Ato’s breath quickened, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably. He suppressed the intense pain in his back, moving slowly, attempting to stand. Yet, with each step, his body seemed to be pressed down by some invisible force, growing increasingly difficult to bear. The pain from his back felt like steel wires, pulling at him, making it hard to breathe.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeing a twisted version of himself. His eyes were no longer clear but bloodshot, as though his soul was being consumed. Feathers emerged from his back, one after another, gradually covering his spine entirely, like countless monstrous creatures circling in a decaying bird’s nest. They emitted a foul, rancid odor, as if mocking his helplessness.
“Why me?” Ato’s voice was low, tinged with despair. He heard his voice echoing in the empty room, like an echo swallowed by silence.
He tried to remember how the feathers had entered his life—that black feather, bearing the professor's name. He remembered how he found it. At the time, he had thought it was merely a strange coincidence, but now everything had become abnormal. The professor’s disappearance, the appearance of the feather, and the strange symbols starting to emerge on his body felt like the pull of fate, silently leading him toward the abyss.
Suddenly, the pain in his back intensified sharply. Ato gasped, almost unable to endure the suffocating agony. His palm weakly rested on the table, his fingertips brushing against a fragile feather. Suddenly, a numbness, like an electric current, spread through him.
“No! I don’t want to hurt anymore!” He hissed softly, but no one could hear him. He forced his gaze away from the feather and turned to the other side of the room, where a pile of books and papers were stacked. One book had fallen to the floor, its open pages revealing a terrifying word—“Feathered People.”
Ato trembled as he reached for the book, his heartbeat accelerating. When he flipped open the pages, the text before him nearly drove him insane:
"Feathered People, incarnations of the dead, forever trapped in the punishment of plucking feathers. They cannot speak, cannot escape, their souls and bodies eternally tortured."
The words in the book began to blur, as if obscured by some chilling mist. He felt himself merging with these words, as if part of those feathers was entering his body. His hand instinctively reached toward the page, his fingertips touching the corrupted, decayed text. An excruciating pain suddenly tore apart his entire consciousness.
Then, he heard a deep, mocking laugh, coming from all directions. No matter how he turned his head, he couldn’t pinpoint the source of the laughter. The laugh was filled with disdain and disgust, like a cold mockery of his helpless struggle against fate.
"Did you really think you could escape?" a nameless voice whispered in his ear. The voice was soft, yet filled with deep sarcasm, as if it came from the ancient darkness. "You can never escape this fate."
Ato tried to scream, but his voice couldn’t escape. He only felt his body growing heavier, the roots of the feathers deeply embedded in his flesh, his entire back as if gripped by pincers, unable to move. The tips of each feather, like blades, deeply scraped across his skin.
His vision began to blur, and the air around him seemed to grow thicker, as if he were in some unreal space, as if everything was starting to melt. His heartbeat grew weaker, and he felt himself drifting further from reality, falling into an endless darkness.
"Forever, no escape." The voice rang out again, this time clearer than before. It came from deep within Ato’s soul, engraved deeply into his very being.
At that moment, Ato’s gaze pierced through the window of the room. Everything outside seemed unreal. The street was silent, the air thick with the scent of death. His mood grew heavier, the feather mercilessly devouring his existence. No matter how he struggled, he could not change his fate.
It was as if an endless abyss awaited, ready to consume him completely.
4o mini
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