The Stench of Blood
A foul stench burned his nostrils. Iron and rot.
The air was thick with it, pressing against his skin like unseen hands clawing at his throat.
His body twitched violently. A deep, pulsing pain filled every nerve, like he had been struck by lightning.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His lungs burned.
Something warm and metallic pooled in his mouth. Blood.
Pain. That was all he knew.
He tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish, heavy, bound by something coarse and tight. Ropes.
The fibers bit into his wrists, his ankles. His fingers twitched. His muscles spasmed.
Slowly, he forced his eyes open.
A dim, flickering light greeted him.
Lanterns—oil lamps like those miners use—hung from twisted iron chains, their flames barely pushing back the thick darkness.
The light cast trembling shadows along the cavernous walls, flickering with every uncertain glow.
Something else caught his eye. Something wet.
Dark pools shimmered beneath him, reflecting the sickly yellow light.
His breath hitched. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Blood.
He was lying in it.
And he wasn't alone.
Bodies lay scattered around him.
Some slumped against the cold stone walls. Others sprawled in unnatural positions, their limbs twisted at grotesque angles. Their wounds—**slit throats, gaping chests, missing eyes—**mirrored his own.
A horrific thought struck him.
Had he been killed too?
His trembling hands reached up, fingers brushing against his own throat.
His skin was slick, warm. His breath hitched as his fingertips pressed into a deep, jagged wound.
He should be dead.
His body convulsed, his breath turning to shallow, ragged gasps. He struggled, his vision spinning.
An altar.
He had been lying on an altar.
A heavy stone slab, stained deep crimson. It was carved with ancient symbols, twisting and writhing in the low light.
And in the center of it all—a lifeless body, its throat slashed open.
His body.
No.
Not his.
Someone else.
The memories weren't his, but the flesh was. He had taken the place of someone sacrificed here.
His stomach churned. His hands trembled.
And then—
The shadows moved.
A ripple in the darkness.
They spoke.
"W̴a̷k̷e̶ ̴u̶p̵.̵"
A whisper. Cold. Close.
Jin Pak—no, was he still Jin Pak?—froze.
The darkness was speaking.
The shadows coiled along the walls like living things, writhing, pulsing.
"Y̶o̶u̶ ̷c̷a̶n̵'̷t̸ ̷e̵s̵c̶a̷p̵e̵.̶"
The voice slithered into his ears, into his thoughts.
Jin's pulse pounded, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs.
And then—
His mind shattered under the weight of memory.
---
It had followed him.
Flickering at the edge of his vision. Haunting his dreams.
Every time it appeared—something in his life got worse.
The first time, he lost his parents. The second, the debt collectors came. The third, he had to drop out of school.
And the fourth—the day he saw it outside his apartment window—he was fired.
It took everything.
It waited, watching in silence as his life crumbled. An executioner with infinite patience.
Jin's breath came in gasps, his body shaking with exhaustion, with rage.
It was here.
It was always here.
The shadows shifted again, and the door flickered into existence.
Massive. Ancient. Wrong.
Its surface was blackened, cracked, like burnt wood barely holding itself together. Deep golden veins pulsed across it, like molten metal crawling through open wounds.
And it breathed.
It wasn't just a door.
It was a predator.
And he was prey.
Something inside it watched him, lurking just beyond the threshold, unseen yet undeniable. An unblinking gaze bore into him, dissecting him, studying him.
Jin's stomach twisted. He felt it in his bones.
This wasn't just some cursed object.
This was something far older, far worse.
It wasn't waiting for him to enter.
It was waiting for him to break.
A horrible realization crashed into his mind like a falling blade.
This door had never chased him.
He had been running toward it all along.
---
Jin's hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms.
His body trembled, rage and exhaustion twisting inside him like poison.
"STOP IT."
His scream shattered the silence. His voice cracked, raw and broken.
"I'M SICK OF THIS. I'M TIRED." His shoulders shook violently. "EVER SINCE YOU APPEARED, EVERYTHING WENT TO SHIT!"
The door loomed over him, silent. Waiting.
Jin's chest heaved. His breath burned. His vision blurred.
Tears welled in his eyes, hot and furious.
"I had nothing! And you took the last of it! I worked, I bled, I clawed my way just to survive, AND YOU STILL—"
His throat clenched. His knees buckled.
He hated it. He hated it more than anything.
This thing had taken everything from him, and now it had dragged him into this hell.
And it still wasn't done.
A shuddering breath escaped his lips. His fingers curled at his sides, shaking.
He wasn't going to let it win.
Not anymore.
He marched forward, rage blinding him. His heart pounded like war drums, his body burning with the last of his strength.
He stood before the door, staring into its abyssal blackness.
And then—
He kicked it.
A thunderous crack split the air. The door shuddered.
The whispers screamed.
And the world collapsed.
---
A force wrenched Jin backward.
The ground shattered beneath him—and he fell.
The void swallowed him whole.
Purple mist coiled around him, cold as death, silent as the grave. He was weightless, plunging into an abyss that had no end.
Above him, the door vanished.
But its whisper followed.
"W̵e̶'̷r̷e̸ ̷n̵o̶t̸ ̷d̷o̵n̶e̸ ̵y̴e̶t̵.̷"
Jin screamed.
And then—nothing.