'It hurts…'
The thought never left Ren's mind. It wasn't just pain—it was his entire existence.
The constant torture of a failing form.
How long has it been? Days? Weeks? Months?
Time lost all meaning within sterile white walls.
The same blank ceiling.
The same buzzing machines.
The same hushed voices from the halls, whispering as if he couldn't hear them.
"He's not going to make it much longer..."
"It's best to keep him comfortable..."
"Feel for the poor kid..."
Ren clenched his teeth, fingers clawing at the stiff sheets as a new wave of pain surged through him. There was no relief, nor was there peace. This couldn't be living.
His gaze drifted to the machine beside him—the one pumping air into his useless lungs, keeping him tethered to this cruel world. All he wanted was out. To be at peace.
Not because he was too weak, nor was he too afraid.
But because there was nothing left.
The doctors couldn't save him. He would not recover. His future had already been taken
'I just…want it to stop.'
His fingers trembled as he reached for the cord, heart pounding as fingertips made contact.
One final, shaking breath and he was done.
With a resolute pull—
HISS
The machine exhaled its last breath. The beeping slowed, and the air grew thinner.
And for the first time in a long time, Ren felt something resembling relief.
'It's...over?'
His vision darkened as his frail form sank deep into the mattress.
Ren's mind drifted, slipping into quiet emptiness.
Darkness swallowed him.
An infinite abyss.
Weightless.
Silent.
No sound. No pain. No self.
This was peace.
This was—
No, it cracked.
The void shattered, a wrenching force pulling him from the abyss.
He gasped for air, lungs burning like he'd been drowning under unseen waters.
Then—
Ren's eyes snapped open.
His fingers twitched, sinking into the ground beneath him—not sheets, nor a mattress.
His breath hitched as he sat up, taking in the nightmare that surrounded him.
"Wh-what the…" His voice cracked.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't death. The crimson skies twisted overhead, flickering with embers that never fell. Jagged, blackened trees loomed in every direction, their bark peeling like charred flesh.
"No…no, no, no. This isn't real," He whispered, eyes wide in shock. "I was...I was in the hospital. I was dying. I was—" He paused, and swallowed hard, fingers clenching around his throat. His breathing was too even, too steadied. "I can…I can breathe?"
The agony that had once defined his existence for so long was gone. When he stood, his legs shook beneath him from not bearing weight in years.
Ren froze, staring down at his new form. Instead of that white hospital gown, he wore a tattered cloak, its ashen fabric frayed at the edges.
"Where am I? What is this place?"
His voice trembled as he spun in place, trying to comprehend this newfound world. He should've been dead. He had made sure of it. The plug was pulled. And yet, here he was.
Then—
A growl, low and guttural, came from behind him, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
When Ren turned to the sound, shadows emerged from behind cover.
Glowing red eyes.
Not one, nor two. But dozens.
Wolves—or what had once been wolves. Their bodies stretched too thin, ribs protruding through matted fur. Jaws hung open too wide, lined with jagged, rotting teeth. Their eyes, burning ember-red, never blinked. The wolves weren't just in hunger. They were starving.
Ren took a slow, shaking step back.
The leading wolf lowered its head, bloodied saliva dripping from its maw.
As he turned to flee, the wolves lunged. He didn't even have time to scream before the first set of fangs sank into his shoulder with a gruesome crunch, sending him stumbling to the ground. Ren gasped in agony, hand shooting out instinctively to pull free.
But the wolf's teeth were embedded too deep.
A second jaw snapped onto his leg, shaking its head to tear at flesh. Another clamped his forearm, crunching through muscle.
"Get off—!" He pleaded, words lost in a scream as a wolf clamped onto his ribs, cracking them with sickening force. The air left his lungs in a cruel rush.
One other wrenched his left arm back, tearing it straight from the socket.
The pain surged as the pack tore into him from all sides.
Snapping bones.
Ripping muscles.
Sharp claws raking at flesh.
Searing pain flooded his senses, as hot blood spattered the ground.
"Please! Please! Get off! Get off me!"
His mind went blank as something sharp gouged into his stomach, a snout burrowing into his organs. His ribs cracked further as the wolf shook its head with pure violence. Through its bloodied teeth, Ren saw it—his own heart, still beating, still pumping blood.
'I can't! I can't…'
He choked on his own blood while being torn apart.
Then—a final snap.
A crushing bite to the skull.
Before the feast could continue, the wolves stopped.
Above, somewhere in the crimson skies, a swarm of ravens tore across in disjointed patterns. The wolves ears pricked up, sensing something. Moments later, the pack fled, following the ravens' path. Alone, Ren struggled to breathe, blood pooling beneath him.
He should have been dead for good.
Ren felt them tear him apart.
He felt death itself.
But he wasn't.
His body—broken, shredded—was regenerating, slow and painfully. Shattered bones grinded back into place. Muscles and tendons stretched over, snapping into position.
Ren clenched his teeth, gasping for air.
"Stop!" He pleaded with what was left of his face. "Please…"
But the regeneration didn't stop. At this point, it couldn't...
Ren's body was forcing itself to live—even against his own will. When it was all over, Ren laid collapsed, tears streaking down his newly structured face.
He hadn't been brought back to life.
He had been forced to live.