I wasn’t looking for anything that day. Not a book, not a story, not even a moment of clarity. I just needed somewhere to exist without being noticed. The library was good for that—quiet, patient, a place where people didn’t expect you to talk, only to breathe and maybe turn a page.
It caught my eye by accident—a book shoved halfway out of the shelf, its spine faded, no title. It looked like it didn’t belong. I guess that’s what drew me in.
I know that feeling.
I picked it up. The cover was fraying, the pages yellowed and soft with age. It felt heavier than it should’ve, like it was hiding something inside. I flipped it open, not really expecting much. Then I began to read.
And suddenly, I was gone.
I don't know how to explain it. The words didn’t make sense—not even the language was familiar. But still, I read. Not out of curiosity, not even out of interest. It was like something took over. I went into auto-mode, eyes dragging across the lines, turning page after page without understanding a single thing, yet unable to stop.
Maybe it was the sleepless nights catching up with me—college deadlines, projects, and the growing pressure of pretending everything was fine. Or maybe it was something else.
Whatever the reason, by the time I looked up, four hours had passed.
I’d planned to stay for one.
And the strange part? I’d finished the book.
I didn’t even know how.
I didn’t gain anything from it—no knowledge, no story, no message. Just a strange emptiness. A weird weight in my chest. I thought to myself: What a waste of time.
But then again, what did it matter? I had nowhere else to be. No friends to meet. No girlfriend waiting for a call. All that remained in the day was some leftover time I could’ve used to sleep.
Never mind, I told myself. Let’s just go home.
I walked out of the library into the night. The streets were mostly empty. Dark. Quiet. I took the shortcut, my usual path when I didn’t want to see people.
Then something… shifted.
My head throbbed suddenly, like something grabbed my mind from the inside and squeezed. Pain bloomed behind my eyes. My legs moved forward, but the street ahead blurred and stretched, like it was unraveling into some endless hallway.
I kept walking.
But I never got any closer to the end.
Then—I felt it.
Something grabbed me from behind.
A shiver ran down my spine like ice water. My body froze. I couldn’t move. Not even my fingers. I tried to turn my head. Nothing.
Then a voice whispered behind me.
“So… you read it?”
I tried to speak, tried to force words past the fear.
“W-what? Who are you? Please… help me. I can’t move.”
The voice was calm. Too calm.
“How did you read it? That book… it’s written in a language no human should be able to understand. So how did you read it?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t understand it—I just… read it, I guess. I didn’t even mean to.”
“The book,” the voice said. “From the library.”
“I didn’t—look, I don’t know. What’s happening? Who are you?”
There was a pause. A stillness, like the air itself was holding its breath.
“I am the guardian of that book. I have waited centuries for the one who could see it. Only the chosen may read it. Only the chosen can even find it. My master gave me one task—wait for the human who could break the seal.”
“You’re insane,” I whispered. “This is a dream. I’m just tired. I’m sleeping, yeah… I must be…”
Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath me—and everything disappeared.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a white room. Cold. Bright. Too bright.
Bars.
I was in a cell.
I screamed, “Hello? Anyone? Where am I?”
A woman—dressed like a nurse—appeared, glanced at me, then rushed away. A few minutes later, a man arrived. He introduced himself as a doctor.
A psychiatrist.
“This is a mental hospital,” he said gently. “You’ve been here for a month. We found you walking in the middle of the street, speaking in a language none of us recognized. You wouldn’t stop. Day and night, just talking to someone we couldn’t see.”
I stared at him, numb.
“You’re back now,” he said. “We ran some tests. Your family has been informed. You’re stable… for now. You’ll be able to leave soon.”
I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice. I didn’t even trust my mind.
They say I’m okay.
They say I’m better.
But no one asked the real question.
Why do I still remember the words from a language I shouldn't understand?
My parents hugged me, their arms shaking. They cried like I’d just come back from the dead. Maybe to them, I had. Between choked sobs, my mother whispered, “The devil… he possessed you.”
They said they’d take me to a priest.
They wanted to cleanse me. Save me. Fix me.
But I didn’t feel broken.
I didn’t feel anything.
No fear. No sadness. No guilt. Nothing.
Just… stillness. Like I had been emptied out and left behind.
They begged me to come with them. To pray. To be purified.
But I refused. Not because I was rebelling. Not because I was angry. I just… didn’t want to go. The thought of standing in a church, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, surrounded by people who would look at me like I was a problem to be solved—I couldn’t do it.
I ran.
No plan. No money. Just instinct. Just that strange, silent voice inside me… guiding me.
It led me down unfamiliar roads, through alleyways and forgotten streets. Somehow, I arrived at a place that looked like a church, but not one of salvation. This one was darker. Colder. More ancient. The kind of place built not to invite light, but to keep it out.
They were waiting for me.
Figures in dark hooded robes lined the hall. None of them spoke, but I could feel it—their welcome. Like I belonged. Like I’d always been meant to find them.
They led me to a chamber beneath the building, a space carved out of stone and silence. At the far end stood something that wasn't human.
A creature.
Not terrifying.
Not grotesque.
Just… real.
Real in a way nothing else ever had been.
And when it looked at me, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t run. I felt something stir deep inside my chest—recognition.
Then it spoke.
“Welcome, my son.”
The words didn’t echo. They settled.
I blinked. “What… are you?”
“I am the one they have forgotten,” it said, its voice a vibration more than a sound. “I am the truth beneath their lies. And you… you are the chosen. The one who could finally hear me.”
“Chosen?” I asked. “By who?”
It paused, as if studying me. Then it said:
“By the real God.”
That broke something in my mind.
“What do you mean? The real God? What about the one people worship… in churches?”
A low rumble, almost like laughter, echoed around us.
“They worship a name,” it said. “An illusion built on fear. But the true creator—the one who wrote the language you read, the one whose voice lives in the silence—has been waiting for you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand…”
“You don’t need to. Not yet. Understanding comes after transformation. And your journey has only begun.”
It stepped forward, and for a moment, I saw not a creature, but a reflection—my own face, but changed. Sharper. Older. Wiser. Or maybe… more honest.
“You weren’t possessed,” it whispered. “You were awakened.”
“So… what do I need to do?” I asked.
The creature smiled. It wasn’t warm or sinister—it was something else. Something ancient.
“My son,” it said gently, “our god offers you the true heaven. Not the illusion built by fear and guilt. Our god knows the true desires of the heart—what each soul really craves.”
It turned and pointed toward the great hall behind me.
“These are your people now,” it said. “They will guide you.”
And so they did.
One of the robed figures took me through a winding passage until we reached a room unlike anything I’d ever seen. Velvet-lined walls. Gold fixtures. A bed that looked like it belonged in a palace. Everything gleamed with surreal beauty, almost too perfect to be real.
They served me dinner—rich, colorful dishes that smelled like childhood dreams and tasted like peace. I ate slowly, unsure if I was dreaming or finally waking up.
Then she walked in.
She was beautiful. Ethereal. Her presence was magnetic, and yet, oddly familiar—like I’d seen her in a dream I’d long forgotten. She smiled, sat beside me, leaned close, her voice a soft hum against my ear. Her touch was gentle but electric.
She spoke as if we’d always known each other, like we had shared a hundred lifetimes.
And in that moment, I stopped thinking.
I let go.
For the first time in my life, I felt wanted. Seen. Touched in a way that made me believe I belonged—not just to a place, but to something greater.
That night, something changed in me.
Not just my body—my mind, too. My soul. The walls I’d built inside me over the years… they crumbled. Day after day, I was offered more—more food, more warmth, more pleasure, more faces that smiled like they’d been waiting for me forever.
And yet… a part of me, buried deep beneath the comfort, began to whisper:
Is this heaven—or just another prison, wrapped in gold?
“No... this is the real heaven,” I whispered to myself, again and again, like a mantra carved into my soul. The longer I stayed in that shadowed place, the closer I became to the creature—the being who called me son, who promised a world remade, one where pain and loneliness would vanish under the rule of the true god.
We spoke every day. We didn’t just talk. We connected. Not like friends. Not like master and servant. Like something older, deeper—something bound in fate.
And then, one night, as the moon bled red through the cathedral’s broken glass, he said:
“Our god wishes to return. He wishes to create a better world. But first… you must prepare the way.”
I was stunned. “Prepare… how?”
He looked at me with eyes that were never fully open, yet always watching. “The world must be ready. The soil must be softened, the minds unshackled. You will influence them. You will plant the seeds.”
And I did.
It started with whispers in elite halls. I was sent to seduce—not just with flesh, but with promises. I gave the powerful what they craved: pleasure, secrets, the illusion of control. Like I had once been shown my "heaven," I showed them theirs.
And slowly… they followed.
Leaders. Judges. Bankers. Generals. All fell into the dream.
A new religion bloomed beneath the surface of the nation, like rot under painted wood. People laughed more, partied harder, desired more. The creature called it freedom. I called it purpose.
But then came the test.
He told me our god needed proof of my devotion. True faith, he said, must be stained in blood.
Two hooded figures were brought into the chamber. Their heads were bowed, trembling.
“If you wish to be god’s chosen,” the creature said, handing me a black-bladed sword, “you must offer them. Send them home. Send them to real heaven.”
I hesitated. My fingers shook.
I had never killed before.
I lifted the sword, trying to breathe. They pulled off the hoods.
It was my parents.
My breath shattered in my lungs. My hands went numb. I dropped the sword, stepping back like a child lost in a nightmare.
But the creature came closer, gently lifting the blade and pressing it back into my hand.
“They will not suffer,” he whispered. “They will ascend. This is love, my son. This is sacrifice.”
And somehow… I believed him.
With a scream locked inside my throat, I swung.
Two heads fell.
And with them, so did a part of me I can never get back.
Something broke that day—not in a burst, but like quiet glass beneath the weight of silence. And once broken, I didn’t care to fix it.
I became something else.
I became his.
I no longer killed for duty. I killed because it felt right. Like feeding a hunger I hadn’t known I had. My hands became tools. My soul, an altar.
What once made me tremble now made me feel alive. The guilt? It faded like a dream at dawn. Every sacrifice, every scream, every drop of blood was an offering—not just to the god I served, but to the part of myself I had tried to bury for years. The part that found beauty in destruction, peace in chaos.
As our numbers grew, so did our influence. Our “heaven” expanded, hidden behind pleasure, wealth, and charm. From the outside, we were nothing but a whisper—yet inside, we were a firestorm. Ministers, officials, celebrities—many bowed to our cause without even knowing what they were serving. All they saw was power. And we gave it to them, wrapped in silk and stained with shadow.
Our country became our sanctuary. But not a holy one. No, this was our heaven—built on indulgence and desecration. Where morality dissolved and anything was possible. There was no shame in killing, no hesitation in lust. Rape, murder, gambling, betrayal—they became sacraments of our belief. Adultery became as common as breathing—vows meant nothing anymore. Husbands and wives alike traded loyalty for ecstasy. Fidelity was laughed at, love reduced to transaction. Pleasure ruled, and shame was buried beneath it.
This place—our nation—was no longer governed by law or compassion. It became an empire of impulse. A kingdom where desire wore a crown and conscience was executed long ago. The night was alive with secrets, the streets echoed with sins no one dared call wrong.
We didn’t hide. We celebrated. And the people? They joined willingly, hungry for our Gods recognition.
War came.
A great war.
And we were annihilated.
Not just defeated—erased.
Our temples burned in holy fire. Our priests, once worshiped like gods, were dragged from their altars and butchered like cattle. Our “heaven” collapsed, brick by brick, blood by blood, until nothing was left but scorched ground and silence. The screams still echo in the corners of my mind—so many voices once raised in ecstasy now silenced in agony.
We fled like rats from a sinking world.
Scattered. Shattered. But never gone.
We were only seeds—dark seeds—waiting to bloom again in foreign soil.
I thought I had lost everything. My purpose. My god. My hunger.
But then, from the depths of a dreamless night, I heard it again—the creature’s voice. Gentle as a whisper, cold as a blade.
“Regrow. Rebuild. Revenge.”
And I obeyed.
I found myself in a land so different it felt unreal. A country untouched by our chaos, where people smiled for no reason. Where kindness wasn’t a transaction. They gave me food. A bed. They trusted me. I looked into their eyes and saw innocence—the kind we devoured in our old home.
And still, all I could think was:
We will take this, too.
Their streets. Their churches. Their children.
All will kneel to our god in the end.
That warmth they gave me? It will be repaid—in fire.
Their open arms will burn with the rest.
Because we remembered. We remembered the one who brought us down. The name that crushed our rise and turned our empire into a grave.
The leader of the flag colored black, red, and gold.
He is the one who crushed us. The one who turned the tide.
The world calls him a monster. But to us…
To us, he was the hand of judgment. The blade that severed our kingdom.
And we have not forgotten.
I swore—along with every broken disciple scattered across this earth—we will return.
We will rise again, not from altars but from the shadows of your cities. We will smile with your faces, speak with your tongues, hold your babies—and when the time comes…
We will show you the real god. The one you’ve been ignoring all along.
Next time, no one will stop us.
No armies. No saviors. No myths of mercy.
Only ash.
AUTHOR:
"These people have risen again. And right in front of your eyes, they are doing things no human should ever do—things so vile, so unimaginable, it’s as though humanity itself has been turned inside out. Yet all of us stand by in silence, pretending we don’t see, pretending we don’t hear. They smile in the daylight, whisper their lies in the shadows, and with every passing day, their grip tightens.
You think you’re safe. You tell yourself that as long as you stay quiet, as long as you keep your head down, it won’t touch you. It’s them, not you. But listen closely—because this is just the beginning. Today, it’s them. Tomorrow, it’ll be you. You won’t know when it starts or how, but you’ll feel it—like a creeping shadow, like a tightening around your chest, and soon, you’ll realize that no matter how much you want to escape, there’s no safe place left.
And deep down… you already know what I’m talking about. You’ve felt it in the pit of your stomach, the unease crawling beneath your skin. You’ve seen the signs—the whispering among the crowd, the subtle shifts in behavior, the way people begin to look at each other like prey. It’s already here, moving in the spaces you refuse to acknowledge. And one day, you’ll wake up and realize that everything has changed. The world you knew will be gone, and it will be too late for regret, too late for fear.
They have risen. And they will keep rising, until there’s nothing left but the ashes of those who refused to act. And when it’s your turn, when they come for you, when they twist the world until you are nothing but a shadow of your former self, you’ll finally understand: This was never about them. It was always about us."
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