opening quote:
"To dream in the mouth of God is to drown,
Where thought and flesh are torn and bound.
The sky remembers what minds forget,
A world half-born in deep regret." - unknown.
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"La… la… la… la…"
A voice sang lightly through the dark gray corridor.
Step. Step. Step.
The rhythm was calm, almost like strolling barefoot across a sunlit backyard.
But here, the scent in the air turned that image inside out—blood and bleach.
A humming man walked through it like he'd lived in this rot forever.
He soon arrived at a towering door of smooth metal, like the gate of a vault.
He pulled the ID card clipped to his chest and tapped it to the scanner.
"Mr. Shepherd. ID: 3065.
Access granted."
Beep… click… whirr—shrrrrk.
The door slid open, light spilling like a slap across the corridor's gloom.
"Ahh," he flinched, shielding his eyes.
"I never get used to that…" he mumbled. Then grinned.
"But maybe that's for the best."
He stepped inside. His eyes twinkled like a child entering a toy store.
The room was blinding white. Everything else was shoved to the margins—filth, rust, trauma.
An iron table lined with tools sat on the left.
Not scalpels or saws—nothing so elegant.
Just hammers, blunt rods, clamps. The kind of weapons you might find in an abandoned garage.
And in the center, like an art piece…
He hung.
Arms stretched, wrists bound by iron wire to the ceiling.
Skin pale and starved, so tight it clung to each bone.
Dirty cloth draped around his hips, stained with filth and dried blood.
His hair was long, tangled gold streaked with crimson. His head sagged forward.
And on his lips—there was a smile. A small one, tilted slightly, like a secret.
Mr. Shepherd smiled wide.
"You look like you're enjoying your playtime, Mr. Yellow."
The man hanging didn't stop swinging gently.
He simply hummed. "Hmm."
Shepherd's smile grew broader. He walked to the tool table, fingers brushing the iron toys.
Then, without ceremony, he picked up a hammer. Large, thick.
"Let's play together, shall we?"
Yellow gave no response. Just a slight twitch of his fingers.
Step.
The sound echoed as Shepherd approached.
Yellow kept swinging softly—squeak, squeak.
Through the curtain of hair, Yellow's ocean-blue eyes barely caught flashes:
The belly threatening to burst from Shepherd's buttoned shirt.
The gleam of sweat. The rhythmic rise of the hammer as it tapped Shepherd's palm.
Then he raised his eyes higher—and squinted in pain.
'Ugh. That bald head almost blinded me.
Actually...that wouldn't be so bad. '
'hmm.'
Shepherd thought he had seen a eerie smile but it quickly turned to one of those small smiles he had these days.
'...it looks like i will win the "when will he snap?" bet...if he had the big belly he would almost look like the judge...heh'.
then his eyes retained their twinkle again.
"You know the routine?" Shepherd asked sweetly.
"Yes, Mr. Shepherd," Yellow answered in a voice so calm it barely seemed real.
Shepherd nodded. The ritual began as he walked around yellow.
Thump.
The hammer met his hand.
"Name?"
"Yellow."
Thump.
"Who are you, Mr. Yellow?"
"A prisoner."
Thump.
"And who am I?"
"The Warden. Ron Shepherd."
Thump.
"What are you?"
"An insignificant, ordinary mortal."
Thump.
"And what am I?"
Shepherd stepped close. Inches away.
Their faces nearly touched, divided only by the bloody strands of Yellow's hair.
One pair of eyes—brown and bloodthirsty.
The other—blue, like the sea before a storm.
Silence.
"An Immortal." Yellow finally muttered.
Shepherd pulled back with a pout.
"Just an Immortal? Tch."
Yellow almost retched in disgust.
"The Great Immortal of Eden."
"Hmm. Better." Shepherd resumed his circular pace.
Thump.
Thump.
"Now," he said brightly, "last question. Answer this right… and I'll be obligated to let you go, even if it makes me sad. Understand?"
Yellow's muscles tensed. No answer came.
Thud!
The hammer slammed into the steel table.
"I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Shepherd barked.
"...Yes." Yellow whispered.
Shepherd slipped something from his pocket. Yellow caught it—a black mask dripping with liquid.
"Mr. Yellow," he asked softly,
"Why… are you here?"
Yellow's lips moved. A whisper.
"...I don't know."
No sound. No movement. Even the squeak of the chains stopped.
"What?"
Yellow took a breath, bloody saliva on his lips.
"I said… I don't… FUCKING KNOW!!!"
His voice cracked into coughing. His throat clawed itself.
Then silence again.
Shepherd spoke with a new voice now—one that felt like the inside of a coffin.
"Wrong answer."
He pulled the black mask over Yellow's face.
It stuck to his skin. And burned.
"ARGHHHHHHHH!!!"
He screamed as the acid seared through flesh, skin hissing and shriveling like paper in fire.
Shepherd's eyes rolled back in ecstasy at the sound.
His mouth stretched wide as he raised the hammer—
—and brought it down.
CRACK!
Bone shattered.
SQUELCH!
Skin split.
"AaaaaAAARGHHHHHHhhhhh!!!"
THWACK.
"AAAARGHHH... ahhhh—"
Blood spilled.
Down his legs.
Onto the white tile.
Through the cracks.
Into the drain.
And down into the pipes, where even screams couldn't follow.
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DING!
"Breaking news! The first mortal killed—mortal lands in chaos! Full story at—"
DING!
"Hey man… I heard there's a new drug on the market. Got any leads?"
DING!
"They're putting an immortal on trial. Some say he's the judge's own son—"
DING!
"Sorry boss. One of the mortals died using Red Death... guards are sniffing around. I need time—"
DING!
"Did you hear the gossip? That couple from District 6 ran off to mortal lands—"
"What? I thought they were missing!"
"So what? They're immortals. What's there to fear?"
DING!
"…Cakes of Heaven! Buy three, get one free! For children, lovers, families—mortals and immortals alike! The taste of eternity—now in every bite!"
DING!
"…Order!"
DING!
"…Order!"
DING! THUD!
"…ORDER!!"
DING! THUD! CRACK!
Amidst clock chimes, market noise, and voices flooding the floating city of Eden, one sound cut through—The gavel of Judge Se White.
Desmond blinked from his trance as the echoes dragged him back to the present. His hands lay limp, wrists purple and swollen, punctured with pain-inducing needles—Mother's punishment.
Now it was Father's turn.
"After reviewing all the evidence submitted by the Eden detectives, and considering public outcry—both mortal and immortal—I have reached my verdict."
Desmond's eyes narrowed. He already knew the words. They stung regardless.
"Desmond Se White," the judge bellowed, a vein pulsing near his temple, "you are guilty."
The courtroom fell silent.
"For the murder of mortal civilian Amelia Brown, and for the ultimate crime—attempting to end your own immortal life—I sentence you to the deepest level of the Eternal Underground Prison."
'There it is. The grand finale from dear old Dad,' Desmond thought, teeth gritted.
Be happy. Be happy. Be happy…A silent mantra echoed in his mind to dam the tears rising in his chest.
Then, with the sharp elegance of a blade, he smiled. Bright. Unapologetic.
A twisted little joy in a place of judgment.
"You—" the judge hissed, rising from his bench.
Before his fury could ignite, two city guards stepped in. They locked a collar around Desmond's neck and dragged him away like a bag of sin.
"…Stupid boy," his father muttered under his breath, turning his back.
At 10:15 AM, the trial of Desmond Se White ended.Verdict: Guilty.
Far below Eden, where clouds gave way to shadow and the air smelled of rusted time, Desmond stood at the edge of a gaping maw.
It yawned beneath the city, wide enough to swallow all of Eden whole. Its bottom—unseen. Unknown.
He looked down, wind scraping his skin like fingers.
'If I jump… maybe the impact will smash me into something even immortality can't fix.'
'Maybe that's the freedom no one else has found.'
He raised one foot—
A hand yanked him back.
Before he could curse, the same hand shoved him into a metal elevator and slammed the gate shut.
"Why rush?" the guard muttered flatly. "You're going down anyway."
Desmond didn't answer. He stood, head bowed—but his eyes, sharp and black, scanned everything.
Beep.Whrrrk.Shrkk.
The elevator began its descent.
As they sank, Desmond noticed another lift rising on the opposite track. A crowd of workers surrounded it, unloading chunks of stone wrapped in chains.
"Miners," the guard offered, without being asked.
Desmond turned away, eyes falling to the abyss below.
"So," he said finally, voice dry, "will I be alone down there?"
The guard shrugged. "One other prisoner. Next cell over."
"Just one?" Desmond raised an eyebrow."What'd he do? Try to die too?"
The guard didn't answer immediately.
"…No."
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
"He's a mortal."
"Then why—"
"I don't know what he did." The guard cut in, tone heavy.
A pause.
Then, almost like a secret:
"…But they say he's the most dangerous thing in either world."
Desmond's expression didn't shift. But something dark and quiet flickered in his eyes.
'Most dangerous, huh…'
His mantra returned.
'Be happy. Be happy. Be happy…'
As they vanished into the black throat of Eden, the last light blinked out.
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