Vikram's eyes widened as he watched the 2D hero's sword slowly point toward him. The pixelated figure, once familiar and comforting, now became something dark and unnatural.
The Holy and Virtuous Sword, which had been the hero's signature weapon, had been replaced by a demonic blade, its aura thick with malevolence. Blood-red light spilled out from the weapon, casting an eerie glow over the sky and moon above.
A distorted voice echoed through the speakers, sending a chill down Vikram's spine.
"You are the One."
The words felt like a command, an inescapable truth, and Vikram's heart raced with dread. His breath caught in his chest as his gaze remained fixed on the screen. The hero's blood-red iris seemed to burn into him, as if the pixels themselves were staring deep into his soul. Vikram felt his body tense, his limbs frozen.
Then, the red bar appeared on the screen, and Vikram's stomach dropped. The bar was filled with a dark, ominous energy, and as it appeared, a cold sense of dread settled over him. It wasn't just part of the game—something far more sinister was unfolding.
[Pain: ▢▢▢▢▢▢]
Before Vikram could make sense of it, the world around him blurred, and an overwhelming force gripped his body.
He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. It was as if an invisible hand had taken control of his entire being, holding him in place while the game twisted his reality.
His head tilted upward involuntarily, and his mouth opened, despite every part of him screaming in resistance. Vikram's jaw began to stretch, slowly at first, then more quickly, an excruciating force twisting his bones and skin.
The red bar above the screen filled slightly, signaling the increase in pain, but it wasn't just a digital display—it was as though the pain was real, coursing through his body, becoming one with him.
The sensation of his mouth stretching further and further was unbearable. He gasped, his vision blurring with each second, his bones creaking under the strain. His body fought to snap free of the invisible hold, but there was nothing he could do.
His mouth continued to widen, distending beyond what should have been possible. Vikram's breaths came in ragged gasps as the red bar advanced another increment, its ominous presence swallowing the white in its path.
CRACK.
The sound of his jaw breaking echoed through his mind, and Vikram's breath hitched. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. His body was no longer his own; it was being manipulated by a force beyond comprehension. The red bar filled even further.
But it didn't stop there. The pressure inside him only grew as he felt an invisible hand begin to push into his mouth, deeper into his throat. His skin stretched painfully, his esophagus widening to accommodate it.
Vikram's chest tightened as though the hand was reaching for his very soul, each second feeling like an eternity of pure agony. His heart raced, and his vision swam in and out of focus.
The red bar was nearing the 80% mark, and Vikram could feel his body weakening. His mind screamed for release, for the pain to stop, but nothing happened. The invisible force was relentless, merciless.
It moved deeper, tearing at his insides, stretching his body beyond what should have been possible.
Vikram felt a cold shiver run down his spine as the hand inside him shifted, its progress unyielding. His body recoiled, but there was no escape. The hand reached his heart, and the pressure intensified.
Vikram's chest burned with the sensation of something cold and unfeeling digging into him, pulling at the very core of his existence.
His heart was yanked from his chest, and the pain was unbearable. He could feel it—his own heart, still pulsing, now suspended in the air before him. It was a grotesque and surreal sight, a living symbol of his torment.
Vikram's thoughts scattered, and his mind was consumed with agony as the red bar surged toward 95%.
This is it, he thought desperately. When that bar reaches 100%, I die.
He fought against the overwhelming pain, against the helplessness creeping through his body. His every instinct told him to survive, to push against the suffocating sense of doom. The red bar filled relentlessly, a steady march toward his inevitable end.
The hand holding his heart tightened, and Vikram felt the last of his strength begin to wane. The world around him felt distant, like a dream he couldn't wake from. And yet, through the crushing weight of the pain, something stirred within him. A deep, primal will to survive—he refused to die like this.
The red bar wavered for the briefest moment, almost as though it was testing him, toying with his desperation. But Vikram didn't let up.
He fought through the pain, focusing every ounce of his remaining strength on resisting. He could feel his heart, still pulsing in the air before him, as though it too was waiting for its fate.
The red bar, nearing its full capacity, hovered at 95%, but Vikram's resolve did not falter. He would not let it take him. The strength of his will, now the only thing he had left, pushed back against the tide of inevitable doom.
The red bar paused, shifting ever so slightly back. It was a small retreat, but it was enough.
The invisible force relented for a moment, and Vikram's heart, suspended in midair, stopped its slow dance toward finality. His body, though still aching and broken, hung in the balance. The red bar remained high, but it had not yet reached its peak.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////