'Thud, thud.' The footsteps had stopped at some point.
But Gabriel knew—whatever it was, it was looking at him.
"You're weak."
A chilling voice cut through the suffocating silence, slipping into Gabriel's ears like a venomous whisper.
It came from that figure. He could sense it; he was not in its league.
"How pathetic."
A dim light flickered from a distant crack, casting jagged shadows along the damp walls. Gabriel could barely move, his limbs bound by unseen chains that tightened with every breath.
The shadowed figure loomed over him, its form undulating, shifting like a nightmare given shape. Its eyes burned red in the darkness, oppressive and unyielding.
"You're so weak, Gabriel." The voice dripped with contempt. "You cannot escape me."
Gabriel's fingers twitched, trying to push himself back, but his body refused to obey. His throat tightened, dread wrapping around him like an iron grip.
Then the figure spoke again, its words reverberating through Gabriel's core.
"Because of your power, the world has become imbalanced. To restore it, your existence had to be sealed—your memories erased."
Gabriel felt something inside him crack, the weight of the revelation pressing against his chest.
"You are a threat to the world."
His teeth clenched. "What does my hard-earned power have to do with the world?"
The figure chuckled, slow and deliberate. "You gained them through the sacrifice of others. Through sin."
Something cold settled in Gabriel's stomach. The air seemed thinner.
"So you propose I atone?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the darkness like steel.
The figure's grin widened. "To atone, you must struggle through the weak's point of view. No more slaughtering your way to power. No more taking what is not yours. This time, you will feel every cut, every wound, every consequence."
Gabriel scoffed, irritation flaring in his chest. "And what if I refuse?"
The figure raised a hand, and in front of Gabriel, a book appeared—hovering in the void like an ominous decree. Its pages fluttered without wind, ink shifting as if still being written.
"Fate has already written it." The figure's voice was like ice. "This grueling life and the decisions your current body will make… you must try to change them."
Before Gabriel could react, the world twisted violently. A crushing force yanked him from his body, hurling him into an endless abyss.
He found himself floating in an outer dimension, weightless, untethered.
His vision blurred as grotesque images filled his mind—visions so raw, so overwhelming that his eyes began to bleed. The burning sensation clawed at him, and as he raised his hands to his face, his nails scratched against his cheeks, staining his pale hair with streaks of red.
The figure's voice slithered through the void, deep and unforgiving.
"Prepare for what's to come, Gabriel."
A pause.
Then, in a voice colder than death itself:
"If you want to go home, meet with Deimos. For every answer you seek, he will have them."
Gabriel's breath hitched.
Deimos—the name rang in his mind like a foreboding promise.
This body—his body—would cause the deaths of many in the future.
And fate had already written it.
Gabriel floated in the endless void, the weight of his fate pressing down on him. The book—the one the figure had presented—now lay before him, suspended in the vast nothingness.
His fingers trembled as he reached for it, half-expecting it to burn or resist his touch. Instead, it remained cold and unmoving, its cover worn as if it had existed for centuries.
Slowly, he opened it.
The pages, stark and empty, stared back at him.
Gabriel's breath hitched. His future—his supposed inevitable fate—should have been written here, detailing the horrors this body would unleash. But there was nothing.
He flipped through frantically, searching for meaning. Then, on a single page, words finally emerged—the events that had unfolded ever since he first woke up. Only those.
Confusion twisted in his chest.
The figure had spoken of fate, of an unchangeable path, yet the book showed him nothing beyond what had already happened.
What did that mean?
His grip tightened around the book as he tried to will more words to appear, tried to force his future into existence. But the void remained silent.
Then—
A sudden force pulled him downward.
The book slipped from his grasp as the abyss collapsed around him, the weight of the dimension crushing into his mind. The visions returned—flashes of distorted realities, grotesque images bleeding into his consciousness.
His eyes burned, the sensation so sharp that he clawed at them, his nails raking against his skin, staining his pale hair with streaks of crimson.
And then—
He fell.
"Splash!"
Back into the real world.
The suffocating pressure vanished, replaced by warmth.
His body jolted as he gasped for breath—his consciousness slamming back into reality.
Water rippled around him. The wooden tub pressed against his back.