Chapter 45: The Pain Of A Nightmare
Sleep never came easily to Aken. It never gave him any comfort or peace. It just slowly pulled him down, like invisible hands dragging him under dark water, while something waited in the depths for him to drown.
And in the end, he always managed to do it.
Initially, there was only pressure.
A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, anchoring him in the lingering darkness of the dream. Suddenly, heat erupted—thick, suffocating, crawling into his lungs with every shallow breath. The scent of burning metal, fuel, and smoke hung heavily in the air, coating the inside of his throat with a raw, acrid layer.
Next came the unbearable screams. Not distant. Not blurred by memory. Close enough for him to hear every crack in every terrified voice.
Aken opened his eyes and found himself standing in the plane's aisle again. Seeing it never stopped surprising him.
The cabin had been stripped of any human touch. Walls jagged and splintered, twisted metal curled in like shattered ribs. Sparks erupted from exposed wires overhead as emergency lights flickered erratically, casting urgent flashes of red and white across the smoke-choked environment.
People were frozen around him in timeless moments that refused to end.
Some cried openly while clutching strangers. Others prayed with trembling lips. A few simply stared ahead in complete silence, their minds already gone long before their bodies followed.
Aken's chest clenched painfully as a wave of dread washed over him. He knew this place all too well and understood exactly what was coming next.
"…Please," he whispered weakly. "Not this again."
But the dream didn't pay attention, never changing for him.
That is until now.
His feet began moving on their own, carrying him forward through the shattered aisle while the screams around him blurred together into something unbearable. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the plane itself wanted him to remember every second of what happened here.
Then it arrived — the impact. It wasn't something he merely saw; it was a sensation that coursed through every fiber of his being.
The world folded inward violently as the deafening clash of sound and intense heat surged simultaneously, creating a chaotic sensory explosion. Metal groaned loudly as it tore apart under immense stress. The floor suddenly disappeared beneath him, as if swallowed by an unseen force. Overwhelmed by the pressure, he felt it crush against his chest with such force that taking a breath became impossible, leaving him gasping in the suffocating silence that followed.
And then everything went silent.
Not the peaceful silence of a calm morning or a restful night. The freakish kind—an ominous stillness that hung heavy in the air, filling every corner with an unsettling base.
The kind that happens after a disaster, when the world stops just long enough for the horror of it all to really sink in.
Smoke wafted through the broken wreckage. Small fires flickered nearby, casting shaky light over broken metal and burnt bodies.
Aken stood there, breathing uneasily while the memory slowly crawled back into place.
His hands trembled slightly, portraying a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.
"…Why…"
The voice froze him instantly; soft, weak, yet undoubtedly familiar.
Aken slowly turned, dread tightening around his chest before he even saw the face.
Jin Wong watched from a few meters away, or at least, something wearing his skin seemed to be doing so.
His body looked unstable, like a damaged memory struggling to stay together. Part of his face flickered at the upper edges, one eye dull and lifeless. But what hurt the most wasn't even his appearance.
It was the exhaustion in his expression, not anger, not hatred; just disappointment. So deep it felt unbearable to witness.
"…Jin…"
The name felt small, barely walking out of Aken's throat.
Jin quietly looked at him for a long moment before speaking.
"Why me?"
The question was so gentle, that it hit much harder than a scream ever could.
Immediately, Aken opened his mouth to speak.
"But I tried to save you—"
Justification.
Though it was pointless. Still, nothing came out. No voice echoed. No sound was made. His throat sealed shut in silent agony. Panic creeping into his chest as he tried again, but the dream refused to let him speak.
Jin took another slow step forward.
"How could you have let us to die?"
Aken felt the words tighten inside him, wrapping around his chest like unbreakable chains, heavy and permanent.
He compelled himself to take a step closer, yet the gap between them remained unchanged. Despite all his effort to advance, he was trapped in the exact same spot.
"I didn't know," he tried to say. "I wasn't strong enough for God's sake! So please, it wasn't my fault! If I had known about that dungeon earlier, I would've stopped it, so—"
Still nothing. His own voice had betrayed him, leaving him silent in that Godforsaken emptiness.
Jin didn't wait for an answer, because there wasn't one that would've mattered in this argument.
The world around them started to fade. The air got colder. Just then, two figures slowly stepped out of the smoke behind Jin, and as soon as Aken saw them, something inside him completely shattered.
They were his parents.
Or at least, something close to their resemblance.
Their forms appeared in a grotesque manner, incomplete and fading at the edges, like memories that time had begun erasing. Every step they took toward him felt unbearably slow, heightening the sense of their sorrow and pain.
Then, softly, they began to speak, their voices gentle yet hollow.
"You are a curse."
The words came from both of them at once, calm and quiet in a way that hurt far more than anger ever could.
Aken shook his head desperately in frustration.
"No… please…"
No voice echoed, though only the silence persisted.
His chest tightened so severely that each breath became a sharp, stabbing pain in his lungs. As if squeezing an intense pressure that made it difficult to inhale and exhale.
"Child, why did we ever give birth to you?"
That question completely shattered him, leaving him paralyzed with shock and confusion. Because they didn't sound hateful.
They sounded regretful.
Like loving him had become the greatest mistake of their lives.
Aken tried to reach them. He tried pushing himself forward, his legs were aching, but no matter how hard he moved, he just couldn't close the gap.
Not even a little.
Terror gradually turned into a sense of helplessness.
"I didn't choose this!," he wanted to scream. "I never wanted any of this!"
But the dream stole even that away from him. Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifted at a single point.
The Vampire Prince materialized behind them, a calm, almost amused expression on his face, as if this entire nightmare was nothing but a source of his own entertainment.
Aken's eyes immediately widened in anger.
"No. Get away fro…"
Still, no words, no sound.
The Prince moved toward them slowly while Aken forced himself forward with everything he had. His muscles burned from the effort, but the distance was impossible to cross.
And then the Prince reached out.
Aken barely caught the shift, a huge hole was in their chest. They warped and dissolved into nothingness—flesh and bone disintegrating into dark, smoldering ash, scattering into an abyss of eternal darkness.
And amidst it all, the voices persisted, echoing through the silence.
"You are a curse."
Again and again until the words became part of the air itself.
Aken's vision wavered, not only from the tears, but from the crushing pressure of grief so intense it felt as if his chest was collapsing inside.
Every failure haunted him all at once; each death, each missed chance, each moment when he was too weak, too slow, too late. The weight of all he lost pressed down on his chest, and a deep, aching sorrow consumed him whole.
His hands clenched so tightly that his na ils sliced into his palms, causing a sharp, painful sting. Underneath, an intense surge of emotion finally broke ,through, rendering him momentarily helpless.
A sound tore out of him, raw and broken, carrying every ounce of guilt and rage he had buried inside for years.
And yet — nothing had changed.
---
Aken's body jerked upright violently.
Air slammed in,to his lungs as though he had just surfaced from drowning. Sweat clung to his skin, his breathing ragged and uneven, while reality slowly forced itself back into focus.
White ceiling with a smooth, matte finish. Dim, soft lighting casts gentle shadows across the room; it was a hospital room.
For some time, he couldn't even separate the dream from reality. Well that is until—
"Mr. Ezomo?"
A nurse stood nearby, concern clear on her face. "Are you alright? You were shouting and your heart rate suddenly spiked—"
"I'm fine."
The response was surprisingly quick. Almost too sharp.
The nurse hesitated slightly. "Are you sure? I mean If you need anything, we can call someone—"
"I said I'm fine."
This time, it's quieter but also more assertive.
She observed him for a moment longer before nodding slowly and moving back toward the door.
"…Alright then."
Aken didn't bother to look at her as she walked away. He didn't look at anyone, in fact.
Slowly, the room fell quiet, but before the door completely closed, he heard the whispers outside it.
"Do you think he has some kind of mental condition?"
A brief pause followed.
"…Hard to say. Players these days go through a lot."
"Still… he didn't sound normal. What if he ends up losing his mind and does something crazy?"
"Just hope that never happens."
Their voices faded quickly as they moved down the hallway. Aken just blankly stared at the ceiling.
He didn't react because part of him understood exactly what they meant.
The room felt strangely clean and a bit too calm. After surviving as horrific as the dungeon, normal life felt distant and unreal, like something he was no longer part of.
He then lifted one hand and stared at it for a while. That hand held more power now than he had ever imagined possible.
This was what it took to slay monsters, what it took to endure hell, what it took to strike fear into others.
And yet— It still hadn't been enough.
Jin was dead, others had died too. And Soo-ah...
His eyes flicked to the empty chair beside his bed.
"…What's the point of all this power," he whispered, "if I still can't protect anyone?"
The room stayed silent, of course it did. It couldn't talk back to him, but he could at least share his pain with it.
Aken let his head fall back against the pillow and closed his eyes again.
For some time, he simply layed there without moving, letting the exhaustion settle over him completely.
No anger, or denial; just exhaustion. Eventually, he let out a slow and tired breath.
"…What a waste."
The words disappeared into the darkness of the room.
And for the first time since he woke up, Aken stopped trying to fight the grief sitting inside of his chest.
He simply let it stay there beside him, heavy, cold, and permanent. Because some wounds never truly heal.
Even with the medication.
END OF CHAPTER 45