"The monster appeared from below, its stomach leaking..."
Alex scrolled on his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his dark room. His eyes darted quickly across the words, devouring the text at a rapid pace. He sat up when the door to his bedroom creaked open. It was his sister.
"Mom says to go eat dinner."
"I'm fine."
She groaned and shut the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Alex turned back to his phone.
"The hero, though wounded, st arted to stand up. 'I will never give up... for I... have the power of friendship.'"
THE END
Alex froze, staring blankly at the words.
The end...?
That seemed… rushed.
No way it's the end...?
He frantically tried to scroll down, but nothing happened. The webnovel he had been faithfully reading for the past five years had ended—just like that. Abrupt. Final.
The novel was called The Abyss's Hell, a niche story about an outcast chosen to stop the oncoming demise of the world. To succeed, the hero had to climb a tower of one hundred brutal floors, battling endless monsters, to prevent the Demon King from conquering the overworld.
Alex had admired the protagonist for years. He had even tried to copy his appearance. What he loved most wasn't the power or victories, but the hero's resolve—the way he kept climbing even when battered and bleeding.
That was the resolve Alex lacked.
He was a recluse, weighed down by a past of bullying, depression, and suicidal thoughts. The novel had been more than a story; it was his safe haven, the only place he felt alive. To Alex, the hero wasn't just a character—he was him. So when the story ended, it felt like something inside him had been torn away. As if a hole had opened in his chest. He was heartbroken.
Alex lay back and stared at the ceiling in a daze.
BUZZ!
His phone vibrated. A notification. Slowly, he picked it up. The message was from an unknown number.
Hello, this is the author of The Abyss's Hell.
Thank you for reading my novel. I had so much fun writing it. You were one of the hundred people to actually finish it! Can you believe it?
I'm writing a sequel series. Would you like to be in it?
Alex blinked at the screen in disbelief. The actual author was messaging him. His eyes lit up with excitement. Below the text was a link.
His finger hovered over it. He hesitated, then took a deep breath and tapped.
The phone went black.
Alex shook it violently. Nothing. He pressed the power button—no response.
Suddenly, the faint glow of his room disappeared into total darkness. And then, as if the floor had vanished beneath him, Alex began to fall.
***
What happened?
How much time has passed?
Am I going to die…?
Alex continued to fall. He tried to look around, but he couldn't see anything—it was completely dark. He fell for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he hit the ground with a loud SLAM!
Miraculously, he had survived. He lifted his shirt—no wounds. He felt around the floor, brushing against small insects, sticks, and stone.
Stone…?
It felt more like… bricks.
Suddenly, a torch flickered to life in front of him. Alex slowly rose to his feet and stumbled toward it, taking the torch from its holder. Waving the flame around, he illuminated his surroundings. Stone brick walls surrounded him, and a staircase led upward. He began to climb.
After ten minutes, the stairs ended at a wooden door with a rusty handle. The number 1 was engraved on it. The door looked centuries old. From the worn bricks to the rusted metal, this whole place seemed like it had stood for hundreds of years.
The door squeaked as Alex opened it. He peeked inside a dimly lit room. A table and two chairs occupied the center, and in one of them sat a hooded man. Cautiously, Alex stepped inside and approached.
The man wore a black cloak, shadows hiding his face, leaving only his mouth visible. His hands trembled as he gestured for Alex to sit. Hesitantly, Alex took the chair across from him, eyes darting around the room.
"Sit, sit. You must have a lot of questions," the man said. His voice was scratchy and old, the kind you'd hear from a character in a storybook or cartoon.
"Sir… where am I?" Alex asked, his voice shaky, still reeling from the fall.
"This place is called the Abyss," the man said. "These rooms were once filled with them—horrific beasts that would kill anything and anyone."
The Abyss…
It was just like…
Alex was lost in thought.
"Then one day, a kid—looked just like you—appeared and slayed them all. A hero, you might say," the man continued.
"A hero? A kid? Wait, when did this happen?" Alex asked.
"About five years ago. He came to the lower floors then. By now, he would be in the upper levels," the man explained.
A kid appeared five years ago… upper floors…
This is just like… the novel…
"Say, let me ask you a question," the man said. "What kind of monster are you?"
From beneath his cloak came the sound of bones cracking. The man removed his hood. Half of his face was gone—skin torn away, leaving exposed muscle and an empty eye socket.
Alex tried to jump back, but thick vines had already wrapped around his wrists, binding him to the chair.
The man's jaw began to dislocate on its own, first the left side, then the right. From inside his mouth, a hand emerged, gripping his ear. Another followed, and his head began to expand unnaturally, forming a human face from within.
Alex screamed in terror. He struggled against the vines as they snaked around his chest and down his throat, choking him.
A body began to emerge from the man's mouth. The upper half of it lay on the table, crawling toward Alex. He gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. He was dying.
Someone… help me…
Everything went black.
Then a blue window appeared out of nowhere.