Have you ever had to make a choice? One of those with no real way out, only the obligation to pick the lesser evil. A cruel choice, where both options feel wrong.
Imagine having to decide between jumping into a terrifyingly dark canyon, so deep the darkness seems to swallow any sense of a bottom... or being stabbed by a lunatic wielding a knife, soone who, disturbingly, looks like a twisted version of yourself, a shattered reflection of a life once lived.
Yeah. The problem is, this isn’t a hypothetical exercise. I’m being forced to make that choice right now. At this very mont. There was nowhere left to retreat.
The canyon behind us, deep and silent, sohow felt less inviting than the knife-wielding man in front of us. But the real issue wasn’t just facing him. It was the fact that I couldn’t hurt him.
Not directly. Because, in case you’ve forgotten, any damage I inflict on him inevitably cos back to . And just to jog your mory, having your head explode into a million pieces and then watching it be reconstructed fragnt by fragnt isn’t exactly sothing you forget easily.
It’s a deeply unpleasant experience, visually and physically. Even without pain, the sensation of every piece reconnecting, locking back into place, is... disturbing. Strange on a level that’s hard to put into words. If I can avoid it, I’d rather not go through that again. Just thinking about it sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
anwhile, with every step the knife-wielding man took, the tension thickened among our ranks. Everyone wanted to shoot, fingers itching on the trigger, but they seed oddly divided, casting sideways glances at as if waiting for permission, or confirmation.
Personally, I felt a bit sentintal seeing how seriously they were taking the situation. I an, they know I don’t feel pain, at least not physically. It doesn’t really affect . And I’m not ntally affected either... still, watching the whole process is unpleasant.
I tried to calmly assess our options, searching for another possible path. Maybe there was an alternative I hadn’t considered yet. I could simply grab them and fly over the canyon, but that plan had a problem: I couldn’t see the other side.
We could spend hours, days, maybe even weeks crossing that rocky expanse, trapped in an exhausting, uncertain flight with no guarantee of success. And on top of that, the feeling lingered, Tenebrya was still down there.
I could feel her. Like a constant weight on my chest, a presence that refused to be ignored. That made any attempt to go around the canyon completely pointless. My real objective wasn’t beyond it... it was at the bottom of the canyon.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have as much ti to think as I would’ve liked. Footsteps echoed behind , and when I turned my attention back to the human holding the knife, he was already running.
Far too fast by human standards, though, to my senses, he was still absurdly slow. From anyone else’s perspective, he’d be on us in about five seconds.
For , though, everything unfolded like warped slow motion: each stride stretched through ti, the sound of friction against the ground dragged on, and I had the strange sensation of having nearly two full minutes before he got close enough to reach us.
Of course, I still hadn’t fully decided what to do with him, but I knew I couldn’t let him get as close as he intended. My arms were engulfed in a thick black mist, smoldering like embers choked by darkness. I leaned forward, feeling the weight of the decision, and touched the ground with the tips of my fingers in a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
Slithering along my hand, the mist seeped into the ground like a living, ravenous creature. Seconds later, the earth trembled slightly, and a shadowy wall burst up between us, rising just inches from where the man with the knife would have reached my body. The impact of his charge was absorbed by the barrier, and the air around us seed to shudder from the sudden release of force.
So mbers of the anomaly response team nearly lost their footing from the abrupt turn of events, ending up just inches away from a fatal plunge into the seemingly bottomless canyon.
The ard human lunged at , his blade scraping and slamming against my shield with a dry, tallic clang. Still, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to break through, no matter how hard he tried. At least for now, we were safe.
“Nice” Victor said beside , stepping forward to the front of my wall of mist and tapping its surface lightly, as if testing its solidity: “You thought up a counterasure fast. I almost shot him on reflex”
However, when Victor touched the surface of the wall, contrary to what he expected, his hand passed straight through it without eting any resistance. The shock of the unexpected made him recoil instantly, taking a few steps back as a look of confusion spread across his face.
Sensing his hesitation and deciding to clear up his doubts, I sent my words straight into his mind: “This wall exists only to keep him from coming after us. It doesn’t stop us from crossing to the other side”
Victor turned toward as soon as he heard my words. There was sothing in his expression that hinted at mild resentnt, barely contained. His lips parted, then pressed together again, repeating the motion a few tis, as if he were rehearsing an answer that never quite ford. In the end, he just sighed, a low sound, heavy with resignation.
Fully turning to face , he asked, “Okay... so we’re just a few inches away from a psycho with a knife... is this it?” His tone was tense, but controlled. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced toward the canyon behind us, as if silently gauging how deep a single misstep might send us.
Personally, all I wanted was to tell him to just jump and get it over with. But in the sa way I can feel Tenebrya down there, pulsing like a silent call, I can also feel the danger waiting for us. Down there is dangerous, very dangerous, at least for humans.
Sohow, I’d manage in that place. I carry this constant sense that no matter what stands in front of , I’ll still be able to find a way out, to force a path through. But for the humans with , there is no second chance. For them, a single mistake is enough. One slip, one wrong step... and they’re dead.
Lost in scattered thoughts, I walked toward the canyon. Victor, at my side, let out a resigned sigh and followed in silence. We were only a few ters from our destination when, suddenly, I stopped, or rather, my body froze completely, as if sothing invisible had locked my muscles in place.
Victor noticed my abrupt halt and shot a confused look, full of unspoken questions. I said nothing. Without uttering a single word, I slowly turned my arm, pointed at it, and stared.
There was a cut on my arm, thin, fresh. A cut I was absolutely certain hadn’t been there just seconds ago. Still trying to understand how that was possible, I felt Victor’s gaze settle on . He’d noticed it too and, with a slight frown, asked: “Did you hurt yourself?”
I thought about answering Victor. I even opened my mouth, but sothing stopped . I felt as if sothing were moving beneath my gelatinous skin, sliding slowly, like a living blade searching for space. It was sharp and elongated, cold inside, and every inch it advanced sent a strange shiver through my body.
The cut, which had been small and superficial, began to widen on its own, tearing itself open, growing deeper and broader until it completely severed my arm. There was no blood, only a horrific pressure, as if my own skin were being split open from the inside out.
Then the thing began cutting vertically, opening the limb into long, uneven slits, peeling layers apart as though my skin were so kind of living leather, still aware, still sensitive. On the outside, my face remained stoic, rigid as stone. Inside, panic took over: (Jesus... what the hell is this?)
For a brief second, I genuinely believed I was possessed. It was the only explanation that made sense in that mont. But the rising murmurs, almost whispers spoken directly into my mind, and the constant, wet, disturbing sound of sothing slowly being torn apart led to a different conclusion.
Victor and I exchanged a silent look for a few seconds, long enough to confirm, without words, that we were thinking the sa thing. Then we both turned at the sa ti toward the wall I’d created monts earlier, in the exact direction where the knife-wielding man should have been.
The mont he appeared in front of us, Victor’s eyes widened almost instinctively, and a curse slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, thick with shock and rage: “You piece of shit!”
Victor’s outburst was justified, especially considering the man was cutting himself with the knife. Each movent produced a wet, unsettling sound, as if the blade were tearing through reality itself along with flesh.
He didn’t scream in pain or make a single sound. The silence made it even worse. Still, his expression said everything: his face was completely pale, his eyes wide and filled with horror, making it painfully clear what he was feeling inside.
Even so, he didn’t hesitate for a single mont. He kept tearing and tearing, dissecting and dissecting, with an almost unnatural determination, while every motion, every cut, was perfectly mirrored on my own body.
Victor turned to , his brows slightly drawn together and his jaw tight, as if he already knew the answer. His eyes searched my face for a mont before he asked in a low, worried voice: “Are we screwed?”
I considered his words, but in the end, the faint ripple that ran through the wall was answer enough. I simply nodded in silence. The small, almost indifferent gesture made Victor’s expression darken even further, as if he’d grasped the weight of what hadn’t been said: (We’re safe for now... but all it takes is a lapse. If I lose focus, for example, if he tears his own head off, the connection to my powers will break for a few seconds. Probably long enough for him to get in here)
Victor stayed silent for a mont. His gaze hardened slightly, he understood imdiately where I was going with this. Beside us, Rupert stepped forward, his weapon still firmly aid at the man with the knife, fingers tense on the trigger.
“I have no damn idea what the hell is going on” he said without taking his eyes off the target: “but that ssed-up scene definitely ans sothing... and it’s sothing I’m not even a little interested in finding out how it ends”
He tilted his head toward the canyon, as if that alone were answer enough: “So” he concluded with a short sigh: “are we jumping into the canyon or not?”
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