Pain.
That was all Noah knew as he opened his eyes. His head was aching with a pain so intense it felt as though someone had stabbed a rusty, blunt knife into the middle of his skull and was slowly prying his lobes apart with it.
His vision was blurry as he tried to make out where he was. The surface he lay on was unfamiliar; it lacked the soft and slightly damp comfort of his old mattress. As he tried to push his hands against the floor, he noticed something was wrong as a fresh wave of pain hit him hard.
Then it started coming back to him. 'Was it a nightmare?' No, it wasn't. The answer hit him as the egoist's voice reached his ears.
"Why are you in such a hurry to leave? My art does not please you?" the voice declared proudly.
Noah tried hard to focus his vision. Slowly, it became more stable, less wobbly. The air around him had a strong smell of iron about it, and the lighting was a little too bright. The most obvious object in his view was the blade that hung on a slanted plane above him, pointing directly at his chest. The blade was implanted in the hand of a sculpted replica of the bulky man, its sculpted face bearing the demeanor of a powerful warrior.
"Oh, you are finally up, blessed one."
Noah turned to the direction of the voice. It was coming from the bulky man, who was looking up at him from a lower plane. Amidst the splitting ache, Noah managed to register that he was in a compartment built directly into the wall. He wanted to ask, 'What is all this about?', but he was too weak to even speak.
"How do you like your display case?" the bulky man asked him.
'Display Case,' his mind managed to register. 'Why am I in a display case?'
"You see, you are the one who has received the honor of being the most recent addition to my very own private collection," the man said as he spread his hands out wide. "A collection that preceded even my father."
Noah looked past the standing figures of Mason and Dane to notice the several other compartments built into the wall just like his. Each held a gruesome depiction as vile as hell itself.
"You are very sick," Noah muttered under his breath, the words failing to reach their intended recipient.
"Your friends here don't know art. They have not yet ascended beyond their wants," Reginald said. He turned to Dane, bringing his face uncomfortably close. "All they care about is sex and drugs."
"If it were women or drugs, they would be eager to participate," he continued, pointing a finger at Noah. "But art? They only mind their business now."
"You sold me to this sick Fu**," Noah muttered, as tears slid down his eyes without any wailful ceremony announcing their descent.
"You sold me the Fu** out!"
Mason took a few steps back. Dane stared him in the eyes, his own devoid of guilt.
"Don't say that, weeb. At least now you get to be worth something." He walked closer to the compartment that held Noah and added in a low breath, "Twenty-five thousand dolls."
"Okay, okay, enough of that," the bulky man ordered as he walked to Dane and brought his mouth close to his ear. "Get out of here."
As they left, he poured himself a glass of wine from a bar in the vile space.
"Sorry for that," he said, walking up to Noah's display. "Poor wretches. That's all they can amount to. But you, my friend, are about to ascend beyond that. You will become something immortal."
Noah did not know what he was feeling. His heart was incredibly cold, yet a fire unlike any he had ever experienced burned within it. He hated himself. He hated himself for being so stupid. He should have noticed something was wrong with the unofficial nature of his employment, with the fact that his promised wage was way above the average pay he had googled. The fact that Dane could afford a luxurious van and a heavily furnished office with only a single staff member.
'I have been so stupid,' the thought came like a final verdict, as a new kind of cold spread all across his being.
"I am going to die," a voice so cold it felt foreign reached his own ears.
"Ah, you won't die," the bulky man spoke as he made himself comfortable on a white sofa. "You will ascend to something more beautiful. Even though you are quite the sight already."
It was then that it dawned on Noah that he was naked. His mind had been in so much pain that he hadn't registered it before. He was naked. His mind barely cared.
"I will ascend," he chuckled, his voice raspy. "At least, let me know who my benefactor is."
"Oh!" the man fake-screamed in amusement. "That was quite discourteous of me. You can put a name to the face: Reginald."
"Reginald," Noah repeated to himself in a low whisper. He couldn't entertain the man's depravity anymore. He turned away from the smug fool and looked at the blade that was his co-actor in this forceful art. The darkness that radiated from the blade was still there, but to Noah, that chill was now comforting. The blade was not a hypocrite. It knew what it was, it radiated what it was; it did not deny or pretend to be something else to scheme and exploit others.
"If only humans could be like you," he muttered to no one. Or maybe not no one. Maybe the blade was listening.
"Hahaha—" Noah chuckled at his own messed-up thought as a face came to his mind.
'No, no brain, spare me that,' he pleaded with himself. 'Please, not that…'
Not minding his pleas, he remembered. He remembered a time before his mother's death, a time when he was much more full of life. He had a girlfriend then, and even a best friend. He was going to marry her.
'Snakes, the lot of them.' That was when his trust in people was broken. That was when he learned to find solace only in himself.
Duuu—
A low rumble reached him as a several-inch-thick glass slid upward from the outermost part of his compartment, sealing him inside the space with the sword. He turned and saw Reginald standing with a remote in his hand.
Dumm.
A low thud sounded as the sealing was complete. Reginald's mouth moved as he spoke, but Noah failed to hear him. No sound could reach him behind the seal.
The man left the vile lair, and as he did, the lighting in the hall turned off. Noah could still see the blade pointing at his neck, thanks to the red LED light built into the corners of his space.
"It's just me and you now," he spoke, trying to push back the thoughts that scratched at the back of his mind. For a moment, he thought he heard a reply. It came in whispers, lots of whispers that echoed all around him. The sound sent chills down his cold heart. He let his head fall as he lay on the cold, tiled floor, memories of his life playing through his mind.
"I should have bought the larger burger," he whispered, trying to chase back the thoughts that were taking root. Then he felt it. A presence was there with him. It lay silently behind him. The development should have scared him, but it calmed him. Not long after, he slept.
***
Dark. Everything was dark, but he was awake.
As if in response to his thought, a red sky spread above, eerily calm.
'Am I dreaming?' Noah thought. Under him, land slowly came to be, spreading from his feet to a distance of about ten meters, where it formed a radius all around him. Past the ten-meter mark, all that existed was darkness so thick it could be touched.
He felt the same presence he had felt before he slept. It was behind him. It was all around him. It was the darkness that surrounded him.
"How aRE yOU heRE?" A voice that was somehow both loud and a whisper reached him. 'It's coming from behind me,' Noah could tell, but he didn't turn. Somehow, he knew that if he turned, he would be looking at something his human mind couldn't comprehend.
He felt a cold touch on his brain. It felt like his mind was being clad in hands that had been dipped in snow, unprotected, until the blood within froze over.
"iNtEResTIng." There was no change in tone or pitch, but Noah could feel the excitement in its voice.
"yOU DO nOt wAnT tO dIE."
"YOU dO NOt haVE tO."
There was comfort this time in its voice, but it was deeply unnerving.
"You want something?" Noah asked, despite the fear in his heart. "No, I know you do. What do you want?"
"eVEn thAt yOU kNOW."
"Why should I believe you? Why should I believe something as terrifying as you?" Noah could feel his confidence returning as he spoke. "Why should I believe that accepting you isn't the same as death? Will there still be a 'me'?"
"YOU aMUsE mE fRiEnd."
"You are no friend!" Noah replied sharply.
"aHH YEs."
"fRIenDs bETrAy–"
"thEY dIsAPpOiNt."
"tHey sEll yOU."
It might have been his imagination, but Noah could feel amusement in the silence that followed.
"i Am nO fRIEnd Of yOUrs."
"I aM kIN."
"Kin?" Noah asked, feeling a bit amused himself despite the sickening fear that held his heart.
"yES kiN."
"kIN aCCePTs yOU nO mATTer HoW pATHetHIc."
"Kin wiLL nOt sEll yOU."
"You are no kin," Noah muttered to himself. "Not with all the hate, anger, and rage in your voice."
It was silent.
"yOu uNdERstAnd mE wEll."
"yOu ArE inDeeD kIN."
The darkness that surrounded Noah began to draw closer and closer to him.
"sEE yOU sOOn kIN–" that voice echoed one last time before Noah opened his eyes.
He was back in the case that was meant to display him as art. The blade was still pointing at him, its cold dread a constant companion. The lights were back on. He looked and saw Reginald there, back on his cushion, watching him with a cigar in hand. The several-inch-thick glass that sealed him in was down; he wanted to watch Noah's slow death up close.
"Fu** you!" Noah screamed at him, but Reginald just laughed, amused at his pain.
He tried to stand but felt a restriction making it difficult. A golden chain was now bound to his legs, securely affixed to the wall of his confinement. He let himself fall back.
"yOU knOw WhAt tO dO kIN," an eerie murmur whispered right behind his ear, as if someone had brought their lips close to make their point.
"But I will die," Noah muttered. "I don't want to die."
"yOu wIlL nOT."
"eVEn dEAth wILL nOt haVE my kIN."
"I want him to die," Noah whispered back. Reginald heard it.
"Hahaha," he laughed, looking up from his phone. He took a long draw from his cigar and blew the smoke in Noah's direction.
"tHAt I cAn gIvE yOU kIN."
"I want them all to die," Noah said in a rage as he recalled his toil through the week, all the moments he had spent with Dane and Mason, not knowing their plans for him.
"wE wILL haVE thAt tOO kIN."
"iN ITs tImE wE wILL."
The instruction did not come in words. It did not come in a vision. It was instinct.
Noah knelt, his face toward the floor, his back pointing at the dark blade. Strength traveled down his arms as his body shot upward, the dark blade piercing through his heart like butter.