"Aaargh..." the boy screamed.
His head felt like it was being struck by a thousand hammers. His chest burned—not from the outside, but from within. It wasn't just his body; it was his very existence—his soul—that felt like it was being scorched alive.
His knees gave out. They could no longer support the weight of his body and collapsed beneath him like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He crumpled to the ground, helpless.
The pain wasn't only physical—it struck him mentally, like waves crashing against his mind. He couldn't even move a finger. He was frozen, like a dead man breathing.
In the silence of that unbearable agony, something appeared above his head.
It looked like a flower that had yet to bloom—its petals closed tightly in a mysterious shape.
The boy didn't realize it had appeared. He was too consumed by pain. But as the flower hovered there, slowly, the pain began to fade.
Yet what followed was even more dangerous.
He started hearing a mumble—distant at first, then steadily growing louder. Like something whispering into his ears from within his own skull.
"If you had everything, this wouldn't have happened," the voice said. It wasn't just a voice—it carried emotion, ragged and hoarse, but full of truth and temptation.
"If you had money, your family wouldn't have borrowed from that gangster."
"If you had power, you could've stopped the tragedy."
"If you had everything, everything would be good, and you wouldn't suffer anymore."
The boy couldn't respond. He could barely think.
And then the world shifted again.
He was no longer on the ground. He was somewhere else—somewhere strange.
A white, endless space. Pure. Empty. Without shape or boundary.
In front of him floated a black sphere—burning like a sun, but silent and still. It pulsed gently like a heartbeat.
The voice returned.
"Take it, if you want to have everything."
"Swallow it, so it may become one with your body."
"Accept it, and let it merge with your mind."
"Keep it, and your soul will finally feel at ease."
Then silence again. An unbearable, waiting silence.
The boy didn't know what to do. His breath came in short gasps. Everything had happened so fast. So sudden.
He didn't even know what would happen if he took it.
He tried to turn away—tried to escape—but no matter where he ran, it was like running on a treadmill. His legs moved, but the scenery stayed the same. It was all white. The black sun remained floating there, unchanging.
He tried yelling, but no voice came out. He tried crying, but no tears fell. Nothing changed.
Finally, exhausted, he gave in.
He stepped toward the black sun.
There was no heat. No fire. No pressure. But as he got closer, something inside him stirred.
A feeling—an emotion—an instinct to devour.
The closer he walked, the more intense the feeling became. It wasn't hunger, not exactly. It was deeper. Older.
When there were only two steps between him and the black sun, he could no longer hold back.
He reached forward—hands trembling—and swallowed the black sun whole.
Somehow, impossibly, it went into him. Like drinking smoke. Like swallowing a void.
At first, nothing happened. He stood still, confused.
Then it came.
The burning.
A heat more unbearable than fire. It wasn't just in his skin. It was in his blood. His bones. His thoughts. His soul.
His body swelled like a balloon. He didn't understand. His limbs stretched and bulged. His skin felt like it would burst.
"Aaaargh..."
He screamed with all he had. The sound echoed endlessly. But the pain only grew worse.
Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore—his body snapped back.
Normal.
The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come.
He gasped for air, dizzy. His body shook with the aftermath. He looked around.
And then—another wave came.
Not pain. Not fire.
Hunger.
A hunger deeper than the stomach. A hunger that came from the soul.
He needed to eat. Needed to consume.
His eyes darted in every direction. There was nothing here—nothing to devour.
Only white.
He looked down at his hand.
Without thinking, he bit into his right index finger. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
Pain. Sharp. Hot.
But it meant nothing.
The hunger was worse.
Crack.
He bit harder. Hard enough to break bone. He wasn't sure if it was his finger cracking—or his teeth.
Blood splashed across his lips and cheeks. The void around him turned red.
One finger was gone.
Still, the hunger remained.
Another finger. Then another. Then another.
He devoured them all.
Still, nothing changed.
His right hand was ruined. But the hunger still clawed at his mind.
He moved on to his arm.
Bit by bit, inch by inch, he consumed himself. Broken teeth. Bloodied tongue. But he didn't stop.
His mouth tore at flesh. His bones snapped. His skin peeled.
Crack. Crack.
Eventually, only his elbow remained.
And then—finally—the hunger faded.
But with it, the burning returned.
It rose through him like a wave. Fire inside blood.
"Aaaargh..."
He smeared his own blood across his skin, hoping it would help. It didn't. At least, not right away.
But he didn't stop. He kept covering himself, painting his body red.
Bit by bit, the fire began to fade. His breaths slowed.
The hunger was gone. The pain was gone.
And then—he woke.
He was back where he had fallen.
Back in the real world.
He blinked. The air was different. The ground was cold.
His soul no longer burned. He felt… whole, somehow. But also different.
He sat up. Checked his body.
Everything seemed the same. Until he touched his right arm.
There was a long slit—cut clean from his palm to his elbow.
He stared at it. Confused. What had happened?
Before he could understand—
"Aaaaarrrghh..."
A scream pierced the air. High-pitched. Inhuman.
His ears rang.
In front of him, a towering figure of a corrupted being stood tall, gazing at the blue moon.
In the creature's right hand, a lifeless woman lay unmoving.
"Aaaarrrghh..."
Another scream echoed, bringing deep sadness to those who heard it.
And then, inside the boy, an emotion began to bloom—
Hunger.
The same hunger he had felt before in the white space returned once more.