Chapter 2: The Beginning of the End

Roy Shyam closed his locker and then slung his bag over his shoulder; his thoughts were already drifting to the peace and quiet of home. The dull chatter of students in the background echoed down the hallway, but Roy barely registered it. As he turned to leave, Kieran was waiting near the door, his expression shadowed with unease.

“Yo, Roy,” Kieran called out to him, his tone unusually serious.

“Did you hear what they said this morning on News4You? About that psycho on the loose? The cops are saying he's been spotted in another district.”

Roy paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I heard. But that’s nowhere near where I live, so I haven’t been losing sleep over it.

His voice carried a tone of indifference, the kind of dismissive confidence he wore like armour.

Kieran frowned, his concern lingering. "I don't know, man. Just to be safe, you know, maybe avoid the shortcuts today. Stick to the main road, ok?”

Roy rolled his eyes but smirked faintly. “Relax, bro. You're sounding like Amma right now. I’ll be fine; infact it’s probably safer than half of the paranoid people freaking out about this over nothing anyway

"Roy," Kieran said, his voice firm, “Just … humour me, alright? Take the long way; I don't know, man. I just have this feeling, you know. It’s not like you’re in a rush, right?"

Roy let out a small sigh, shaking his head in annoyance. “Alright, fine. Whatever makes you feel better.” 

He gave a casual wave, turning on his way to his house.

Kieran stayed put, still watching him. Talking to himself, “Seriously, man. Just be careful.”

Roy, without turning, says, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the bus’ doors swung shut behind him, he walked past the stop; the setting sun painted the sky in warm hues, and shadows stretched across the pavement. 

Roy adjusted his bag and took a deep breath, his usual shortcut through the alley calling out to him.

“Take the long way," he says,” Roy muttered under his breath with a scoff. “Hell nah, what's the point of wasting time all because of a FEELING?” Without another thought, he veered towards the alley, its dim path promising to shave off precious minutes of his walk home. He came out alright from that alleyway onto another path.

The bell had rung an hour ago, but the streets around the school still buzzed with life. A group of kids played football in a nearby park, their laughter and cheers echoing faintly throughout the sky. Roy walked at his usual, unhurried pace, letting the late afternoon breeze tousle his majestic hair. The sky had started to bleed into hues of orange and pink, the colours dancing on the windows of nearby buildings.

He passed a convenience store where the smell of fried snacks wafted out, momentarily tempting him to stop to grab a bite. But he shook his head; Amma would just shout at him for needlessly spending money again. He clutched his bag tighter and walked on.

As he turned the corner, he noticed an elderly man struggling to load a box into his car. For a brief moment, Roy considered helping him, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“Nah, he’ll be just fine,” he mumbled under his breath while quickening his pace. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or he didn’t want to help the poor old man; it was just simply easier to not get involved, y’know?

Roy Shyam is the type of man to know a lot of people but not consider them friends. For example, formalities like friend group meet-ups, to him, are just friends of a friend; therefore, acquaintances, but it is still called a 'friend group meet-up' because calling it 'acquaintances' is just long.

His mind drifted back to the conversation with Kieran. “Take the longer route, huh?” he muttered once again, glancing at the main road ahead as he smirked. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Kieran’s concern; he acknowledged that Kieran was looking out for his safety and found it nice and amusing. However, Roy hated going out of his way for something that seemed unlikely to be a real threat. The warnings felt more like background noise than something to act on.

He found himself kind of happy to have a friend like that.

As the shortcut came into view, the familiar alley stretched out before him like a dark corridor between two looming buildings. Roy paused for a moment, staring down the narrow passage. The air felt cooler to him, and the shadows seemed darker. He hesitated briefly, Kieran’s words echoing in his mind.

Roy adjusted his bag and glanced at the horizon. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out like grasping fingers. The streets were quiet now, the hum of daily life winding down into an eerie stillness. He turned to the familiar street lined with fading graffiti and broken lampposts.

A car passed by slowly, its headlights washing over Roy before disappearing into the distance. He could feel Kieran's words lingering at the back of his mind, but he brushed them off like an annoying fly.

“Avoid the shortcuts today, ok?”

Roy smirked to himself, shaking his head. “You worry too much,” he muttered as he stepped into the alleyway. The sound of his school shoes scuffing the pavement seemed unnaturally loud against the silence. The world around him felt weirdly heavier somehow, as if the air itself had grown thick.

But he ignored the unease and pressed on.

Then.

“Roy…”

The voice was soft, gentle, and drawn out, almost like a whisper carried by the wind. He froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. The street behind him was empty. The sounds of kids at the park were gone. 

Even the hum of traffic faded away.

“Roooy…”

This time it was clearer, closer, and yet nowhere and everywhere at once. His pulse spiked, the hair on his arms rose like daggers, and a cold sweat prickled the back of his neck. He spun around, scanning the dim street, but there was no one. Only shadows stretching too long under the dying sunlight.

He swallowed hard, forcing a little laugh. “God damn, I’m just … imagining things.” His voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

Roy was never one to lie to himself, but for the first time in a while, he might have just lied to himself.

Turning the corner, Roy’s steps faltered. The alleyway stretched out before him, dim and quiet, flanked by the backs of old, run-down buildings. Trash bins overflowed with discarded waste, their contents strewn across the ground. A single, flickering light struggled to stay lit above a metal door far ahead. He hesitated, that phantom voice still ringing faintly in his mind, sending a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

Stop overthinking. It's just a shortcut, like always. Roy shook his head and stepped further into the alleyway.

As he walked, he caught the faint sound of footsteps. At first, they blended with his own, too faint to draw any concern. But they grew louder, deliberate, and mismatched with his own rhythm.

Roy glanced over his shoulders; his breathing hitched. The alley behind him was empty, or at least it seemed that way. Shadows danced in the dim light, but there was no one in sight.

You’re just imagining things. He shook his head, quickening his pace. The footsteps behind him accelerated as well.

A chill crawled down his spine to his legs. He turned sharply, his eyes darting from one corner to the other, scanning for any sign of movement. The alley remained silent but loud, still yet active. Devoid of life yet alive at the same time.

“Who’s there?” Roy called out, his voice trembling despite him attempting to sound firm.

There was no response.

He cursed under his breath, "Fuck," while he took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to run. He spun around, only to see a figure emerge from the far end of the alley.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by the low light, but the glint of an axe was unmistakable. Roy froze, his heart hammering in his chest.

The man began to walk toward him, slow and deliberate, each step echoing louder than it should.

“Hey, wait…” Roy stammered, taking a step back, “I don’t want any trouble, alright?”

The man didn’t answer. He raised the axe, the dim light reflecting off its surface.

Panic surged through Roy’s veins. It was either fight or flight, and Roy chose to flee.

“Shit, shit, shit …”

He turned and bolted, throwing his bag off his shoulders as he ran. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his legs felt like they were made of lead. The footsteps behind him quickened, the sound of heavy boots pounding against the pavement.

Roy didn’t get far. A sharp pain exploded in the back of his knee, and he collapsed to the ground with a wail. He looked down to see that his leg, which was once attached to him, was now on the ground to his right.

Roy howled in pain.

By the time Roy regained his senses, the man was already behind, scooping the axe off the floor.

Roy turned just in time to see the axe being lifted high above the man’s head. The steel shone ominously in the dying light.

“No! Stop!” He cried, his voice breaking.

The man brought the axe down with terrifying precision, severing Roy’s arm in one swift motion. Pain unlike anything he’d ever felt consumed him, his scream echoing through the alley. Blood pooled around him, warm and sticky.

Roy’s screaming could be heard from afar, yet there was no one to hear. Tears of excruciating pain and misery bled from his eyes.

He tried crawling away, his remaining arm clawing at the pavement, but the man was relentless. 

The axe rose and fell. 

Each strike stole a piece of him. His screams grew weaker until even his own voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. The world blurred, the edges of his vision darkening as blood loss and shock took hold of him.

Roy’s body trembled from the intense pain, his breath shallow and uneven. He stared at the even sky above, his mind flooded with regret. Every mistake, every missed opportunity, and every sin weighed on poor Roy's mind like a crushing force.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

Not like this. I don’t want to die. I don't ... I can’t …

As his vision began to fade, a figure stepped into view. A woman – beautiful and otherworldly and ethereal – crouched beside him. 

Her silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and her crimson eyes bored into him with an intensity that made his pain momentarily fade. She extended her hand; her fingers brushed against Roy’s blood-streaked face with a gentleness never felt before.

“Do you want to die?” She asked, her voice soft and melodic, yet laced with something that Roy Shyam wasn’t able to sense or grasp in that situation. She then said it again.

Roy tried to speak, but his throat was dry, his voice barely able to produce more than a whisper. He mustered all his remaining strength, forcing the word past his trembling lips.

“I…want…too…live…”

The ethereal woman smiled, a wicked smile, a loving smile.

The last thing Roy saw before darkness consumed him was her smile. A smile that promised salvation and something else all at once.

Roy floated in a vast, empty void. No pain, no feeling, no sound. Just an overwhelming stillness that can be put into words as it is pressed against him like a suffocating blanket. He was sure this was it. 

The End.

His consciousness flickered, each memory slipping further from his grasp as if it were being swallowed by the darkness.

Is this death? He wondered. Is this all that’s left of me?

Memories slipped from his grasp one by one, dissolving into the dark. Faces, voices, laughter, pain. Soon, even his own name felt like it might unravel.

Then.

Something stirred.

It wasn’t sight or sound, but a presence. A pull. As if an invisible hook had buried itself deep inside of his chest and dragged him through the void. His body, or soul, or whatever you may call it, remained lurched forward, weightless but bound to an inevitable current.

He resisted, but resistance is futile and means nothing here when the void has no edges to cling to, no air to fight against.

It simply claimed him.

A sudden force pulled at his consciousness. His eyes snapped open, breaking him out of the void. His body jerked upright as though he’d been drowning moments before. He gasped for air, feeling the coldness of metal underneath his feet, and his senses exploded into hyper-awareness. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath ragged and uneven once again.

What?