Asher Vail had always been invisible.
He wasn't the kind of kid people pointed at in the halls. Not the one others bullied or admired. Just a shadow in a hoodie—quiet, average, and easy to overlook. He drifted through school like fog.
No friends. No enemies. No one close enough to notice anything was wrong.
But something was wrong.
He noticed things others ignored. The way teachers tensed when someone mentioned the forest. The missing students no one acknowledged. The symbols scrawled behind toilets and under desks—smiling mouths, staring eyes, crude runes like claw marks.
He listened to the rumors. He connected the dots.
Slenderman. Jeff. Eyeless Jack.
Creepypasta.
But they weren't stories here. They were real.
It wasn't the world he remembered. Something about it felt bent—like reality was quietly broken beneath the surface.
Still, he said nothing. Watched. Waited.
Until the night his parents took off the mask—and came for him.
---
It started like any other night. Dinner. Silence. His mother's forced smile. His father's usual stiff posture. They told him to come downstairs—something about a family tradition.
"Asher," his father said, voice low, "we want to show you where you came from."
There were symbols on the floor. Candles. Robes.
And people he knew. Neighbors. Teachers. His chemistry tutor. All in a circle.
His mother pressed her hand to his chest.
"You've grown so much," she whispered. "You're ready now."
Confusion turned to dread. Then to panic.
Ropes. Latin. Blood.
He screamed when the knife carved into his shoulder. Not just from the pain—but the betrayal.
> "Why?" he gasped.
His mother's hand trembled as she held the blade.
> "Because your soul wasn't ripe yet," she said. "You had to grow. Feel. Love. Hurt. Only then does it split clean."
"A child's soul is soft. Shallow. Yours... yours is perfect."
He choked out the words:
> "You raised me just to kill me."
She nodded.
> "I'm sorry it had to be you. But it always had to be you."
Then the blade came down.
---
The ritual never finished.
The floor cracked.
The symbols hissed.
Shadows rose like smoke—and screamed. Not in rage, but in joy. The cultists howled. Some ran. Most didn't make it.
Because Asher stood.
His hoodie clung to him like a second skin, soaked in blood. His eyes glowed faint white. His reflection shimmered across a cracked mirror—behind him, a dark silhouette, with glowing eyes and a hollow grin.
Everyone else was dead.
And floating before him:
> [PARASIGHT SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
[Kill Confirmed: x7]
[KP Gained: 70]
[Welcome, Host: Asher Vail]
[Directive: Grow Stronger.]
He blinked.
A glowing interface. Clear. Clean. Impossible.
He should've panicked. Should've screamed, cried, begged for this to stop.
But after seeing his parents slice him open, after hearing the truth—this barely registered.
It didn't feel like a miracle. It felt like a continuation.
A reward for surviving what they tried to do to him.
A curse for what he was about to become.
> "So... this is what they left me with," he muttered. "Something that watches. Tracks. Pushes me to kill."
The system pulsed again.
> [New Feature Unlocked: Kill Shop]
[Locked Skill: Shadowform – 500 KP to activate]
[Parasight will remain hidden unless summoned.]
He stared at the text until it faded from view.
Then he stepped over his mother's corpse and walked up the basement stairs—cold wind biting through his hoodie, the shadows behind him shifting like they were breathing.
He didn't look back.