All Chapters of His Dark Reign: Chapter 151
- Chapter 160
206 chapters
142. The weight that follows
Adam didn’t sleep.He lay on his bed fully clothed, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling that ran like a hairline fracture through plaster. Every time his eyes drifted shut, the pressure returned—not as pain, not even as fear—but as awareness. As if something behind his eyes was watching him watch the dark.The room smelled wrong. Familiar, but slightly diluted, like a copy of itself. Even the ticking clock on his nightstand hesitated between seconds, its rhythm uneven, uncertain.He rolled onto his side and pressed his palm against his chest. His heartbeat felt louder than it should have been. Deeper. As though it was echoing through a larger space than his body.Malrick did not speak.That alone was alarming.Adam had grown used to the presence—resented it, fought it, but relied on its sharpness. The silence now felt intentional. Calculated. Like a predator going still so its prey would forget it was there.Across town, Lilith stood at her bedroom window, curtains half-drawn, w
143. What listens beneath the skin
The moment Adam crossed the school gates, the pressure intensified.It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden wind, no thunder cracking open the sky. It was subtler than that—more insidious. Like walking deeper into water without realizing how far the ground had dropped away beneath his feet.He stopped at the sidewalk, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes fixed on nothing. Cars passed. People laughed too loudly nearby. The world kept moving, ignorant of the fact that something ancient had shifted its attention fully onto him.Malrick stirred.Not with words.With weight.It settled into Adam’s chest, not like possession, not like control—but like a second gravity layered beneath his own. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second before he mastered it. He had learned, painfully, how to hide these things. How to let the storm rage inward while his face remained calm.Lilith paused a few steps behind him.“You’re not okay,” she said.Adam didn’t turn. “I never am.”“That’s not what
144. The shape of what waits
The night did not arrive naturally.It settled.Streetlights flickered on one by one, but their glow felt thin, diluted, as if the darkness between them had thickened into something that swallowed light rather than merely lacking it. People still walked the sidewalks, cars still passed, televisions still murmured behind curtained windows—but the town had slipped a fraction out of alignment with itself.Adam felt that fraction like a fracture line running through his bones.He sat on the edge of his bed, knuckles wrapped in gauze, staring at the cracked mirror across the room. The break spider-webbed outward from where his fist had struck, distorting his reflection into multiple versions of the same face. In one shard, his eyes looked hollow. In another, sharp and predatory. In a third, briefly—terrifyingly—inhuman.He tore his gaze away.The hum beneath the ground had not stopped. It pulsed now, slow and rhythmic, like a colossal heart beating far below the town.Malrick remained coil
145. When the handle turns
The fall did not end.Adam had expected impact—pain, collision, some definitive moment where descent surrendered to consequence. Instead, the sensation thinned, stretched, became something less physical and more conceptual, as if gravity itself were reconsidering its obligations.He drifted.The gray around him was not empty. It was unfinished. Shapes suggested themselves and then retreated, half-ideas aborting mid-creation. The horizon folded in on itself, repeating like a thought trapped in a loop. Sound existed only when it wanted to, arriving late, leaving early.Adam’s body felt distant, like an echo of something he used to inhabit.Malrick remained with him, but no longer merely within. The presence hovered closer to coherence now, its outline sharpening in fits and starts, as though the fracture were giving it permission to exist more honestly.“This is the liminal layer,” Adam said, his voice carrying oddly, multiplied and softened at once. “But deeper.”This is beneath the dr
146. The door learns it's name
The moment Malrick stepped fully into shape, the fracture howled.Not a sound—no air existed there to carry it—but a tearing of structure so violent it felt like the concept of space itself was being peeled apart. The gray world buckled, its unfinished surfaces cracking like drying clay under a sudden flood.Adam stood at the center of it, barely upright.Malrick loomed before him now, no longer an abstract weight or whispering presence but something closer to form—tall, skeletal in silhouette, edges blurring and sharpening in cycles, as if reality couldn’t quite agree on how much of Malrick it was allowed to acknowledge. Its eyes were not eyes at all, but hollows that bent the gray inward, swallowing light, swallowing meaning.And opposite them—The Entity moved.It did not advance like a creature.It expanded.The darkness thickened, swelling outward, and within it, something vast rearranged itself, as though learning how to fit inside the fracture. Shapes emerged that were never me
147. What holds the door
The fracture did not stabilize.It hesitated.That hesitation was worse.Adam stood at the center of the gray, Malrick’s presence fused to him like a second nervous system—every thought echoing twice, every sensation sharpened and deepened. The pain had not vanished. It had become useful, a burning clarity that cut through fear and doubt alike.The Entity loomed, vast and unfinished, its shape stuttering as the fracture struggled to reconcile incompatible truths. Where it had pressed forward with inevitability before, now it circled—not physically, but conceptually—testing boundaries, probing the limits of this new configuration.Adam felt its attention like cold fingers rifling through the margins of his mind.You have altered the equation, it pressed, curiosity edging into irritation. This vessel was not meant to resist integration.Adam swallowed, blood still trickling from his nose, voice hoarse but steady. “I’m not your solution.”Everything becomes a solution eventually.Malrick
148. The door that learned his name
The silence after the shock was not peace.It was recoil.Reality did not settle so much as draw a careful breath, like something wounded deciding whether to bleed again. The air trembled faintly, residual pressure rippling through streets, walls, bones. Windows rattled once more and then stilled. Somewhere far away, a dog began to howl—and did not stop.Adam remained kneeling in the gray, one hand braced against a surface that was no longer quite there. The fracture had folded inward, yes—but it had not healed. It had scarred. The space around him was thinner now, stretched like skin over a burn.Malrick’s presence flickered behind his eyes, no longer roaring, no longer blazing—coiled. Watchful. Wounded in a way Adam could feel without seeing.You forced it back, Malrick said at last. At cost.Adam wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers trembled. “You say that like it’s new.”This cost will compound, Malrick replied. The Entity adapts.Adam laughed weakly.
149. Threshold made flesh
The realm Adam stood in did not announce itself with fire or thunder. It did something worse—it waited.The ground beneath his feet was neither solid nor soft, but a compromise between intention and memory. It shifted subtly, like something alive choosing not to move too much. Above him stretched a sky without distance, a dim, bruised gray that pulsed faintly, as though it were breathing in time with his heart. Every pulse made his chest ache, not with pain, but with recognition.This place knew him.Adam took a step forward. The sound his foot made was wrong—too intimate. Not an echo, not a scrape, but a dull thud that seemed to answer from somewhere inside his skull. He stopped immediately, jaw tightening, shoulders drawing inward as instinct screamed at him not to move again.You are already inside, Malrick’s voice murmured—not beside him, not behind him, but threaded through his thoughts like an old scar being pressed. Movement here is a declaration.Adam didn’t answer. He had lea
150. When the world blinks
The world did not end all at once.It hesitated.That hesitation was what terrified Adam most.Morning came like a lie. Light filtered through clouds that should not have existed anymore, pale and uncertain, as though the sky itself was unsure whether it had permission to keep going. The town breathed again—cars passed, doors opened, voices returned—but the sound carried a strange hollowness, like echoes trapped in a skull long after the mind inside had gone silent.Adam stood at the edge of it, feeling the weight of what he had become pressing against his spine.He had not slept.Sleep required surrender, and surrender was no longer an option.The fracture had sealed—but not cleanly. It was like a wound stitched too quickly, skin pulled tight over something still alive underneath. Adam could feel it beneath the world, a slow pulse, a pressure that pressed back whenever he breathed too deeply or let his thoughts wander too far. The Entity had not been banished. It had been… delayed.A
151. The signal cannot be unheard
The bell’s echo refused to die.It lingered in the air like a held breath, vibrating through the bones of the church, through the dust lodged in its corners, through Adam’s chest where something old and coiled shifted in response. The sound should have faded. Sound always did. But this one stretched, thinning into a frequency more felt than heard, until Adam had the uncomfortable certainty that it wasn’t traveling outward at all.It was traveling inward.Lilith sensed it too. Her shoulders stiffened, her fingers curling against the pew as though bracing against a sudden drop. The stained glass above them trembled—not visibly, not enough to draw the eye, but enough that the colors seemed to smear, bleeding into one another like wet paint.Kaleb swallowed hard. “That bell,” he said quietly. “That didn’t feel like… sound.”Adam didn’t answer immediately. His attention was split, stretched thin between the physical space of the church and the pressure building behind his eyes. The Door—th