"Is this all it takes to break you?"
Grey froze, his ragged breathing stalling. Slowly, he lifted his head, and there he was.
The man stood before him—a grotesque and terrifying figure that seemed to pull the air from the room. His hair was divided down the middle: one half as white as untouched snow, the other an inky blackness that absorbed the light. One eye burned gold, radiant and divine, while the other was a void of darkness, infinite and consuming.
But it was his body that churned Grey's stomach. One half was immaculate, godlike in its perfection, with smooth skin that glowed faintly. The other half was decayed and rotting, worms and insects writhing within open wounds, burrowing deeper into the flesh. The buzzing of their tiny wings and the squelching of their feeding filled the silence.
Grey's stomach lurched. His chest heaved as bile rose in his throat, but all he could do was stare.
"Look at me," the man said, his voice calm and expressionless.
There was no taunt, no mockery—just a command.
Grey's gaze locked onto him, and the madness surged. It was unbearable, an all-encompassing pressure that clawed at his sanity. His mind splintered further with every second he remained in the man's presence, but he couldn't look away.
"You've become weak," the man said, tilting his head slightly. "Is it because of your new body? Or is this all you were ever capable of?"
The words hit harder than any blade, cutting deep into Grey's already fractured mind.
"Stop," Grey croaked, his voice barely audible. "Please, stop..."
The man's expression remained unchanged, his mismatched eyes boring into Grey. "Madness has been with us since birth. It is not a curse. It is a companion."
Grey's trembling fingers clawed at the ground as his vision blurred with tears.
"To die because of it," the man continued, his voice unwavering, "would be shameful."
The grotesque figure stepped closer, its mismatched eyes boring into Grey's soul. Without warning, the man lifted his decayed hand—a mass of rotting flesh and writhing worms that barely resembled a human appendage.
Grey flinched as the hand came closer, the air around it thick with decay. The man's finger—or what remained of it—pressed against Grey's forehead. The sensation was cold and damp, like death itself brushing against his skin.
"Accept it," the man said again, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "The madness."
Grey's jaw tightened, his body rigid. "Why would I accept something that destroys?"
The man leaned in, his grotesque face mere inches away, the stench of rot overwhelming. "Because it doesn't just destroy—it rebuilds. It frees. You think you're strong because you can resist it? No. Strength is in surrendering and owning it."
"Madness makes men beasts."
"Beasts rule the wild," the man continue, his grin splitting his ruined face. "Men like you, with all your chains and control—you fear what you could become. But deep down, you know... the madness is you."
Grey's eyelids fluttered shut as the touch sent a jolt of unnatural energy coursing through him. The voices in his head—screams, sobs, whispers—began to recede, their deafening cacophony fading into the background. The cries of men and children, the wails of the dying, all dulled to a low hum, as if muted by an unseen force.
But the memories surged instead. Faces flickered before his mind's eye, each one more vivid than the last. His father's stern gaze, his brother's tear-streaked face begging for mercy, and her—her—the one whose face haunted him most of all.
Grey's eyelids trembled as her image lingered. Her laughter, her warmth, the way she looked at him with trust and love—all of it twisted into the memory of her death. He saw her again, impaled by his own blade, her blood staining his hands.
The voices began to rise again, clawing at the edges of his mind.
But Grey didn't open his eyes.
Instead, he exhaled deeply, a long, shuddering breath that carried the weight of countless regrets. He let the madness wash over him, let the memories tear into his soul, let the pain sink deep into his bones. And then... he buried it all.
The memories no longer haunted him—they became a part of him, woven into the fabric of his being. They were not his tormentors anymore. They were his chains, and he accepted them.
A low chuckle escaped Grey's lips, rough and broken, like a crack in a dam, barely contained. It grew louder, morphing into a manic, unhinged laugh that echoed through the void. Each jagged sound twisted the air, reverberating against unseen walls. The laugh, raw and guttural, cracked through the silence, sending tremors into the emptiness around him.
Tss-tss-tss… The sound of breathless, desperate laughter, followed by a sharp, strangled sob.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and endless, like rivers carving paths down a barren landscape. Yet, through it all, Grey didn't stop laughing. The sound—deep, savage, a primal release—filled the air, dissonant and cruel.
The tears dried slowly, leaving streaks on his cheeks, but the laughter never ceased. It became more erratic, a visceral, guttural noise that reverberated in his chest. Hhahhahhh—! His throat trembled with the force of it, but it was no longer laughter—it was something darker, something... uncontrollable.
Crack! His chest echoed with the sharp sound of breaking sanity, the tremor of something snapping within him.
The man before him—if he could still be called a man—took a step back, his hand falling to his side. His expressionless face remained a mask of indifference, watching Grey's transformation with no hint of satisfaction, approval, or pity. His gaze was cold, like a distant observer rather than an active participant.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Then, the figure began to dissolve, his form dissipating into the shadows as if he had never existed in the first place. Ffft... ffft... The sound of fabric tearing and fading into nothingness, his essence leaving no trace behind.
Grey's laughter faltered for an instant, but then, just as quickly, it surged again—louder, more intense.
The darkness around him began to recede, peeling away like smoke caught in a breeze, swirling and fading into nothing. The oppressive void, which had seemed so endless, now seemed to wither in the presence of something far more powerful. Something new.
Grey's eyes snapped open, and the world slammed into him. His body convulsed violently as searing heat erupted from within, ripping through him like molten lava. His skin bubbled and melted, chunks of flesh sloughing off as the unbearable agony consumed him.
"Ah...!" Grey gasped, his voice breaking into a strangled cry. He clutched at his neck, his fingers digging into his skin as if trying to tear away the source of the torment.
The pain intensified, centering on the side of his neck. A sharp, stabbing sensation carved into him, each motion deliberate and excruciating. His veins felt like they were on fire, every pulse radiating with unbearable heat.
Then it appeared—a glowing rune, shaped like a flame, burning itself into his flesh. The symbol pulsed with a fiery light, each beat searing its mark deeper into his being.
Grey collapsed onto the ground, his body trembling violently. The flames danced along the edges of the rune, flickering like a living thing. His vision blurred, black spots consuming the edges of his sight, but even through the haze of agony, one thought persisted.
He was still alive.
The laughter returned, weak and raspy but unmistakable. A cruel, broken smile twisted his lips as he lay there, his body a ruined vessel of pain and madness.
But his eyes burned with something else—something darker.