Bleach: Can't Fear Your Own World นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Oh, God! The baby… my baby. *** The overwhelming surge of fear and pain returns with a vengeance, engulfing every inch of my being. It consumes me, leaving no part of me untouched, not even my face… It pulsates. It throbs all over. I attempt to vocalize my anguish, yet my pleas remain trapped within, unable to find release. Why won't that annoying beeping sound ever cease! And why is there such a strong scent of bleach in the air? I struggle to pry open my eyes, but they remain stubbornly closed. Oh, they feel so heavy, and I'm exhausted from constantly trying to use my strength to move.

The Banshee was awake. She stretched her hands wide, her fingers clawing at the air. She opened her mouth, and a sound came out that wasn't human. It wasn't even an animal. It was the sound of the end of the world. The Scream. I watched in horrific awe as the first three rows of soldiers simply stopped. Their skin turned grey. Their eyes turned to ash. Then, they began to dissolve, their bodies turning to fine dust that swirled away in the draft of the hallway. It was a scream of horror, a soul-ripping vibration that erased everything it touched. Molly screamed again, her face a mask of divine agony, until the hallway was a ghost town of empty suits and piles of dust.

I pray it doesn't get deeper. "Oh, I know your fear now. I can't do this. I have been doing this for the past five years, ma'am. I won't hurt you." She soothes. I became calm and she took my hand slowly. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth on the tissue. Fuck. It hurts.

"But you can't go back. You know that, right? The mark chose you. Changed you. There's no reversing it." "I don't want to reverse it. I just want to not feel like I'm drowning all the time." "You're stronger than you think. I've always known that. Even before the mark." "I don't feel strong. I feel terrified." "Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Keeps you careful. The second you stop being afraid is when you get careless. When you die." Luna pulled her hand back. "Is that what happened? Did you get careless? Is that why I saw you bleeding?"

All of it rushing back at once. Her knees buckled. Finn caught her before she fell. “I told you,” Ash said. “The fear is contagious. Weaponized. You can’t approach it directly.” “Then how do we help?” The fallen thing stepped forward. “By showing it that fear is not fatal. That terror can be endured. That screaming eventually stops.” It walked toward the white Source. The fear hit it too. Lena saw the fallen thing’s form flicker wildly. Saw it struggle. But it kept walking.

“Not again.” The thought was a cold knife, slicing through the creative haze. Instinctively, my free hand flew to my lower belly, pressing against the familiar, dreaded ache. Fear, old and corrosive, surged, a phantom taste of antiseptic and blood, the echo of a doctor’s devastating words, the crushing weight of loss. The palette knife clattered onto the drop cloth.

I was fifteen, panting in the training yard, blood slick on my arms. Calix’s hand was on my throat. He held me against the wall until stars burst in my vision. “You bleed,” he murmured, “and in bleeding, you open doors. Never be afraid to bleed if it buys you power. Never be afraid to carve yourself into the world.” He pressed a claw to my chest. “The world will remember my name, even if my body is ash. That is the art of echoes, boy. That is how you make yourself unkillable.”

"They’re processing. They can see the edge of the world, Arthur. They’re seeing the truth. Even if it kills them, they’re seeing it." "They're terrified," Arthur admitted, his voice softening as he watched one of the Cleaners reach out a hand, fingers trembling as they touched the empty, shimmering air where a wall should have been. "They should be," Lucien said. "Fear is the first step toward self-awareness." The blast door groaned. A seam of light appeared, glowing bright gold as the metal began to warp under intense, localized pressure. "They’re cutting in," Arthur warned, raising his weapon again.

She marked me. She pulls her lips away from my neck and licks the fresh mark clean. Her lips are tinted a dark shade of red from my blood. Daya spins around and faces Mara, whose face is frozen into a look of disbelief. In one swift motion, Daya swipes the silver blade in front of Mara. A strained gasp leaves Mara’s lips and her neck starts to bleed slowly. She coughs up blood as she tries to breathe, making the slash across her neck more prominent.

Too clean. The scent of bleach hits me first—sharp, chemical, stinging the inside of my nose. Antiseptic lingers heavily behind it, mixing into something cold and clinical. All the blood from earlier? Gone. The mess? Gone. The chaos? Erased so thoroughly you’d think the violence was nothing more than a bad dream. Except it wasn’t. And the two bandaged women in the living room are proof.