Huff… huff… huff.
My breath came shallow and sharp. Every inhale burned. I hadn't expected this. Just this set up—this experiment—had drained far more from me than anticipated.
I leaned forward, gripping my knees for balance, and looked down into the hole again.
They were still down there.
Dozens of Vowalkers. Buried in the water like corpses refusing to rot. Some had only ears. Others had nothing but a pair of sunken eyes. One—just a mouth. Another—no face at all.
They weren't defective.
They were constructed that way. Designed.
Each one, a sacrifice.
Sacrifices of individual senses.
I took a breath, tried to steady myself, and almost fell. My balance shifted, and the organs I was holding slid in my grip. Blood spilled down my arms in slow, sticky trails before dripping onto the soil.
It was in that moment that I knew with certainty.
This isn't my body.
The first sign had been subtle—almost easy to dismiss.
I had felt irritated.
Over a minor delay. A simple disruption. Normally, I'm calm. Even in failure, I don't lose composure. I observe. I adjust. I calculate.
But that time, something had boiled up inside me.
It wasn't frustration. It was pure, unfiltered irritation.
And that—wasn't like me.
Could the Nightmare have affected my mental state? Twisted my thoughts?
That was possible… but not enough to explain everything.
The second sign came when I tried recalling that first system message. The one that welcomed me into this nightmare.
The moment I reached for it, pain surged through my head—sharp, raw, and unnatural. My skull felt like it was splitting open. But despite that, no muscles spasmed. No nerves flared in response.
Even stranger, my arms moved on their own. They rose and clutched my temples without conscious command.
A reflex… not mine.
That was the second clue. Clearer than the first.
The third? The muscle delay. A noticeable lag between intention and execution. I would think of moving—and the body would take half a second to obey.
I had enough data now.
This wasn't just a change of clothing. This body wasn't mine at all.
***
I shelved the revelation and returned my focus to the task.
My theory was proving consistent: Vowalkers grow denser and slower the more water they absorb. It happens instantly, not gradually. The moisture flows through the ground and binds with their structure the moment they're triggered.
But a new inconsistency had emerged.
If the hearing-based Vowalkers could detect something as soft as a falling pebble... why hadn't they responded when I was walking nearby earlier—after the rain?
The logic didn't hold.
So I chose to investigate.
After locating my next route, I retreated and returned to the large hole. It resembled a massive, human-made well—big enough to supply water to an entire city.
From there, I moved deeper into the landscape. The ground was uneven, carved in irregular patterns. No two steps were the same. Each one had to be measured, judged, executed with caution.
Eventually, I found the most desiccated patch of earth I could locate that wasn't beyond that river.
Perfect.
My first encounter had shown the Vowalker launching with a reach of about four meters. Using that data, I stepped carefully onto what I suspected was its territory... then immediately retreated three meters.
The result was immediate.
The Vowalker burst forth—its body skeletal, fractured, barely held together. Its skin was dry and cracked, like scorched clay.
Definitely hearing-based.
But It hadn't heard my own steps before i triggered it.
Before I could run move to the next phase of the plan, it moved.
Fast. Inhumanly fast.
Even with my original body, dodging might not have been possible.
There was only one option left.
Brace.
I raised the skull I'd taken from another Vowalker. It was thick, heavy. Likely one of the more durable ones.
The charging Vowalker struck it with full force.
The impact shattered both.
The skull exploded from the force. And the attacker—too brittle to survive its own momentum—crumbled mid-motion.
Fragments scattered across the dirt.
I stood there, breathing heavily, still holding what remained of the skull.
I had survived.
But just barely.
But everything was still in the palm of my hand.
But the only reason I had come this close to death?
Curiosity and future assurance My obsession with verifying each theory and thinking everything ahead almost cost me.
As I turned and began running, a new feeling sank into my chest.
Wary.
Not the calculated kind. Not cold survival instinct.
Everything was going according to my will do what was there to be wary of?
And I knew instantly—it wasn't mine.
It belonged to this body.
I am not wary of death. I've faced it before. My entire life has been a prolonged confrontation with risk, loss, and edge-of-death scenarios.
Yet now… my pulse raced. My hands trembled.
And that terrified part of me wasn't from the mind.
It was from the flesh.
That's when it finally clicked.
Thought and body are not separate. They never were.
The body influences the mind.
I had never accepted that.
Until now.
***
Everything went according to plan... Now I can cross the river easily.
I stopped once more atop the hill, glancing down at the remains below.
Now I understood the pattern.
The hearing-types hadn't ignored me because they didn't detect me.
They simply couldn't awaken—unless their area was disturbed.
It wasn't the sound.
It was proximity. Territory.
And with that, the theory I feared most started to make sense.
The one I had tried not to believe.
I exhaled, long and slow.
Blood from the organs in my hands dripped to the earth again. My feet were bare now, cut open and raw. Every step throbbed. Every breath stung.
Thirst scraped at the back of my throat. Fortunately, there was a corpse nearby. If I boiled it correctly, the fluids would be safe to consume.
I followed the old pathway uphill. There was no wind now, so my footsteps echoed in the silence.
That's when it happened.
For the past few minutes, one message had been repeating on loop in my mind:
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
Again.
And again.
And again.
Dozens of them.
But just now… a new message cut through.
[You have received a memory.]
Then, the original message returned—over and over.
But that single phrase stood out.
A memory.
What did that mean?
Something connected to the Vowalkers I had slain? A record? A glimpse of their perspective?
Maybe it was like the yellow grass—something that had to be recalled, not accessed directly.
I focused. Tried to remember the first message I ever received in this place.
[Aspirant. Welcome to the Nightmare ?????. Prepare for your First Trial…]
The moment I remembered it—pain ripped through my skull.
I dropped to my knees.
Gripping my head, I stared at the ground.
This was different from before.
It wasn't just pain.
It was even more curiousity.
For the first time, I had no theory. No path forward. No logic to hold onto.
***
Eventually, I rose.
I approached the hill's edge, still holding the three organs.
I dropped two of them. Held one in my hand.
Each weighed about 0.3 kilograms. Each shaped… unmistakably.
Their size and mass only added more weight to my theory. The darkest one.
I didn't stop.
I backed up, picked up speed, and flung the organ forward with all the strength I could muster.
Then grabbed the other two, turned, and threw them to either side—forming a spread, like markers.
There were no puddles past this hill for me to use.
This was my last method.
As the blood arced through the air, I turned—and ran.
Back towards the hole.
As I ran a trail of blood was left behind.... Coming out of my feet.
The test run was successful, and I now had cover.
***
I dove.
The moment I hit the water, the stillness shattered.
What had once been a quiet pool—a trap disguised as calm—erupted into chaos.
But this time, I wasn't alone.
They were coming.
And not just a few.
A legion.
Vowalkers by the dozens—no, hundreds—plunged in after me. Their bodies cleaved the surface with thunderous splashes. Some dropped straight like dead weight. Others twisted mid-air with terrifying agility.
They weren't like the brittle ones from before.
These were fresh.
Healthy. Hydrated. Alive in every horrible sense of the word.
The air above was choked with sound.
The water below bloomed red, thick with the fluids still leaking from the dissected cores I'd torn out earlier. My blood joined the stain, drawn from my feet—raw from impact, split open from friction.
It didn't matter.
I kicked downward, fast, but not frantic.
No wasted movement.
I angled my descent, brushing past the first layer of bloated corpses drifting in slow suspension from the previous fight. Their rigid limbs barely moved now, packed tight against each other like the discarded statues of a forgotten battlefield.
And beneath them—a hollow.
Just barely a pocket of space in the dark—mine.
I twisted my body to fit, ignoring the jagged bone scraping my shoulders, ignoring the rotting flesh brushing against my throat.
There was no light here.
Only pressure.
I wedged myself into place, the weight of the water above me growing heavier with each second. Mud cradled my back. Dead skin grazed my scalp. My arms locked in front of my chest to conserve space.
I held still.
I didn't blink.
I didn't breathe.
And then they fell.
CRACK. THOOM. SPLASH.
One hit the corpses above me like a meteor.
Then another.
Then ten more.
The entire sky collapsed.
Vowalkers crashed into their fallen kin with blind fury. Their instincts had turned to compulsion—no strategy, no coordination. Just raw, rabid pursuit.
Some thrashed. Some clawed. Some bled black as their overstrained muscles ruptured under their own strength.
But they all had one thing in common.
They were drinking.
Drinking the water like dying addicts.
Their bodies soaked it in through every pore, like the earth itself.
And it was killing them.
Muscle bulged. Skin thickened. Limbs swelled unnaturally, stretching taut against their own armor. Movement slowed. Reaction time dulled.
It was the same fate as before—but accelerated.
The deeper they dove, the more water they absorbed.
The more water they absorbed, the heavier they became.
And the heavier they became…
The faster they drowned.
Above me, one Vowalker collided head-first with another mid-descent.
The impact split its skull open—bone cracking like a dropped vase. The sound was dull underwater, but the vibration thrummed through my body.
Another lost control of its limb, swung wide, and tore the arm clean off a neighbor. Both plummeted.
A third tried to claw through the corpses sheltering me. Its claw dug deep… but only managed to wedge itself between two bloated bodies. Then it stiffened. Froze. And began to sink—trapped by its own mass.
I watched them die one by one.
No. Not die.
Choke on their own evolution.
Their biology betrayed them. Their strength betrayed them.
Even their vow betrayed them.
Because a vow without discipline is suicide.
And I?
I had nothing.
Minutes passed like hours.... But they were minutes none the less.
Still I didn't move.
My lungs screamed. Every muscle ached. The stillness felt like drowning in iron.
But I had trained for this.
I had endured the White Room—where breath control was learned under suffocation, where survival meant pushing past instinct into perfect silence.
So I waited.
Until the final splash faded.
Until the last ripple died.
Until the water above me held only stillness again.
Then I moved.
Slowly.
I emerged from the hollow like a shadow parting from the dead.
Above me—a forest of corpses....
some sank and some did not... Why else do you think I did all that effort to take organs out of each Vowalker last time.
Vowalkers hung mid-water like petrified beasts. Their bodies contorted by bloated muscle and water-logged tissue. Their jaws slack. Their limbs outstretched.
Silent. Helpless.
Just like me in this world.
And I drifted through them like a surgeon.
***
By the time I surfaced, I was carrying four Vowalker organs.
Heavy in the hand. Warm with residual life. Still pulsing faintly when I first touched them, but now—just silence.
My body rose out of the water slowly. Each movement met resistance. My limbs dragged behind me like I was still submerged. Muscles numb from exertion. Skin pale from the cold weight of stillness.
My hair hung low across my face, plastered against my forehead and eyes. I didn't move it aside. Vision wasn't priority. Breathing was.
I didn't breathe with urgency, though. Only precision. Each inhale—measured. Each exhale—anchored.
Then I stood.
And I looked.
Not at the river. Not at the sky.
Behind me.
The world had changed. Because of me.
No—because I changed it.
What had once been cracked terrain and faded yellow grass was now something else entirely.
Every direction bore the signs of upheaval. Craters. Scars. Ash-gray soil churned into uneven ridges.
Some deep enough to bury a person standing upright. Others shallow but wide, overlapping like ripples of old impact.
It didn't look natural. It looked struck—violated by force.
Like a meteor field. A sky that fell one piece at a time.
I saw no grass now. No patches of yellow, no deceptive signs of safety. Nothing but ruin. The surface had lost all memory of what it once was. The creatures I'd drawn out—killed, suffocated, shattered—they hadn't just died.
They'd been used. Turned into tools of collapse.
Their exit tore holes in the world.
Their death left it empty.
And I had done it. Not by accident. Not through recklessness.
Through precision.
I didn't intend to destroy. But I had destroyed.
Because the only way forward was through collapse.
That realization didn't unsettle me. It didn't comfort me either.
It simply was the right way.
The world behind the river was different now.
Not dangerous. Not dormant. Not waiting.
Just broken.
And only one direction remained untouched—the other side of the river. Still quiet. Still pale. Still watching.
But for how long?
Each step I had passed until now... Was gone.
Wherever I had stepped through decimated.
Every landscape i looked burned under my gaze.
Wherever I go, destruction followed...
And now, the world bore their weight.
I kept walking.
***
My steps were uneven now.
Not from hesitation, but because the ground itself had forgotten what it meant to be solid.
No straight paths remained. Only fractured ridges and loose dirt. As if a rain of broken stone had fallen from the sky, shattering everything it touched.
Not a single stretch of clean earth lay beneath me.
And every 1 group d out of 3 had remainings of the Vowalker, most probably they collided.
Just a thousand sharp angles. Sharp enough to cut. Deep enough to trap.
I navigated them without slowing.
Blood slid down my ankle, mixing with dust. Each step burned, not because of pain, but because of friction. My soles were none existent. My shoes had torn open long ago.
My legs dragged like rusted hinges, the joints resisting every movement. The water had pulled strength from them, leaving me with only coordination and habit.
Still, I kept moving.
Not because I believed in what lay ahead.
But because I had already erased what lay behind.
When I looked back, I didn't see enemies.
I didn't see traps or danger.
I saw silence.
A silence earned through violence.
The world behind the river was finished now. It no longer shifted, no longer responded, no longer threatened. It just existed. As a scar.
Somewhere beneath that scorched dirt were the remains of over a thousand Vowalkers. Not buried with ceremony. Not left with purpose. Just dead. Reduced to fragments and hollow cores. Suffocated in water, shattered by each other, activated by the same tactics that outpaced them.
None had survived.
Because I had survived.
That was the weight of this place—not the monsters, not the silence, not the strange logic of the Spell.
The weight was that I changed it.
By the time the river came into view again, my breathing had steadied, but my body hadn't recovered.
My arms had lost their strength. My fingers no longer felt the organs they carried. My eyes stung from the salt left behind in the drying sweat.
But I didn't blink it away.
I let it sting.
I descended into the shallow slope that cradled the river. Loose dirt gave way beneath me, crumbling with each step. I slid more than I walked, catching myself with numb legs and instinct alone.
The river was still the same.
Wide. Still. Flat like glass. Ten meters across.
The other side waited, untouched.
The only part of this world I hadn't changed.
Yet.
***
I crouched near the edge—not to rest, but to search. My hand sifted through the soft earth beside the river, brushing past roots, pebbles, and rotting strands of brittle grass.
Then I found it.
Grass that was still damp.
Stones that hadn't shifted.
Exactly what I was looking for.
A fire would be possible here. Small. Controlled.
But that would come after.
First, I sat down.
And for the first time since the nightmare began, I let my body rest.
The air here was different—heavier, but cleaner. A layer of moisture clung to the skin, evaporating slowly. The silence here was not hostile. Just indifferent.
And I accepted that.
Because for once, the world didn't need my attention.
It just let me breathe.
Even if only for now.
***
Things would've been a walk in the park with my actual body.
I wouldn't be this exhausted. Wouldn't be gasping with every other step. My legs wouldn't feel like they were made of soaked cloth, dragging behind me like dead weight.
My breathing was shallow now, shoulders trembling—not out of fear, but fatigue that shouldn't even exist.
This wasn't just physical.
I clenched my fist, then slammed it into my own ribs.
A sharp jolt ran through my side. Good. That pain was real.
It woke me up.
This nightmare wasn't just attacking my body—it was digging into my mind, warping how I thought, how I felt. Trying to slow me down, dull my edge, turn every action into doubt.
It wasn't trying to kill me.
It was trying to build something else.
Remorse.
Remorse for remorse eater to eat.
I had to be on guard, mentally too.
***
I crouched by the river's edge and scooped up a handful of dirt.
The water barely moved. Still, stagnant. No ripples. No sound.
That meant bacteria—maybe parasites. Not safe to drink directly. But I needed it.
I could survive without food for months—longer if I had to. But water was different. I could endure the lack, but not at full efficiency. And right now, I needed clarity. Precision. Endurance.
So I wet the dirt carefully, letting the moisture soak in as I kneaded it with my fingers. My hands moved with muscle memory, but my mind was somewhere else.
That sound.
It hadn't stopped since I left the crater behind.
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
Again. And again. A relentless chorus.
[You have received a memory.]
It slipped in like a whisper between the screams. Then—
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
I couldn't shut it off. No interface, no panel. No off switch.
Just the voice. Endless. Repeating.
I focused harder on the shape I was forming. The mud thickened in my palm, taking form—a crude vessel, no bigger than a spoon, no wider than my thumb. A few centimeters deep. Rough edges. No lip. It didn't matter.
It only had one job.
Once satisfied with the shape, I used the driest grass I gathered and set it in a loose bundle. Then, I pressed two pebbles together—sharp, angular—and began striking.
Sparks came slow at first. Then a flicker. Then flame.
The fire caught.
I held the vessel just above the flame, rotating it slowly, carefully. Too much heat would crack it. Too little, and it wouldn't hold shape.
Five minutes passed. Maybe seven.
Finally, the dirt hardened. Primitive, fragile—but solid enough.
I filled it with a shallow scoop of river water, held it back over the flame, and waited for the surface to ripple. Boil. Purify.
Steam rose in thin tendrils.
I drank.
The warmth spread through my chest like something sacred. My muscles still ached. My body still bled. But the dizziness faded—just slightly.
I exhaled.
The system hadn't gone silent.
[You have slain a dormant beast, Remorse Eater's Vowalker.]
But for a moment, it didn't matter.
I had water.
And I was still alive.
.....
....
...
..
.
I clenched my fist and punched myself. In the ribs again.
Pain surged through my entire body waking me awake.
It was still trying to influnce my thoughts.
No wonder this is called a nightmare.
And soon night devoured everything, but i refused to sleep fighting to have control of this body.
Tommorow I cross the river.