All Chapters of Until The Last Day: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The darkness closed in like a coffin. Vincent crashed against nothing, desperately reaching out into the void. His roar shattered the silence of the dark. “Camela!” The sound faded immediately. There was no response, no breath—just an oppressive silence pressing against his ears. Then—light. A narrow crack appeared, spilling forth white brightness. He plunged through it. Vincent crashed onto a hard stone, gasping for air. His claws scraped against the ground as he struggled to stand up. His golden eyes blazed with intensity. And there she was. Camela. Not dust or a mere shadow. Her body stood trembling only a few feet away, her scar blazing bright across her collarbone. Her blind eyes, swollen from crying, were locked onto him. “Vincent…” Her voice wavered. He stumbled toward her. “You’re alive.” She flinched back, causing him to halt in his tracks. Chains clinked ominously. From the darkness behind her, the ghost shadow emerged, wrapping its grip around her wrists

The darkness engulfed everything around him. Vincent blinked his eyes open and realized he was in total darkness. There were no walls, no floor, and no sky—just an endless void of dark.His chest rose and fell heavily as if he had been thrown into ice water. His claws shook, and his fur was soaked with red ink that dripped into the void without causing a ripple. “Camela!” he roared, his voice echoing through the emptiness. “Answer me!” All he got back was only silence. His golden eyes scanned the area. The city had vanished—the lights, the ringing, even the stranger, everything was gone. Except—not entirely gone. And then—A voice whispered. It sounded deep, slow, and uncomfortably familiar. “Fox.” Vincent stood still. His ears perked up, and he felt a tightness in his chest. That voice, that impossible voice.The whisper brushed against his ear again—a male voice, calm and too relaxed for comfort. “Do you get it now, fox? You were never meant to keep her.” He turned sharply, s

Vincent’s roar echoed through the dust city, rattling its hollow walls. The red flood churned and hissed, freezing midair like molten glass. His claws trembled, suspended just inches from the stranger’s throat, but it wasn’t his strength keeping him still—it was the journal. The journal shone brightly in the stranger’s hand, its pages glowing like a hot iron. Camela’s voice flowed from it, echoing from every direction at once. Her tone was calm—frighteningly steady. “Vincent…stop. I wrote this. I created myself.” Vincent's breath caught in his throat. His golden eyes fixated on her lifeless body, floating in the ink. Her scar glowed fiercely, veins of light radiating outward like cracks in a glass. “Camela!” he called out, his voice breaking with fear. But the journal responded for her, echoing hundreds of her voices merged into one: “She can’t hear you now, fox. She’s reading herself.” Vincent snarled, forcing his claws forward against the invisible force. Sparks flared as his

The ground shuddered beneath Camela's feet as dust surged into the air, like a storm breaking through the city's walls as the windows shattered one after another. The stranger stood close, his hand hovering just inches from her cheek. He wore a calm smile, and his eyes seemed almost gentle. "I know your real name," he whispered again, steady as a blade pressed against skin. Vincent pushed her behind him, his claws glimmering in the light. "Say it and you'll choke on your own tongue," he said.The stranger tilted his head, unfazed by Vincent's threat. "Do you really think I need to say it? She can already feel it, can't you, Camela?" Her body shook so hard that she thought her bones would crack. Her breath caught in her throat. "What…what name?"From above, the windows screamed her name in unison—hundreds of voices distorted and sharp. Yet beneath their noise, the stranger’s voice cut through softly:"The name you wrote in your first journal." Camela's heart stopped at his words.

The chair stood alone in the center of the dark space. Its wooden surface gleamed like wet bone, and its straps hung loosely, as if poised for something. Dust floated in the air, making it feel like even the silence was watching. Camela paused at the entrance of the room, her blind eyes widening.“It’s meant for me,” she said.Vincent growled softly from deep within his chest. “Not while I’m alive.” The chair creaked even though no one touched it, and one strap lifted by itself, curling like a beckoning finger. In the distant corner, a soft buzzing started—sharp and unnatural.Vincent's ears twitched. “What is that noise?” he asked. Camela turned her head with a tremor. “It sounds like…something is ringing.” The buzzing grew louder, accompanied by a metallic echo. Suddenly, an impossible sight appeared from the darkness: a phone. An old rotary phone, heavy and black, its cord trailing into nothing. It rested on a small table beside the chair. And the phone was ringing. The sharp