Volume 1: Path — [Awakening Arc]
Chapter 2: A Nightmare
Just as he reeled from the sight of the reflection in the mirror, a low, wet sound reached his ears—squelch... squirm... skitter...—the caterpillars that had erupted from his throat moments ago were now crawling toward him with dreadful intent.
He turned his head, and what he saw made him pause. Every inch of ground the creatures touched bloomed into vivid red spider lilies—fwump... fwump... fwump...—flowers bursting into life as if fed by the darkness itself.
His breath caught. There was something unnervingly beautiful about them, something hypnotic. As if this flower, the spider lily, wasn't just the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, but the only thing. His gaze locked, his body stilled, mesmerized by the crimson blossoms dancing in the wake of horror.
Then—snap!—his mind broke free. Without thinking, he spun and bolted toward the right side of the mirror, the one that had shown an older version of himself—eight years older, stronger, more terrifying. He didn't know why that direction pulled him. His body simply obeyed some primal instinct, a scream from deep within that told him: run.
Thud... thud... thud... His feet pounded the dead earth as he sprinted toward the mirror's edge. The moment his body collided with the right side of the glass, CRACK!—the mirror didn't shatter, it accepted him, and he was pulled into another space.
He staggered as the world around him shifted. Then it clicked. The mirrors only formed in front of the places where the flowers bloomed. But the seven symmetrical paths crisscrossing the garden—those remained untouched, mirrorless. He had found the gap. He had found the path.
Within seconds he ran straight forward—clack, clack, clack...—his heart racing. Just ten steps ahead, he saw them: distorted, flickering images flashing like fragmented film reels.
Versions of himself, all older. One stood against a thousand-headed beast—ROARRRR!—its mouths screaming in every direction. Another kissed someone in the rain—drip... drip...—a brief flash of warmth. Another was dying—chest caved in, eyes open and empty—gurgle... One stabbed a blurred silhouette of a woman, face hidden by static—stab! stab! stab! One who is in the center of many mirrors, and his eyes as Cael passed looking towards him.
He didn't linger.
He didn't scream.
He just ran in silence.
Huff... huff... huff...
Each breath burned. Each step pulled him through eternity.
Then, just like that, the images vanished. Silence returned. The path is cleared.
And Cael emerged, shaking, panting, changed.
As the boy stumbled out of the mirror paths, the air felt heavier—thicker. He blinked once, twice, and the vision before him settled into focus: an endless sea of red spider lilies stretched before him, their petals swaying without wind. Fwump... fwump... The sight was hauntingly serene, eerily perfect.
Then he turned. Behind him—skkrrrk... squirm... skkrrrk...—a writhing tide of more than a million caterpillars advanced, devouring the earth with each pulse of their black-red bodies. They flooded the ground like living tar, birthing flowers in their wake. Panic pierced his chest.
He bolted forward—thud! thud! thud!—but before he could take more than a few steps, CRACK!—he slammed into an invisible wall. The force snapped his head back, and with a sharp splurt, blood burst from his nose. He dropped to the ground with a sickening thump, dazed.
Dizzy and gasping, he stared at the crimson field ahead. The truth clicked in his mind like a blade locking into place: the spider lilies were blooming only where the caterpillars had passed. The beauty was behind him, born from decay. And so was the danger.
His time was bleeding away.
He crawled to the right—drag... drag...—his hand trembling. Slowly, shakily, he extended his right arm, fingers reaching into the still air. Ffff...
And then, he touched something.
It felt solid, like slamming into the side of a mountain wrapped in glass. Cael blinked the blood from his eyes and staggered back, dazed. This wasn't the path. He rose slowly, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest. His eyes fixed on the mirror now fully visible before him, its surface shimmering slightly.
It had been invisible until impact, cloaked by something that tricked the mind. That's why he'd been crashing into them—over and over—believing nothing was there. It wasn't just a barrier; it was an illusion, forcing his perception to skip past it entirely.
He reached out again, more cautious this time. His fingers brushed the surface—ripppple...—and the mirror responded. A wave pulsed through the glass like water disturbed by wind. His breath hitched. This was new.
Before, he'd always collided without warning—smash!—Never able to see the thing before impact. But now, as the ripple echoed across its smooth pane, he understood. These mirrors didn't just reflect—they masked, misled, and reshaped the mind itself.
And with that realization, he finally understood the mechanics of this cursed place.
He dashed to the opposite side of the mirror—the same one he had just touched—his heart hammering, his mind screaming. Thud-thud-thud! The caterpillars were only twenty meters away now, a writhing tide of black-red hunger slithering over the earth with skkrch... skkrrrk... Their presence felt like death itself breathing down his spine.
There was no time for thought. If he hesitated, even for a second, he would be devoured—just like his parents. That image burned behind his eyes. So he ran. Not with precision, but with desperation.
And then—whoosh... fwshhh!—he passed through. No resistance. No impact. As if the mirror didn't exist at all.
His gamble had succeeded.
The environment around him had completely changed. The ground beneath his feet was no longer soil but cold, cracked concrete. As he stepped forward, a sudden tingling shot up his spine—pure instinct. He jerked backward just in time—shnk!—a sharp arrow sliced past him and embedded itself in the floor.
"Oh my god..."
Cael looked down. The floor was tiled in a checkerboard pattern—only two colors: black and white. His foot had landed squarely on a black tile.
Turning to his left, he spotted the arrow, still quivering, having just missed him. It had continued its flight and landed outside the tiled grid. Testing a theory, Cael picked it up and tossed it onto one of the white tiles.
Nothing happened. The arrow bounced lightly—tink...—and slid across the smooth surface. But as soon as it rolled over to a black tile—CRASH!—a massive stone boulder plummeted from the ceiling and pulverized the tile in a thunderous eruption of dust and rubble.
Cael's eyes widened.
Only the black tiles were deadly. White tiles were safe.
Stepping on a black tile was asking for death.
He moved forward cautiously, weaving through the white tiles, every movement calculated. His breath trembled, eyes glued to his path. One wrong step, even a toe over the edge, could mean instant death.
Tap... tap... tap... His feet struck each safe tile like a percussion of survival. It felt like an endless labyrinth, a test of patience and nerve.
Minutes passed.
Finally, he reached the far end and found a massive door carved from ancient, splintered wood. He pushed against it—creeeeaaak...—using every ounce of strength he had left.
The door groaned open.
He stepped through.
Relief filled him for a fleeting second. He had made it.
But the feeling didn't last.
It felt less like escaping danger and more like finishing the tutorial.
And entering a real nightmare.
As Cael stumbled through the unseen veil, the world distorted again. The scent of rot receded, replaced by something sterile and artificially sweet—like the forgotten remnants of carnival candy. The air was heavy, thick with unseen rot cloaked in glamour.
The sky above him... was choked.
Butterflies.
Not the kind found in gardens or meadows. These were creatures of horror—jagged, black-winged things with silhouettes like bladed veils. Their wings stretched wide, bearing glowing red fissures shaped like ancient runes—symbols of a forgotten curse. Flicker... flutter... hissssss... Their wings sliced the silence, dragging sound like broken whispers.
Crimson blooms spilled over the landscape, more vivid than any spider lily, their petals thick and trembling as though alive. From the pulsing centers of these flowers, the butterflies emerged—shrrkkk...—crawling out like things born of nightmares, dragging themselves skyward.
Cael turned slowly.
And the amusement park revealed itself.
A thousand butterflies rose into the blood-red sky like smoke given form. Long wings jagged as shattered glass. Red veins pulsed through them like molten nerves. Flick... flicker... flutter... Every sound scraped across his mind.
Twisted roller coasters loomed like rusted skeletal serpents. A Ferris wheel sat dead and unmoving, its cars hanging like the bones of an execution gallows. The carousel was tilted, its painted horses contorted in mid-lurch—mouths wide in endless screams. The whole place was cast in crimson fog, light warped by the presence of death.
He stood in ankle-deep spider lilies.
Above him, the butterflies turned the sky into a cathedral of winged shadows.
Behind him, the structure he'd emerged from towered silently. A funhouse, cracked and warped, lined with twisted mirrors that shimmered faintly, catching twisted reflections.
The rusted sign above the arch read:
'MIRROR WORLD'
A funhouse for families.
Now a gateway for something far worse.
[End of Chapter 2]