Apocalypse: The echoes of Madness

Now that I look at him… he really is handsome.I had never noticed it before. Maybe because I never paid attention to anything beyond myself—after all, what else could I focus on when I couldn't even remember who I was? I felt like an insect: small, fragile, easily crushed beneath the weight of this unfamiliar world.

But Zane was different. Always cold. Always distant. His face a blank canvas that rarely showed anything resembling warmth. He hardly smiled, barely spoke. I often wondered what went on in that big head of his. It was so frustrating how he always seemed to know everything—too much, even. Sometimes, he would do exactly as I asked, as though my thoughts were written in bold letters for him to read. Other times, he would smirk—just a faint curve of his lips—as though he knew a secret I didn't. As though he could see straight through me.

What's going on in his mind?

She was still staring at him,Her thoughts a whirlwind, when his voice broke the silence.

"I used to live here once."

His words startled me.My gaze snapped to his face,"but he wasn't looking at the place around us—he was looking at me. Watching me".

Look at that smart prick, I thought, bristling with irritation. He really does know what I'm thinking.

Zane turned slightly, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk. "It's easy to read you," he said, his tone calm but teasing. "You're so obvious."

My cheeks burned. Embarrassment washed over me like a wave, and I couldn't stop myself from turning toward Lily, desperate for reassurance. "Am I really that obvious?" I asked, my voice small, uncertain.

Lily grinned at me, her answer swift and merciless. "Yes."

Her grin widened as I looked away, feeling the heat rise to my face again. I crossed my arms tightly, frustration and embarrassment tangling together inside me.

Am I really that easy to read?

"Stop chatting," James said, his voice firm. "Look outside."

Suddenly, the rhythmic pounding of the drums grew deafening—thump, thump, thump. The sound was so relentless, so overwhelming, that their hearts seemed to beat in time with it, as though the very sound was taking control of their bodies.

Everyone gripped their weapons, but the air was thick with dread, and the heavy silence before the storm felt suffocating. They took their positions, eyes fixed on the door—someone was outside, someone was coming.

The door creaked open with an unnatural slowness.

[Warning. Warning.]

The screen flashed a bright, blood-red warning, a pulse of terror coursing through them.

Then the dancers began to sing. The air seemed to tremble with the weight of their voices, soft and honeyed at first, but turning darker with each word, sinking deep into their minds.

---

"Hush now, weary child, don't weep,

The Will is waiting, soft and deep.

Let go your fight, release your pain,

The god will hold you through the flame."

---

Cale's voice cut through the air, his eyes wide with panic. "It's a mind manipulation song! Control yourselves, everyone!" His shout was desperate, but the words seemed to sink into the very walls, swallowed by the sinister melody.

It happened so fast that they barely had time to take action.And their powers had already been taken away.

---

"Your power fades, your voice will still,

Kneel before the mountain's Will.

The drums will guide, the dark will speak,

The weak are strong, the strong are weak."

---

At this part, their weapons fell from their hands with a hollow clatter, as if some invisible force had ripped the strength from their bodies. It wasn't just their weapons—their will was slipping, being torn away like a fragile thread unraveling.

---

"No need to run, no need to hide,

The god's embrace is deep and wide.

Step by step, the path is clear,

Closer now… the end is near."

---

Their feet moved before they even realized, as if their bodies were no longer their own. One by one, they stepped forward, their movements slow, deliberate, and utterly unnatural. It felt as though the earth itself was pulling them, dragging them toward the ritual, toward their doom.

They tried to resist, but their limbs were heavy, sluggish—the song was inside them now.

---

"Listen close, the whispers hum,

The night has called, your time has come.

The stars will bleed, the moon will rise,

And you will see with open eyes."

---

By the final verse, their eyes glazed over, their minds blank, and their bodies fully under control. They were puppets, their strings pulled by an unseen force. The ritual had taken them. There was no turning back. The god would have its sacrifice.

When they woke up, they found themselves in a cold, dimly lit cell. Their hands were bound in heavy chains, the iron biting into their skin. The cell was eerily clean—too clean, as if it had been waiting for them. The air felt heavy, like it carried secrets.

Emily let out a shaky laugh, her pale face betraying her unease. "Here we are again… in a cell," she muttered, the sound of her voice bouncing off the silent walls.

Yuri glanced around, her expression tense but masking her fear. "Looks like cells really love us," she said dryly, her eyes scanning every shadow in the room.

Arthur turned to her, his brows furrowed. "Yuri, are you okay?"

Yuri snapped her gaze to him, raising an eyebrow. "Do I look fine to you?" Her voice was sharp, layered with frustration and lingering fear.

The room fell quiet for a moment, save for the faint clinking of chains. Then James spoke, his voice low and wary. "Is… is someone missing?"

Cale's head shot up, his expression twisting into fury. "Where's Lily?" he demanded, his voice echoing like a roar of thunder.

Rose's heart began to pound as she whipped her head around, scanning the cell with rising dread. Her breath caught in her throat as realization set in.

Lily was nowhere to be seen.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the kind that sank into their bones. The faint drip of water echoed in the distance, like a ticking clock counting down.

Rose's voice trembled with urgency. "We have to save her."

Zane's cold voice cut through. "Not yet. First, we get out of these chains."

The chains rattled ominously, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. Time was running out.

Suddenly, faint voices drifted through the suffocating silence, breaking the stillness like ripples on dark water. The soft, yet firm voice of a young woman echoed beyond the cell.

"I have to bring them food."

The guard's reply came, rough and unyielding. "I can't let you go in there without the elders' permission."

A pause. Then her voice returned, sharp and cutting, like a blade cloaked in silk. "Do you think I would come here without the elders' permission? It's already noon."

There was hesitation, a shuffling of feet, the reluctant groan of metal yielding to her command. The sound of footsteps followed—steady and deliberate—as if each step carried both purpose and a hidden weight.

And then she appeared.

The woman stood on the other side of the bars, bathed in the dim, fractured light. She was beautiful—eerily so—as though she had been sculpted from moonlight and secrets. Her hanbok flowed like a whisper, the silk soft against her figure, its colors shifting between deep crimson and shadows of black, as if woven from twilight itself.

She looked at them—no, through them—her gaze lingering on Zane, holding him captive with a quiet intensity. The stillness stretched, charged with something unspoken, something ancient.

Then, in a voice soft as a sigh and heavy as fate, she spoke a single word.

"Ryeon?"

The name slipped from her lips like a forgotten memory. Her eyes searched his face, as if seeking answers to questions only she knew.

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(To be continued)

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