Chapter 8: The Face in the Book
Elvas opened his eyes to a white ceiling and a warmth in his chest that felt foreign.
His lips twitched, curving into a faint smile. For the first time in years—maybe for the first time ever—he felt something that resembled happiness.
The memory of the human world lingered sharp and bright in his mind, like a dream that hadn't yet faded.
Yesterday, he had crossed the oath. He'd walked among humans. He'd tasted freedom, and it hadn't destroyed him the way Avalon's elders always claimed.
"It wasn't so bad," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Maybe this demon system thing isn't all bad after all."
He reached into his backpack and pulled out the black book, its leather cover cold against his skin. The weight of it pressed heavy in his hands, as though it carried more than just pages. He rarely opened it—there was no need when he could summon the system by voice—but he knew it kept a record.
He flipped it open. The rustle of pages filled the silence. Each one was etched in crimson text, recounting his tasks, his points, his choices.
"Every move I've made," he murmured, tracing a finger across the words. "It's all here, like a diary I never wrote."
Another page turned. And then he froze. His breath snagged in his throat.
A face stared back at him. Not words. Not instructions. A face.
It was drawn in stark black and white, her wide eyes frozen, her expression captured mid-breath.
Recognition slammed into him. She wasn't just anyone—she was Kalia, one of Liora's closest friends. Always at her side. Always laughing in the school halls.
"Why's she in here?" he whispered, unease creeping into his voice. "And why's it… like this? Black and white?"
The image didn't move, didn't change, but it gnawed at him all the same.
He snapped the book shut, pressing it against his thigh as if hiding the face could erase what he saw. His heartbeat thudded against his ribs, loud in the stillness.
"I don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "What's the system trying to tell me?"
Tossing the book onto his bed, he forced himself to move, to dress, to focus on school. The last thing he needed was to slip up now, not after what happened yesterday. Still, his gaze lingered on the black cover as he left. For a moment, it seemed to pulse faintly, as though the book itself was alive.
Outside, Avalon stretched around him—gray buildings stacked like blocks, streets cracked and weary, a city that always felt like a cage.
"Everywhere I go, someone's watching," he muttered bitterly. "Doesn't matter what world I'm in."
His sneakers scraped against uneven pavement, his mind circling back to the book again and again.
But when he reached the school gates, he noticed something else. A heaviness clung to the air. A silence that didn't belong. Students gathered in clusters, whispering behind their hands, their faces pale and drawn.
Elvas slowed, unease twisting his stomach.
Then he saw it—a poster taped to the wall, its corners curling in the breeze.
He stopped dead.
It was her. The same face he had seen in the book, only now in color. Kalia. Smiling in her school photo.
Beneath it were words that hit like a blade:
In Memory of Kalia, Taken Too Soon.
Elvas's breath caught. His throat dried. He stumbled forward and grabbed the arm of a boy from his history class. "What happened to Kalia?"
The boy blinked at him, red-rimmed eyes wet. "You didn't hear? She's dead."
The words rang hollow in Elvas's ears.
"They found her last night," the boy continued, his voice shaking. "Outside her dorm. Her heart… it was ripped out."
Elvas staggered back, knees threatening to buckle. "Ripped out?" His whisper was barely sound. "How? Who did that?"
The boy shook his head, voice dropping. "No one knows. But it wasn't natural. People are saying something attacked her."
Elvas let go, his heart hammering, his mind spinning in a storm of denial. He stared at the poster, at her smiling face burned into paper and memory alike.
"That's her," he muttered. "The girl from the book. Why was she in there? What does this mean?"
He forced himself through the gates, though his legs felt shaky, his chest heavy.
Another student brushed by, her braids swinging, her voice trembling. "It's awful, isn't it? Kalia was so nice. Always smiling. Who could do something like that?"
Elvas nodded stiffly, words trapped in his throat. He wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but the crowd's whispers pressed around him like a suffocating fog.
Inside the hallway, he dropped his head, hoping the noise would fade if he moved fast enough.
"Was it the system?" he whispered, the words tasting like ash. "No way. It can't be."
He pressed against a locker, his breath ragged, his hands trembling.
"The player thing," he said, piecing the thought together out loud. "I chose to delete a player. Was that… her?"
The idea chilled him.
"No," he hissed, shaking his head violently. "That's insane. It's just a game. Just some twisted system. It's not like… it's not like someone actually died because of me."
But doubt ate at him, sharp and unrelenting.
The bell rang in the distance, a cruel reminder that life went on even when the world tilted.
"I need to get to class," he muttered, forcing his legs to move. "I can't think about this right now."
But the thought clung like chains, dragging him with every step.
Ahead, silver hair glinted in the light. Liora. She stood with her friends, though her usual sharpness was gone, replaced by pallor and grief. And in that circle of familiar faces—Kalia's absence gaped like a wound.
Elvas's lips moved before he could stop himself. "Liora."
She turned, her green eyes sharp with pain. "What do you want?"
"I… I heard about Kalia," he stammered. "I'm sorry. I didn't know her well, but I saw her around."
Her jaw tightened. Tears glistened, but her voice was clipped. "Yeah, well, she's gone now. No one knows what happened. It's like this place is cursed."
Elvas's chest constricted. He nodded faintly. "She seemed… nice."
"She was," Liora whispered, her gaze slipping away. "And now she's not here."
He wanted to tell her everything—that Kalia's face had appeared in his book, that the system had forced his hand—but the words jammed in his throat. If he said it aloud, it would become real.
So he turned, heart pounding, trying to push through the crowd, when the air shifted. Cold sank into his bones.
A hum rattled through him, one he knew too well.
And then red words burned into the space before his eyes, sharp and merciless:
[Player terminated. Removed from existence. Task completed.]