His ex-girlfriend's mind was breaking.
The sight of the body nailed to the ceiling, the scent of blood and burnt shadow in the air, and Roman's presence — unnatural, silent, omnipresent — became too much.
Her bladder emptied as fear shattered through her like a hammer. But something deeper inside her screamed that this wouldn't stop until she ran.
Legs trembling, barely functioning, she staggered to her feet. Her muscles were numb, her vision blurry with panic. But adrenaline kicked in, pushing her forward.
She bolted toward the front door — the exit, the escape, the last hope.
But when she yanked it open—
—there was no outside.
Only another hallway. Twisting. Wrong.
A corridor that shouldn't be there.
The walls bled shadow. The light flickered like dying candles in a storm. The furniture along the walls twitched when she looked at it directly, as if caught in the middle of transforming into something alive.
This was no longer the shelter she knew.
This was his realm now.
Roman's realm.
A reflection of torment, molded by wrath.
She ran. Sprinting down the impossible hallway. Doors flickered in and out of existence. Whispers bled from the walls. Her breathing grew ragged, but she didn't stop.
Along the hallway were mirrors.
But they didn't show her.
They showed her lies.
She saw herself laughing with Roman, then sneering behind his back. She saw herself kissing his stepbrother. Her hands taking money from Roman's drawer. Her face, smiling sweetly while hiding venom.
She gasped and turned her face away—
—but in the mirror, Roman appeared behind her. Not walking. Not stalking. Standing.
Closer each time she passed another mirror.
His eyes like coals, reflecting betrayal, echoing every scar she left on his soul.
She screamed, voice shrill with desperation. "Why?! I loved you!"
The hall fell silent.
Then his voice came — from the walls, the floor, the very air.
"Love doesn't lie on its back for my brother."
It hit her like a slap.
Then the floor gave out.
She dropped into a sea of thick, black sludge. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She tried to scream, but the tar-like liquid filled her mouth. She clawed, swam, choked, flailed—
Then she saw them.
Thousands of hands.
Small, pale, rotting — childlike hands — rose from the muck. They grasped her arms, her hair, her throat. Nails dug into her skin, dragging her down.
She writhed, shrieking, but they wouldn't let go.
"You said you were afraid of getting pregnant," Roman's voice whispered, now beside her. "Now carry the weight of every lie you told."
He emerged from the blackness like a wraith — walking atop the surface as if it were stone. His red eyes illuminated her panicked, suffering face.
Then it began.
Her stomach bloated unnaturally. Swelling. Pulsing.
She gasped and screamed, but it didn't stop. Her body expanded grotesquely as if filled with something unnatural. She clawed at her own skin, blood streaming down her torso, but nothing helped.
Her belly swelled until it split — not with organs or blood, but worms.
Pale, glistening, writhing worms burst from her stomach, pouring over her body, crawling into her mouth, her eyes, her ears. She convulsed violently, gurgling her final scream.
But she didn't die.
Death would've been a release.
She stayed conscious, frozen in the moment of pain, trapped inside a cycle of agony — her body reassembling and splitting again and again as the worms feasted, retreated, and returned.
Her eyes locked on Roman's, silently begging.
"You fed me lies," he said. "Now I feed you truth. And truth burns."
He turned away, letting her sink slowly into the black mire. The hands dragged her deeper. But even as she vanished, her muffled cries echoed in the hall — a reminder of her punishment, doomed to repeat forever.
Behind Roman, the hallway began to collapse into smoke, devouring itself.
Only one remained.
The stepbrother.
He hadn't moved from the living room since the screaming stopped.
He was paralyzed.
Not by magic — by fear.
Real, primal fear. The kind that reaches into the spine and squeezes until the mind shatters.
His knees buckled, and he dropped to the blood-stained floor, the stench of smoke and death thick in the air. His hands trembled as they clutched the floorboards, nails digging into splinters.
His mouth hung open, gasping like a fish pulled from water. His eyes — once so full of arrogance — now widened with pure, helpless terror.
Roman emerged from the hallway, untouched, as if none of the carnage had reached him.
But the truth was far worse.
He had become the carnage.
He wasn't just a man returning for vengeance — not anymore. He was the answer to every cruel word. Every blow. Every wound ignored. A manifestation of suffering given will and form.
The look in his eyes… it wasn't rage.
It was clarity.
A cold understanding that he had nothing left to lose — and everything to take.
The stepbrother tried to speak, but his words came out broken.
"Please… I was a kid. We were kids! I didn't know what I was doing, I— I'm sorry! I'm sorry, man, I swear!"
His voice cracked, pleading, panicked. His mouth trembled like a child begging to be spared.
Roman tilted his head slowly, like a predator studying something already dead.
"You beat me bloody for years."
He stepped forward. Each footfall felt like thunder in the stepbrother's ears.
"You laughed while I bled."
Closer still. The room darkened, the lights dimming as if the shadows themselves bent to Roman's presence.
"You fed the monsters that ate me alive."
Now they were few distance apart from each other. Roman's shadow stretched long across the floor, swallowing his stepbrother entirely.
"Now it's your turn."
"You always thought I was weak. That I was beneath you. Something to break, to mock, to forget."
Roman steps closer, his voice low and cold — not loud, not angry, just terrifyingly calm.
You will feel the same torment I felt… only worse. Because I had no choice. No power. No escape."
He leans in, whispering directly into his stepbrother's ear.
"But you? You'll know what's coming. You'll understand it. You'll scream long before it begins."
"I begged for it to stop. I cried until my throat was raw. I prayed someone would care. No one came."
Roman's eyes glow brighter.
"Now I am the one who doesn't care."
He touches his stepbrother's forehead.
"Let me show you the meaning of true suffering."
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