I awaken. The first thing I feel is an excruciating ache down my entire body. I groan softly before pushing myself, still confused as to why I’m sleeping on the floor instead of my nice and comfy bed. I blindly grope around for my bed, wanting to crawl back into a deep slumber. That’s when I realised that I’m not even in my room, just an empty box or prison of some kind. I see no windows, no doors, no way of entry and exit. Just a plain white room, like a blank canvas, primed and ready to be painted.

To add on to how suspicious and odd all this is, I check myself and found that I was wearing my usual shirt, hoodie and pants outfit. Not only that, it’s covered with tears and tainted with blood. I never wear this outfit to sleep.

Confused, I venture the plain space around me, though I see no point in doing so as everything is the same with nothing wanting to be discovered, the walls seemingly moving further as I walk closer. Even the ground and the ceiling proved to be of no use in my feeble attempt to better understand this enigmatic cage.

Defeated, I lay back down on the ground, stomaching the pain from my aching back. I’m not so sure what to do now except wait for the answers to reveal themselves. Running around aimlessly would merely be wasting my energy.

As if on cue, I clutch my stomach as it grumbles, reminding me that food and water is still a necessity in this place. I sigh. How in the world did I end up here, wherever here is?

Hello, Reynold…

I sit up, wincing once again from my back. That voice….It sounds oddly familiar.

I’ve been waiting…

I carelessly push myself up, fear rising like bile up my throat, dreading whatever creature resides in this chamber of white. I ready myself for combat, wielding nothing but my own bloody fists. I’ve never fought without a weapon anymore, never remembered wielding one either. That’s true, right? What weapon could I have wielded? I was never strong enough to lift a stack of books. What more a sword or a bow?

Waiting for far too long…

Black ink slowly starts seeping in through the walls, almost impetuously dragging its viscous body down to the ground and towards me, like a creature starved for meat, craving for every ounce of flesh I have to offer. How am I supposed to defend against this?! I’ll be nothing but bones (or even just nothing) in a matter of seconds!

To finally be free…

The ink slowly thickens, eventually stopping mere inches. What was once a room of pure white has transformed into a turmoil of darkness. Almost nothing escaped the surge of ink, covering most of the room in a waxy black. I heave a quick sigh of relief and step on the ink, testing a getaway option. Instead of solid ground, I was greeted by a heavily corrosive substance, melting away my shoe on contact. What in the world is this stuff?!

But you’ve locked me away…

I retract my foot, finding myself to be lucky enough to be able to escape the death trap with my foot still intact. This ink…why it so familiar? Why is everything here so familiar, for that matter? The voice, the clothes, the aching and even the wounds and injuries. It’s as though… my memory is lost…

Kept me caged up…

I begin listening to the voice silently, no longer ignoring whatever it’s saying, hoping its words can jog my memory.

And I lay dormant, asleep, merely a tool to you…

A tool? I don’t remember manipulating anyone… I was a kind-hearted, social and friendly kid. I still am. What, or more specifically, what have I done to you? Unless you’re the ink, then I apologize for all the times I’ve used a pen or a quill.

I know you, Reynold. I know who you are, what you are, why you are…

Suddenly, the fear resurfaces, emerging like a black hole, dragging any other positive emotions I have in me into its hungry belly. I can’t seem to think straight. I can’t seem to bring light to this situation. I can’t seem to feel anything but fear. How… can this creature even know me?

But do you know me?

The fear froths up even more. I can’t imagine a situation where I get out here alive. Something I’ve apparently tossed aside and neglected has confronted me, playing all the right cards onto the table, and the odds are against my favour. I have nothing to show, nothing to back me up, nothing to justify myself. All my life I’ve been trying to be kind to everyone, only to have a pile of ink be the death of me.

Let me help you remember.

~ ~ ~

I awaken. At first, the world around me felt euphoric, like I was floating, my limbs all numb. Though, not much time passed before reality came crashing back down onto me. My injuries, hunger and thirst washed over me, like a cacophony of torment cornering me into paralysis. My chest constricts me as I feel smoke go down my nostrils, burning me from the inside out.

But nothing hurts more than the stinging pain.

The pain is almost comparable to being impaled by a thousand spears, sharp and serrated edges shredding my flesh into minced meat. To add fuel to the fire, at every puncture wound, searing pain radiates out, plunging me deeper into this hell of misery. What monster could possibly be doing this to me?!

The silver lining: I remember everything.

~ ~ ~

I gasp a ragged breath. The pain was so strong, I felt tears of agony dripping down my cheeks. I’m on the floor, curled up and contorted, my body subconsciously trying laboriously to withstand the anguish. It takes me almost a full minute to realise that the pain has disappeared without a trace. I heave an unsteady sigh of relief, the reality of the situation dawning upon me.

Reynold…

I push myself up, the back ache from before now feels like nothing more like an annoying itch. I take in my surroundings. The room now feels nothing short of a ink factory, pumping out ink from every angle. There’s still a safe area around my feet, but it’s not staying safe for much longer.

How does it feel…

I take a deep breath and step into the ink, the corrosive substance tearing into my legs as it sinks in. I stifle a cry and continue pushing forward. I’ve been here before…

To feel what I feel….

I hobble my way through the sludge. I remember the cyborg; I remember the dragon; But most of all, I remember being corrupted and perverted into a killing machine, ripping a cyborg limb by limb mercilessly. Not to mention the hundreds – or even thousands – of other cyborgs that was subjected to the inferno of the dragon that was under my command.

No, not my command. It was never mine to begin with.

Will you still lock me in this cage…

I finally find the mirror, dim amongst the darkness, but bright as a beacon to me. With my eyes fixated on this malicious piece of vanity, I lumber through the quicksand-like liquid, prepared to face my reflection. I’ve had my fair share of ink. I don’t intend to be taken over again.

Or will you finally free me?!

The ink, from a steady stream, now starts to gush out, forming cracks along the walls and ceiling. The ink quickly reaches my knee-level and shows no sign of slowing down. No! I’m not letting this nightmare repeat! I will make a murderer of every single soul before I let myself commit another genocide! I will plague the cities with the hatred and malice so that they would deface their names before I deface their heads! I will rob the world of its happiness and joy, before my life is plagued with misery and anguish!

WHY DO YOU STILL CONCEAL ME…

I get thrusted out of my thoughts, taken aback at how tainted my thoughts were. I look down at my chest to see the darkness blossoming out, its roots plunging deep into my body, my heart now the core of this seed of evil. I feel it spiral outwards, ravaging through the goodness in me. I drop to my knee, too weak to stand, as the ink submerges my body.

WHEN I AM ALREADY A PART OF YOU!

A rush of determination floods my system. My body lurches out the ink and charge forward, refusing to succumb to the pain of my face being melted off. I will never let such malignity control my body. Never again.

LET ME BE WHOLE AGAIN!

The ink reaches my waist level. Enough time to reach the mirror. The arduous journey, akin to a ship to a lighthouse in a treacherous storm, will soon be worth it. This is a fight I cannot lose. I will not admit defeat to a damn mirror!

THIS TIME, I WANT TO BE THE ONE WHO AWAKENS!

I finally arrive, the mirror ahead of me. I stare straight into my lifeless reflection, its eyes a black hole, tempting me to fall into the void and leave nothing but my empty shell behind. A shell it will happily use to overthrow everyone I love, be it my father’s legacy, the Capital and all the memories I have with it, or even the deceptive fantasy of Coralia being the love of my life.

AND YOU’LL BE THE ONE WHO’S NOTHING BUT A MERE TOOL TO ME!

With the same hatred it has for me, I reach in and grab my reflection’s throat, crushing it with all my strength and will. I want to crush its smug grin of its face, to show it that I’m still kicking. I will fight it until the day I die. Because the second I stop, I’ve sealed the fate of humanity.

Humanity will fall.

If this creature is capable of imbuing such evil into me, what would happen if it ever got out. I will stop at nothing to suppress it, so others don’t get hurt.

However, I’m fighting a losing battle.

Oh, Reynold. You never fail to surprise me with your naivety…

The reflection is unfazed. No matter how hard I try, it’s not dying. Before I had the chance to react, its arms lurch forward, wrapping itself around my throat. Its arms distorted into what feels like a tentacle, coiled tightly and choking me. My arms get weaker as my vision blurs. I struggle to grasp on to my consciousness. I’ve lost, again.

When will you learn that you can never get rid of me?

~ ~ ~

I awaken. At this point, it’s getting quite old. I keep waking up from a dream that never ends. Completely out of spite, I merely stay still, trying to be lulled back to sleep in hopes of waking up. A sort of reverse psychology, if I will. If waking up drags me deeper, then sleeping should pull me further. It’s foolproof. I don’t see any possible way this brilliant plan of mine will fail. There’s obviously nothing wron-

It’s not working. I should really stop being optimistic with my plans. None of them has ever come to fruition. I don’t see how being in a surreal space controlled by this ink entity will change that.

Defeated, I reluctantly play along and study the environment. I was expecting the theme park, or wherever Coralia dragged me to, to be the first thing I witnessed. Instead, I got an eerily calm and silent field of grass. A sloping landscape filled with small hills and dotted with small, colorful flowers welcomes me. Sitting on one of the hilltops, a large willow tree is comfortably planted, a gentle breeze flowing through its luscious leaves.

It looks like paradise; it feels like hell.

Through the serenity, there’s a sort of palpable malice drifting through the atmosphere, ill will draped over the grassy plains. The air is stagnant, yet the plants sway gleefully – but seems like tauntingly, if you’d ask me. The willow feels distant, almost a mirage in the air, an odd attraction drawing me towards it. Not only that, there’s a lack of security lingering the tree, like it may be unrooted completely with a single flick.

But, amongst all the hostility, I get a hit of nostalgia.

I’m sure I don’t remember this far back into my childhood. I don’t even think I can. My childhood memories pretty much gone from my memory, forgotten (or erased), leaving me with only the future to worry about. Yet, out of the few things I can trust, I know I can trust my subconscious and my instinct, and if this is where a part of my childhood originated, I can be sure that it’s true.

The scenery was so mesmerizing and malicious, that I didn’t realise that I wasn’t a blob of ink. I have arms, legs and everything else a guy like me should have. I’m still a human, but whether my heart is pumping blood or ink, I’ll have to wait and see.

I get onto my feet and cautiously make my way to the tree. This is a scene a citizen of the Capital can only dream of having. After the battle with the Forest, quite a few tourist attractions had to close down, and when I say close down, I mean get utterly consumed by the Forest’s plaguing vines and creatures.

Natural flowers and especially large trees were one of them. This used to be a bustling park filled with people and joy. Everyone enjoyed crisp wind through the hair, the hot sun in the sky and the cool shade under the willow tree. Nowhere better than this to enjoy a day with your family. If there’s anything in the history books that are emphasized, it was definitely life before the Forest invaded the lands.

I stop in my tracks. I’m not alone in here. Now much closer to the tree, I see a figure. No, not one but three moving figures under the natural shelter. I’m hoping for it to be nothing but a few stray animals, but I know the ink is not bored to the extent of just adding a small-scale farm to torture me.

They’re humans, or more accurately, people who has affected or been affected by me when I was a child. My legs jerk forward one after the other, and just like that, I’m sprinting straight to who I’m guessing is my executioners. I expect a trio of ugly-faced witches who have no other reason to live other than to make me suffer. That definitely fits the ink’s theme. Oh wait, no. I definitely can’t forget that they’re all made out of ink. Yep, that’s definitely how I’ll die.

Again, the world surprises me again, but only to a small extent. I guess the ink knew me well enough to inflict psychological torture instead. What better emotion to torment with than guilt?

“I’m so sorry Mom. I’m so sorry, Dad. I should’ve known better than to call you ugly ink witches…” My voice echoes in my head but the words fail to be uttered. Whatever sick trick the ink picked to tick me off, it definitely was thorough. It made me insult my parents and even what looks like an innocent and harmless baby me. Then, it took away my ability to apologize to them. What monster would do such a thing?

Then again… the ink is a monster.

Not wanting to lose to the guilt, I make a feeble attempt to dispel my emotions, prioritizing my analytical and logical side and pushing aside my sentimental side. I start with my parents, studying their supposedly joyful faces as they rest under the leaves, the baby me in my mother’s arms and my mother in my father’s arms.

Seeing my parent’s again…it almost has the power to bring tears to my eyes. Sadly, it’s not powerful enough to ingrain any new emotions into my bank, which at the moment only consists of fear and lust.

I reach out to them, wanting to be able to reminisce with them. All the good and bad times we’ve had together. Maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to jog my memory and help me remember…

However, I forgot one important fact: The world’s a cruel place, and the ink is even more so.

Before I could even touch their hair, my arms melt away, and this wonderful world fragments before me.

A tear was the last thing that escaped me before the world went dark.