Chapter 1
531words
The crisp sound of bones breaking still echoed in his ears.
Blinding headlights, panicked screams, and then… a warm, comforting white light.
Owen Grant's eyes snapped open.
The pungent smell of disinfectant. Stark white ceiling. The monotonous beep of the cardiac monitor.
'He's awake! Doctor! He's awake!'
His mother's tearful cry burst beside his ear. His father's bloodshot eyes revealed the raw joy of a man who'd witnessed a miracle.
Car accident. Near death. Emergency rescue.
He had survived.
But something was different now.
On the day of his discharge, the sunlight felt piercing. Owen squinted, his body leaden while his soul felt weightless, as if it might drift away at any moment. The shadows at street corners seemed darker than usual, and passing an old alley entrance, he shuddered involuntarily, feeling unseen eyes watching from the darkness.
'Owen, what's wrong?' his mother asked, worry creasing her brow.
'It's nothing, Mom, just tired.' He forced a smile, fighting back the chill creeping through his chest.
Back home, exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave. He collapsed into bed.
He had no idea how long he slept.
[Ding! Qualified soul wave detected… binding in progress…]
A cold, emotionless electronic voice resonated directly in his mind!
Owen jolted upright, cold sweat instantly soaking his back. The bedroom was pitch black, only his phone screen glowed: 23:50.
[Twilight Funeral Home system binding successful.]
[Intern: Owen Grant.]
[Please report to 'Twilight Funeral Home' at 44 Willow Lane, Twilight City before 23:55.]
[Consequence for being late or refusing employment: soul annihilation.]
The electronic voice vanished as if it had never existed.
Owen's heart hammered against his ribs. He gasped for air, desperate to convince himself it was just a nightmare.
Hallucination! Had to be an aftereffect of the car accident!
He grabbed his phone to call the police, but the screen suddenly went black. Blood-red text appeared:
[Countdown: 4 minutes 30 seconds. 44 Willow Lane.]
A chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head. Shit. This isn't a dream!
'Fuck!' he cursed, throwing off the blanket and jumping out of bed. His body was still weak, but he wasn't about to gamble that 'soul annihilation' was just a joke.
Willow Lane? Since when did this town have a Twilight City?
He rushed out of his home, the cold night wind sharpening his senses. Following a strange intuition—or rather, being pulled by that cold sensation—he stumbled toward the old district at the edge of town.
The street lamps cast sickly light over deserted streets. He stopped at what should have been a dead-end alley filled with junk.
But now, somehow, a narrow, deep passage stretched before him. The entrance bore no sign, only an ancient smell—dust mingled with strange, sweet fragrance—wafting outward.
Deep in the alley stood a silent three-story building. Mottled wall plaster, a faded sign—
Twilight Funeral Home.
Below the sign, in small text: Business Hours: 00:00 - 04:00.
Time: 23:54.
Owen's heart leapt to his throat. Enter or run?
[Countdown: 00:00:30]
The electronic voice rang like a death knell.
'Damn it!' He gritted his teeth and plunged into the alley that seemed to swallow light itself.
