Was life mocking him?
Was this the end of Parsa?
After all these years, was he about to die without ever touching his dreams?
Even thinking about it hurt.
The shadow lunged forward, moving with impossible speed. But something was off—where was everyone?
No pedestrians, no cars, no sound except the relentless rain. Silence had swallowed the city whole.
Parsa whirled around and started running, his heart hammering like a jackhammer inside his chest.
The shadow followed, relentless, faster than any human eye could track.
"Why? Why me? Why now? Aren't there other people?" he shouted to the empty streets, his voice swallowed by the rain.
Turning sharply, he darted into Alley 61 on Pirouzi Street.
His face glistened with sweat. Every step felt like plunging deeper into an endless nightmare.
Desperation clawed at him. Maybe if he invoked God's name, the shadow would vanish.
He whispered "Allah" over and over—but nothing happened.
The shadow moved with a speed that mocked physics. Yet somehow, it couldn't catch him.
Why were his own eyes… different?
Why did his movements feel faster, sharper, stronger?
No answers came. No one was there to give them.
Then the voice echoed in his mind:
"Just run. Don't stop. If you hesitate even a second… it'll have you."
"I'm hallucinating… no… who are you?" he demanded.
"Not now. Just keep moving. We'll talk later."
Parsa ran.
His legs moved like they had a mind of their own. The rain blurred everything around him. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting into forms that made him scream inside. The city had become alien. The streetlights flickered, casting long, jagged fingers across the walls.
The shadow was still behind him, but now, he noticed something new. Every time it got close, a strange force pushed it back, like an invisible wall. His chest burned, lungs screamed, but his body kept moving, faster and faster, as if some hidden power had awakened.
A turn into another alley—and suddenly, the world itself seemed to change. The buildings around him grew taller, grotesque, as if mocking perspective. Windows gaped like open mouths, dripping shadows. Rain fell upward for a moment, defying gravity, and Parsa's stomach twisted.
The voice spoke again:
"Your fear feeds it… control it, or it will control you."
Parsa clenched his fists. His eyes, burning with an unnatural amber glow, locked on the shadow. He felt it—the pulse of something ancient and wrong inside him. Every beat of his heart made him stronger, faster, sharper.
The shadow lunged again.
Parsa pivoted, dodged, and then—something he didn't know he could do—he pushed outward with his mind. The shadow slammed into the invisible barrier and hissed like a wounded animal.
Parsa staggered, chest heaving, heart pounding—but he didn't stop.
He could feel it now. The world wasn't just behind him—it was bending around him, responding to his fear and his will.
Another alley. Another corner. Another heartbeat.
Then, from the darkness, two glowing eyes appeared—not the shadow's. Something else. Something older, bigger, hungering.
The voice whispered:
"Keep moving. Or you die here."
Parsa didn't hesitate. He ran.
And behind him… the shadow roared.