Chapter no.4 The Heart's Shadow

I opened my eyes, but it was hard to tell if they were really open because it was so dark all around me. The darkness was like a thick blanket that was all over me, making it hard to breathe and impossible to escape. I laid there without moving, trying to figure out how long I had been stuck here. It didn't feel like it had been a very long time because I wasn't feeling super hungry like I did before.

For the last couple of days, I had been staying alive by eating glowing mushrooms that were growing on the walls of the place I was stuck in. Eating them was like having a super spicy fire in my mouth, but, scary enough, I had gotten used to it. The mushrooms made my tongue feel dead and numb, but I wasn't grossed out by it anymore.

Since my stomach was kind of full for now, my brain started to fill up with lots of thoughts and memories. The silence around me was so loud because there were no noises from the outside world to tell me time was passing. I knew that anyone would start to lose their mind if they were stuck in this kind of darkness for too long, but I really, really wanted to keep my mind clear. I told myself my own story again and again, trying not to forget who I was.

I had this weird feeling that I was losing weight, becoming skinnier. When I finally got out of here, maybe I could start a business where I promised to help people lose weight. I could lock them in a dark room like this one until they got thinner.

I'm going to be so rich!

As I dreamed about crazy ideas of becoming wealthy, my foot touched the moss and mushrooms on the wall, and I remembered they wouldn't last forever, unlike my big dreams. I knew that the day the moss and mushrooms were all gone might be my last day too. But I decided I'd stick with it until then.

As I kept going, I wondered why I was trying so hard to stay alive. If I gave up, maybe my body could rest with the quiet peace of death. But I didn't know if dying would really stop my suffering. I was tempted to stop trying a lot. Maybe I should just let go. But every time, I bit my lip and kept going, even though my mouth was sore and bleeding from trying so hard.

Suddenly, the walls around me felt kind of strange. When I looked up, I was shocked to see someone looking down at me.

"What? Who's there?" I yelled, not really understanding what was going on.

The heavy iron gate was locked tight, and there were no signs that anyone had come in from outside. Above all, it didn't make sense that I could see someone else in this super dark place. I couldn't even see my own hand in here.

I tried to tell myself that it couldn't be real, it was just a dream, but I couldn't stop looking at the person staring down at me. The man, skinny with a hollow face and empty eyes, kind of looked like me.

"It's me," he said. That's when I understood that I was looking at another version of myself, like looking into a mirror that makes people look scary and ugly.

Trying to stay calm, I joked, "Why do you look like that? Did the doctor drop you when you were born?"

But I was just trying not to freak out. When you're really scared, sometimes you start seeing things that aren't really there.

The other me was wearing torn and dirty clothes. His white shirt was now gray and ripped. His pants were covered in dirt and his shoes were really old and battered. He looked like he had been living in this dark place for a long time. His empty eyes were staring hard at me from his skinny face, almost like he could see right through me.

I saw that he had a rusty iron rod in his hand. It was jagged and sharp on one end, and it looked like it had been used a lot because you could still see bloodstains on it.

"What are you looking at, ugly?" I asked, trying not to sound as scared as I felt.

He answered with a voice that didn't have any emotion, "Why are you trying so hard? Just give up. It will be easier if you do."

I was kind of surprised that he answered. I had definitely lost my mind.

"Why are you trying so hard when you don't have anything? What is a person who has nothing to protect doing trying so hard?" he asked.

"I haven't gotten my revenge yet," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady but also angry. "The guy with the bandages is still alive while I'm stuck in this dark place; I don't have his head yet. So, I will keep going, I will stay in this darkness until the very end."

The sound of my voice was the only thing that broke the quiet as I looked at my reflection.

"It's kind of funny, why are you working so hard when you can't afford to lose your life? Just give up. Giving up is easier," he said.

"If I die now, will I die smiling?" I asked, serious for the first time.

"What?" he asked back.

"Will I be smiling or crying because I didn't do anything when I die? Answer me honestly, do you really think I'm going to give up even though I haven't done anything yet? I would rather die trying to do something than die because it's too hard to keep going."

"You're going to die," he said.

"I don't think so, I'm going to live. I can't afford to lose my life. I'm going to survive and see the end," I answered.

"You're just talking nonsense," he said.

"It would be really bad to die like this. If I'm going to die, I'm going to put a knife through the skull of the guy who put me here. If I don't, I won't be able to die peacefully," I said.

"…"

"So, I'm going to live. I'm going to live cruelly and get revenge on everyone who made me like this. Then I'm going to marry a tall girl with a big butt," I added, trying to joke because, after what happened to Khadija, I don't think I can fall for another woman.

My inside self crouched down to look into my eyes.

"Hey, get away, I'm not into incest or self-cest," I said.

"…"

"Are you going to get revenge?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"You won't give up?" he asked.

"Do you see that bandaged man's head in my hands?" I asked back.

"…"

"You won't give up?" he asked again.

I sighed. "I won't!"

My inside self smiled, like he liked my answer, and I smiled back with a small laugh. What was I doing? Arguing with myself about whether to give up and end it all or not.

"Good, if you give up on getting revenge, I'll take over," he said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"You'll find out when the time comes," he answered.

As he stared at me with those empty, scary eyes, I felt a wave of fear. I stood there, frozen, as he started laughing. It was a deep, scary laugh that echoed in the underground space, more evil than anything I had ever heard. He kept staring at me, holding the rusty rod tighter, and I got ready for him to attack.

But instead, he started stepping backward, still laughing, into the darkness of the underground space. The shadows seemed to reach out and grab him. Slowly, he disappeared into the darkness, and his evil laugh was the last thing I heard before he was completely gone.

...

In a stark moment of awakening, I fluttered open my eyes, only to find my other, inner self, had vanished. It dawned on me that I'd emerged from a dream. Yet, the other self I witnessed wasn't just a spectral figure from a dreamy tale, it was a reflection of my heart's yearning if I were to surrender. Darkness, it seems, indeed possesses the power to drive sanity away.

Unbeknownst to me, I had surmounted a fresh obstacle. A test of whether my will to seek vengeance was genuine or merely a fleeting shadow. A sigh slipped through my lips. "Hu!"

In a surprising twist, a bizarre symbol behind me began to emit a faint blue glow. The intricate design, which seemed to weave four interconnected axe blades around a petite, rounded shield, briefly illuminated my prison. Even under its meek light, my eyes, which had adapted to the perpetual dark, recoiled painfully as if on the verge of bursting. A quick glance revealed symbols, images, and the purple and red mushrooms decorating the moss-laden walls.

"Chunkyung!" The sound signaled the opening of a tiny window at the base of the iron gate, allowing a subtle light to pierce through. "Suk!" A small plate was slid through the opening, and swiftly, the window shut again. My nose twitched, the first to react to the unknown.

"Is it...food?" I pondered, even as my nose wrestled with the unfamiliar aroma. Tentatively bringing the plate to my face, it was evident that this meal, if it could be called that, was a mishmash of remnants, probably leftovers. Nonetheless, it promised to be a more flavorful alternative to the moss and mushrooms I'd been scavenging.

A pause of hesitancy lingered as I faced the food offered by my jailor. The dilemma arose – could it be poisoned? I had no way of discerning the contents, and while a quick death might be merciful, there seemed to be little rationale for my captor to kill me after going through the labor of my confinement. I could only wonder if he was a sadist, delighting in watching his prisoners perish. Tentatively, my fingers brushed against the food.

Cloaked in t dilapidated rags, dirty and torn from my imprisonment, my hair matted and form weakened by malnutrition, I was weaponless and trapped. Every facet of my fate rested in the hands of my captor.

Initially, choices were scarce, but now a decision lay before me – to consume the food on the plate, or continue with the moss and mushrooms. Saliva betrayed my internal debate, pooling at the corners of my mouth, as I pondered whether the food before me was safe to eat.

In the pitch blackness, where no light dared penetrate, methods to garner information were severely limited. My most developed sense, smell, had to be mobilized in the absence of sight. Cautiously, I sniffed the food, seeking any sign of poison amidst the blend of unfamiliar spices.

My dilemma deepened. To eat or not? The gnawing hunger relentlessly clawed at my insides, underscoring the primal need for sustenance. Yet, the fear of poisoning paralyzing me. I lingered in indecision, seemingly for hours, contemplatively staring at the plate before me.

If only I could discern whether this food was safe! I craved sustenance beyond what moss and mushrooms could provide, but the peril of consuming something potentially harmful terrified me.

As I brought my nose close to the plate and inhaled deeply, a potpourri of scents mingled in the air – a collection of pleasantries and stenches alike, as though an assortment of refuse had found a common meeting point. If it were my past self, differentiating between the amalgamated odors would be impossible. Yet, the prolonged entrapment in a pitch-black abyss had altered something within me.

Whether it was due to the moss or the lack of visual stimulus, my sense of smell had heightened significantly. I could now discern odors that were once indistinguishable, fostering an idea. My captivity was intended to mold me into a weapon.

Without any concrete evidence, save for my sharpened senses of smell and touch, I compared the detectable odors to memories lingering in my mind. Rotting fish and tea leaves, a luxury seldom experienced, implied either proximity to the ocean or affluence of those who had imprisoned me. Pork bone and residual shavings were discernible as well, indicating the incredible diversity of the food remnants on my petite plate.

My heightened sense of smell allowed me to identify these varied aromas, convincing me that the food was not poisoned but simply a collection of leftover residues. Though merely rotting, malodorous food to others, for me, it was a precious resource, laden with information. More than five different food types were identifiable, with a few uncertain ones.

Taking everything into account, it became clear that more than one individual was involved in my imprisonment. The existence of a 3x3 square meter underground cell wasn't established solely for me. Crafting such a space would demand significant resources and workforce, implying that it was not a feasible endeavor for a single individual. It also indicated that my captors were affluent and resourceful.

A wave of despair washed over me as I grasped the enormity of my predicament. Trapped in a dark, subterranean prison, escape was a mirage and the reason for my confinement a mystery.

Had they discovered my power?

I pondered about the men I had killed a year ago.

Did they seek my submission?

To forge me into their weapon?

If their goal was to sculpt me into a weapon, I'd become that, but a weapon that harvests their lives in return. Time was aplenty, and distraction was nonexistent here. All I could do was think, speculate, strategize, and prepare.

With cautious bites, I began to consume the food, savoring every morsel, regardless of its deplorable taste. I understood that I needed nutrients beyond moss to regain stamina and muscle. Even if it was merely a combination of refuse, it was a superior alternative to nothing.

As I ate, my fingers explored the wall beside me, tracing over symbols and images. The symbols felt distinct from the glowing one earlier – were they a message of some kind?

I'd become familiar with the wall's rough, mossy texture and the stone's cold embrace. My chewing and swallowing were the sole sounds disrupting the engulfing silence.

In my ragged attire, worn and frayed from my period of confinement, with my hair a matted mess and my skin layered in filth, I was barefoot, the stone floor having roughened and calloused my feet.

Even as I ate, my thoughts swirled around the glowing symbol. I envisioned myself wielding the axe blades from the wall's symbol, feeling their heft in my hands, and the small, round shield providing defense against adversaries. I resolved that when the time was ripe, I'd be ready to battle and claim my revenge.

The food may have been an assault on my palate, but it endowed me with the strength and resolve to endure. I refused to crumble under the weight of this prison, to become a victim. I'd become a weapon, utilizing it to escape and force those responsible, especially the band