His Dark Reign

3. A pact made in the dark

They don’t care. They never cared.

Bitterness poisoned every thought. He saw Sanchez’s smirk. He heard the laughter. He felt the punch again, sharp in his ribs.

A sob burst from his throat. “I hate you… all of you. I hope you burn.”

The forest stilled.

The crickets stopped again. The wind died. Even the trees seemed to lean closer.

From the shadows, a voice slid across the clearing, low and silky.

“Good… good. Let it out. Hate them. Despise them. It makes you strong.”

Adam froze, lifting his head. His heart thundered. “Who… who’s there?”

No answer. Only movement in the dark—shadows gathering, thickening, writhing like smoke.

And then the eyes opened again. Two points of red fire, watching him from the edge of the clearing.

Adam scrambled backward, hands clawing at the dirt. “Stay away from me!”

But the voice purred, gentle and coaxing.

“Why would I harm you, boy? I am here because I heard you. I felt your rage. Your sorrow. They tossed you aside like trash… but I see your worth.”

Adam’s breath hitched. “Worth? I don’t—”

“I can give you power.” The shadows swirled closer, the air growing cold enough to sting. “The strength to crush them. To make them kneel. To make them suffer as you have suffered.”

Adam shook his head violently. “No… I—I’m not a killer.”

The eyes narrowed, glowing brighter. The voice sharpened.

“Aren’t you? You wished them dead with every tear you shed. You begged for them to pay. I am Malick, and I can make it real. Just say the word.”

Adam’s chest heaved. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But the image of Sanchez’s smirk, the cafeteria laughter, the cold silence of his empty home—all of it collided in his mind until only hatred remained.

Slowly, trembling, Adam whispered, “Yes.”

The forest seemed to inhale. The shadows surged forward, wrapping around him, forcing their way into his mouth, his eyes, his skin. His body convulsed violently as darkness poured into him, searing hot and ice-cold at once.

He screamed, clawing at his own chest, but the shadows only sank deeper.

“Yes…” Malick’s voice thundered inside his head now, no longer whispering. “Yield yourself. Become my vessel. Together, we will remake your world in blood.”

Adam’s vision blurred black. His scream turned into a ragged laugh, torn between pain and something darker.

When the shadows finally stilled, Adam collapsed, gasping. His reflection shimmered faintly in a puddle beside him.

His skin looked clearer. His eyes darker, sharper. His jawline harder. His lips curled into a smile that didn’t feel like his own.

He touched his face with trembling fingers. “What… have I done?”

Malick’s voice purred, satisfied. “What you were born to do. Rise, Adam. Tomorrow, the rat is dead. Tomorrow, the wolf begins to hunt.”

Adam stood slowly, the night no longer frightening. The shadows bent toward him, clinging to his form like loyal pets.

And when he walked out of the clearing, he wasn’t walking alone.