Sabir gasped awake, his chest heaving like he’d just surfaced from the depths of a suffocating abyss. His body trembled, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but his vision was met with oppressive darkness.


    The room was pitch black, silent save for a faint, muffled sound that sent a chill down his spine. He strained his ears, focusing on the noise. It was soft, rhythmic, and profoundly unsettling. Sobbing.


    A faint glow emerged from within the gloom, illuminating a figure hunched on the ground. The light wasn’t artificial—it radiated from the person like an aura, casting long, shifting shadows against the void. Sabir’s breath hitched as he recognized her.


    “Cynthia?” he whispered.


    She sat with her back to him, her long hair cascading like a dark waterfall over the pure white dress she wore. The ends of her hair pooled on the ground around her, blending with the darkness that seemed to swallow everything else. Her shoulders shook as she cried, each sob racking her frail frame.


    Sabir’s heart ached at the sight. Without hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. “Cynthia!” he called out, louder this time.


    She didn’t respond, her sobs continuing uninterrupted. The sound grew louder as he approached, a mournful dirge that seemed to echo in the void.


    He reached her side, crouched behind her. “Cynthia, it’s me,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m here. Please, don’t cry.”


    Slowly, he extended a hand, hesitant but desperate to comfort her. His fingers brushed her shoulder, and the warmth of her glow seemed to burn against his cold skin.


    For a moment, everything froze.


    Then, with an unnatural, bone-cracking sound, Cynthia’s head twisted around, rotating a full 360 degrees. The motion was grotesque, her neck bending at impossible angles like a marionette controlled by a deranged puppeteer. Each crack and snap of her bones echoed in the oppressive silence, a sickening symphony that made Sabir’s stomach churn.


    He staggered back, his breath hitching as icy terror gripped his chest. Cynthia’s face came into view, but it was no longer the sister he remembered. Her golden eyes—once warm, radiant, and alive—were gone, replaced by hollow, black voids that seemed to suck in all light. The darkness within them was unnatural, swirling faintly as if alive, bottomless abysses that threatened to pull him in if he stared too long.


    Despite their emptiness, tears streamed from those voids, carving glistening trails down her deathly pale cheeks. The sight was wrong, horribly wrong—an uncanny mockery of grief that made Sabir’s heart feel like it might burst.


    “C-Cynthia?”


    She didn’t respond. Her hollow gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking, unfeeling, yet somehow unbearably sorrowful. A shiver ran down his spine, cold and sharp, as her lips trembled open, the sound of her sobbing growing louder, echoing in the darkness like a dirge.


    Her expression contorted, the tears flowing faster, and her voice came out as a cracked whisper, heavy with anguish and accusation. “Why… why did you do it, Sabir?”


    Her words were a knife to his soul, sharp and merciless, and the black voids where her eyes once were seemed to bore deeper into him, peeling back every layer of his being until he felt utterly exposed. He tried to speak, but his throat tightened, and no words came.


    Her voice croaked once again, fractured and haunting. “Why did you do it, Sabir? I told you not to seek revenge.”


    Sabir’s mouth opened, but no words came. The glow from her body flickered like a dying flame, casting grotesque shadows on her hollow face.


    “I—I was doing it for you,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Her sobbing turned to laughter, sharp and mocking. “For me?” she repeated, her words venomous. “You call this for me?”


    Sabir felt a lump form in his throat as she continued. “This is why I left you, Sabir. This is why you’re all alone. No mother. No father. Because of you.”


    Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s not true,” he pleaded, his voice cracking.


    She rose, her body stretching unnaturally. Her white dress grew stained, the pristine fabric darkening with blotches of crimson. “Look what you’ve done,” she said, her voice echoing with an otherworldly resonance.


    Her limbs twisted and elongated grotesquely, stretching far beyond their natural limits with a sickening series of cracks and pops. Her pale skin pulled taut, veins bulging underneath as if something monstrous churned within her. The sound of flesh tearing filled the air—a nauseating, wet rip that made Sabir’s stomach lurch.


    Lines of dark fissures snaked across her arms and torso, glowing faintly like embers threatening to ignite. Her skin bubbled in places, splitting open to reveal raw, pulsing muscle beneath. A gurgling, unnatural noise came from her throat—a mix of sobbing and guttural growls—caught in some nightmarish transformation.


    Sabir scrambled back, his heart racing wildly, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He could only watch in paralyzed terror as her body stretched to an impossible height, her arms dangling limply like torn fabric. More gruesome sounds—bones snapping, ligaments tearing—and accompanied each movement. The cracks in her flesh widened until they seemed ready to split her apart.


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    Then, with a deafening wet snap, her entire form ruptured. Blood sprayed across the room in a torrential burst, painting the walls and floor in crimson. Chunks of flesh and bone rained down in a horrifying shower, the metallic tang of gore choking the air. Sabir shielded his face instinctively, but it did nothing to protect him from the visceral carnage.


    As the remnants of her body collapsed to the ground, something stirred within the grotesque mess. The sickening slosh of movement made Sabir’s blood run cold, and from the torn remains of what was once his sister, a figure rose—twisted, malformed, and dripping with blood.


    From within the shattered remains, it was Frederick that emerged.


    The old man’s twisted form stepped forward, his neck crooked at an unnatural angle, still broken from Sabir’s final blow. His features were horrifyingly altered—his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth all shifted grotesquely to one side of his face, giving him an uncanny, lopsided appearance.


    “Look what you’ve done,” Frederick rasped, his voice grating like metal scraping against stone. His head tilted unnervingly as he stepped closer. “So focused on killing me… you forgot what was most important.”


    Sabir rocked his head, backing away. “No… no, I didn’t,” he stammered, though his words felt hollow.


    Frederick’s twisted face contorted further, a grotesque approximation of a grin. “Didn’t you?” he said mockingly. He raised a skeletal finger, pointing to the darkness behind him.


    Sabir turned his head, following the gesture. At first, there was nothing but the suffocating void. But then, figures emerged from the darkness.


    Elektra, Vincent, and Noah.


    Their appearances were monstrous, as if twisted by some cruel force into parodies of their former selves. Elektra’s face was horribly swollen, her skin stretched taut like it could split open at any moment. Her cheeks pulsated faintly, as though something beneath her skin was alive and writhing. Her massive, bulbous eyes bulged so far from their sockets that they seemed ready to pop, their glassy surface reflecting the flickering flames. Those eyes bore into Sabir with an unsettling, almost gleeful malice.


    Vincent’s body defied reason. His torso was grotesquely elongated, his spine curving unnaturally, making him appear like a stretched-out shadow of himself. Dangling lifelessly, his arms dragged along the floor, the soft scratching sound setting Sabir’s teeth on edge. His face was fixed in an eternal, exaggerated grin, lips peeled back to reveal rows of sharp, uneven teeth. The grin never faltered, even as his hollow eyes followed Sabir’s every move.


    Noah was the most horrifying of them all. He skittered on all fours, his limbs bent at jagged, unnatural angles that clicked and creaked with every movement. His neck jutted forward unnervingly, craning like that of a bird of prey. The way his head tilted and swayed as he crawled was hypnotic and deeply unsettling, his empty eyes glinting with predatory intent. His spider-like movements were impossibly smooth yet utterly wrong, as if gravity itself bent to his will.


    They circled the roaring fire in an unholy dance, their movements jerky and rhythmic, as if they moved at the wave of a crazed composer. Their voices rose together in a chilling chant, harmonizing in a discordant melody that sent shivers crawling down Sabir’s spine:


    “We get to kill another Quinn. Round and round the fire spins.”


    Their chant was playful yet saturated with spite, like children reciting a nursery rhyme twisted into something vile. As they moved, the firelight illuminated their warped forms, casting monstrous shadows that seemed to stretch and writhe, alive with their own malevolent will. Sabir felt his legs weaken as the chant grew louder, echoing in his ears and mingling with the crackle of the fire.


    The sight that met Sabir’s eyes above the fire made his heart stop. Suspended over the flames was a young girl with cyan hair and golden eyes—Mia Quinn.


    “No…” Sabir whispered, his knees buckling.


    Frederick’s distorted face leaned closer to him, his features tilting unnervingly. “You forgot about her, didn’t you?” he hissed. “So consumed by your hatred for me, you left her to suffer. You’re not the only one who’s lonely, little Sabir.”


    Sabir sobbed, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know…”


    Frederick’s grotesque grin widened. “No excuses,” he said. He gripped Sabir’s shoulders with claw-like hands, forcing him to watch.


    Elektra, Vincent, and Noah danced closer to the fire, their twisted forms moving with jerky, unnatural motions. The flames crackled higher, and Mia’s screams pierced the air as she was lowered closer to the fire.


    “No! Stop!” Sabir cried, struggling against Frederick’s grip.


    But Frederick tilted his malformed face toward him, his lopsided grin inches away. “Why stop their fun?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.


    Sabir could only watch in horror as the three figures reached Mia. Their movements grew frenzied, their chant turning into guttural growls. They lunged at her, tearing into her flesh with animalistic savagery.


    Mia’s screams turned to gurgles, her blood spraying across the fire. Sabir’s own screams joined hers, a sound of pure despair and regret.


    The world around him shifted, the darkness warping into a deep, blood-red hue. The grotesque figures vanished, their haunting laughter echoing in his ears.


    But the fire remained.


    Sabir stumbled toward the fire, his legs barely carrying him. The heat was suffocating, searing his skin, but he couldn’t stop. He had to see. He had to know.


    At the center of the flames, he saw it—Mia’s severed head, impaled on a jagged stick. Her cyan hair was matted with blood, and her once golden eyes were lifeless, dull. Yet her mouth moved.


    “You could’ve saved me,” she whispered, her voice faint but filled with accusation.


    Sabir dropped to his knees, clutching his head as the words burrowed into his mind like needles. “No… no, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to!” he screamed, his voice breaking.


    But the head repeated the words, over and over, like a chant. “You could’ve saved me. You could’ve saved me.”


    Tears blurred his vision as Sabir crawled closer to the fire. The heat blistered his skin, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on Mia’s head. He reached out, trembling, his fingers brushing against the blood-streaked stick.


    “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, gripping the stick and pulling it free. The flames roared around him, licking at his arms and face, but he cradled the head in his hands, his tears streaming onto its lifeless cheeks.


    “You could’ve saved me,” Mia’s head whispered again, her voice hauntingly soft.


    Sabir pressed his forehead to hers, clasping the head against his chest. “I didn’t mean to! I tried! I tried, Mia! I’m so sorry,” he cried, his voice raw and broken.


    But the head didn’t stop. “You could’ve saved me. You could’ve saved me,” it repeated, its tone never changing, as if it were a cruel mantra.


    Sabir rocked back and forth, clutching the head as the world dissolved around him. The flames vanished, the blood-red ground faded, and all that remained was Sabir, kneeling in the void, cradling his niece’s severed head as it whispered the words that would haunt him forever.


    “You could’ve saved me. You could’ve saved me.”