"What is happening?"
Issac struggled to process his surroundings, or rather, the lack of them. His consciousness seemed to drift in an endless expanse of pitch darkness, a void without beginning or end. He couldn't see, touch, or even feel his own body, yet he was acutely aware of his existence. The cold around him was peculiar—not the biting, stinging kind that brought discomfort, but a soothing chill that wrapped around him like a protective blanket.
Despite the overwhelming darkness, panic didn't overtake him. Instead, a strange calm washed over him, steady and unyielding.
"What is this place?" he murmured, his voice vanishing into the emptiness.
No one answered. There was no one here. Not Mia, who had been sobbing inconsolably over her boyfriend's death just moments before. Not the creaking stairs he'd climbed, their sound still vivid in his mind. Nothing. It was as though the universe had folded in on itself, leaving only him in a vast, silent abyss.
He took a tentative step forward, though he wasn't sure if he was truly moving. The void gave no indication of distance, space, or direction. Each step felt weightless, like gliding over air.
"..."
Time became meaningless as Issac wandered through the endless black. Hours might have passed, though he couldn't be sure. His steps were aimless, yet his mind remained surprisingly still, the oppressive silence somehow soothing.
"How long am I supposed to wander in this place?" he wondered aloud.
By now, he felt certain at least a day had passed, though he had no tangible way to measure it. The unease began to creep in slowly, like a distant storm cloud darkening the horizon of his mind. The initial sense of calm he'd felt upon arriving in this place was fading, replaced by a faint undercurrent of anxiety.
"I wonder if Mia is okay..." he muttered, his thoughts turning to the chaos he'd left behind. "I don't even know what happened to me. Where the hell am I?"
His steps became more purposeful, though they still led him nowhere. The monotony of the void began to wear on him, and his mind, once steady, started to fray. The comforting cold now felt invasive, crawling over him like frost spreading across a windowpane.
"Hey! Is somebody here?" he shouted into the void, his voice echoing faintly before being swallowed by the darkness.
Nothing.
"Can anybody hear me?!"
The silence pressed against him like a physical weight. Issac's calm demeanor cracked further, giving way to desperation. Anxiety dug its claws into his mind, feeding on his isolation.
"Anybody! Anybody? Answer me!" he bellowed, his voice breaking as he stumbled forward.
Though Issac was known for his composure in the most stressful situations, this was beyond anything he had ever faced. He wasn't just alone—he was utterly disconnected, severed from every sensory anchor that tethered him to reality. He couldn't see, hear, or feel. He wasn't even sure if he was truly walking or if his mind was conjuring the sensation.
"Where the fuck is everyone?" he cursed, his voice trembling.
Hours—or what felt like hours—dragged on. The absence of sensation began to gnaw at his sanity, the isolation like a slow-acting poison. He clenched his fists, though he couldn't feel them, and grit his teeth, though his jaw felt unreal. The lack of anything tangible made his existence feel... hollow.
"You bastards! Where are you hiding?" he screamed into the void, his frustration boiling over.
"Come out, you cowards! Fight me if you've got the guts!"
The darkness didn't respond, and his words dissolved into nothingness.
"Please! Somebody... save me," he whispered, his voice hoarse from yelling.
The cracks in his composure widened. Anger turned to sorrow, sorrow to regret, regret to despair. His mind became a whirlwind of emotions, each one crashing into the next like waves in a storm.
"I'm such a failure," he muttered bitterly. "Who's going to take care of my family if I stay trapped here? What kind of son am I?"
Memories of his loved ones surfaced, sharp and vivid, cutting through the void like shards of glass. He saw his mother's tired smile, his father's calloused hands, his sister's laughter. He'd always promised to do better for them, to work harder, to be the man they could rely on.
"If only I had tried harder... If only I wasn't so worthless..."
The self-loathing clawed at him as tears threatened to fall, though he couldn't feel them. He tried to scream, but his voice broke into silence. He wanted to claw at his skin, to feel something—anything—but his limbs were unresponsive, his body nothing more than an idea.
The void was relentless. It offered no solace, no distraction, no escape. His mind spiraled further into madness, each second stretching into eternity.
"Someone... anyone... please help me," he whimpered, his voice trembling with the weight of his despair.
But the void remained silent.
And Issac kept walking, aimless and broken, deeper into the endless dark.
"Kill me! I beg you!" Issac's voice, hoarse and cracked, echoed endlessly into the void.
"I can't handle this anymore!" he screamed, the desperation in his tone a testament to the unraveling of his sanity.
"Please... forgive me... and just kill me! But don't torture me like this..."
His pleas dissolved into the oppressive silence, as always. He was despairing, utterly without hope. By now, it had been over a week since he first awoke in this abyss—at least, he thought it had been a week. Time in this place was a cruel joke, stretching endlessly like a frayed thread that refused to snap. For Issac, it felt like he had endured an eternity of torment.
He had no answers. No understanding of what was happening, no purpose to his endless wandering. His mind, once sharp and resilient, was shattered. Exhaustion—mental, emotional, and existential—had consumed him entirely.
"I don't even know if I'm alive or dead..." he whispered into the suffocating void.
Issac was no longer a person; he was a hollow shell, a mere consciousness adrift in a sea of darkness. His senses had abandoned him entirely. He couldn't feel pain or comfort, heat or cold. Flames from the deepest pits of purgatory or the freezing touch of Zamhareer's frost—neither would have stirred a sensation in him. The nothingness surrounding him wasn't just outside him; it had seeped into his very soul.
All he could see was the dark—an oppressive, omnipresent black that stretched in every direction.
"Just kill me, you son of a bitch!" he yelled again, his voice cracking under the weight of his despair.
"Kill me... end it..."
But the void was merciless. It didn't speak. It didn't grant his wishes. It simply was, vast and indifferent.
This place wasn't just empty—it was cruel. It did to Issac what no physical torment could ever achieve. It didn't break his body; it shattered his mind. He could have endured fire, ice, knives, and chains, but this? This was something else entirely. The silence, the nothingness, the absence of even the smallest sensation—it hollowed him out from the inside.
Seven days. Seven days was all it took to reduce him to this state. A calm and collective man like him was made to beg for his death to some unknown god.
"Just end it," he muttered weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Please... just let me die..."
Tears would have fallen, but he had none to shed. His body no longer felt real. He could no longer scream with the same force as before. His voice had grown frail.
The void didn't respond.
And Issac fell silent, consumed by the vast, uncaring darkness.
*rustle*
(End of Chapter)
*****
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