All Chapters of Until The Last Day: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The mirror shattered. Camela gasped and stumbled back, her breath hitching in her throat. Shards of glass slid down from the frame, scattering across the floor and reflecting a hundred images of her face—pale, shaking, with a scar that felt like fire. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she clutched her throat and whispered, “No…no, this can’t be real. It’s not…” She gasped for breath as she looked around. The darkness had vanished. Her trembling hand touched the wall. The air felt lighter now, no longer heavy like before. The floor was solid beneath her bare feet. She smelled dust, city smoke, and old wood—everything felt real. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was standing in her own apartment—the faded wallpaper, the broken clock on the wall, and the half-burnt candle still dripping on the table. She pressed her hands to her chest, trembling as her knees buckled. She leaned against the couch, breathing heavily. “I’m…home?” she muttered.The word felt odd as she

The chamber went dark. Camela gasped, her chest rising as if she had been underwater for a long time. Her eyes snapped open to bright light pouring over her face. She was no longer in the chamber. Instead, she found herself lying on a thin, stiff mattress, with the sharp scent of paint in the air. A fan overhead turned slowly with a lazy creaking sound. Her scar pulsed under her collarbone, and she pressed her trembling hand against it. Then, she heard it—voices muffled through the wall. Laughter, footsteps, doors slamming—the sounds of…life. Camela sat up abruptly, her heart racing. Her throat felt raw with tension as she murmured to herself, “This…this isn’t the house.” The room around her was empty but real—white walls and a cracked window that let in the noise of traffic outside. Boxes were piled in one corner, still unopened. She stood up on shaky legs and walked to the window. Below, she saw cars moving by and neon lights flickered from signs nearby. The aroma of fried fo

The flames roared up the walls, reaching for the ceiling like hungry mouths. Heat lashed against Vincent's skin, his gold eyes blazing brightly through the smoke. His claws trembled in the light, raised high and ready to strike, caught between rage and mercy. Camela's cries echoed in the chamber. Her throat ached with effort, yet she still forced words out. "Vincent, please don't do it. Don't try to prove anything to me." Her scar flared white-hot across her chest, pulsing like a second heartbeat. She dragged herself forward on her knees, the chains rattling. Her hand reached out toward him, trembling with tension. "Don't leave me in this fire," she whispered. The ghost merely smiled, standing between them with a blade still extended in his pale hand. His voice curled like tendrils of smoke. "One strike. One truth. Do it…and either she loves you...or she never did." Vincent's chest shook with each breath he took. His claws hovered in the air, glowing with firelight and ready to s

The silence weighed heavily on Vincent's ears, almost like iron. His claws trembled against the shattered gravestone, and his chest heaved with a mix of blood and rage. “Camela!” his voice cracked again, raw with emotion. “Please…answer me!” There was no response. The darkness remained still. No light or sound came to him, only the haunting echo of his own desperate voice. Vincent slammed his claws down onto the dust where her gravestone once stood, his body trembling with emotion. “You can’t be gone. Not you. Not like this,” he whispered.The ghost’s voice slipped back into the silence, quiet yet filled with venom, brushing against the wounds on his skin. “She is gone, fox. Vanished forever.” Vincent's golden eyes flared with anger as he looked up into the dark, baring his fangs and roaring, “Liar!” His claws scraped across the stone, sending sparks flying as his chest rose and fell like a raging storm. Then, soft as a breath—he heard a whisper. It sounded faint and fragile,

The grin spread across Vincent's face like an unhealed wound he couldn't close. His sharp and feral teeth glinted in the darkness. He attempted to snarl and suppress it, but the smile only stretched wider. His body was betraying him. Camela pressed herself against the bed, her breath shaking as she whispered, “Vincent…” The ghost’s laughter echoed in the room, soft yet cruel. “See? Even when you try to hold back, your mouth reveals the truth. The fox loves the hunt. The fox loves its cage. And soon…he will take pleasure in the grave.” The word shattered the silence: Grave. Vincent’s heart pounded violently against his chest. The grin froze still, painful and rigid. He staggered forward, his claws scraping against the floor. “Where is it?” he shouted with a voice that boomed like thunder. “Where is her grave?” he asked.The ghost whispered close to him, right by his ear. “You’ve been standing on it all this time.” The black floor shifted beneath them. The ground below Vincent and