Peakwest 2 : Berserk, Blood And Peace

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P͟e͟a͟k͟w͟e͟s͟t͟ 2͟  | "уσυ αяє мє. ι αм уσυ."

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A thick darkness blanketed the room.

The atmosphere was suffocating, with a heavy stench of blood filling the air.

The floor was soaked in crimson, the walls covered in deep shadows that swallowed any hint of light.

In the middle of this horrifying scene, a boy sat on a broken, rotting chair. His head hung low, his long, white hair falling over his face, hiding his eyes.

From behind a closed door, footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate.

The door creaked open as if it hadn't been touched in years.

A figure appeared.

It was Alan.

His face was pale, fear etched across his features.

His breath hitched as his eyes landed on the boy sitting bound in chains, immobile in the center of the room.

Alan’s heart raced, pounding in his chest, the sound of his own pulse almost deafening.

The boy, still motionless, spoke. His voice was low, soft, almost mocking.

"Welcome back,"

"Esme."

Alan’s eyes widened in confusion. His voice trembled as he replied,

"Wh- who is Esme?"

"I'm Alan."

The boy's head shook slightly, a slow and deliberate movement, followed by a mild, unsettling giggle.

"You’re not Alan,"

the boy responded coldly.

"I am."

Fear crept into Alan’s veins, making him freeze in place.

His heart was beating faster now, his mind racing with disbelief and terror.

"What are you even talking about?"

Alan stuttered, trying to find his voice amidst the overwhelming fear.

The boy, with an eerie calmness, responded,

"Do you want to understand?"

Alan’s throat was dry as he managed a nod,

"Y-yes."

"Then come closer,"

the boy instructed.

Alan’s legs felt heavy, but he forced himself to move.

Each step echoed in the room, his feet squishing the blood-stained floor beneath him.

The foul, nauseating stench of decay and death assaulted his senses, making him feel as though he might collapse at any moment.

“Kneel down,”

the boy commanded.

Alan hesitated for a moment, but then, with a shaky breath, he knelt in front of the boy.

The room seemed to grow colder, the silence suffocating him even more.

"You are not Alan,"

"Esme,"

the boy said again, his voice emotionless.

"I am."

Alan’s confusion deepened.

“My name is Alan. Maybe your name is Esme? And why are you even here?”

His voice was shaky, his eyes wide with uncertainty.

The boy gave a cruel smile.

"If you were Alan, you'd have already slaughtered everyone who stood in your way, without hesitation. You are weak, your soul has been pushed away, buried within itself."

Alan's brows furrowed.

He was lost, unsure of what this strange boy was even talking about.

"What do you mean?"

Alan asked, his voice growing more desperate.

The boy continued,

“You are dead, Esme. This is the afterlife—an innate domain within your own soul.”

Alan's breath caught in his throat.

“What? The afterlife?”

“Yes,”

the boy replied calmly.

“Humans believe in heaven or hell, but it’s a lie. The afterlife isn’t beautiful. It’s tied to the worst moment in your life, the most painful memory, and your soul will be trapped in it forever.”

Alan’s eyes grew wide with horror.

“So... you're a ghost too?”

The boy giggled again, his voice filled with mockery.

“I am. But more importantly, you are me. I am you.”

Alan’s face twisted with confusion.

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“The human soul has two sides—a negative and a positive, a weak and a strong. Right now, you’re pretending to be Alan. But you’re not. You’re Esme.”

The words hit Alan like a punch to the gut. He felt his patience slipping away, replaced by anger and desperation.

“Stop confusing me!”

Alan shouted.

“I have to return soon. I have to kill Muzan!”

The boy remained unfazed, his cold smile still in place.

"You want to do it?"

"Yes!"

Alan yelled, his fists clenched, his fear now replaced by frustration.

The boy giggled one last time, the sound sending chills down Alan’s spine.

"You cannot."

Chapter Ends.