That morning, Aivilo stood in front of the mirror after his shower. Droplets of water dripped from his hair, but his eyes were locked onto something on his face.
A faint mark—almost like a scar—that hadn't been there before.
Or was it just a trick of the light?
Shaking off the thought, he stepped out of the bathroom. His phone buzzed on the table—a call was coming in.
"Yo, Aivilo! Don't forget about the drifting tonight."
His coworker's excited voice filled the line. Aivilo sighed and replied casually, "Yeah, I remember."
After hanging up, he suddenly felt the urge to go outside, to breathe in the morning air of this unfamiliar city.
The sidewalks were packed. People moved quickly, crossing the street in a synchronized rush. Aivilo, however, walked at his own pace, earphones in, letting the music drown out the chaos in his head.
But then—he saw something.
Beyond the moving crowd, where everyone was walking in the same direction—
Someone was walking the opposite way.
A bald man with small horns.
At the tip of his horns, tiny flames flickered.
Aivilo froze. Their eyes met for a brief moment.
Then—the man moved.
Now he was on the other side of the street.
Then at the corner.
And there.
The figure kept appearing in multiple places, as if there were many of him—yet he was still the same one.
Aivilo took a step back, bumping into several people. Panic gripped his chest. He needed to get out.
He pushed through the crowd, his breath ragged. But the man was watching him.
And he was getting closer.
But it wasn't just one of him.
It was all of them.
Aivilo shut his eyes, his hands trembling. This isn't real. This isn't real.
Then—
CRASH!
A loud impact shattered the air. People screamed.
Aivilo opened his eyes.
A woman had been hit by a car.
His breath hitched. He was standing in the middle of the road too… yet he wasn't hit?
As if… the cars couldn't see him.
Slowly, he turned back toward the horned man.
But he was gone.
The sound of sirens filled the street. Police rushed in, pulling Aivilo away from the road.
But Aivilo could barely hear anything.
What the hell just happened?
After being pulled away from the accident scene, Aivilo couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling in his chest. Was he going crazy? Was this stress?
He needed answers.
Aivilo walked into the hospital, heading straight to the reception desk.
"I need to check if I'm... losing my mind," he admitted, his voice lower than usual. "I think I'm hallucinating."
The nurse raised an eyebrow but nodded. "You can meet with our psychiatrist. Take a seat; I'll schedule you in."
Minutes later, Aivilo found himself in a white, sterile room. A doctor in a neat coat sat across from him, flipping through a notepad.
"Tell me what's been happening," the doctor asked.
Aivilo hesitated, then sighed. "I keep seeing things. People that shouldn't exist. Creatures with horns and fire. I also survived something I shouldn't have. I should've been in a plane crash, but something stopped me. And then today... I was in the middle of a busy road, yet I wasn't hit."
The doctor scribbled a few notes, his expression unreadable.
"You seem coherent, logical. No signs of delusions. Have you been under extreme stress lately?"
Aivilo exhaled. "Maybe."
The doctor leaned forward slightly. "Based on what you've told me, I don't see any symptoms of psychosis. It could be stress, or something deeper—perhaps trauma. But medically, there's nothing wrong with you."
Nothing wrong.
Then what the hell was happening?
Aivilo left the hospital, his mind still in turmoil. If even doctors couldn't explain it, then who could?
Only one person came to mind.
That evening, Aivilo stepped into the church where his brother, Benedictus, was preparing for an evening sermon. The warm candlelight flickered against the stained-glass windows, casting long shadows on the stone walls.
Benedictus turned around and smiled. "Aivilo. Twice in one week? That's a miracle."
Aivilo ignored the joke. "I need answers."
Benedictus studied him for a moment, then gestured for him to sit.
"Tell me everything," he said.
Aivilo took a deep breath, then began to speak.
This time, he didn't hold back.
Aivilo sat on the cold wooden pew, feeling the chill of the stone floor beneath his feet. The murmurs of prayers from a few lingering churchgoers echoed softly through the vast hall.
Benedictus looked at him calmly. "So, tell me what really happened."
Aivilo clenched his hands together. "I… I've been seeing strange things. People who shouldn't be there. Things that shouldn't be real."
"And I keep surviving things that should've killed me."
Benedictus remained silent, listening intently.
Aivilo continued, "Today… I saw someone—no, something—in the middle of the crowd. A bald man with small horns, and at the tip of them, fire was burning. He was everywhere. I panicked, I ran… then I shut my eyes."
Benedictus studied his brother carefully.
"And when I opened them… a woman was hit by a car. But me? I was standing in the middle of the road too, yet I wasn't hit. It was as if… the vehicles couldn't see me."
His brother took a deep breath. "Aivilo… Do you realize what you're saying?"
Aivilo nodded slowly. "I'm not religious, Ben. I've never believed in the supernatural, let alone heaven or hell. But this… this was real."
Benedictus stood up and walked toward the altar. "I remember reading something once…"
He pulled out an old, thick book from a shelf near the altar and carefully flipped through the pages.
"Those who were meant to die but escape their fate will find themselves caught between two worlds."
Aivilo frowned. "What does that mean?"
Benedictus shut the book. "You were supposed to die on that plane, Aivilo. But you didn't board it. That… disrupted the balance."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"And now, something has noticed you."
Aivilo swallowed hard. "What do you mean… something?"
Benedictus locked eyes with him.
"Beings that walk between our world and theirs. They know you exist now… and they might not let you go so easily."
Aivilo's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
Benedictus placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You need to be careful."
For someone who had always dismissed religion as nothing more than fairy tales, Aivilo now found himself facing a terrifying possibility—
Aivilo's phone suddenly rang, snapping him out of the eerie conversation with Benedictus.
"Yo, Aivilo! You coming or what? The race is on tonight!"
His friend's voice crackled through the speaker.
Aivilo exhaled, trying to shake off the heavy feeling in his chest. "Yeah… I'll be there."
Maybe drifting would clear his head.
The Race Night
The underground racing spot was packed. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled the air, neon lights reflecting off the glossy exteriors of modified cars. Engines roared as the crowd cheered.
Aivilo leaned against his car, scanning the scene. His fingers twitched with anticipation.
Then, his gaze froze.
Across the lot, he saw her.
His ex-girlfriend.
And she wasn't alone. She stood beside another man, smiling, laughing—just like she used to with him.
Aivilo clenched his jaw but forced himself to look away. It didn't matter. Not anymore.
Instead of dwelling on it, he got into his car.
The race was about to start.
The Drifting Duel
His opponent was a well-known racer—cocky, aggressive, and dangerous. The kind of guy who didn't just race to win—he raced to destroy.
The signal dropped. The race was on.
Aivilo gripped the wheel, shifting gears as his tires screeched against the asphalt. The wind rushed past, and for the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe.
His opponent was right behind him, closing in fast. The turn was coming up—a tight drift would determine who took the lead.
Aivilo braced himself. He should've been the one to crash.
But then—
His opponent's car suddenly lost control.
The vehicle spun violently, flipping through the air before slamming into a barrier. The impact was brutal. Smoke and fire erupted from the wreckage.
The crowd gasped. People ran towards the crash site.
Aivilo hit the brakes, his heartbeat hammering. He hadn't done anything—so why did it feel like the crash was meant for him?
As the emergency crew pulled the unconscious racer from the wreckage, something caught Aivilo's eye.
The man's shirt had been torn, exposing a strange symbol burned into his skin.
A satanic mark.
Aivilo felt his stomach drop. His breath came in short, shallow bursts.
And then—he felt it.
A presence.
His eyes darted toward the edge of the lot.
The bald man with the horns.
He stood there, watching. His lips curled into a wide, sinister grin.
Then—he vanished.
Aivilo's hands clenched into fists. His world was unraveling faster than he could understand.
Why was this happening?
And more importantly—
Aivilo drove through the empty streets, his mind racing. His phone vibrated, lighting up with a message:
"Did you intentionally crash that guy's car?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. No, he didn't do anything! It wasn't his fault! But… why did it feel like something had interfered with the race?
He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, turned off the engine, and stepped out. The night felt eerily silent. His body was still tense from everything that had happened.
As he unlocked the door and stepped inside
A man was sitting calmly on his sofa.
Aivilo froze. The door was locked. No one should be here.
The man looked at him with a slight smile.
"Hello, Aivilo. Sit down."
Aivilo didn't move. His eyes scanned the stranger, his heart pounding.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice sharp.
The man folded his hands together and leaned back against the couch. "I was sent by the Creator."
Aivilo's chest tightened. "The Creator? You mean… God?"
The man nodded.
"You may not believe it, Aivilo, but you have been chosen."
Aivilo let out a bitter laugh. "Chosen for what? I don't even believe in God."
The man's smile didn't fade. "And that is why Lucifer is after you. He wants to destroy you before you realize who you really are."
That name—Lucifer—sent a chill down Aivilo's spine.
"So… the horned man I keep seeing…"
"Not a man, Aivilo." The stranger's gaze darkened. "He is something far older than time itself. And he knows that if you remain alive… something in the balance of this world will shift."
Aivilo's head spun.
"I'm just an ordinary person," he muttered, trying to convince himself. "I'm nobody."
The man slowly stood up and walked toward him.
"You are more than you think, Aivilo."
Aivilo instinctively stepped back.
"And the time to choose a side is drawing near."
Aivilo sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. His head was pounding from everything that had happened.
"Why me?" he muttered under his breath.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to process everything.
But when he opened them again—
The man was gone.
Aivilo sat up abruptly, scanning the room. Had he imagined it?
His eyes landed on the coffee table.
There, sitting neatly, was a tiny bottle of holy oil and a folded piece of paper.
He hesitated before picking up the note. The handwriting was elegant, precise.
> "Draw a cross on your forehead, then on your heart (the center of your chest), and finally on the top of your head."
Aivilo frowned.
What the hell is this?
He turned the small bottle over in his hands. The oil inside shimmered faintly under the light.
A creeping unease settled in his gut.
This wasn't a dream. This was real.
And someone—or something—wanted him to follow these instructions.
Aivilo stared at the tiny bottle with a look of disgust.
"Nonsense," he muttered.
Without hesitation, he walked over to the trash can and tossed the holy oil inside. He wanted nothing to do with any of this.
Tonight had been long enough.
With a heavy body, he dragged himself to his bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over himself.
"Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal," he thought.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything that had happened.
Before long, he drifted into sleep.