The author narrates.
On the way, Vikram enjoyed himself more than he expected. The car Bi had offered him wasn't new, nor comfortable, but with the engine running and the windows open, the breeze caressed his face like an unexpected gentle touch. For a moment, he felt free. As if the air could cleanse the fear he carried within.
But the phrase crept back into his mind.
"You have until sunset."
Bi's voice, with that ambiguous tone somewhere between mockery and warning, made him grip the steering wheel. He was nervous. Annoyed. Bi hadn't told him exactly what awaited him. He'd only given him a location, a clue that made almost no sense, and a warning. And that infuriated him. Because he had a suspicion. One he didn't want to confirm.
"¿Another Executioner?"
The idea horrified him. Not because of the danger. But because of what he had felt that night. That mixture of pain and pleasure that had left him trembling. That had scarred him. Every time he remembered it, his stomach churned. Not from the suffering, but from what he had unwittingly enjoyed.
A few minutes later, he arrived. He parked the car in front of the building that indicated the location. It was tall, gray, with a facade that looked abandoned but too clean to be so. Fog surrounded everything, as if the place were breathing in silence.
Vikram looked around. The surroundings were quiet. Too quiet. And that building in front of him gave him chills. Not because of what he saw, but because of what he couldn't see.
He took out his cell phone. He opened YouTube. He planned to keep recording. He wanted his followers to see him. To know he was there. That he was the protagonist of something bigger.
"I have to gain more followers… I need to be seen, more fame," he thought, as he pressed the live stream icon.
The camera activated. He moved the device away from his face, preparing to speak. The air was still thick. The building seemed to be watching him. And the live stream was already underway.
After getting ready, Vikram focused the camera on his face. The smile he displayed was forced, painstakingly constructed, like a mask that didn't quite fit. He didn't want to show weakness. Only courage. Or at least, something resembling it.
Vikram: Hello everyone, welcome—he said, his voice firm, though the trembling in his fingers betrayed him.
In a matter of seconds, the stream was flooded with views. Comments poured in, like a digital rain that enveloped him.
—"BROOO!!! You're still alive!?"
—"Vikram! HE'S ALIVE!"
—"I thought you were dead."
Vikram laughed at some of the comments. The laughter was brief, almost automatic. But then he saw one that made him frown:
—"There's a new girl here. Who is she?"
And as if that comment had ignited a collective spark, the others began to echo it. Questions, speculations, theories. Who was the girl they had seen? Why had she taken the phone? What had happened next?
Another comment appeared, more direct:
"A girl appeared, took your phone, and then the live stream cut out."
Vikram kept smiling. But inside, he was furious. He remembered that moment perfectly. Bi, taking his phone without permission, interrupting the broadcast. She had done it without asking, without explaining. As if the device also belonged to her.
But at the same time… he was grateful. Because if his followers had heard what happened next, if they had witnessed the act, the ritual, the intersection of pain and pleasure… there would be no way to explain it. Not without losing a part of himself.
Vikram: Of course I'm still alive! Did you think this place could kill me? "You're wrong," he said, still smiling, with a half-feigned enthusiasm, as if trying to convince them… or convince himself.
The camera kept rolling. The comments kept coming. And the building across from him watched in silence.
Vikram focused the camera on his face, trying to maintain his smile. It was weak, nervous, but enough to fool those who didn't know him well.
Vikram: "And the girl that many of you saw… she's a friend I ran into here," he said, scratching the back of his head, as if the gesture could distract from his discomfort.
The comments soon followed:
"Are there other people there?"
"Wow, I just saw her and I'm already in love. What's her name?"
"Is this place safe?"
That last one shook him. As if someone had touched a raw nerve.
Vikram: "No! This place isn't safe!" —she answered immediately, her voice louder than she intended.
The expression on her face changed. Fear crept in uninvited. Nervousness. Vulnerability. And the audience noticed.
—"Wow… you look scared 😶"
—"Are you scared 🤨?"
—"Thanks. At least you're here as the test subject 😆"
That last comment hurt him more than he cared to admit. Because it was true. He was the one putting himself at risk. The one suffering. The one facing the unknown while everyone else watched from the comfort of their screens.
But he didn't let it out. That anger, that frustration, he locked away deep inside. It wasn't the time to explode. Not in front of them.
He smiled again. Firmer this time. More fake, too.
Vikram: I'm not afraid… I'm just worried about my followers. I'll show you a little bit of everything as I go inside this building.
The camera kept rolling. The comments kept coming. And the silent building waited for him.
When Vikram finally entered the building, he was surprised. The place didn't look bad at all. Everything was clean: the floor gleamed as if it had just been polished, the walls were white, without cracks or stains, and the ceiling lights shone with a uniform intensity, without flickering or blinking. It was… too perfect.
Vikram: It looks much worse from the outside… —he muttered, his tone suspicious.
Comments began appearing on the live stream:
—"The place seems very safe 😌"
—"I thought I'd see blood or some horrible place today. What is this? 🤨"
—"You have first-aid kits, to treat yourself if you get hurt 😆 hahaha"
Vikram saw them, but didn't reply. The silence of the place was absolute. There was no echo, no electrical hum, not even the sound of his own footsteps. And that wasn't a good sign.
"Why is everything so quiet?" He thought, as the air grew thicker, as if the building were holding its breath.
He continued walking in a straight line. He tried opening a few doors on either side, at random. They were all closed. No handles. No markings. As if they weren't doors at all, but imitations.
"Is this the right place?" he thought, feeling doubt creep down his spine.
At the end of the corridor, a marble door awaited him. It was imposing, with a decorative Chinese design carved in relief: intertwined dragons, clouds, and a central figure that resembled a closed eye. The door had no lock. Only a bronze handle, cold to the touch.
Vikram stopped in front of it. He hesitated. The camera was still recording, but he was no longer thinking about the followers. Only about what might be on the other side.
He grasped the handle. He didn't turn it. He just held it, staring at the door for a few more seconds.
The air shifted. A faint scent of incense began to waft through the air, as if someone had lit it in another room. And on the floor, right in front of the door, a red line appeared. Not painted. Not drawn. It was light. As if the building itself were marking the threshold.
Vikram swallowed. The silence persisted. The door didn't move. But something behind it… did.
And what he thought would be a few seconds lasted minutes. Vikram stood before the door, motionless, his hand on the handle, trapped in a mental image he himself had constructed: something was emerging from the other side, something dark, something that devoured him. But nothing happened. Only a dry sound, a soft knock. Someone touched the door from the inside.
He blinked twice, startled by the noise. The door still looked normal. No cracks. No movement. As if the knock had been an illusion.
He didn't want to waste any more time. He paid no attention to the sound or whatever had caused it. Without thinking, he turned the handle and opened the door.
And what he saw left him speechless.
Before him stretched an enormous swimming pool, the kind you only see in five-star hotels or celebrity mansions. The water was crystal clear, with a light turquoise hue that reflected the warm lights on the ceiling. On either side, marble columns supported a circular structure, decorated with white curtains that moved gently in the breeze. The floor was polished stone, with gold details inlaid in geometric patterns. In one corner, a table with folded towels, aromatic oils, and a glass of wine that looked freshly poured.
The air smelled of lavender and eucalyptus. The temperature was perfect. And the silence… it was no longer unsettling. It was welcoming.
Vikram looked at the screen. The comments kept appearing:
—"HOLY SHIT! A LUXURIOUS POOL!"
—"Vikram, I want some water! 🥲✨!!"
He smiled. Finally, he could take a bath. Finally, something that didn't hurt. Something that didn't test him.
A tear rolled down his cheek. Not from sadness. From relief.
Vikram: Thanks, Bi… I thought it would be a horrible place —he whispered, imagining the hug he would give her if she were in front of him. He thought it would be another place where an Executioner would be waiting for him. But no. This time, it was different.
He approached the edge of the pool, placed his phone on a nearby table, and addressed his followers:
Vikram: Well, my dear followers, I'm going to have a really nice bath. I apologize for having to turn off the live stream, I really need to.
The comments section was filled with protests, emojis, and some girls insisting he leave it on. They wanted to see him naked. They wanted more.
But Vikram smiled, shook his head, and cut the transmission.
The water awaited him. And for the first time in a long time… he wasn't afraid.
Vikram, with an almost childlike haste, began to undress. First came his jacket, then his shirt, his shoes, his trousers, and finally the boxer shorts that covered him. His body, marked by exhaustion and the memory of difficult nights, was freed layer by layer, as if each garment were a memory he no longer wanted to carry.
He was so excited that he skipped, like a child who has just discovered that the world still has something good to offer. He took a few steps back, with the clear intention of diving in. And he did. He ran with energy and plunged into the water.
The water received him like an embrace. Not like any ordinary liquid, but like an entity that enveloped him, recognized him, accepted him. Vikram's body sank and then emerged, as if the baptism were part of the ritual.
Vikram: Thank you! Hahaha! "—he shouted, splashing water with his hands, his face, shoulders, and chest.
He spun around, floating, laughing. He felt happy. So happy. His body relaxed. The tension dissolved. For the first time in a long time, there was no pain. No evidence. Only water, silence, and a feeling of gratitude.
He climbed out of the pool, his hair wet and his eyes shining. He went to the table, took a glass of wine, emptied it in seconds, and set the glass aside. It wasn't enough. He took the whole bottle and began to drink straight from it.
Vikram: Yes… that's it~ —he murmured, with a lopsided smile, feeling the warmth of the alcohol mix with the coolness of the water on his skin.
A few minutes passed. The wine was taking effect, but Vikram could still stand. He lay back in a corner of the pool, his back against the warm marble, his arms outstretched, the empty bottle beside him.
The ceiling was adorned with soft lights, like artificial stars. The air smelled of lavender. Everything seemed perfect.
But the clock kept ticking.
And sunset… was already near.
Vikram lay in the corner of the pool, his body relaxed, his mind drifting among memories. He smiled, thinking of something foolish he'd done long ago—something pointless, something that had once made him laugh until he cried. But the smile slowly faded. He stared at the empty pool. The water was still perfect, but he wasn't. He admitted he felt alone. Luxury was fun, yes, but there was no real fun. Not without someone else. Not without purpose.
And then, BLAM!
A crash shook the place. The sound was sharp, brutal, as if the building had been struck in the heart. The marble door was destroyed. Not opened. Not pushed. Destroyed. Something—or someone—had smashed through it with inhuman force.
Vikram turned slowly, as if the noise hadn't affected him. Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was denial. His voice came out slurred, with that clumsy tone of someone who's drunk but still wants to appear in control.
"Don't you know how to play?!" Vikram said, his tongue barely articulate, as if he were joking with a friend who'd arrived late to a party.
Dust filled the air. A thick, gray cloud covered the entrance like a curtain. But behind it… a silhouette.
Vikram squinted, focusing. The dust began to settle. And what he saw froze him.
Another Executioner.
He wasn't the same. This one was different. Brown skin, marked by scars that looked like war maps. A bare, muscular torso, with symbols etched into his skin like ritual tattoos. In his hand, an enormous weapon—not a sword, not an axe, something hybrid, something that seemed designed to cause pain rather than death.
Vikram couldn't move. His eyes widened. His body, which had been floating in pleasure, now bristled with fear. The wine no longer protected him. The memory of the previous night returned like a slap in the face.
The screams.
The gasps.
The moans.
The pain mingled with something he refused to acknowledge.
And now, another Executioner.
Another ritual.
Another sunset.
___________________________________
God bless you, Vikram 🥹!
Hahaha nooo 🤣 ANOTHER EXECUTIONER, ANOTHER RITUAL IS ON THE WAY!
And she's barely finished with one fuck before she's with another. AAAAHHHH 🫠🗯️