15/7/20
I didn't remember falling asleep.
Just darkness.
Weightless.
Then… cold.
The world around me shifted.
Damp earth under my boots. A pale fog curling at my ankles like it was alive. The air was thick and wet, every breath heavy with silence.
And then I realized—
I was in a cemetery.
Cracked tombstones jutted out of the ground like broken teeth. Iron fences loomed in the distance, twisted and rusted, as if time had forgotten this place.
I didn't recognize it.
But somehow, I knew it.
It felt like I'd been here before.
Like something buried here belonged to me.
---
I took a step forward.
The gravel crunched beneath my foot, and in that sound, something shifted.
A whisper on the wind.
I turned.
There—between two leaning gravestones—stood a woman.
Mid-thirties, maybe. Pale. Dressed in soft blue, the kind of blue you'd wear to a funeral if you still wanted to smile. Her hair was tucked behind her ear. She had a warmth to her—but her eyes…
Empty.
Beside her stood a young boy. Maybe nine, maybe ten. Holding a balloon that shouldn't have floated in this windless place. He clutched her hand, his face pale and unreadable.
They didn't speak.
They just watched me.
Like they were waiting for me to understand something.
"Do I… know you?" I asked.
But the words came out like smoke. Faded before they even reached them.
The boy tilted his head. The balloon bobbed once. A breeze rolled in—
And then they were gone.
---
My chest tightened.
A pressure. Like grief.
Like guilt I didn't know I carried.
Then I heard it.
Thump.
A low, wet sound. Metal scraping earth.
I followed it.
Through the fog, I saw him.
A man hunched at a fresh grave. Digging. His coat was long and dark like the night itself. His hair white, slicked back like he belonged to some ancient time. His skin pale—too pale.
But his movements… sharp. Deliberate.
Unnatural.
The shovel struck dirt again and again, slow and patient.
He hadn't noticed me.
Or maybe… he didn't care.
Then—he paused.
And spoke.
But not to me.
To the hole.
"To rot in silence is peace. But to rise in rage... that's destiny."
He reached into the grave with long, clawed fingers and pulled out—
A coffin.
Sealed in chains.
The air dropped ten degrees.
I stepped back, my foot snapping a twig.
His head snapped up.
Eyes—glowing red—locked onto me.
And I froze.
I couldn't run. Couldn't scream.
He smiled.
A slow, chilling curl of his lips.
"You're early," he said.
---
I jolted awake, breath caught in my throat.
Heart pounding.
Room dark.
Just my bed, my walls, the distant hum of Starr Park's night rides.
A dream.
Just a dream.
But it stayed with me.
That fog.
That woman and child.
That… man.
That thing.
And somewhere in the pit of my gut, I knew:
This wasn't the last time I'd see that grave.
Disciples of The Brawl
- Bot 7, Spider & DRM
"Pretty mister soft Scarf!"
"CEO!"