We are all collectors of fragmented moments, piecing together a mosaic of a life lived.
Unknown:
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Before he could fully register the shift, her fist was already flying toward his face.
'What did I expect?' he thought dryly as he braced himself, letting the punch land squarely on his forehead without flinching. 'A hug?'
The impact was powerful, but the room stayed eerily silent—no cracks, no shockwaves tearing through the space. The lack of destruction was a quiet testament to just how effortlessly the boy controlled the force of her punch.
Before she could recoil or prepare for another strike, his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist with precision. Her fist still pressed against his forehead, he twisted smoothly, maneuvering her arm behind her back in one fluid motion.
She didn't relent. Her free hand came flying toward his stomach, but he was faster, catching it mid-air. In one deft movement, he spun her around, pinning both arms against her torso and locking her in place.
"Wait! Don't you remem—" he began, his voice laced with both exasperation and urgency.
But she wasn't listening. Her response wasn't words—it was fire.
A torrent of flames erupted from her mouth, a searing blast of unrelenting heat surging straight toward his face. The inferno engulfed his face.
But nothing happened. The boy's grip on her wrists remained firm, unyielding even, as if her flames were nothing more than a warm breeze against his skin.
Without shifting his stance, he made a subtle yet deliberate move. A shimmering barrier rippled into existence around the cathedral, enclosing the space in a protective dome. It was the same barrier he had set up when he'd slept here, but this time, it radiated a stronger, more deliberate presence.
Something was stirring. He could feel it—the tendrils that plagued this place, dormant until now, were moving unnaturally.
'So, she can control them. That's… an unexpected development,' he thought, his expression calm, though his mind was sharply alert.
As his eyes scanned the room, they landed on something peculiar—a mirror standing at the center of the pink room. Without a word, he began walking toward it, still holding her effortlessly in his grasp.
In his arms, the woman struggled violently. She twisted and pulled, pouring every ounce of strength into breaking free, but his grip didn't falter. It wasn't just raw strength holding her—it was something deeper, an unshakable force that kept her restrained.
Frustration burned in her chest, a searing wave of emotions threatening to engulf her. She tried to focus, to summon her power, but something clouded her concentration. She was trapped—physically and mentally.
The feeling was unbearably familiar.
Betrayal surged through her veins like poison. Memories clawed at her mind—sharp, raw, and relentless. The defilement of her brethren, the degradation, the endless indignities. A hollow rage coiled within her, suffocating and venomous.
'People go to great lengths to make you feel like an animal,' she thought bitterly, her fury simmering into something dangerous. 'I refuse to be reduced to that.'
And so, she made her choice.
The room began to distort, melting at the edges. The air grew dense, oppressive with heat and raw, volatile energy. The stone walls rippled and warped, dripping like molten wax, as the cathedral itself seemed to respond to her despair.
If she couldn't strike him directly, she would destroy everything—this cursed place, herself, and him.
The boy halted mid-step, his attention snapping to the shift. His brown eyes flickered with faint amusement, tempered by an edge of annoyance.
'Well,' he mused silently, 'that's dramatic.'
Before she could unleash the destruction she had planned, the boy acted.
He headbutted her—not with force meant to harm, but just enough to jolt her out of the spiral she was caught in.
The sudden shock broke through the chaos swirling around her, leaving a fleeting sense of clarity in its wake.
"Hey, stop doing that!" he snapped, his tone calm but laced with unmistakable exasperation.
"Why should I?" she shot back, her voice sharp, her anger crackling like a live wire.
He didn't bother with a direct reply. Instead, his gaze shifted toward the mirror ahead, a silent but deliberate move. "Look me in the eyes," he said, his voice steady but low. "There's a mirror in front of you. Use it."
Her body tensed, the defiance still burning within her. She hesitated, wanting to lash out, to spit venom in response. But something in his tone—firm but not unkind—made her pause.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her attention toward the mirror.
At first, her instinct was to glare, to shoot daggers into his reflection. She wanted to see the same thing she'd always seen when men looked at her: lust, greed, malice. Something that would justify her fury.
But as her gaze met his in the reflection, her breath hitched.
There was no malice. No hunger. Nothing predatory.
Instead, there was… familiarity.
Her brow furrowed. 'Do I know him?'
The boy held her gaze, his brown eyes steady and unflinching.
Beneath the calm exterior, she saw something deeper. Something raw.
Sadness.
It wasn't loud or obvious. It lingered in the way his eyes softened when they met hers, a quiet sorrow that rippled beneath his stoic demeanor.
It caught her off guard.
She didn't recognize him at all.
And it hurt.
Not just her—but him.
Her chest tightened with confusion. She couldn't place him, couldn't connect the threads of her fragmented memories.
But the way he looked at her—it was as if he had been carrying the weight of her absence for a long time.
"You really don't remember who I am?" he asked, his voice softer now, the sharpness gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made her hesitate.
She struggled in his grip, unwilling to fully relent, but her defiance faltered. The fight in her didn't vanish—it just dimmed, replaced by something quieter. Hesitation.
Finally, she shook her head, the motion stiff and reluctant, as though even admitting the truth pained her. "No," she said, her voice flat, but the word carried an undeniable weight.
The boy exhaled a quiet breath of acceptance.
Her rejection stung more than he wanted to admit, but even in the face of it, he didn't waver. He stayed steady, unyielding, like he had been bracing for this moment all along.
And yet, beneath his resolve, a single truth remained: it wasn't anger or bitterness he felt.
It was annoyance.
"I guess I have to use that ability," the boy muttered under his breath, his tone carrying a faint edge of reluctance.
"Sorry about this," he added softly, almost as if apologizing.
Without another moment's hesitation, he placed his fingers on her head.
What happened next defied all reason. His fingers didn't stop at her skin—they phased through, passing effortlessly into her skull, as though plunging into water. It wasn't a physical touch; it was deeper. He was touching her mind directly, stepping into the chaotic labyrinth of her thoughts.
What he found there made his stomach turn.
Something vile had taken root—a dark, sinister force that had twisted itself around her memories like parasitic vines. It was more than mere amnesia. It was a deliberate, malevolent act of suppression, shackling her to forgetfulness.
As he delved deeper, reality itself seemed to twist. The air grew dense, charged with an unnatural energy.
Then, all at once, they opened.
Eyes.
Hundreds. Thousands.
They blinked from every corner of the void, their unblinking stares tearing through the fabric of existence. He wasn't just in her mind anymore. Something had noticed him—something ancient and malignant. It began to pull him deeper, dragging him into a space that should not exist.
The realm of the ******.
This wasn't her doing.
No, something—or someone—else was here, interfering.
The air buzzed with a sickening hum, the darkness coiling and shifting like it was alive. Around him, the chaos took on forms that defied logic: shapes that folded into themselves endlessly, colors that bled and twisted unnaturally into one another.
"You dare," a voice boomed, shaking the very essence of the void.
But it wasn't the voice of the entity surrounding him.
It was his own.
The boy's gaze hardened, and a faint aura of power ignited around him, a quiet promise of the strength he carried. He'd faced horrors like this before—things that lived in the forgotten corners of existence. He didn't fear them.
But he didn't want to fight. Not now. Not here.
If this thing thought it could stop him, though, it was sorely mistaken.
He focused his energy, his mind reaching out to the tendrils wrapped tightly around her soul. They pulsed with an unnatural life, writhing and resisting him, but he wasn't about to let go.
With deliberate precision, he tightened his grip on the dark strands, channeling his power through them. They thrashed violently, the malevolence within them lashing out in desperation, but it didn't matter.
With a single, decisive surge of energy, he ripped the tendrils apart.
The snap was almost audible, like a taut wire breaking under unbearable strain.
The presence of the entity faltered, its grasp slipping as its connection shattered. For a brief moment, it lingered, as if considering retaliation. But the boy's unyielding will burned brighter, and the thing knew better. It dissipated, its oppressive weight vanishing into nothingness.
The nightmare was gone. Or was it.
The realm of ***** faded into oblivion, and the boy found himself standing once more in the quiet, dimly lit room.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. It wasn't the first time he had dealt with forces beyond comprehension. But even so, every encounter like this left its mark.
His gaze shifted to the girl, unconscious but now free.
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From the perspective of the woman in pink:
"Sorry about that," the boy said softly, his tone calm yet reluctant, as if the very act weighed on him.
Before she could make sense of his words, his hand was on her head.
Her first reaction? Shock.
What the hell is he doing now?
Her free hand twitched instinctively, ready to strike, to defend herself. But just as her arm began to move, she felt it—his fingers. They didn't stop at her skin. No, they slipped inside her skull.
Her thoughts skidded to a halt.
What?
Disbelief surged, momentarily eclipsing her anger. Who does that? What kind of person could just… do that?
And then the pain came.
Not just pain—agony.
It was a soul-crushing, mind-shattering torment that ripped through her like wildfire. It wasn't physical pain but something deeper, something far more horrifying. It clawed through her very essence, unearthing things she didn't even know were hidden.
Memories she had thought were lost erupted like a tidal wave, relentless and overwhelming. Some were ones she had desperately tried to forget—raw, jagged edges of trauma that she had buried for a reason. Others were moments of warmth, of joy, of fleeting happiness, locked away in the deepest corners of her heart.
Now, they all came rushing back, unbidden and unrelenting.
Moments of love.
Moments of despair.
Betrayals that left scars.
Achievements that had once made her proud.
Losses that had nearly broken her.
She had forgotten them—or at least, she thought she had. But here they were, vivid and undeniable, dragging her into a tempest of emotions that she couldn't control.
She wanted to scream, to claw her way free from the torment, but the pain silenced her. It was all-consuming, raw and unfiltered, drowning out every other instinct.
In the chaos of her mind, something shifted.
No, something broke.
It was as if a dam inside her had shattered, as if chains that had bound her for so long had snapped. The flood that followed was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a torrent of sensations and realizations crashing into her all at once.
And then, in the maelstrom of it all, she saw him.
The boy.
Memories sharpened, coalescing into a brutal clarity. Faces. Places. Events. All of it pieced itself together like shards of broken glass.
And finally, him.
She remembered him.
And she remembered her death.
At his hands.
Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as the revelation slammed into her. But before she could act—before she could speak—something else moved.
A darkness.
It surged forward from the corners of her mind, a living, writhing force that swallowed her whole before she could even process the truth.
The last thing she saw before the void consumed her was his face….
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