slowly—carefully—I raised
my arms, ignoring the pain, and wrapped them around
her. The world went silent. Not the silence of absence,
but the silence of peace. Her arms tightened around me.
We held each other there, neither speaking, neither
willing to let go. Time dissolved. If it were up to me, that
moment would have lasted forever. And from the way
she held on… I knew she felt the same.
As Sarah's arms held me, warm despite the chill in my
bones, I heard it— that voice. "You are so dumb. What an
idiot…" The words dripped with contempt, but they
were mine. My own voice, younger, rawer, sharper.
"You're doing the same mistake again. Why don't you
learn? Everyone—everyone—are liars. Even the gods can
lie." I turned my head, not loosening my grip on Sarah,
and there he was—me, but smaller, framed in that
eternal scowl of defiance. I didn't know if I was
dreaming, hallucinating, or if this was yet another trick
of the divine and damned alike. But I met his gaze and
said evenly, "I made my decision." He tilted his head and
smirked—not in amusement, but in pity. "Well then… let
me tell you something. And listen well, because it's the
only truth you'll ever get." His voice dropped into that
quiet, cutting register that could carve marrow from
bone. "This world? It's a stage, Adam. A rotting theater
where every actor wears a mask, and every mask hides
another mask beneath it. People will look you in the eye
and swear loyalty while they sharpen the knife behind
their back. They'll feed you kindness with one hand and
slip poison in your drink with the other. And when the
curtain falls? They won't even remember your name.
They'll step over your grave without pausing, as though
you were just another prop in their little play."
He stepped closer, his words burning with the heat
of conviction. "You are the only one who has seen it
through your own eyes—the betrayals, the
abandonment, the endless cycle of false promises. You
know what it's like to be the one in the corner no one
notices until they need something. You know what it's
like to have every prayer answered with silence. And
in that silence, you learned the truth: it's you against
them. It's always been you against them." He pointed
to my chest, hard. "You are the protagonist of this
story. Not them. Not Sarah. Not Michael. You. This is
your war, Adam, and they are just pieces on the board.
You survive because you do not bow, you do not
kneel, and you do not trust. The moment you do… you
lose. And when you lose? They bury you with empty
words and move on. That's the truth. Cold, selfish, and
ugly—but it's the only truth that keeps you alive." I
smiled faintly. "Your words are heartening," I said.
"But please… let the adults do their work. Go play
somewhere, dipshit." The smile vanished from his face
like a snuffed flame. His hair bled into ash-white
strands, his eyes flaring crimson, thin lines crawling
like cracks across his face. A heat shimmer rose from
him, and the air stank faintly of burning paper.
"You won't understand," he growled, voice thick
with rage. "We went through hell—unloved by
everyone, forsaken by all creation—and still you
submit to slavery?! I will make you see." The ground
around him hissed as his aura flared, and with a
sudden motion, he hurled a burning line of fire toward
me. I didn't flinch. I simply smiled. From behind me, a
shadow rose—familiar, immense. One of Michael's
arms, black as night and burning with celestial light,
struck the fire aside with contemptuous ease, then
shot forward and clamped around Kid Adam's neck.
He thrashed, his fury mixing with sudden fear. "Wait,
Adam! What are you doing?! Why? I am you! They
made me a monster, Adam—I didn't want this! It's not
my fault—it's not your fault! But this is the way things
went! Please, understand me… you didn't ask for this!"
I looked into his eyes—my own eyes—and said quietly,
"True... I didn't ask for you." Michael's arm twisted.
There was a sharp crack. And just like that… my
haunting past crumbled into ash. It was only me and
Sarah again. Still holding each other. Slowly, we
loosened our grip, and for the first time in what felt
like days, we looked into each other's eyes without
running, without speaking, no more fear... No more.
We just… kept looking at each other. Like two
people who had spent lifetimes searching for the cure
to a rare, relentless disease, and now it was finally
here, right in front of us. I smiled first. "Hi."
She smiled back, her voice almost a whisper.
"How are you?" "Great… you?" "Better than ever.
Feeling better?" I breathed in the night air, and for the
first time in years, the answer was effortless. "I feel
right at home." We both smiled at that—two battered
souls realizing that maybe, just maybe, the war was
over. "Your bandages need to go," she said, her voice
taking on that gentle scolding tone. "They're dirty…
could cause an infection." I grinned. "A vampire gets
infected by something that small?" She shrugged.
"Caution isn't bad, you know?" As she began to
remove them, I murmured, "I think I'm already
infected by something… and I don't want a cure for it."
Her cheeks warmed, and the faintest chuckle slipped
from her lips—soft, pure, and so painfully wholesome
it made my chest ache. She worked in silence until my
clothes got in the way, and then paused, eyes darting
down in hesitation. I felt it too, that unspoken
moment, so I simply pulled my shirt away and let her
see. My body was covered in charred scars, burns
twisting over skin like old rivers.
"This must've been pretty bad," I muttered. "Yes,"
she said quietly, her fingers brushing gently against a
mark. "Burn marks everywhere… I've never seen a
flaming vampire before." I smirked. "Guess I'm just
built different." She laughed. "You actually smelled…
good. Like fresh meat roasting in an oven. Just like
how Mom used to make it." I burst out laughing. "Oh,
so you were planning to eat me while I was
unconscious?" "I was thinking about it, yeah." "Well,
here I am… helpless prey, waiting to be eaten by the
best predator I ever knew." We both laughed, and for a
fleeting moment, it was as if the past never happened.
No trauma. No pain. Just us—two people meeting for
the first time and instantly falling into something
dangerous and beautiful. Her gaze fell to my arms.
"Your wounds…" I looked down and realized the scars
were fading, skin reforming smooth and new. Then
came the strange sensation—a layer that didn't
belong, like a false skin waiting to be shed. I scratched
at my right arm. "That's so weird. I feel nothing." "Oh,
right," she said casually. "You're some kind of reptilian
vampire. Here, watch this." One claw traced my arm,
slicing through the outer layer. A strip of skin
loosened and peeled, revealing a clean, untouched
surface beneath.
I tilted my head. "Ooooh… wait… that's disgusting."
She added, "But also cool. A reptile man." I couldn't
believe it, "You like that?!" "Normal thing. What's
wrong with it?" she responded casually. I pulled away
more of the dead skin until it crumbled into dust. My
new flesh shone pale under the moonlight. "You're
looking fresh," she teased. "Thank God it crumbled. A
part of me thinks you were going to eat that." She
smirked. "I actually was. What a shame." "Ew!"
We locked eyes again, that stillness settling between
us. "Adam… will you leave me?" she asked quietly.
"Sarah… I don't think I have anywhere to go."
"Come with me."
"You didn't have to say it," I replied softly. "I was
going to ask if I was welcome."
"You are. You always were meant to be." "I'm sorry," I
said, lowering my head. "For my disrespect… to you
and your father." She took my hands in hers. "It's
fine… trust me." I met her gaze. "I… I trust you,
Sarah… I love you. I really do. So much." Her voice
softened into something warm and fragile. "Me too.
The moment I saw you, I adored you. You were
adorable. You still are." I blushed, smiling. "I love your
smile so much, my sweet kitten." "But I'm a lizard," I
teased. "Shh… my kitten."
The space between us seemed to shrink without our
consent. My pulse slowed, hers quickened, and the air
around us felt thicker, like the world itself was holding
its breath. Our eyes half-closed, and then— It
happened. At first, it was a gentle pressure, a shy
curiosity. Then warmth spread through my chest,
traveling outward like wildfire, and I felt every nerve
ending awaken beneath her touch. The taste of her—
sweet, faintly metallic—was unlike anything I'd
known. My hands moved to her waist, her fingers
curled in my hair, and the rest of the world simply…
fell away. Time ceased. There was only the rhythm of
our breathing, the soft brush of her lips against mine,
the shared surrender of two people who had fought
too long and finally found shelter in each other.
We pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads
touching. So this is what a kiss feels like. Under the
great old tree, the moon hung full above us. I lay back
on the grass, Sarah resting her head against my chest.
The night was cold, but our bodies were warm, tangled
together as though we'd always belonged this way.
Every small movement from her sent tiny sparks
through me—comfort, safety, something I never
thought I'd have. She slept peacefully, the faint rise
and fall of her breath matching mine.
In that moment, she was beauty itself, and I didn't
care if she was a reaper. If death comes for us all… and
that is what it looks like, then I welcome it with open
arms. I let my eyes close, unsure if this was life or
death, reality or dream. But I held Sarah close, fearing
that if I let go, she'd vanish. And as the night
swallowed us, I surrendered—to her warmth, to my
calm, to the quiet truth that for once in my life… I was
thankful... I can feel her smiling... I'm happy now...
Mother.