Supernatural Odyssey: Song Of Death

Chapter 1

The darkness was absolute, a suffocating void that pressed against him like a weight. At first, he didn't panic—he was used to the dark. It was his element, after all. But as he lay still, his mind slowly sharpened, something felt wrong. His eyes, usually sharp enough to pierce the night—saw nothing. He blinked, once, twice, expecting the familiar shapes of the room to emerge, but they didn’t.

He reached out, expecting his senses to guide him: the pulse of life in the air, the scent of blood, the whisper of footsteps in distant corridors. Instead, there was nothing. Silence reigned, so thick it felt unnatural. His fingers touched the cold surface of stone beneath him, but no other sensations followed. His heart, usually slow and controlled, quickened.

He rose carefully, his feet unsure in the pitch-blackness. He extended his hands, hoping for some wall, some object, anything to anchor him to reality. Each step was deliberate, each breath shallow.

The coldness pressed against him from every direction as he moved forward blindly, his hands grazing the edges of the walls, feeling their texture—smooth and worn, but unyielding. Desperation prickled at him. There had to be something here, something to tell him where he was or how to escape this endless void.

His powerlessness gnawed at him, an unfamiliar helplessness. He wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable.

“What is this?” he whispered, his voice lost in the oppressive silence.

He took a tentative step forward, foot scraping against the floor, sending an echo that seemed too distant, as if the room stretched farther than he could imagine. Each step felt heavier than the last as he searched for a way out, but the room offered no answers.

The weight of the silence began to close in, tightening around him like an invisible hand. He wasn't used to fear, not like this, and it clawed at his insides. Yet he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. There had to be something here, some way to escape, to make sense of this suffocating nightmare. His fingers continued to reach into the void, desperate for anything that would lead him from this maddening prison.

His fingertips dragged across the stone wall, cold and unyielding. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to let panic overtake him. He knew better. He had lived long enough to understand that fear clouded judgment, but the darkness... it felt like it was alive, wrapping itself tighter around him with every passing moment.

Then, his foot kicked something small, and it skittered across the floor with a metallic clink. He froze, listening as the sound echoed and then faded into silence again. Heart pounding in his chest, he crouched down, feeling around the floor. His fingertips brushed against the cool metal of the object.

A lighter.

It was simple, small, and surprisingly warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting for him. He held it in his palm, feeling the weight of it, almost afraid to ignite it. But the urge to see, to break the thick wall of blackness, overpowered his hesitation.

With a flick of his thumb, the wheel ground against the flint, sparking once, twice, and then—fire. A tiny, flickering flame burst to life, casting a dim, wavering glow around him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to push back the overwhelming darkness.

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the newfound light. The room was small, almost claustrophobic, the walls rough and uneven as though carved from solid stone. The floor beneath his feet was jagged, patches of dust and debris scattered across it.

As he held the lighter up, the flame danced in his eyes, casting fleeting shadows on the walls. He moved it slowly, scanning the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

But it was more than just the room. The flame felt real, and the heat of it warmed his skin in a way that didn’t belong in dreams. It brought with it a strange clarity, as if waking him from a deeper slumber.