Drip! Drip!
The sound of dripping water coupled with the laborious breathing of a teenage boy strapped to a metallic chair resonated in a dimly lit cave.
As the air hung heavy with moisture, a pervasive scent wafted through the space, a combination of iron-laden blood and the acrid tang of sulfur emanating from the rugged rocks that surrounded them.
The boy's body was covered with dark, dry blood. His head hung down lifelessly. Even when a loud noise came from the door, he remained in his position.
"Hey, kid. Good afternoon! It's time for your daily section," a voice from the entrance of the cave made the boy slowly raise his head.
Dried blood ran down his face and his dark eyes looked unfocused and dull.
A sudden bright light from the entrance made him squint.
"It's going to be quite snappy," the man said, his voice laced with an unsettling tone as an eerie smile crept across his lips. With deliberate movements, he reached into his bag, retrieving a black crystal that seemed to exude an air of mystique.
Carefully, he positioned the crystal on the back slot of the chair, its shape fitting seamlessly into the designated slot.
Aaahhh–!
A sharp, piercing scream of anguish and agony reverberated through the dimly lit room, its echoing cries filling every corner.
The boy's once dull eyes transformed into a bloodshot abyss as if consumed by an otherworldly force.
Veins protruded from his skin, pulsating with a dark, ominous glow.
As the mysterious black substance coursed through his veins, the pressure became unbearable, causing some vessels to rupture. A ghastly eruption followed as a mixture of red and black blood spewed forth from the torn openings.
The relentless screams continued unabated, seemingly without end. Meanwhile, the black crystal, positioned within the slot on the back of the chair, began to contract, slowly diminishing until it vanished entirely.
Undeterred, the imposing figure overseeing the unsettling proceedings proceeded to repeat the process, placing more black crystal onto the chair's back; he had nine more to go.
As the final crystal took its place, the man let out a chilling whistle, indicating a dark satisfaction. He then reached for an abnormally thick syringe, resembling the size of a robust arm, and commenced extracting the boy's blood.
Each prick of the thick needle provoked another round of agonizing screams, echoing through the chamber.
Methodically, the man filled ten syringes with the boy's precious blood which looked darker than normal.
With a final glance towards the suffering boy, he departed, sealing the metallic door behind him. The cave fell into an uneasy silence, disturbed only by the boy's whimpering and labored breaths.
—
Dion stared at the floor, his blood and sweat mixed with tears trickled down the floor. The water dripping from the back of the cave accompanied his whimpering and sniffing.
He didn't know how long he had been screaming, but he couldn't wait for the night. The night is the release from this dreadful and hellish nightmare. Yes, it was a nightmare.
The past of how he arrived here made him feel surreal and confused.
On his eighteenth birthday, Dion slept in his room and woke up in an ancient place. He thought it was a regular dream but everything felt too real, from the feeling of touch to his senses of smell. Everything was as real as it can be.
It was merely a nice dream until Dion discovered that he could not return to Earth naturally. He could only return to Earth when he sleeps during the night in the dream world.
But Dion still didn't take it seriously. The dream world was a magical place with power and magic, so the first thought was to explore the place. He thought that he would wake up if he received a sudden shock from anything painful or dreadful, just like waking up from a nightmare.
However, one month after wandering the dream world every night he slept, his mentality of 'dream and realism' changed. And he learned it the hard way.
Dion was captured one month after staying in the dream world by one set of individuals. Something that made him regret his previous naivety.
They took him to an unknown cave prison — his current location — and infused a black crystal into his body by placing it on the slot of a chair.
Something aggressive that made him wish for death flows through his veins, popping and rupturing some vessels in the process.
Every time the black substance from the black crystal flowed into his body, he felt his body changing. But before he could think of what changed, the pain would cloud his senses. After that, his jailer would put him through another heart-wrenching process by using a big syringe to draw his blood.
That was another agonizing process because Dion felt that not only his blood was drawn. Something he felt but didn't know left with his blood. That made the process feel terrible.
When it's night and Dion sleeps, he gets a temporary release from hell. He would wake up on Earth. But if he sleeps at night on Earth, he would return to hell.
Now, just the word sleep scares him. His cravings for sleep turned to horror. Dream? That's the last word he wants to hear. The last thing he wants to experience.
He tried to sleep during the day to avoid night sleep. It worked for a while but after a week, it stopped working — sleeping at night became an inevitability. Sleep haunted him like an immortal ghost that travels in the night. Visiting hell became a regularity for two weeks. Two weeks that nearly drove him towards committing suicide.
"I-If I escape here I will, no I must try my best to gain power. A power that will make me untouchable. It should be possible in Aeon, r-right? Aeon is a supernatural world," Dion mumbled with his dull eyes fixated on the rough floor.
His vision becomes blurry. Relief was coming. Dion's eyes slowly shut, accepting the embracing sleep.
***
Dion's eyelids snapped open, his breath escaping in a deep exhale as he awakened from the clutches of the nightmare. For now, the haunting visions had relinquished their grip on his mind.
Taking in his surroundings, Dion surveyed his familiar room, a sanctuary of sorts amidst the chaos of his life. Unfinished coffee sat idly on the table, alongside various wrappers of chocolate bars containing wakefulness-promoting agents that helped him combat sleep. Medication bottles cluttered the surface, serving as a constant reminder of his reliance on them. Clothes lay scattered about, contributing to the disarray that permeated the air. A strange odor began to permeate the room, adding another layer of peculiarity to his morning.
Despite the mess, his room provided a peculiar solace, a refuge from the nightmarish and disturbingly realistic dreams that plagued him.
With a groggy determination, Dion rose from his bed and embarked on the task of tidying up, his movements slow but steady, his dark eyes filled with contemplation.
'What is reality? What is a dream? What if this life on Earth is a dream of myself sleeping in another place? What's real? What's fake? Real because we have feelings and senses or real because we spend more time here than in the dream world?'
As he organized his surroundings, thoughts swirled through his mind.
Making his way to the bathroom, Dion prepared to bathe but caught a glimpse of his reflection in the wall mirror. His long, jet-black hair cascaded messily across his face, accentuating his lifeless, black eyes that bore the weight of dark circles beneath them. His muscular physique spoke of the physical labor he usually endured, yet his disheveled appearance detracted from any potential attractiveness he might possess.
Right now, he looks like a mess.
"I really need help," Dion mumbled to himself.