In a small town near the outskirts of the country, exactly in a school, children of all ages were receiving classes.
The teacher at the podium was hoping her students would show some respect and listen carefully without interrupting her.
However, as always, some students were not paying attention, laughing, or talking to their classmates.
In this case, a boy who stood out due to his unusual height wherever he walked was looking out of the window, his gaze fixed on the sky that hung overhead, muttering to himself, barely audible over the drone of the teacher's voice.
Without warning, he suddenly began to dig his nails into the hardwood of his desk, causing an irritating screeching noise that echoed throughout the classroom. The other students turned to look at him in surprise, but the boy appeared oblivious to their stares, lost in his own world.
As he continued to scratch at the desk, his fingertips and nails began to bleed, oozing out pale and slimy blood that looked sickly and rotten.
The crimson liquid was a sickly shade of red, with dried pieces of blood crusting over the surface.
The sight was disturbing. Many of the other students quickly turned away, repulsed by the gruesome display.
Despite the discomfort and disgust of those around him, the boy continued to scratch away, seemingly unable to stop himself from inflicting pain upon his own body.
It was a disturbing and unsettling scene, one that left a lasting impression on those who witnessed it.
His name was Darcell Bardon, better known as Darcy, and he was having an existential crisis.
Where to start?
Maybe by the fact that not long ago, he starts having the weirdest dreams, not like the ones teens normally have, such as dreaming about their crush, winning the lottery, fucking their dog or something like that, but something more bizarre.
In his dreams, he is all alone, trapped in a suffocating darkness that seems to be closing in on him. The air is thick with the stench of decay, and he can hear the sound of bones crunching underfoot.
The surrounding creatures are grotesque and twisted, their bodies covered in gore and viscera, and their faces are twisted in agony, their eyes blank and lifeless or with razor-sharp claws and teeth dripping with blood.
And how he could forget the people that were more flesh and bones than humans, all covered by blood and a gloomy aura, as if the ghost of them was still there, tormenting themselves for the reason for their death and crying for those who would follow.
When Darcy woke up, he was drenched in a clammy sweat that chilled him to the bone. The piercing screams of the people he had heard in his nightmares still echoed in his ears, as if they were resounding in the real world.
The memory of the dream threatened to engulf him, pulling him down into a pit of despair and hopelessness, where he could lose himself among the bones of the dead and the ruins of the place.
The fear overwhelming him as he struggled to shake off the nightmare's grip and ground himself in reality.
He tried to ignore his dreams, but that was just impossible, because something inside Darcy was telling him that these dreams were not just random, meaningless creations of his mind.
They felt too vivid, too detailed, too real.
But why was he having them? What was he expected to do with them? These were questions that kept him up at night, that distracted him during classes, and that made him feel like he was going crazy.
He tried talking to his mother about it, but she dismissed it as just a phase, something he would eventually grow out of. His friends just laughed it off, thinking he was just trying to be edgy or seeking attention.
Darcy felt like a five-year-old child, but he knew deep down that there was something more to these dreams. He couldn't shake off the feeling that they were somehow connected to the strange occurrences happening in his town and the world in general.
And like that, Darcy's appearance began to resemble that of a corpse, his previously sun-kissed skin now pallid and lifeless. His eyes were bloodshot, his dark circles had deepened, and his temperament had become like that of an elderly man at a child's party.
Nothing good, and the feeling of desperation that had gripped him since the weeks before had only grown stronger, and now, in the middle of a class, he was having a fucking crisis.
His mind raced with the fear that something terrible was about to happen.
Like an instinct.
As the seconds and minutes ticked by, Darcy's breathing became increasingly erratic, and his pounding headache intensified.
The other students in the class began to notice his distress, and some exchanged worried glances. Darcy's body shook with a sense of impending doom, and he struggled to stay focused on the lesson being taught.
The feeling of helplessness was suffocating, and he longed for some sort of reprieve from the overwhelming sense of dread that had taken hold of him.
"Can someone give me a summary or explain what happened in chapters 13-15 of the book?" Darcy's attention was abruptly brought back to reality by the loud voice of his teacher. He looked around and realized that some of his classmates had been giving him strange looks, likely noticing his distress.
However, his thoughts were quickly interrupted by a sudden commotion in the classroom as a large, ugly bird crashed into the window, causing everyone to turn and stare.
For a moment, the class was in a state of confusion and shock as they watched the bird struggle to stand up. The teacher hurried over to the window, attempting to help the bird, but was interrupted by screams that were heard all over the classroom.
This made everyone alert, wondering what was happening, until the head of a girl fell and started rolling on the ground, painting the white floor with a red color like a rose.
Darcy's headache pounded like a sledgehammer against his skull, and his body felt like it was being crushed by an invisible weight.
He struggled to focus on his surroundings, but his classmates and teacher were a blur as they sprinted towards the exit, desperate to escape the screams of terror echoing through the halls.
Darcy tried to push himself up, but the pain only intensified, causing him to fall back to the ground.
As he lifted his head, he found himself face to face with a monstrosity that defied all logic and reason.
The creature loomed outside the window, towering over him with bulging muscles and skin as black as coal. Its eyes were the color of fresh blood, and as they bore into Darcy's soul, he felt a surge of fear wash over him and how his throat dried up, making it impossible for him to even swallow, sending him a chill from head to toe.
He could sense the creature evaluating him, weighing his worth as a potential threat. Despite the terror gripping him, Darcy couldn't help but wonder what the monster was thinking or even if the monster would think.
But his thoughts were cut short as the world around him twisted and warped, the crimson-soaked scenery fading to blackness. The last thing Darcy saw was the monster's massive hand reaching towards him.
The pain start disappearing, the darkness consuming not only his mind but also his body, as he hurtled down a roller coaster of unseen forces that rattled his core.
He was now unconscious.
…
As Darcy regained consciousness, he realized that he was no longer in his classroom. Instead, he found himself in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an unfamiliar place.
Confusion and panic swept through him as he looked down and noticed that he was completely naked.
To make matters worse, he felt strange. His body had shrunk and felt different, as if he were a child again.
Darcy quickly took stock of his body and was shocked to realize that he now had the body of a 14-year-old.
"What the hell?"