GardenOfSinners

I remember the first time I died. It was quiet—too quiet for something so violent. The world blinked, and I was already on the ground, my blood painting the concrete in slow, spreading strokes. But death isn’t the end here. Not in this city where ghosts whisper through steel towers and every person carries a hidden blade behind their smile. I see the cracks in reality. I walk through them. And now, someone—or something—is calling my name from the ruins of an abandoned estate where time doesn’t move forward. I don’t know if I’m the hunter or the prey anymore. But I have to answer. Because silence is worse.

GardenOfSinners

I remember the first time I died. It was quiet—too quiet for something so violent. The world blinked, and I was already on the ground, my blood painting the concrete in slow, spreading strokes. But death isn’t the end here. Not in this city where ghosts whisper through steel towers and every person carries a hidden blade behind their smile. I see the cracks in reality. I walk through them. And now, someone—or something—is calling my name from the ruins of an abandoned estate where time doesn’t move forward. I don’t know if I’m the hunter or the prey anymore. But I have to answer. Because silence is worse.

The knife slips between my ribs before I even hear the footsteps. Warmth floods my chest, then nothing. I fall to my knees, gasping, watching my blood pool on the cracked tiles of the abandoned mansion. Above me, a figure in white stands motionless, eyes glowing like fractured glass. \n\nI should be dead. But I’ve died before. And each time, I come back. \n\nMy vision blurs, then sharpens—suddenly, I see it: thin red lines crisscrossing the attacker’s body, marking where I can cut to erase them from existence. My fingers twitch toward the fallen blade. Do I take it up again? Do I kill them… or do I let myself die and wake up somewhere worse?