HUNTERS || ENHA/LSFM || - A K-pop Ghost Hunting Story

62. Doom

Sakura spoke to her.

Sakura did. Not the spirit.
Or at least that was what Kazuha thought so.
Everything was a haze. Nothing was clear.
Or perhaps it was all her dying mind's game.
But regardless, she listened.

Because, Sakura or not, she reconned they would've told her the exact same thing.

"Nakamura Kazuha... run."

...

The voice called to him again.

"Don't die... Don't die..."
It wasn't just saying those words to him. It was begging, pleading to him, as if there were nothing else in the world; it was centred on him, and him only.

His head felt even lighter than it had been before, like some kind of gas was ballooning it up. Every single movement, no matter how small, felt like an entire sway of his body, like he were on some kind of speeding carousel, that the blood was rushing outwards and away from his vital organs. It chilled him down to his stomach and his heart, like there were a hefty tingling sensation.

There was an empty, weightless pit in his stomach.
It felt like he was falling backwards.
Just falling into some kind of abyss.

A bright abyss with no end.

The haze in his vision almost felt like some kind of cave of light in a way, like he were walking, or free-falling, even, through some kind of dreamy cloud that would've otherwise been something relatively seraphic.

It was like he could feel the wind brushing through his hair and through his hands.
He was falling.
Falling down somewhere, somehow.

Sunghoon was completely detached from reality. It was like he had disintegrated from the earth's surface and somehow appeared amongst the skies.

Were the things around him even clouds?
It could've all just been a part of his mind.
Maybe he was long dead.
Maybe everything he was seeing was not part of the universe, but the land of the departed.

He contemplated whether or not he was still alive.

Still, he descended.
Down and down he went.
He could only keep his eyes half open; weakness still numbed his body, and his eyes were constantly dried by the flowing wind.

He was falling.

Everything had been a blinding white.
A heavenly, dreamy, pure white.
It was a place for safety.
A utopia.

What had he to fear?
There was nothing to fear.

A smile hooked the edge of his lip. He let the wind flow. He let himself fall.
He was safe. There was no more to fear.

There was nothing here to fear.
No hostiles.
No traitors.
No weapons.

And there was no more of it. It was gone. Wherever he was, there was no more of it. He was sure.
He was free.

There were no more monsters. No more spirits.
Everything was okay.
It was alright now.

It was alright...
There was nothing to fear...

Nothing to fear...
Nothing to-

STAB

Everything turned a blood red.

He let out a blood-boiling cry.
He screamed bloody murder until his lungs ached.
His body stopped falling.
He was no longer falling.

He was impaled upon a spike. One monstrous, towering spike. He hung by his torso, the tip of the fang piercing through the centre of his body.
The sides of the spike were pitch dark, darker than any shadow. It cast darkness on absolutely everything around it. It had serrated edges, and they tore at him like hooks, slowly pulling him apart the more his chest hefted when he screamed.