[8 years ago]

Someone's pet died; the lifeless form lay in the middle of the street, an unexpected eye-catcher that had attracted a crowd.

Everywhere was wet; the rain fell incessantly on the city streets. I observed the scene, my gaze cold, but my curiosity aroused.

A neighbourhood kid walked up to me, "Do you think it felt pain?" he asked, looking down at the animal with empathetic eyes.

I turned slightly to face him, my voice cold.

"I'm sure it did, just like the toys in my room feel when I tear them apart." I said, turning my head away.

"What? Why would you do that?" The kid looked horrified, taking slow steps back.

An innocent smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

"It's fun seeing them suffer."

"It's creepy." The kid had whispered, I sensed the fear in his voice.

"Creepily fascinating!" I corrected.

"You're a freak." The kid muttered in disbelief, backing away into the crowd.

It was a morbid fascination that had ignited within me—a curiosity about the pain the pet must have endured, a pain that mirrored my own twisted desires.

Amidst the distant laughter, tears, and celebrations of others, I stood isolated, a spectator behind an impenetrable glass wall.

Why was I like this?

In my room, dismembered toys had been strewn across the floor. The sharp pain as I deliberately stepped on them brought a strange pleasure, a sensation that resonated with the pet's suffering.

As the years went by, the daydreams grew darker. I envisioned ways to end the lives of my friends, to subject them to the same pain that intrigued me.

From that initial morbid curiosity, my desires evolved, becoming darker and more intense.

***

[5 years ago]

The things I had done years ago, like tearing apart inanimate toys, were nothing compared to this.

I could still hear the fading echo of her whimper as I stared down at my mother's lifeless body.

The scene had been a blur of disbelief and impulse, an eruption of chaos that had left me both liberated and horrified.

Earlier that day, I had sat at the kitchen table, mindlessly stirring my cereal as my parents argued. Their words had blended into a meaningless drone, but the tension in the room had been palpable.

My mother's voice had wavered with frustration, her eyes glancing at me occasionally as if searching for support. My father's face, etched with anger, seemed to challenge her, each word a verbal weapon.

And then, as if possessed by an unseen force, my hand reached out for the knife at the edge of the table.

Its weight in my grasp was chillingly exhilarating—a thrill I couldn't ignore.

The escalating argument between my parents faded into a distant hum as my gaze fixed on the sharp gleam of the blade.

My heart had pounded, and my breaths had grown shallow. Without fully comprehending my own intentions, I pushed back from the table and walked towards my parents.

Their voices had grown louder and more urgent. But their actual words became an indecipherable blur to me.

The knife had felt cool against my trembling fingers, and the world around me had narrowed into a tunnel of anticipation.

My mother's gaze met mine, her eyes wide with shock and pleading. At that moment, a sense of twisted euphoria surged within me.

A sudden realisation struck like a lightning bolt—I could end this. I could silence their arguments, their disappointments, and their expectations.

I could seize control of a world that had always felt out of reach.

Without another thought, I lunged forward. The blade met resistance, slicing through fabric and flesh. My mother's eyes had widened, her mouth forming a wordless scream.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, mingling with my own shallow breaths.

When the knife withdrew, the kitchen counter was tainted with shades of red and my father's shout of horror echoed in the aftermath of the violent act.

But within me, an unfamiliar sense of empowerment had blossomed, mingling with a sickening satisfaction.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of my laboured breathing and the thud of my mother's body hitting the ground.

At that moment, reality had shifted, and boundaries had blurred. The raw intensity of the act eclipsed any reservations or doubts that might have lingered.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins had drowned out any lingering fragments of compassion.

Beside her, my father lay still. I had silenced his criticisms and his disappointments. It had been relieving.

But it wasn't enough.

The next day, the city news continued to speak of the horror of the thirty other victims I had claimed.

In the wake of that chaos, only one voice reached me. That of my brother's.

"You're crazy..." He told me, narrowing his eyes.

"You're no different." My mind teased as I let out a faint chuckle.

I had felt joy like no other. I could tell Yukio had been proud of me too.

I had looked into his eyes—his narrow, cautious eyes. It was pure ecstasy.

***

[Present]

"Even after five years, the memory of what I did still resided within me..." My mind ruminated.

I could hear Yukio's manic laughter from the kitchen.

"Everyone's pathetic, mere scribbles in the margins of existence. But this book... oh, this book! It crowned me a god, dancing amid their pitiful cries... Their defeat was my divine laughter!"

I could hear his voice—his twisted monologues—trailing off, dripping with chilling self-assurance.

I was merely looking up the stairs, and I could feel his insanity.

Yet it wasn't just his voice that captured my attention; it was the object he held in his hands that intrigued me the most.

His eyes, which reminded me of the dark abyss I felt I was often on the brink of, were fixated on the blue book with alarming intensity.

His delusion of grandeur mirrored my own twisted inclinations.

The dimly lit room in which he resided had mirrored his soul; the lone candle had yielded to the invading darkness.

As Yukio opened the book, an ethereal cyan light sprang forth, banishing the darkness that had shrouded the room.

But the light's brilliance was fleeting, as the darkness swiftly reasserted itself, casting the room once again into a world of inky blackness.

When the darkness reformed, the words in the book glowed a bright orange hue.

As Yukio turned the pages, my legs moved on their own, and I eventually found myself entering his shadowy sanctum.

Was it the suspense? The anticipation? I didn't know.

Stepping inside, I took in the surroundings. The room was small, and the peach-coloured walls were bland, though, it was hard to see. The room had probably been a hive of dust too.

It was emptier than last time, with only a bed, a desk, a single shelf, and a mobile phone. The broken light above had hung on a thin thread.

Upon entering the room, I felt as if I had just sealed my fate.

His voice had always carried that eerie undercurrent—one that made my skin crawl yet drew me in.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern Yukio's silhouette against the room's dim lighting. The faint glow from the book cast an eerie luminescence on his face.

"Yukio? What are you mumbling about?"

"Ah, Yumiko, always so inquisitive," he teased, still engrossed in the book. His voice dripped with a strange glee, and his gaze was a nightmare even the devil himself would fear. "You've arrived at the perfect moment."

"That doesn't answer my question." I frowned before quickly giving up, as a faint sigh exited my lips.

"Perfect for what?"

He smirked, holding the book aloft.

"To test my new... toy."

His unsettling smile made me feel a different, inexplicable anticipation. It was as though he held the key to a world where pain and pleasure blurred into one.

"I know what you're thinking... But some toys are more powerful than others, I'll let you know." He continued with a sly grin curling up one corner of his mouth.

I watched his eyes, narrowing my own as I tried to discern his intent.

My grip had involuntarily tightened on my shirt, betraying a hint of the unease I felt.

Each footstep seemed to echo my growing apprehension.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked.

"It wouldn't be fun if I spoiled the surprise, now would it? Besides, it seems you already have an idea..."

The door behind me had locked itself shut. It was encircled by that familiar cyan light.

I leaned casually against the door, raising an eyebrow at Yukio.

"So, another of your games?"

"Come on! My games are fun!" His voice echoed, full of twisted glee.

I turned to him, rolling my eyes; his eyes had swirled in a pool of pure insanity.

"How had Yukio even gained this much control so quickly?" My mind was full of questions.

But the orange glow of the words grew brighter. It now obeyed his every command.

"How did you even get the book...?" Yukio didn't answer, and instead, with a smirk, he called out a  random name from within the book.

"Let's find out which world this book will transport you to, Yumiko..." He whispered.

"Another world? How original..."

"Transfer Yumiko into your world." The moment the words left Yukio's lips, an invisible force seized me, pulling at my very essence.

A sensation akin to being stretched into a black hole coursed through my limbs, my body elongating in an otherworldly way.

Pain had erupted like shards of glass, sharp and unrelenting, radiating from every nerve.

Though, as the pain shot through my veins, an unexpected rush of excitement surged within me, mingling with fear. It was a cocktail of sensations I couldn't decipher, leaving me bewildered.

The world around me had blurred into a chaotic dance of colours and shapes, and the air itself seemed to waver in protest.

I couldn't tell the difference between fiction and reality anymore.

My sight started to blur as the words flew off the pages and started swirling all around me.

The knife I had on me had fallen to the ground, and it became the last memory of me being real.

Eventually, my vision became hazy, and my mind began to drift. Only seconds passed, and reality became a dream for me.

"Oh, and to your question, Yumiko, being the third user has its perks..."