'Did I open my eyes? I think I did.'
Everything was dark, and I couldn't move. I was lying on a cold floor; a throbbing pain in my back was what woke me up—a pain that made me think I'd been bitten. There must have been insects; that's what I concluded.
Once the pain in my limbs had subsided—which seemed to take an eternity—I stood up, placing my hand against a wall. I needed to get my bearings in all this darkness, so I began to measure the room by steps: six steps wide, seven long. As for the height, even when I jumped—with difficulty, since my body still felt heavy—I couldn't reach the ceiling. Nevertheless, I could feel a different texture on one of the walls: iron.
I was in a stone room, with no sound or light, and with what I sensed was an iron door… I was in a cell.
At that moment, many questions raced through my mind: "When?", "How?", "Why?", "Who?", each finding only silence as an answer—a silence so profound that I could hear my own heartbeat and the insects crawling on the floor; my hearing was already beginning to replace my sight.
I tried to open the door with all my might, pounding on it again and again in desperation, but in the end it was useless; I had neither the physique nor the strength to open it, and I no longer had the energy to keep trying.
It wasn't long before I started to feel hungry, but I was able to endure it; it was either that or the insects, and I wasn't quite there yet—or at least that's what I told myself; I didn't think I was that desperate, but hunger is always followed by thirst, and I could feel my tongue drying out. I had no choice left: I grabbed a handful of insects. They were wriggling and biting my hand—a beetle, a centipede, and others. I hesitated, but the centipede's bite gave me enough rage to eat it.
It was disgusting; I could feel them wriggling down my throat and biting the inside of it. I fell to the floor, clutching my throat and trying to cough—it was excruciating pain, as if the inside of my throat were on fire. I lay there on the floor; I don't know how long—two hours? Five? In that darkness, my internal clock was useless.
I was furious; I swore I'd make whoever had locked me in this cell suffer a thousand times more—I'd make him eat the same insects through his eyes. And at that moment, the idea of getting out exploded uncontrollably in my mind, like a child throwing a tantrum: I absolutely had to get out of this damned cell.
I stood up, euphoric, and headed toward the iron door, but my momentum was halted by the sudden impact against it, which quickly calmed me down and helped me regain control of my emotions.
'Getting angry in this situation will only make me waste my energy faster.'
I got back up, but this time calmly, moving cautiously toward the door; I didn't want to bump my head a second time—I already had a bad enough headache.
As soon as I felt the texture of the iron, I stopped and began searching for a lock, or at least something that had a different shape from the smooth surface; I kept at it like that for about forty minutes.
'I can't find anything—it's infuriating.'
I was about to give up when I felt a crack in the lower part of the iron door with my hands. That's when I realized the mistake I was making.
'So I'd been going about it the wrong way.'
I wedged my fingers into the crack and pushed upward with all my might; I could hear the creaking of the rusty door as it struggled to lift. I kept at it until I finally managed to open it a meter; I quickly slipped underneath as the door slammed shut behind me, but before I could celebrate, a blinding light hit me, leaving me with my arms raised to shield my face.
…
A flashlight. I'd been in that cell for so long that a simple flashlight blinded me. I felt a sense of shame at this, a shame that made me realize I was alone in this place, in this seemingly endless hallway.
Hours passed as I pondered, trying to find answers in my mind, in my memories, but everything was dark, as if something were occupying my head and obscuring part of it; there were only fragments that guided me instinctively. Perhaps that's why I kept walking; it felt so natural, like a child strolling through a park or a grandfather walking in his garden.
…
After hours, I finally reached the end of the hallway, but a large stone door blocked what appeared to be the exit. I tried pushing and pulling it in vain; I couldn't contain my anger, so I pounded on the door to let off steam—again to no avail—which only resulted in my fists bleeding. Then I sat down, letting out a sigh that reflected my state of mind.
I was hungry and thirsty; I was physically and mentally exhausted. Perhaps a day had already passed since I woke up. I had a basic understanding of human anatomy: I would die in two days if I didn't get out of there, I was already beginning to despair as I reflected on my situation, and as I thought about that, a beetle flew past me. I watched it climb up the wall, and I caught it with a hand that was bleeding a dark-colored fluid with white edges.
"Malice."
That single word slipped out of my mouth without me even thinking about it; I hadn't even realized it was the first time I'd spoken aloud since waking up in this place, and quickly, after uttering those words, my brain began to ache terribly.
'Did I say something I shouldn't have? Why am I being punished?'
「 He said sarcastically. The desperate boy grabbed the beetle with both hands, bathing it in what he called 'Malice'; he wasn't aware of what he was doing—he was doing it instinctively. No, it was more as if someone were whispering it in his ear, as if someone or something were guiding his actions. The beetle's shape began to change, as if it were absorbing the nutrients from this substance; it grew slightly larger and took on a darker, bluish hue, but what was most striking at that moment was the young man's expression. For the first time, one could see a face different from the anger or confusion he had displayed so often since waking up. His eyes, the same dark blue as the beetle he was holding, reflected a hint of serenity; he had the look of an artist satisfied with his work or a sculptor proud of his sculpture—a feeling that also troubled him a little, as it was somewhat at odds with the situation he found himself in. 」
"You seem even more beautiful to me than before."
「 He said in a low voice, almost a whisper. He let go of the beetle, which landed on the wall again, but this time, it was eating it. The young man could watch firsthand as the beetle he'd previously held in his hand fed on the wall, its body swelling more and more until it suddenly exploded. The young man fell to the ground, the debris knocking the wind out of him, and he tried to shield his face. 」
"Damn, what was that? What kind of beetle explodes like that?"
「 That's a pretty amusing question. None are listed in the records. The one that comes closest would be the bombardier beetle, which was nowhere near as powerful as a mine." This only served to further confuse the young man, who had no choice but to get back on his feet and follow the new path that lay before him. It wasn't as if he had many other options.
With a slight headache, he walked through the smoke, then froze, transfixed by what his eyes were seeing: behind the stone wall, there were only ruins and a beast devouring what appeared to be a man's arm.」