The clock on the hospital wall ticked louder than his heartbeat.
Oban sat there in silence, staring at the pale light flickering above him as if it were mocking his existence. He was only nineteen, yet the world had already written his ending.
"Oban…" The doctor's voice was steady, professional, but the words still cracked through the air like thunder. "I'm sorry. It's advanced. Stage four. The cancer has already spread."
Oban felt the words sink into him, deeper than any scalpel could cut. His chest tightened. His lips moved but no sound came out.
"How long?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.
The doctor adjusted his glasses, avoiding eye contact. "Months. Maybe less."
The rest of the world blurred. The ticking clock, the sterile smell of disinfectant, the muffled voices in the corridor—all of it faded. For Oban, time stopped on that date: July27, 2018. The day he was told his life was no longer his own.
That night, back in his small apartment, Oban sat surrounded by books, scattered notes, and failed experiments. Bottles of half-mixed chemicals, crude medical diagrams, and research papers filled his desk.
He wasn't ready to give up.
Every night, he worked. He tried to create something—anything—that could stop the cancer cells eating him alive. He mixed herbs with modern compounds. He injected himself with trial formulas, enduring pain, nausea, and bleeding. Every attempt ended the same: failure.
On the twentieth attempt, he collapsed on the floor, coughing blood into his hands. His body shook violently, ribs aching, vision swimming.
He laughed bitterly through the taste of iron."So this is it… my fate?"
He lay back on his bed, weak, cold, and ready to surrender.
That was when he saw it.
A bat.
It perched on his window, wings folded, its black eyes glimmering in the moonlight. It looked straight at him, unafraid.
Oban blinked, and a wild thought sparked in his mind.
"Bats… they survive diseases humans can't. Viruses, infections… even cancerous growths." His lips trembled, excitement cutting through despair. "If I can study it… maybe…"
Hope, fragile but burning, returned to him.
The following weeks blurred into obsession.
He captured a bat, extracted its blood, studied its immune responses. His hands shook as he worked, not from nerves but from weakness. Every hour was borrowed time.
Finally, he created a serum. A crude liquid distilled from bat enzymes, mixed with his own experimental compounds. It wasn't ready. It wasn't safe. But he had no choice left.
"I don't want to die…"
He whispered the words into the empty room as he held the syringe. His eyes burned with tears, not of fear but of desperation. He injected the liquid into his arm.
At first—nothing. Then his veins lit with fire. His body convulsed, blood bursting from his nose and mouth. His skin burned, bones cracking as if his body itself rejected the intrusion.
He collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, vision fading.
"So this… is where it ends."
Darkness swallowed him whole.
But death never came.
Instead, a cold light flickered before his eyes. A glowing screen, hovering in the void.
[ Welcome, Oban. ][ A new journey awaits. ][ Choose your path. ]
Two options appeared, glowing like carved words on stone:
Die here.
Reborn as Darkness.
Oban stared, his thoughts a storm. Was this a dream? A hallucination? Or something beyond science?
"Darkness…?" His lips cracked into a bitter smile. "I don't understand this… but… I want to live."
His trembling finger reached out. He chose Option 2.
[ Choice confirmed. ][ Transformation pending… 10… 8… 6… 4… 2… 0. ]
The void shook. A thunderous boom roared inside his skull. His body burned, dissolved, then rebuilt itself.
When his eyes opened again, the world was different.
He lay in the middle of a street, bright lights flashing above, neon signs glowing against tall buildings. Cars roared past, people bustled by in strange clothes.
"What… is this place?"
He staggered to his feet, clutching his chest. The pain was gone. His body felt strong—too strong. His senses were sharp; every sound, every scent, every heartbeat around him sang in his ears.
A man brushed past him. Oban grabbed his arm.
"Wait! Where… where am I? Which country is this?"
The man gave him a puzzled look. "Transylvania."
The name hit Oban like a blade.
"Transylvania…? That doesn't exist. Not anymore…"
He froze. His gaze dropped to the glowing screen that reappeared before his eyes.
[ Year: 2083 AD. ]
His heart—or whatever now beat inside him—raced. He wasn't in his world anymore. He wasn't even in his time.
And as the blood-red moon rose over the strange city skyline, the voice returned, whispering only to him:
"Welcome, Oban. Your rebirth begins now."