Something had "corrected" them. They looked perfect on the outside—sealed, pristine, identical—no matter the void inside. A world made of hollow shells.
"Seriously… why is this happening?!" Elias shouted, his voice cracking as tears finally spilled.
He ran out of the house, the door slamming behind him with a hollow thud that echoed through the silent street. Outside, the perfection was still there, mocking him with its mathematical precision. Desperate, he searched for a single flaw—a weed between the cracks, a chipped brick, a stain of bird droppings. There was nothing. He collapsed onto the ground, his fingers clawing at the asphalt that felt more like plastic than stone.
"I miss my parents," he sobbed, the silence of the city swallowing his voice.
Finally, a cold, sharp resolve began to cut through his panic. If this place was perfect, he would find where the perfection ended. He ran. He ran until his lungs burned, chasing the horizon until the world finally began to fail.
The symmetry cracked. Houses started to merge into one another like texture glitches in a broken game—identical structures with mismatched details, doors that led nowhere, colors that smeared across the air like wet paint. The suffocating heat vanished, replaced by a piercing, unnatural cold that smelled of ancient moss and wet earth.
Suddenly, his foot hit something hard and uneven—a real stone. Unprepared for the sudden flaw in the terrain, Elias tripped and fell face-first.
When he stood up, the asphalt was gone.
He was standing on a carpet of decaying leaves. Around him, titanic trees rose like ancient monoliths, their trunks wide enough to hide houses, their branches clawing at a sky the color of a bruised lung. Elias felt like an ant lost in a cathedral of wood, his eyes wide as he watched a world he couldn't comprehend.
In the distance, he spotted a silhouette.
"Hey!" he called out, relief surging through him like an electric shock.
But as he got closer, the relief turned into a leaden weight in his stomach. The creature was tall, its limbs elongated and twitching. Its face was a nightmare of biological errors: a massive, vertical mouth began at its forehead and sliced down to its chest, revealing rows of needle-like teeth devouring something raw and bloody. Its eyes were nothing but hollow pits, yet it wore a wide, fixed smile painted in fresh gore.
Elias froze. A pulsing headache throbbed behind his eyes—a physical rejection of the monster's existence.
Here, something changed in him.
Instead of screaming, Elias bit his tongue until he tasted copper. The sharp pain anchored him. He didn't just hide; he moved with a sudden, predatory stillness. He slid behind a titanic tree, his back pressed against the rough bark. He didn't just cover his mouth; he synchronized his breathing with the rhythmic crunch of the creature's jaws, masking his own presence. Through the terror, his eyes remained wide, tracking the monster's shadow, memorizing its pace. He wasn't just a boy hiding; he was a witness.
I am not going to die here, he thought, the thought cold and heavy as iron. Not in this hell.
With cold sweat slicking his skin and his heart hammering against his ribs, he began to move. He didn't run. He stalked through the shadows, keeping the wind in his face, moving only when the forest groaned. Every step felt like dragging his feet through thick mud. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of rot and ancient sap that burned his throat. Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't dare wipe it away; his hands stayed frozen, ready to grasp the bark at the slightest sound. Elias wondered if he should keep moving forward or turn back; every direction felt like a path to his own grave. He was terrified, lost in a forest built for giants.
But eventually, a wall of barkless trunks loomed ahead. It was massive, crude, and imposing.
He approached the gate with his hands raised, his eyes still scanning the treeline behind him.
"Identify yourself," a voice commanded from the other side.
Elias let out a breath that rattled in his throat. It wasn't the wet, tearing sound of the beast. It was a human voice—harsh, guarded, and real.
It was proof that there was civilization in the middle of that hell.