When I regained consciousness, I was already standing.
That alone terrified me.
I didn't remember getting up. I didn't remember moving at all. My body felt stiff, like it no longer fully belonged to me. Something warm and sticky clung to my fingers. Slowly—too slowly—I raised my hands in front of my face.
They were drenched in blood.
Not just splattered. Soaked. Thick between my fingers, dark and still warm.
A sharp, broken sound tore from my throat.
I looked down.
The man from the alley lay crumpled at my feet.
His arm was brutally severed at the shoulder. His tentacles were scattered across the ground like butchered serpents. And at the center of his chest was a gaping hole where his heart should have been.
I stumbled backward and slammed into the wall. The world spun violently. My stomach lurched, and I bent forward, retching uncontrollably, bile and air burning through my throat.
This can't be real. This can't be real.
My blue coat was soaked in red. The sight of it made my vision pulse. I tore it off and shoved it into the nearest trash bin, my hands shaking so violently I could barely let go. Then I ran.
I didn't think. I didn't plan.
I just ran.
I took the narrowest streets, the forgotten roads between buildings, anywhere the crowd thinned. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. People stared as I passed—some whispering, some lifting their phones—but I buried my face behind my backpack and didn't slow down.
I didn't stop until I reached home.
Fear pushed me through the back door instead of the front.
Mom's voice floated from the kitchen, calm and unaware. Dad's was muffled by the television in the living room.
"Nick?" Mom called when she heard the door creak.
"Yes, Mom," I answered quickly. "I'll come down later."
I didn't wait for her response. I rushed upstairs, shut my bedroom door behind me, and bolted for the bathroom.
Clothes came off in frantic handfuls. Blood-stained fabric hit the floor as I staggered toward the shower.
Then I passed the mirror.
And froze.
My reflection stared back at me—pale face, wary eyes—and blood streaked across my lips like grotesque makeup. Like the painted smile of a clown.
A broken whimper escaped me.
I stumbled backward and tripped over the laundry basket, crashing hard against the tiled floor. My heart thrashed violently in my chest as I scrambled back to my feet and turned toward the mirror again.
I forcefully examine my face. The cut on my head—
It was gone.
Healed. I tried to touch the blood on my face.
Then—
My reflection smiled.
Not my smile. It's dark, sinister.
It moved on its own.
I stumbled backward, crushing the basket beneath me again and slamming against the opposite wall. My chest heaved as terror flooded every inch of my body.
"W-Who are you?" I whispered.
The reflection's lips moved.
"I'm you."
My breath hitched. "What are you?"
The smile widened. "I'm you."
"What the hell does that even mean?" I gasped.
My legs trembled as I edged closer to the mirror, stopping several steps away. My knees felt ready to give out at any second.
"Is that all you can say?" I demanded.
"No," the reflection answered calmly. "It's just the only truth I can give you. You and I are the same."
My throat tightened.
"Did… did you kill that man?"
The image tilted its head—playfully.
"Yes," it said.
My stomach dropped.
"That's how it works. Either he dies, or we die." Its smile turned sickening. "Oh… his heart was quite tasty."
The words shattered something inside me.
I staggered back, clutching my chest. "I— I ate a human heart…?"
The voice echoed softly in my skull.
"Surprised? That's the only way for you and me to grow stronger. We eat hearts."
"Human hearts?" My voice cracked.
The reflection nodded.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "No, I won't do that. I won't be a murderer."
It laughed.
Not loudly. Not wildly.
Madly.
"This is your life now," it whispered. "Accept it."
A knock suddenly struck the door.
I flinched violently.
"Nick?" Mom called. "Dinner is ready."
My voice shook. "J-Just a second, Mom. I'm taking a shower."
"Okay," she replied.
Silence returned.
I turned back to the mirror.
"I won't accept this," I said quietly. "I won't kill anyone just to become stronger."
The reflection copied my movement perfectly.
So he's gone, I thought.
I stood alone in the bathroom, shivering.
I stepped into the shower and scrubbed every skin in my body until it burned—until the water ran clear and my hands ached. When I was done, I gathered my blood-soaked clothes from the crushed basket.
My white polo was now completely red.
I threw it away instantly—pants, everything—sealed them in a plastic bag with trembling hands, and carried it downstairs.
"Mom," I said quietly, "I'll just throw out the trash."
"Put it near the door and throw it later," she answered. "Come eat while it's hot."
Reluctantly, I set the bag down.
Then I walked to the table and sat beside my parents.
I tried to eat like nothing was wrong—lift the spoon, chew, swallow—but every bite felt heavy in my throat. The food my mom cooked used to be delicious, now tasted bland. Then the TV in the living room shifted tones, the anchor's voice sharpening with urgency.
"…a series of murder and missing-person cases reported across Valesong City—"
My hand froze mid-air.
The word murder struck something raw inside me. My appetite vanished instantly.
"Can I go to the living room and watch the news?" I asked, my voice quieter than I expected.
Dad didn't even look up from his plate. "Eat first. You can watch later."
I nodded and forced myself to keep eating, though my pace quickened without my noticing. I shoveled food in like I was racing against something unseen.
My dad was staring at me as I glanced toward him.
"Where are your table manners, son?" he said. "Have we starved you?"
He turned to Mom with a sigh. "Please help me discipline our son. I feel like the permanent bad cop here."
Mom chuckled lightly. "You said before you'd train Nick to be a better man. Why ask me now? I can be the bad cop—if you say please."
Dad grunted. "Never mind. Just eat."
Their banter floated around me, warm and familiar, but it felt distant. I finished my food in record time, barely tasting any of it.
The moment I was done, I stood.
"I'll go watch now," I said.
No one stopped me.
I sank into the single couch in the living room, heart thudding, eyes glued to the screen.
But the murder report was already over.
Now the anchor stood before a giant display of a jagged island rising from dark waters.
"…the newly emerged volcanic island in the Pacific was surveyed earlier today by military forces and scientists from the Harum United Federation. Authorities confirm the island emits an extremely powerful magnetic field, disabling all forms of communication and electronic devices within a ten-kilometer radius. The public is strictly prohibited from approaching the area until further notice—"
I didn't care.
Not about the island.
Not about the magnetic field.
Not about any of it.
Dad lowered himself onto the couch across from me.
"You wanted to watch the news so badly," he said. "But you look uninterested now."
"I'm more worried about what's happening in our city than what's happening around the world," I replied.
He studied me for a moment. "What happens in the world always finds a way to reach us."
He cleaned his glass using his handkerchief and continued, "Don't go out late anymore. Too many things are happening right now. Death is everywhere today. So many people have gone missing."
His voice softened slightly. "You should be careful."
I swallowed. "Okay, Dad."
But deep inside, a different truth pulsed.
I couldn't stay inside.
Not after what I'd seen.
Not after what I had done.
There were others out there—things like the hooded man. Creatures that wore human skin and fed on them the way I now feared I did. If I stayed home and pretended to be normal, more people would die.
The TV cut abruptly to a red banner.
BREAKING NEWS.
My breath hitched.
"Breaking news," the anchor said. "A man was found dead earlier this evening in an alley near the Mayborn Avenue. The victim has been identified as Manuel Venduro, a factory worker from Rosefield Province. Authorities have yet to determine why he was in Valesong City or who is responsible for his death. The investigation is ongoing, and no persons of interest have been released at this time—"
The screen shifted to blurred footage.
Censored.
Pixelated.
But I didn't need clarity.
I saw it anyway.
The angle of the body.
The position of the limbs
The place where the heart should have been.
But something missing.
His tentacles.
My stomach twisted violently.
"Investigators urge the public to remain calm and report any suspicious activity—"
The room felt smaller. The air felt thick. My hands trembled on my knees.
Dad watched the report quietly. "Poor man," he murmured. "Wrong place, wrong time."
I couldn't breathe.
And for the first time, I truly understood the depth of what I had become.
A murderer.
"I'll go back to my room, Dad," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I still need to study."
Dad barely looked up from the television. "Alright. Don't stay up too late."
On the stairs, I paused and glanced toward the kitchen. Mom stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, the steady sound of running water filling the room. "Mom," I said, "I'll be upstairs studying."
She turned, smiling softly. "Do you want some snacks? I'll bring some up after I finish the dishes."
My throat tightened. The word snacks felt strange now, foreign. "No need, Mom. I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yes," I said quickly, already climbing the rest of the stairs.
The door to my room clicked shut behind me, and only then did I breathe.
I went straight to my desk and turned on my computer. The soft whir of the fan sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
full planetary alignment incident
Dozens of results flooded the screen. Forums, conspiracy boards, half-baked science blogs, videos filled with shaky footage and terrified voices. I narrowed the search.
full planetary alignment incident in the country of Melloway
More results. Still too many. Panic buzzed under my skin, urging me to dig faster, deeper. I clicked into the social media trends instead.
The top trends loaded.
Tops trends that were once full of entertainment news, now filled with conspiracies and fear.
#1 Seven volcanic islands had surfaced across the oceans overnight.
#2 A man with wings sighted in Keilstone.
#3 Leviathan seen near Meadow Bay.
Then the numbers hit me like a fist:
349 murders reported across Melloway within 24 hours.
53 confirmed murder cases in Valesong City alone — the highest in the country.
My chest tightened. Fifty-three.
I clicked the Valesong report.
An official post from the Valesong Police Department appeared on my screen. A clean list. Black text on a white background. No emotion. No faces.
Just names.
My eyes scanned the list once, twice—
Then I saw it.
Manuel Venduro.
Everything inside me dropped.
My hands went cold. The room felt suddenly too small, too tight around my lungs. That name wasn't just text on a screen anymore. It had weight. A man I—or the thing inside me—had erased.
Comments flooded beneath the report.
@chubbyhole: The government is useless. We're dying out here.Valesong is hell now. You step outside and you might not come back.
@BlessedEzra: This is the end of the world. Demons walk among us. Pray while you still can.
@catpurr: You're all blind. This started the moment the planets aligned. The alignment wasn't natural—someone triggered it.
@Elizemill: My cousin works at the observatory. They detected energy spikes they've never seen before. Not cosmic. Not magnetic. Something else.
@Iloveluffy: They won't show the real photos of the bodies. I saw one before they took it down. The wounds weren't human.
My stomach churned.
Then one comment made me freeze.
@Iameverywhere: The monsters didn't come from outside. They awakened inside us after the alignment. The era of humans is ending. The era of the Half-Blood is beginning.
Replies exploded beneath it.
@Babysheep: Half-Blood? You sound insane.
@WolfgangWho: Insane? Then explain the man with wings in Keilstone. Explain the thing that came out of the Meadow Bay yesterday.
Someone else typed:
@BelieveMe: The islands that appeared are anchors. Energy gates. That's where it started. That's where it'll spread from.
Another:
@Akirazendo: My grandfather used to talk about this. He called it the "Second Breach." He said the first one was wiped from history. We weren't supposed to survive the next one.
I kept scrolling. Some were nonsense, some were convincing, but his last comment made my chest tighten.
@Iameverywhere: Some of us changed. Some of us are changing right now.
My finger trembled as I clicked the profile.
No photos. No name. No history. A blank account—created yesterday.
A dummy.
But the words felt too precise. Too close.
It felt like the screen was staring back at me.
He knows.
I slammed the laptop shut.
The sudden darkness made my reflection appear faintly on the blank screen—my eyes wide, my face pale, my lips trembled.
I took my notes from my backpack and forced myself to finish my assignment. It should be an easy task for me, yet it seems the words in my notes jumbled as I read them. Every sentence I read, his name appeared.
After finishing my homework, I finally lay down. I pulled a fresh blanket over myself. The sheets beneath me were clean now. I knew Mom would notice the old ones when she changed them. I imagined her wrinkling her brows, wondering when I had spilled something, wondering why her son was suddenly so clumsy.
It was only 10:00 PM.
I felt like I had lived through a lifetime already. I felt tired that I fell asleep within a minute.
Past midnight, my hunger dragged me back into consciousness.
Staring at the ceiling, I asked myself, "What should I do?"