Aris woke up with a suffocating pressure crushing his lungs. He was no longer submerged in the pool of black ink—but he wasn't truly in his apartment either. He sat upright in his work chair, yet the cold sensation from that liquid still lingered on his skin, leaving permanent black stains that seeped into the pores of his arms as if they were freshly inked tattoos.
The monitor in front of him was no longer red. Now it was pure white—so bright it hurt his eyes. There was no text. Only a single cursor blinking in a rhythm identical to Aris's heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He tried to touch his left ear. Hot. A throbbing sensation pierced through it, as if thousands of microscopic needles were stitching his auditory canal. He remembered the warning from Chapter 1: In Chapter 5, you will lose your left ear.
"This is only Chapter 3," Aris whispered, his voice sounding distant, as if echoing from deep within a cave. "There's still time. I have to get out."
Suddenly, the static returned—but this time not from the speakers. It came from inside his left ear. It sounded like sandpaper scraping against bone. Slowly, it transformed into overlapping voices—thousands of human voices screaming, crying, and laughing all at once.
"Read Chapter 3, Aris… Read the part where you lose your own voice…"
Aris stared at the monitor. Text began to appear, typed at an inhuman speed.
RITUAL MANUSCRIPT – CHAPTER 3:
Aris does not realize that the voices he hears are the prayers of those he once banned from the soaxBLOGZ forum. Every hatred he ignored, every plea for help he dismissed as 'fake content,' has returned to collect its debt.
Aris covered his ears with both hands, but the voices only grew louder. He began to hear horrifying details: the sound of bones snapping, blood dripping onto concrete, and the heavy breathing of someone standing right behind his neck.
He turned around quickly. Nothing.
But on his desk, something had appeared out of nowhere—a surgical scalpel, gleaming under the white light of the monitor. On its handle were engraved the initials: S.B. (soaxBLOGZ).
"Do not look at the mirror," the manuscript warned.
Of course, Aris did the opposite. Curiosity fueled by fear is the curse of every horror curator. He turned toward the tall mirror on his wardrobe.
The figure in the mirror was him—but something was wrong. The Aris in the mirror was not covering his ears. The Aris in the mirror was holding the same scalpel, his expression eerily calm—too calm for someone on the brink of madness.
In the real world, Aris watched his reflection begin slicing into its own left ear.
At first, he felt no physical pain. But he saw fresh red blood streaming down the face of "Mirror Aris." Then, slowly, a warm sensation spread across his own cheek. He wiped it with his hand.
Red. Wet. Metallic.
"No… this isn't Chapter 5 yet!" Aris screamed. "You're breaking your own rules!"
The monitor flashed bold text:
"IN THIS RITUAL, TIME IS AN ILLUSION. WHAT YOU READ IS WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED."
The walls of his apartment began to crack. But behind the cracks were not bricks—instead, there were piles of old cassette tapes and dangling computer cables that looked like human intestines. Aris realized this was no longer his home; it was the physical manifestation of the soaxBLOGZ server.
He began seeing flashes of memories that were not his. A vision of an old man sitting in front of an ancient computer, typing the very first lines of code for the forum. The man was crying—blood dripping from his eyes onto the keyboard.
"That name is not just a username, Aris," the man's voice echoed. "soaxBLOGZ is a vessel. And that vessel needs to be filled. You are its content."
Aris fell to his knees. His left ear was now completely numb, yet the voices inside it became clearer. Now they spoke a single name—his real name, the one he had long forgotten after losing himself in the digital world.
"Wake up, [CENSORED]…"
The text on the monitor began to fade, leaving behind an instruction for the reader in the real world:
CHAPTER 3 INSTRUCTION:
If you hear a ringing sound in your left ear while reading this part, do not try to stop it. It is the frequency used for synchronization. Aris is trying to contact you.
Aris grabbed the scalpel from the table—not to hurt himself, but because he saw black hands emerging from the monitor, trying to pull his head into the white light.
"I am not your content!" Aris swung the scalpel toward the screen.
CRASH!
The monitor shattered—but no glass fell. Instead, a black void opened, sucking the air from the room. Aris was dragged forward, his face swallowed by absolute darkness.
And his left ear—now completely severed—remained on the desk, still whispering endlessly… repeating the name of the author of this novel.