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Chapter Three: The Door Between Worlds
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White stretched endlessly in every direction.
Stillness was supposed to be comforting. Instead, it felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.
The shadows returned.
Not alive, but not dead either—shifting wisps of memories, regrets, and things forgotten.
They waited. Watched. Silent, but present.
He stood alone, facing God.
God's presence was unlike anything he'd imagined—neither blinding nor distant, but a quiet force that filled the void with a soft hum.
The smell was strange, like burning cedar and old paper—a scent that felt ancient and familiar all at once.
God's voice rumbled, calm and deep, yet soft enough to be a whisper:
"You asked for death."
Pause.
"And now, death comes for you."
God turned slowly. The void trembled as a door appeared before him—not carved of wood or metal, but of flickering embers and curling smoke.
It unfolded like a wound in the fabric of reality, bleeding light and shadow in equal measure.
Beyond the door was a world of noise, color, and life—the kind of life he had left behind, yet didn't belong to anymore.
MC's Thoughts:
Death was meant to be silent.
Peaceful.
The end of pain, noise, and fear.
But this door screams.
It screams louder than anything I've heard.
Why do they call me the Forgotten One?
Am I truly forgotten?
By the living? By death?
What am I now?
His hand hovered near the door, trembling slightly. The heat wasn't scorching—it was honest, real, like a challenge.
He touched the fiery surface.
A cold shock surged through his body, and the white void slipped away like a dream.
Suddenly, darkness wrapped around him—thick, heavy, and familiar.
A cloak wrapped around him like the night folding itself into a tangible shadow.
A hood rose to cover his head, casting shadows over his face.
He looked down to see his hands encased in black gloves, the faint outline of bones visible beneath.
In his grip appeared a sickle—less a weapon, more a promise—sharp enough to sever the threads of fate.
He was wearing the suit of the Grim Reaper.
MC's Thoughts:
This is it.
The armor of death.
The mask I'm supposed to wear.
God's voice came again, echoing in the new darkness:
"You, the Forgotten One, will walk between two worlds. Between life that refuses to end, and death that is too easily forgotten."
"You don't belong to either side."
"You belong to the truth."
Truth, he thought. What truth?
What does it mean to carry death but belong nowhere?
His heart—if it still beat—pounded with a mixture of fear and determination.
This is the chance I wanted.
The chance to understand death beyond silence and shadows.
To see what lies beyond.
He stepped forward, the burning door inches from his face.
His fingers trembled.
MC's Thoughts (Expanded):
What is death, really?
Is it just the end of breath and heartbeat? Or is there more?
People say there's an afterlife—some paradise for the good, torment for the evil.
But if that's true, why am I here, caught between worlds?
Is there judgment waiting? A scale tipping my soul to one side or the other?
Are ghosts real? Shadows trapped between life and death, desperate for answers or revenge?
Or are they just echoes of memory, fading like smoke?
Maybe death isn't the silence I thought it was.
Maybe it's a doorway—between worlds, between truths.
But if death is meant to be the end, why am I being sent to walk in it?
If this is some test, what's the prize? Or the punishment?
Could it be that death itself is broken?
And I'm the one who has to fix it—or destroy it?
No.
I can't afford to think like that.
If I do, I might never take the next step.
Still…
All I really want to know is what death truly means.
Not the stories people tell to comfort themselves.
Not the myths or the legends.
The truth.
His thoughts were a storm held behind glass—wild and chaotic, but locked away from the world.
Curiosity gnawed at him like a ghost—intangible, persistent, and impossible to silence.
He hesitated, fingers barely brushing the door's edge.
The flames licked his skin but didn't burn.
They pulled him in.
God's voice echoed one last time, calm and deadly serious:
"If you die there… there is no afterlife. Not even for you."
Black.
Silence.
And the faint echo of a scream.
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To Be Continued