Special Chapter: Requiem of the Damned.
The room was silent, its corners cloaked in shadows that danced with the faint light of the moon filtering through the curtains. Young Ren sat at the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. The house was still, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving him alone in this space that had become his prison. His breath was slow, each inhale and exhale a reminder that he was still alive, though it didn't feel like it.
This room had seen everything—his triumphs, his failures, his solitude. The walls were lined with books and papers, evidence of the mind that had always sought knowledge, understanding, and control. But tonight, they seemed nothing more than relics of a life that had grown increasingly hollow. The bed beneath him creaked slightly as he shifted, the sound loud in the oppressive quiet.
Ren had long ago discarded the idea of light and warmth. They had no place in his life, no place in the heart of a boy who had seen too much, done too much, and become something he could barely recognize. He had distanced himself from everyone—family, friends, anyone who might have reached out to him. In his mind, they were unnecessary distractions, obstacles to be avoided or removed.
But the truth was, he was lonely.
It was a loneliness that gnawed at him, a persistent ache that he could never quite shake. He had chosen this path, believing it would make him stronger, more resilient, able to face the world without fear. He had shut out the light, the love, the connections that once might have saved him. And now, as he sat alone in the darkness of his room, he could feel the weight of that choice pressing down on him.
Ren's hands were trembling slightly, though he barely noticed. The world outside was irrelevant; all that mattered was the emptiness that had taken root in his chest. The room felt colder than usual, a chill that seeped into his bones, making him shiver. But he didn't move, didn't reach for a blanket or turn on the heater. What was the point? Comfort was for the weak, for those who couldn't stand the harshness of reality.
Yet, in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered that perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he had always been wrong.
He pushed the thought away, but it lingered, like an unwelcome guest at the edge of his consciousness. It wasn't the first time doubt had crept in, but Ren had always been good at ignoring it, burying it under layers of logic and cold detachment. But tonight, it was harder to ignore. The room felt too small, too confining, as if the walls were closing in on him.
His heart was racing now, though he didn't know why. A sense of dread had settled over him, a cold, creeping fear that had no name or face. Ren had faced danger before—real, tangible threats that could be dealt with through skill or cunning. But this was different. This was something he couldn't fight, couldn't outsmart. It was inside him, growing, spreading like a poison in his veins.
He stood up abruptly, the sudden movement making his vision blur for a moment. He felt dizzy, disoriented, as if the ground beneath him was shifting. His hands were clammy, his breathing uneven. Ren tried to steady himself, gripping the edge of the desk, but the feeling didn't pass. If anything, it intensified, a deep, gnawing anxiety that clawed at his insides.
His eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—that might explain what was happening. But there was nothing. The room was the same as it had always been, filled with the familiar objects of his life. But they felt alien now, as if he were seeing them for the first time, or perhaps the last.
He sat back down on the bed, his mind racing. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be in control, always. That was what he had built his life around—control, power, the ability to shape the world to his will. But now, in this moment, all of that felt like a lie. He was powerless, adrift in a sea of his own making.
Ren's thoughts turned inward, to the choices he had made, the people he had pushed away, the light he had snuffed out. He had always believed that he was better off alone, that relying on others was a weakness. But now, in the silence of his room, with the weight of his decisions pressing down on him, he wasn't so sure.
"I thought I could outrun it—the darkness, the loneliness, the emptiness.
I pushed everyone away, convinced that I didn't need them, that I was better off alone. I threw away the light because I believed it would only make me weak.
But now, as I sit here in the silence, I see the truth. The light wasn't weakness; it was the only thing keeping me from this abyss. I was too blind, too proud to see it. I thought I could control everything, that I could bend life to my will. But all I did was build my own prison, brick by brick, choice by choice. And now, the walls are closing in, and there's no escape.
I'm not the master of my fate—I'm its prisoner. I've become everything I feared—a hollow shell, a boy who was too scared to let anyone in, too scared to admit that I needed them. And now it's too late.
There's no one left. No one to save me from the darkness that I invited into my life. I thought I could face it alone, but all I've done is ensure that I die alone. I've lost. I've lost everything."
He tried to shake off the thought, but it clung to him like a shadow, refusing to let go. It wasn't the first time doubt had crept in, but Ren had always been good at suppressing it, burying it under layers of logic and cold detachment. But tonight, it was different. The room seemed to be suffocating him, the walls pressing in with a weight that was too heavy to bear.
He had hurt people—some intentionally, others not. He had lied, manipulated, used those around him to achieve his own ends. In his quest for power, he had become cold, distant, a shadow of the boy he had once been. And for what? To sit here, alone in the dark, with nothing but his own thoughts for company?
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound harsh and grating in the quiet. It was ironic, really. He had spent so much time building walls around himself, shutting out the world, and now those walls had become his tomb. He had chosen this path, and now he would die by it.
Ren felt a sharp pain in his chest, sudden and intense. He gasped, clutching at his shirt, his breath coming in ragged gulps. The room seemed to tilt, the shadows deepening, closing in around him. His heart was pounding, each beat a painful reminder of his mortality. He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't obey him. The pain was overwhelming now, a crushing force that left him paralyzed.
He fell back onto the bed, his vision blurring. Panic surged through him, a desperate, animal fear that he had never felt before. He didn't want to die—not like this, not alone, not in this empty room that had become his entire world. He had always imagined he would die on his own terms, in a way that meant something. But this… this was meaningless.
As the pain intensified, Ren's mind began to fracture, his thoughts spiraling into chaos. He thought of his parents, the distant figures who had tried to guide him, to pull him back from the brink. He had ignored them, had chosen his own path, believing he knew better. But now, in these final moments, he realized how wrong he had been.
He thought of his grandmother, the one person who had truly cared for him, who had tried to bring light into his life. She had seen the darkness growing in him, had tried to stop it, but he had pushed her away. He had watched her die, alone and forgotten, just as he would now.
Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision further. He had always prided himself on his strength, his ability to remain detached, unemotional. But now, as death crept closer, he couldn't stop the flood of emotions that washed over him. Regret, sorrow, fear—they all mingled together, a chaotic storm that left him trembling.
He wanted to cry out, to call for someone, anyone, to be with him in these final moments. But there was no one. He had pushed them all away, had built his life on a foundation of isolation and control. And now, in the end, that foundation was crumbling beneath him.
Ren's breath came in short, shallow gasps, each one more painful than the last. The world around him was fading, the darkness closing in, suffocating him. He could feel his heart slowing, each beat a struggle, each breath a battle. And he knew, with a cold, unyielding certainty, that this was the end.
In his final moments, Ren's thoughts turned inward, to the light he had pushed away, the connections he had severed. He had believed that he didn't need them, that he was stronger without them. But now, as he lay dying, he understood the truth. He had been wrong—terribly, irrevocably wrong.
The light he had rejected was life itself, the warmth and love that made existence bearable. And without it, he had been dead long before this moment. He had chosen the darkness, had embraced it, believing it would make him invincible. But in the end, it had only left him empty, alone, and dying in the cold silence of his room.
A single tear slipped down his cheek as his breath hitched, his body convulsing one last time. The pain was gone now, replaced by a numbness that spread through him, a cold that seeped into his very soul. His vision dimmed, the world fading to black, and Ren knew that there was no escape, no second chance.
As his life slipped away, Ren's final thought was a bitter acknowledgment of the truth he had denied for so long. He had pushed away the light, had chosen the darkness—and now, in the end, it was the darkness that claimed him.
Young Ren, the boy who had rejected the warmth of the world, died alone in his room, a silent victim of the choices he had made. The light outside continued to shine, indifferent to the fate of the boy who had turned his back on it. And in the darkness of that small room, Ren's story came to its quiet, lonely end.