Rain laced the windshield like strands of broken glass. The night hummed low, heavy, and endless—the kind of quiet that pressed on the mind until even thought began to echo. Elijah gripped the steering wheel of his G-Wagon with both hands, knuckles white. The engine purred beneath him, smooth but somehow distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.
The city's sodium lights streaked through the droplets as he pulled into the cracked parking lot of his apartment building. The place was ordinary—rows of half-awake cars, glimmering puddles, and rusting balconies that leaned like tired shoulders. Yet tonight, everything seemed… slightly wrong.
The air carried a texture he couldn't name.
He turned off the ignition and sat there for a long moment, staring at his reflection in the window. His eyes looked unfamiliar—wide, bloodshot, and uncertain. His face was the same, but his gaze… it was like someone else was looking back.
Elijah swallowed hard. His pulse thudded in his ears.
He stepped out. The rain caught him immediately, cold and merciless. He shut the door behind him and stood there, breathing in short bursts. His black coat hung heavy on his shoulders, and each step toward the building felt slower than it should've been. He looked up once—the flickering hallway light over the entrance blinked twice, as if struggling to stay alive.
"This isn't real," he muttered under his breath. "No… no, this can't be happening."
He rubbed the side of his head, his fingers trembling. "You're tired, Eli. That's all. You've been working too much."
He hit his temple lightly, as though he could jar the thought loose. "It's all in my head. Yeah. Just—just in my head."
He walked faster, boots splashing through thin puddles. The automatic light above the entrance blinked again, briefly leaving him in darkness before it sputtered back to life. His right hand twitched—a small, restless movement of doubt, the fingers rubbing against each other like he was feeling for something invisible.
Inside, the hallway smelled faintly of bleach and old paint. The fluorescent light buzzed. He fumbled with his keys and shoved them into the lock.
*Slam.
The door hit the frame hard.
He froze, staring at it. Then—slam again.
And again.
On the third, his breathing came ragged, and he finally stopped, letting the silence stretch thin. The echo died away, swallowed by the stillness. He exhaled and stepped inside, closing the door softly this time.
The apartment greeted him with familiar clutter—the couch, the books, the faint smell of old coffee. But tonight, even that comfort felt brittle. Shadows seemed longer. Corners darker.
Elijah dropped his keys on the counter and sank onto the couch, dragging a hand through his damp hair. His thoughts spun like a carousel gone out of control.
Maybe I've just been staring at those manuscripts too long. Azaqor's writings… the symbols… the weird dream sequences. It's starting to get under my skin.*
He pressed a palm to his face. You're fine, Eli. Just tired. You just need—
Then it came.
A sound.
Soft, delicate—like a lullaby whispered through water.
It wasn't coming from his phone. Not from the television. It floated through the air itself, smooth and impossibly calm. The tune flowed like a gentle stream, each note precise, impossibly soothing.
Then a voice came with it—slow, melodic, and otherworldly:
*"The Warden has given you an invitation… and you are bound to accept it."*
The words slid into his mind, too intimate to be heard through ears.
Elijah froze. His breath hitched.
He tried to move—but couldn't.
Every limb felt cemented to the couch.
His fingers twitched once, then fell still.
His eyes darted wildly, but the rest of him refused to obey.
What—what's happening?
The walls quivered. The sound of the rain outside dulled. Hairline cracks began to crawl across the ceiling, splintering like veins of dry earth. The white paint peeled in curling sheets. The floor beneath his feet pulsed once, like something alive.
The apartment began to wither.
The carpet shriveled into dust. The light bulbs fizzed and popped, leaving only the sick glow of something alien beneath the surface. The air itself seemed to fracture, pieces of reality peeling away like ash in wind.
And then, the world folded.
---
He wasn't in his apartment anymore.
He stood—or floated, or dreamed—inside a vast underground chamber. The ceiling curved high above, lined with pipes and cables. Machines hissed softly. The metallic floor reflected a dozen trembling lights. The smell of ozone and something sterile filled his lungs.
In the distance, a ladder reached upward into an impossible sky—a swirling canopy of color and sound. Every hue shifted like living oil, each one resonating like a musical chord he could feel in his bones.
Below, four figures stood in formation.
Three men, one woman—all cloaked in garments dyed the low colors of the spectrum: bruised red, murky violet, and green-black that swallowed the light instead of reflecting it. Their faces were hidden beneath smooth hoods.
The woman raised her hand slowly and gave a mocking little wave, her movement drenched in sarcasm.
And then Elijah realized—he was smaller.
He looked down and saw hands too thin, wrists too narrow. The leather straps binding him to a cold metal chair cut into pale skin.
He was thirteen again.
The machines around him whirred softly, echoing like breaths in a tomb. In front of him shimmered a symbol suspended in the air—a floating geometry of madness.
An inverted spiral coiled within a triangle, its three eyes sealed shut but weeping. From each lid dripped a single black tear that never fell. Surrounding it was a vast handprint—five prongs, yet with six fingers.
At the center pulsed a void, and from that void, a face took shape.
It wasn't solid. It flickered like a drawing rendered in melting wax, distorting and reforming. The mouth was too wide, the grin painted in an imitation of joy. When it moved, it stuttered through reality like a corrupted projection.
And it beckoned to him.
Elijah's chest constricted. Fear gathered behind his ribs like a living thing.
The figure tilted its head. And without footsteps, without sound, it appeared before him—so close that its grin filled his vision.
A clawed hand reached out. The nails shimmered like liquid shadow.
It touched his cheek.
The pain was immediate.
A scream tore through him as molten heat burned down his bones, every nerve flaring like kindling. He felt his heartbeat turn into knives. His body convulsed against the restraints.
"No! No—stop! What is this? You—what are you—?"
The creature didn't open its mouth, but its voice echoed inside his skull, silk and venom all at once:
"What's wrong, Eli? Didn't you want to paint this world in my image? Don't you remember?"
Elijah's breath hitched. His mind recoiled from the words.
Before he could respond, the air beside the figure shimmered again—forming a curtain of reddish-black light, like a wound suspended in midair.
Inside it, a projection played.
Elijah saw himself—older, colder, a cruel grin etched across his face. Lightning cracked through the image, painting sharp highlights across his eyes. In front of that version of him sat Viola, her wrists cuffed, face twisted in horror as police escorted her toward a waiting car.
Behind that image, the shadow figure stood—its hand resting gently on the other Elijah's shoulder, its mouth close to his ear, whispering unseen things.
The scene flickered. Then shifted again.
Now Elijah saw himself in a dark room lined with computers, the glow of monitors bathing everything in pale blue. On the largest screen blinked the logo:
"Unemployed Assassin Bureau."
Lines of code and encrypted networks scrolled faster than he could comprehend. His reflection in the monitor smirked faintly—calm, confident, as if the entire world was his design. His hands typed commands that shaped lives and ended them.
And there, just behind him again, stood the same dark figure—its head bent, whispering like a secret threaded into his soul.
Then, the projection shattered. Light scattered like glass.
The figure's laughter filled the room—low, jagged, and almost childish, but too distorted to be human. It echoed inside Elijah's bones.
"Boy,"it said softly, *"you sold your soul to me, but you don't remember. Whether you want it or not, paint your world in my image."
Its grin widened, eyes gleaming like holes burned through paper.
"You won't succeed, of course. None before you have. Every step of your revenge—I paved the way for it. And everything taken, everything given, demands its price. I won't tell you yours. You wouldn't like it."
The air thickened. The walls of the chamber quivered like liquid.
The voice grew quieter, colder.
"Oh, and you may try to find who I am, what I am, and who else shares my design. But it will change nothing. You're a piece now, Elijah. A fragment on the board. Your only purpose is to spread disharmony, to unravel what your kind call truth. For among us, only one heir will ascend. The rest… will vanish."
The lair shook violently. Lights burst overhead, scattering sparks. The ladder reaching skyward trembled, its steps warping in and out of existence.
The figure leaned in one last time.
Its grin was endless.
And then—everything imploded.
---
Elijah gasped.
The sound of rain roared back into existence. The steering wheel was in his hands. His chest heaved. His mind screamed *move, breathe, wake up.
He blinked hard, but the world didn't steady. His reflection in the windshield trembled like a ghost caught between realities.
Then—something on the road ahead.
A shape.
Human.
He leaned forward slowly.
A body lay sprawled across the asphalt, limbs at impossible angles. The rain painted it red.
Elijah's breath froze in his throat. He glanced down at the dashboard—the engine still running. His gaze darted to the front bumper. A dark smear of crimson streaked across the chrome.
His heart stopped.
He looked up again at the motionless form on the ground. His reflection stared back in the windshield, distorted, hollow-eyed, trembling.
And somewhere deep in the echo of his mind, that same lullaby whispered again—soft, tender, and cruel:
"The Warden has given you an invitation… and you have already accepted it."