Chapter 258
Denial (2)
IAM and IAM were seemingly stuck in place, suspended between sky and earth, but after a moment they both realized they were still moving—agonizingly slow, yet undeniably closer.
The pressure between them grew unbearable, as though the world itself resisted their union. Every inch forward made the air ripple and hum, every action felt like pushing against existence itself.
Neither of them understood why, but they knew—deep within the marrow of their being—that this collision mattered. It wasn't instinct or logic,but something written into their souls.
As the space between their reaching hands began to shrink, the very air around that point warped and twisted, light bending unnaturally, as if the universe was straining to contain what was about to happen.
They both realized they couldn't speak—not even a thought seemed able to bridge the gap between them. All they could do was hope—hope that somehow, they would make it.
The world trembled around them, a low, thrumming quake that pulsed through the air like a drum. Every inch forward felt like tearing through invisible chains. Yet, IAM and IAM pressed on, their hand trembling and fingers stretching desperately toward one another as time itself slowed to a suffocating crawl.
When they finally came within half a meter, the resistance grew monstrous. It was as if the universe screamed against their reunion. Their gazes met—two sets of the same eyes, filled with exhaustion, longing, and a fragile spark of determination.
Ever since IAM had awakened in this strange place, he had wandered endlessly, moving from one nightmare to another, each stranger than the last.
He remembered the first trial—the black-faced creature, it was eerily familiar, as if he had crossed paths with it before in some half-forgotten memory. Then the flash of a pale figure when he struck it down, a glimpse that still haunted the edges of his mind.
He remembered the hole that endlessly dripped black liquid, forming into countless arms that piled atop one another.
And then came it—the enormous, creature that towered over him, its body a patchwork of nightmares. It was there that he had suffered the worst of it.
It had caused him to face harrowing illusions. The choking hallucinations that made time lose all meaning. He didn't know how long he had been trapped within that hellish domain—days, months, or years—but he remembered what he had done there.
The madness...
He had done many things… things that still crawled in the back of his mind.
And when it was all said and done, when the last echo of that wretched place faded behind him, IAM had climbed toward that hole—toward the unknown—and felt something changed deep within him.
A strange feeling of...
Acceptance.
He didn't understand it at first, only that it had been there all along—something that had clung to the corners of his mind like a shadow.
But as he pulled himself through that black liquid and left the darkness behind, he understood. He had accepted something—something about himself, about the endless struggle that had defined him. And in that realization came peace.
He couldn't stay in that place forever. No one could.
Eventually, everyone has to move on. And for the first time, IAM knew—it was time for him to move on too.
Then he had found himself emerging into a beautiful world — a place painted in colors too perfect to be real. The air was soft, the wind gentle as it caressed his skin. Flowers bloomed endlessly beneath the bluest sky he had ever seen.
This was the peace IAM had earned through his acceptance. The long-awaited respite after endless struggle.
But as time passed, he began to wander aimlessly in that peace. At first it soothed him, but slowly, it dulled him. The peace that once comforted him began to grow deadly. His thoughts, once filled with purpose to keep moving, now drifted without meaning. He forgot what mattered, forgot why he had moved on in the first place.
And it was from that peace—that depression was born.
Because what was peace, if not the absence of struggle?
And what was the absence of struggle, if not a slow decay of self?
After all, depression often comes not from chaos, but from calm—when the world is quiet enough to feel your problems—truly feel them—and to contemplate yourself until your idea and purpose of your existence grows weary… You start to tire of movement, of growth, of trying.
Slowly, a strange peace settles in, one you recognize yet pretend not to. It feels calm, familiar—almost safe. But deep down, you know what it is. Depression, dressed as serenity.
And so, IAM had let himself lie there within that false peace, watching as he slowly sank into self-corrosion, aware of it all yet unable—or unwilling—to stop the descent
And it's from here that he began to do what all people eventually do when they seek to justify their own decay.
He bargained.
Bargaining with himself—sacrificing fragments of who he was, one thought at a time—just to fall a little further into the abyss and call it peace.
He found reasons for every surrender.
"It's fine," he told himself. "I deserve the rest."
"Maybe this is what I need."
"Maybe I've done enough."
"I can't fight anymore."
He started to let go of things he once held tightly: his drive, his questions, his fight. Piece by piece, they slipped away under the his own twisted reasoning.
And so he bargained again, and again.
With every breath, he tried to make his own collapse seem meaningful. He dressed his surrender in words like acceptance, peace and understanding.
And finally, unable to resist, he let himself fully fall into the abyss, and it was here that he would lament and feel his regrets.
He would question everything again and again—until, beneath the illusion of peace he had once accepted, a spark of curiosity began to stir.
What was on the other side?
What waited for him beyond this?
What would he see if he could make it out of the blue?
And then came the anger.
Not towards the world. Not towards his own fate. But towards himself—towards the part of him that had surrendered so easily. The part that had watched himself sink without fighting, that had accepted the it and called it peace.
He was furious at his own actions. Furious that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as the strength of that false calm pulled him deeper into the endless blue.
But the moment he realized that anger, the very instant he allowed himself to feel it instead of hide from it—it changed. That anger became his strength.
It burned within him like something alive, urging him to rise, to fight back against the pull.
He must swim.
He had to.
At all costs.
And now, because of that struggle—because of that refusal to fall further—he found himself here, in this moment he did not yet understand.
But deep down, he already knew what it was.
IAM was facing denial.