Have you ever had to make a choice? One of those with no real way out, only the obligation to pick the lesser evil. A cruel choice, where both options feel wrong.
Imagine having to decide between jumping into a terrifyingly dark canyon, so deep the darkness seems to swallow any sense of a bottom... or being stabbed by a lunatic wielding a knife, someone who, disturbingly, looks like a twisted version of yourself, a shattered reflection of a life once lived.
Yeah. The problem is, this isnât a hypothetical exercise. Iâm being forced to make that choice right now. At this very moment. There was nowhere left to retreat.
The canyon behind us, deep and silent, somehow felt less inviting than the knife-wielding man in front of us. But the real issue wasnât just facing him. It was the fact that I couldnât hurt him.
Not directly. Because, in case youâve forgotten, any damage I inflict on him inevitably comes back to me. And just to jog your memory, having your head explode into a million pieces and then watching it be reconstructed fragment by fragment isnât exactly something you forget easily.
Itâs a deeply unpleasant experience, visually and physically. Even without pain, the sensation of every piece reconnecting, locking back into place, is... disturbing. Strange on a level thatâs hard to put into words. If I can avoid it, Iâd rather not go through that again. Just thinking about it sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Meanwhile, with every step the knife-wielding man took, the tension thickened among our ranks. Everyone wanted to shoot, fingers itching on the trigger, but they seemed oddly divided, casting sideways glances at me as if waiting for permission, or confirmation.
Personally, I felt a bit sentimental seeing how seriously they were taking the situation. I mean, they know I donât feel pain, at least not physically. It doesnât really affect me. And Iâm not mentally affected either... still, watching the whole process is unpleasant.
I tried to calmly assess our options, searching for another possible path. Maybe there was an alternative I hadnât considered yet. I could simply grab them and fly over the canyon, but that plan had a problem: I couldnât see the other side.
We could spend hours, days, maybe even weeks crossing that rocky expanse, trapped in an exhausting, uncertain flight with no guarantee of success. And on top of that, the feeling lingered, Tenebrya was still down there.
I could feel her. Like a constant weight on my chest, a presence that refused to be ignored. That made any attempt to go around the canyon completely pointless. My real objective wasnât beyond it... it was at the bottom of the canyon.
Unfortunately, I didnât have as much time to think as I wouldâve liked. Footsteps echoed behind me, and when I turned my attention back to the human holding the knife, he was already running.
Far too fast by human standards, though, to my senses, he was still absurdly slow. From anyone elseâs perspective, heâd be on us in about five seconds.
For me, though, everything unfolded like warped slow motion: each stride stretched through time, the sound of friction against the ground dragged on, and I had the strange sensation of having nearly two full minutes before he got close enough to reach us.
Of course, I still hadnât fully decided what to do with him, but I knew I couldnât let him get as close as he intended. My arms were engulfed in a thick black mist, smoldering like embers choked by darkness. I leaned forward, feeling the weight of the decision, and touched the ground with the tips of my fingers in a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
Slithering along my hand, the mist seeped into the ground like a living, ravenous creature. Seconds later, the earth trembled slightly, and a shadowy wall burst up between us, rising just inches from where the man with the knife would have reached my body. The impact of his charge was absorbed by the barrier, and the air around us seemed to shudder from the sudden release of force.
Some members of the anomaly response team nearly lost their footing from the abrupt turn of events, ending up just inches away from a fatal plunge into the seemingly bottomless canyon.
The armed human lunged at me, his blade scraping and slamming against my shield with a dry, metallic clang. Still, it was clear he wouldnât be able to break through, no matter how hard he tried. At least for now, we were safe.
âNiceâ Victor said beside me, stepping forward to the front of my wall of mist and tapping its surface lightly, as if testing its solidity: âYou thought up a countermeasure fast. I almost shot him on reflexâ
However, when Victor touched the surface of the wall, contrary to what he expected, his hand passed straight through it without meeting any resistance. The shock of the unexpected made him recoil instantly, taking a few steps back as a look of confusion spread across his face.
Sensing his hesitation and deciding to clear up his doubts, I sent my words straight into his mind: âThis wall exists only to keep him from coming after us. It doesnât stop us from crossing to the other sideâ
Victor turned toward me as soon as he heard my words. There was something in his expression that hinted at mild resentment, barely contained. His lips parted, then pressed together again, repeating the motion a few times, as if he were rehearsing an answer that never quite formed. In the end, he just sighed, a low sound, heavy with resignation.
Fully turning to face me, he asked, âOkay... so weâre just a few inches away from a psycho with a knife... is this it?â His tone was tense, but controlled. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced toward the canyon behind us, as if silently gauging how deep a single misstep might send us.
Personally, all I wanted was to tell him to just jump and get it over with. But in the same way I can feel Tenebrya down there, pulsing like a silent call, I can also feel the danger waiting for us. Down there is dangerous, very dangerous, at least for humans.
Somehow, Iâd manage in that place. I carry this constant sense that no matter what stands in front of me, Iâll still be able to find a way out, to force a path through. But for the humans with me, there is no second chance. For them, a single mistake is enough. One slip, one wrong step... and theyâre dead.
Lost in scattered thoughts, I walked toward the canyon. Victor, at my side, let out a resigned sigh and followed in silence. We were only a few meters from our destination when, suddenly, I stopped, or rather, my body froze completely, as if something invisible had locked my muscles in place.
Victor noticed my abrupt halt and shot me a confused look, full of unspoken questions. I said nothing. Without uttering a single word, I slowly turned my arm, pointed at it, and stared.
There was a cut on my arm, thin, fresh. A cut I was absolutely certain hadnât been there just seconds ago. Still trying to understand how that was possible, I felt Victorâs gaze settle on me. Heâd noticed it too and, with a slight frown, asked: âDid you hurt yourself?â
I thought about answering Victor. I even opened my mouth, but something stopped me. I felt as if something were moving beneath my gelatinous skin, sliding slowly, like a living blade searching for space. It was sharp and elongated, cold inside, and every inch it advanced sent a strange shiver through my body.
The cut, which had been small and superficial, began to widen on its own, tearing itself open, growing deeper and broader until it completely severed my arm. There was no blood, only a horrific pressure, as if my own skin were being split open from the inside out.
Then the thing began cutting vertically, opening the limb into long, uneven slits, peeling layers apart as though my skin were some kind of living leather, still aware, still sensitive. On the outside, my face remained stoic, rigid as stone. Inside, panic took over: (Jesus... what the hell is this?)
For a brief second, I genuinely believed I was possessed. It was the only explanation that made sense in that moment. But the rising murmurs, almost whispers spoken directly into my mind, and the constant, wet, disturbing sound of something slowly being torn apart led me to a different conclusion.
Victor and I exchanged a silent look for a few seconds, long enough to confirm, without words, that we were thinking the same thing. Then we both turned at the same time toward the wall Iâd created moments earlier, in the exact direction where the knife-wielding man should have been.
The moment he appeared in front of us, Victorâs eyes widened almost instinctively, and a curse slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, thick with shock and rage: âYou piece of shit!â
Victorâs outburst was justified, especially considering the man was cutting himself with the knife. Each movement produced a wet, unsettling sound, as if the blade were tearing through reality itself along with flesh.
He didnât scream in pain or make a single sound. The silence made it even worse. Still, his expression said everything: his face was completely pale, his eyes wide and filled with horror, making it painfully clear what he was feeling inside.
Even so, he didnât hesitate for a single moment. He kept tearing and tearing, dissecting and dissecting, with an almost unnatural determination, while every motion, every cut, was perfectly mirrored on my own body.
Victor turned to me, his brows slightly drawn together and his jaw tight, as if he already knew the answer. His eyes searched my face for a moment before he asked in a low, worried voice: âAre we screwed?â
I considered his words, but in the end, the faint ripple that ran through the wall was answer enough. I simply nodded in silence. The small, almost indifferent gesture made Victorâs expression darken even further, as if heâd grasped the weight of what hadnât been said: (Weâre safe for now... but all it takes is a lapse. If I lose focus, for example, if he tears his own head off, the connection to my powers will break for a few seconds. Probably long enough for him to get in here)
Victor stayed silent for a moment. His gaze hardened slightly, he understood immediately where I was going with this. Beside us, Rupert stepped forward, his weapon still firmly aimed at the man with the knife, fingers tense on the trigger.
âI have no damn idea what the hell is going onâ he said without taking his eyes off the target: âbut that messed-up scene definitely means something... and itâs something Iâm not even a little interested in finding out how it endsâ
He tilted his head toward the canyon, as if that alone were answer enough: âSoâ he concluded with a short sigh: âare we jumping into the canyon or not?â