As the crimson meter continued its rapid descent, Vikram's body, defying all logical expectations, embraced an unexpected sense of relief.
The once excruciating pain, which had tightly gripped him, now seemed to ease, creating a surreal dissonance between his body that was theoretically should be dead, and the feeling of his mind, which became more and more at peace.
It was scientifically implausible, yet there he stood, suspended in an enigmatic equilibrium, caught between echoes of agony and the shadow of amusement.
The entity that had caught his heart didn't bother to retrace its path, as it simply teleported his heart, and suspended it in mid-air.
He was living without a heart, and his heart was literally suspended in the air.
A wry snicker escaped Vikram's lips as he beheld the pulsating organ, now unveiled without the ominous red meter overshadowing it.
The mysterious dance between diminishing torment and the vanishing meter fueled a spark of skepticism within Vikram. Still, the sight of his heart hovering before him acted as an anchor, keeping incredulity at bay.
The dwindling red meter, now reaching the halfway mark, ushered in a renewed wave of fatigue for Vikram. His limbs weighed heavily, and each breath demanded more effort.
A swift acceleration in the meter's recession to 25% brought forth an overwhelming surge of weariness as if the very act of opposing the eldritch force had sapped the essence of his vitality. Beads of sweat materialized on Vikram's forehead, and the atmosphere in the room thickened with the gravity of his perseverance.
Yet, amid this taxing ordeal, an inexplicable certainty settled within Vikram. An instinctive feeling whispered to him that triumph loomed on the horizon.
The red meter, now a mere shadow of its former dominance, seemed to hesitate, whether to retreat or to push for one last time.
The final moments of eerie silence lingered, each passing second stretching into an eternity. Then, as if capitulating to an unseen force, the red bar fully receded, dissipating into the void of the virtual space.
The surge of victory coursed through Vikram, rekindling the arrogance on his fatigued countenance.
As the crimson hue relinquished its grip, Vikram's heart resounded with an amplified thud. The suspended organ, now free from the ominous color, underwent a remarkable metamorphosis. Runes of the Old Norse and Greek origin, along with glyphs and hieroglyphs, adorned his heart in a rich tapestry of ancient symbols. Magical circles materialized, weaving an enchanting pattern that resonated with the mystical.
Suddenly, Vikram's heart emitted a radiant light, casting its brilliance across the virtual space. It gleamed like a sun, radiating an otherworldly energy that defied rational explanation. The once-suspended heart vanished, replaced by a spectacle of captivating luminosity.
Upon opening his eyes, Vikram found himself back in the familiar embrace of Kerala's surroundings. The ominous blue and dark theme had dissipated, giving way to the vibrant hues of daily life.
The ambient sounds of the city enveloped him once more, signaling a return to normalcy.
Vikram, still recovering his breath, couldn't shake the lingering sense of awe and triumph. The arrogance on his face returned, albeit with a little humility mixed within.
As Vikram sighed in relief, the ambient sounds of Kerala embraced him. The vibrant hues of daily life surrounded him, momentarily easing the fatigue that clung to his body.
However, the fleeting tranquility was shattered by a voice, a voice that reverberated through the very core of his being. It was terrifying, grating to the ears, and felt like a sinister whisper that echoed in the recesses of his soul.
"You don't think I will give everything for free, do you?" The malevolent voice dripped with malice as if it was born to perpetrate evil. Vikram couldn't comprehend how evil sounded until now, and the voice seemed to be a manifestation of malevolence itself.
Ominous runes, black and red Old Norse, hieroglyphs, glyphs, and various ancient languages intertwined, forming a grotesque image of an obsidian broken glass.
The broken glass, an embodiment of malevolence, surged towards Vikram's body. In an instant, the ethereal glass penetrated him, and Vikram felt as if something precious inside him had shattered.
The experience unfolded in mere seconds, yet the impact was profound. Tears welled up in Vikram's eyes, a sight he rarely allowed himself to witness. In his staunch belief that men should not cry, he deemed vulnerability as a symbol to be hidden from the world. But here he was, uncontrollably shedding tears.
Vikram sat alone in the dimly lit room, his emotions cascading like a waterfall. The weight of his struggles, hidden behind a stoic facade for so long, finally broke through.
His mind replayed the scenes of his life, a journey that seemed to crush him at every turn of his life. Despite being legally recognized as an adult, Vikram grappled with the complexities of his own emotions. The societal label of maturity seemed incongruent with the internal battle he faced.
As the tears continued to flow, Vikram, who had built walls around his vulnerabilities, found himself defenseless against the onslaught of his own emotions.
In those fleeting moments, the pain etched across his face revealed the depth of his struggles. The darkness of despair and the weight of depression bore down on him, threatening to engulf his entire being.
The 18-year-old, on the precipice of adulthood, faced a battle that would have tested even the strongest of individuals. The strength, however, wasn't in the absence of pain but in his ability to endure it.
With each tear wiped away, Vikram confronted the reality of his emotions. That mirror had shattered something precious within him, and it seemed to trigger inside Vikram that he had lost something that he would never be able to recover.
The episode of sadness he had just now was something that had been triggered by that broken shards of mirror. He didn't know why, but it seemed to open all the buried up emotions that he had kept deep inside his mind.