The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Sachu lay sprawled on his bed, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling of his tiny room. The ticking of the wall clock gnawed at him with each passing second.
Tick.
Death is coming.
Tick.
You can't stop it.
Tick—
Death.
The thought crept back again, like it always did when the sun went down.
What happened after you died? Was it nothing—an eternity of blackness? Or something worse?
Sachu squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
"I don't want to die," he whispered into the dark. His voice trembled. "Not now… not ever."
But the more he resisted, the heavier the thought pressed down. Until his chest ached with panic.
Why am I like this? he thought bitterly. Other people don't obsess like this. They laugh at death. Joke about it. Pretend it's far away. But me…
He turned over, burying his face in the pillow. It didn't help. The fear lingered, clinging like a shadow carved into his very soul.
The sleepless nights had left him with permanent black circles under his eyes. His classmates whispered about how creepy he looked, how he sat alone, how he never smiled. But none of them knew what kept him awake.
Every night, the same fear dragged him into darkness.
But one night… everything changed.
As always, the thought of death drifted through his mind like a cold, persistent tide; he prayed—half-formed, desperate—that God would take the fear from him, but his chest still thudded with panic. Suddenly
His bed dissolved beneath him. The walls vanished. The ceiling tore away.
He stumbled to his feet in panic, but there was nothing beneath him—only an endless void. He floated, suspended in blackness, with no sense of direction.
His breathing echoed unnaturally loud, the sound bouncing in all directions.
Then… he saw it.
A figure loomed in the distance—or perhaps it stretched across the whole void. Its limbs bent at impossible angles, its body shifting like smoke forced into flesh. Eyes like collapsing stars burned across its face… if it even had a face.
And then it spoke.
"You fear death."
The voice rumbled through the void, vibrating in his bones, tearing through his thoughts.
"You fear it more than anyone. Tell me… do you wish to live forever?"
Sachu's lips trembled. His body felt frozen, yet the words clawed free before his mind could stop them.
"Y-Yes…"
The figure's mouth—if that's what it was—stretched into a terrible grin.
"Then take what you desire. Kill. Feed. Devour their years… and eternity will be yours."
A shadowed hand the size of a mountain reached down. One finger brushed his forehead.
Ice stabbed through his skull. His vision blurred, his thoughts twisting into static.
"No… what's… happening…?"
The voice carved into him like iron.
"If you do not kill… you will rot away. Your body will crumble. Your flesh will decay. Every second you waste, you are dying. But with each life you steal… their years become yours."
Images flickered behind his eyes—his mother's soft smile, his father's tired sigh, his sister's innocent laughter. Then they warped, twisted into silhouettes marked for slaughter.
"Begin with those closest to you," the being whispered. "Their warmth will sustain you. Strike them down… and live forever."
The words tore into him, relentless, beating like war drums in his skull.
Kill. Or rot.
Kill. Or die.
Kill. And live forever.
He tried to scream. His throat locked. His body refused to move.
Blink.
He was back in his room. The ceiling, the clock, the blanket—everything exactly where it had been. His lungs dragged in ragged air.
But the nightmare wasn't over.
On his desk lay a sword.
Pitch-black from hilt to blade, it drank in the light like a bottomless shadow.
"No… no, this isn't real. I'm hallucinating," Sachu muttered. His voice shook.
Then he heard the beings whispered.
"Grab it… kill… gain their lifespan. Live forever."
The words coiled around his skull, soft but suffocating. His fingers twitched. His heart thundered.
Drawn forward despite himself, he picked it up. Cold seeped into his skin, crawling up his arm like frostbite.
His parents were sleeping in the next room. His sister's quiet breathing carried faintly through the hall.
The promise of immortality and his fear twisted his thoughts. He entered a state of trance.
If I strike them down… if I take their lives… I'll survive. I won't have to die.
Step by step, he crept into their room.
The door creaked open. His parents lay tangled in their blankets, peaceful. The voice urged him closer, louder now, pressing, demanding.
"Do it. One swing. Eternity is yours."
His mother stirred. His grip tightened.
The blade rose above their sleeping forms. His arms trembled, his breath ragged. Sweat stung his eyes.
Just one swing. Just one—
"No!"
Sachu screamed, and the sword jerked sideways. Steel crashed against the floor with a clang that echoed through the house. He woke up from the trance
His parents stirred but didn't wake. His whole body collapsed against the doorframe, lungs burning.
"What was I…?" The words died in his throat. He didn't want the answer.
The blade lay at his feet, silent, almost innocent.
With shaking hands, he stumbled back to his room. He shoved open the window and hurled the sword into the night. It clattered against the fence and vanished into the dark.
He collapsed on his knees. Sweat soaked his shirt. His heart refused to slow.
Sleep claimed him at last, out of sheer exhaustion.
Morning came. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, warm and soft.
For a moment, Sachu let himself believe it had all been a nightmare. That none of it was real.
He rolled over.
The sword rested neatly against his bed.
Waiting.
At school, different whispers followed him—not from the being, but from human mouths.
"Don't sit next to him."
"He never talks."
"Look at his eyes… creepy."
Sachu ignored them, as always. He sat in the back, hood pulled low, earphones in though no music played.
His hollow eyes and permanent dark circles gave him the look of someone who hadn't slept in years. His classmates avoided him like a shadow that had learned to breathe.
When the bell rang, he didn't linger. He never did. He walked home in silence, slipping past groups of laughing students like a ghost.
"You should eat more, Sachu," his mother called from the kitchen as he trudged upstairs. "You look like you're about to collapse."
"I'm fine," he muttered.
"You're not fine!" she shouted back. "Look at you, you're—"
The door shut before she could finish.
In his room, the sword leaned against his desk once more. Black. Patient. Waiting.
Sachu clenched his fists. His voice shook as he whispered:
"…You're not real. You're just in my head. If I ignore you, you'll go away."
But the sword didn't vanish.
And every night, as sleep dragged him into restless darkness, the same truth gnawed at him.
His fear of death never faded. But now, in his hands, was the forbidden power to twist death itself into stolen years.
And temptation never stopped whispering.
Would he surrender to its call… or resist?