I paused my reading for a moment, wiping the cold sweat from my brow. The very paper seemed to radiate a foul omen. Jan, a man carrying the curse of his luck like a heavy cross, had finally decided to face his demons—but he was not alone. Behind him trailed a funeral procession of the living: a boy who knew nothing of life save for the terror of being seventeen; a naval officer whose features were carved from unyielding stone; an old man in his sixties who wore a cold, cryptic smile as if witnessing things unseen; and a middle-aged woman letting out bursts of hysterical, jagged laughter—sounds like the cawing of crows in the heart of a graveyard.
Jan spun around, his bloodshot eyes flashing with a volatile mix of dread and fury.
"What do you want?! Why do you follow my doom as if you were my own shadows?!"
The boy stammered, his voice brittle: "You saved me... you aren't a bad person."
A hideous sneer contorted Jan's face. "I am a true villain, and I have no patience for meddlesome brats. Get out of my sight, all of you! Leave before this earth chews you whole!"
Jan turned and pressed on, his insides boiling like a cauldron. Why is this happening? he screamed internally. He was in the Seventh Gate, a place where monsters didn't just kill; they engineered agony. Worst of all, he knew exactly where he stood: the region the author had dubbed "The Mire of Death." Jan gripped his hair violently, shouting in silent despair: I should have never wished for anything! I know my rotten luck—why did I even try?! To hell with this world!
The Nightmare Incarnate: Vejin, the Soul-Eater
Suddenly, the thread of his thoughts snapped at a sound that turned his blood to ice—a scratching. The sound of metal scraping against dead, leathery skin. Jan's body jolted as if a bolt of abyssal lightning had struck his spine. He recoiled a step, then he ran. It wasn't merely running; it was an explosion of primal instinct. A race where the only prize was the "next breath," and losing meant a void far worse than death.
"Run!" he screamed at his companions, leaping over the wreckage of rusted cars and crumbling buildings. "If he catches you, he will strip the flesh from your bones while you are still alive! He will keep you conscious as he tears you apart!"
They bolted like madmen through debris that reeked of ancient decay. Jan moved with the frantic agility of a cornered cat, his lips trembling with a desperate plea: Please don't show yourself... please...
But the Mire of Death never breaks its promise of horror. At the end of the alley, Jan glimpsed the shadow. A creature towering with inhuman height, its spindly arms bound by coils of red, pulsing intestines. Its eyes bled a viscous yellow fluid that hissed against its cheeks, and its teeth... gods, they were a dense forest of jagged daggers.
It was Vejin—the monstrosity that had escaped the "Body-Snatcher Prisons" only to become a grim guest among the "Soul-Eaters." Jan cursed the heavens in his mind: Damn you, Author! Is this all you have for me?!
The Silent Confrontation: When Necks Twist
Jan wedged himself beneath a mangled car, holding his breath until the veins in his temples threatened to burst. Vejin moved with a lethal slowness, each step echoing like a rhythmic hammer strike on a midnight anvil.
Jan whispered to himself, sweat stinging his eyes: It's fine, he's blind... the novel says he's blind. I'll survive if I stay as still as a stone.
Vejin stopped. Directly over Jan's hiding spot. The world froze. Time ceased to exist. Jan's face turned into a mask of pale marble from sheer terror. Then, with a sickening, mechanical motion, Vejin's long head began to descend. It lowered, inch by agonizing inch, until the creature's face was level with Jan's beneath the chassis.
In that moment, at zero distance, Vejin pulled back his dead eyelids. There were no blind sockets. Instead, two jaundiced, yellow eyes stared directly into the depths of Jan's soul.
He had seen him the entire time. He was simply savoring the scent of Jan's fear as it ripened.