The forest shook violently, catching Paulio's attention. It had grown stronger now becoming a full fledge pseudo-domain. The air in the pseudo‑domain was a living thing, thick and black as a void with no horizon. It seemed to breathe, a slow, almost patient exhalation that pressed against Paulio's lungs like a hand on his throat. He had never felt such coldness, this kind of darkness that drank light itself. It was an eternal stretch—no trees, no rivers, no sky, only the endless black that swallowed sound and thought.
Paulio stood at the center of it all, a lone figure in his white gloves, which now looked like smudged ghosts against the void. He had always been a man of order, a cleaner than most people, who would think he was obsessive. The pseudo‑domain was supposed to be the ultimate test of that obsession—an endless maze where every path was an echo of itself and no light could break through.
He pressed his gloved hand to his mouth as if it might stop the sound of blood in his ears. He let a small, metallic taste slip from his lips, like iron in a wound, and he spat out a thin line of bright red onto the black floor. The blood seemed to merge with the darkness instantly, turning into a darker shade that was almost invisible. His eyes, normally a cool, steady blue, had now turned a milky white—like someone staring too long at a sunrise.
He stared at his gloves. They were soaked in his own blood, as if he had cut himself somewhere in this endless void. "Where did I go wrong?" he whispered to the darkness. He was a clean freak, and yet here he was, surrounded by the very filth he despised. He thought of James—his only friend who understood him, someone equally different, someone who could stand on the edge of madness without falling. The memory made his heart ache. He remembered that time when James had laughed at his obsession with cleanliness as if it were a joke. "You're perfect," James had said with mockery once, too. Paulio had looked at him and felt the weight of perfection crush him like a stone.
He turned away from the bloodstained glove, feeling anger rise in his chest. He clenched his fists until his knuckles bled white against the darkness. The pseudo‑domain seemed to pulse in response, as if it could sense his frustration. It was an enemy that took nothing but your patience and your will.
Then a sound—a low, guttural growl—rumbled from the lower reaches of the void. Paulio's eyes flicked toward the source. A monstrous shape materialized: a humanoid centipede with human flesh for a caterpillar‑like lower body. Its skin was slick, blackened by the absence of light, and its limbs were wrapped in twisted, rotting vines that seemed to be made of the dead villagers' bodies themselves. It had no eyes, but an aura of terror that could be felt in the marrow of his bones.
The creature's belly bulged as it wriggled uncontrollably, a grotesque wave of flesh and sinew. Paulio's mind flashed back to the golden ball—a rolling, glowing orb—before he even realized he was watching it. The orb shimmered with a pale, yellowish‑orange glow that seemed almost alive, like fire caught in water.
He inhaled sharply. His aura flared white, then shifted to a sickly yellow that danced across his skin like static electricity. He stretched out his hand, and from the tip of his palm a glass sword sprang forth—sharp as a shard of ice, shimmering with a faint blue light. The void hummed in response; more glass swords erupted around him, each one a perfect copy of the first, spinning in a silent ballet.
He angled the swords toward the monster's belly, aiming for its core. The blades cut through the air like a storm of razor‑sharp lightning, each strike leaving a trail of white-blue fire that scorched the creature's flesh. But the monster didn't move; it simply let the glass shards slice through its protective layers—its lower body was covered in hands made from the dead villages' bones and skin, but they were no match for the blades.
The swords burned through the belly's flesh until only a charred layer remained—a thin, blackened crust that clung to the monster's core. Paulio felt his heart race as he watched the creature begin to tremble. But it was not enough. The creature did not recoil; it simply turned its head toward him, and in its eyes there was something like a flicker of yellow—an echo of the glow that now lit his own gaze.
He exhaled in frustration. His palms slipped from the glass swords, which dissolved into thin silver mist around him. He shook his shoulders as if to shake off the dust of broken glass, but no dust fell; it was all a haze of black vapor.
His aura swelled once again—this time with a stronger yellowish glow that seeped through his gloves and into his fingertips. The white light in his eyes became sharper, almost electric. He could see the creature's every sinew as if looking at it through a magnifying glass; the surrounding darkness seemed to ripple like water when he focused.
He realized that the monster was not only immune to his blades—it seemed to be growing stronger with each strike. The pseudo‑domain itself seemed to feed on this, its blackness thickening and pooling around them like a living sludge. Paulio could feel the weight of fear in his chest, but it did not break him; he had faced horrors before, though none as relentless as this.
He lifted both hands again. Glass swords erupted from each palm—this time, they were thicker, longer, with edges that gleamed like polished obsidian. He could hear the sound of metal cutting through nothingness, a sharp hiss that echoed across the void.
The monster responded in kind, its lower body writhing faster, as if trying to escape the onslaught. It threw up an arm made of bone and flesh toward Paulio—an attempt to strike him down before he could finish his assault. The swords met it midair, shattering into shards that hung like stars in the black sky.
Paulio stepped back, breathing heavily. He could feel the pseudo‑domain's darkness pressing against his skin, its cold seeping into his bones. His mind raced—he had to find a way to break this creature's armor, but how? He thought of James again, and the way that man had never given up when he faced adversity.
He clenched his fists, letting the yellow glow surge through him like a living flame. Not only that, but he could feel the heat in his veins as if it were a storm inside him—an unyielding force that would not be quenched by darkness.
The monster's lower body twisted and turned, its limbs moving with a speed that made Paulio's vision blur. It seemed to know where he was, how he moved. Yet there was something about the creature—a hint of sorrow or perhaps an understanding—that made Paulio pause for just a moment. He felt the raw edges of fear, but also a strange connection: both were trapped in this endless black.
He took another breath, letting his aura flare into a bright white, then yellow, then blue, as if he were drawing from every color of light and combining them into something new—a weapon that was not just steel or glass, but the essence of his own will. Likewise, he raised his hands again, and from each palm a blade of pure energy erupted—crystal‑like, shimmering with an inner fire.
The pseudo‑domain seemed to hold its breath as the energy blades sliced through the darkness, leaving behind bright streaks that cut across the blackness. The monster's skin hissed as it burned, but it did not flinch; instead, it leaned forward, a twisted grin spreading across its face—an expression of pure malevolence.
Paulio felt his heart pound like a drum in his ears. He could feel every breath he took reverberating through the void. He was alone in this endless darkness, fighting a creature that seemed as old as the night itself. Yet, beneath the fear and the gore, there was something else—an unbreakable resolve.
He knew this battle was far from over. The pseudo‑domain would not let him win so easily. But Paulio was ready to keep fighting until his gloves were soaked in blood again, until he could finally understand why he had become such a clean freak and how that obsession might be both his greatest weakness and his most potent weapon.
The surrounding darkness roiled, the creature's lower body wriggled with more intensity, and Paulio's aura flared brighter than ever.