Capítulo 250: Chapter 250
He sat in the old chair, its cracked leather surface groaning as he shifted. It had been weeks now—weeks since the strange feeling began. The one that tugged at the edge of his thoughts. The one that never quite left, even when he was awake. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sensation. The buzzing, faint but constant, had started during his sleep. The dreams were the worst.
In those dreams, he wasn't alone. Not entirely. Something walked with him. It was always in the corner of his vision, never clear, just a dark presence that hovered just out of reach. And when he woke up, it stayed. Not in his body. No, the feeling was deeper, like a foreign weight on his mind. A pressure.
The first time he felt it was when he was out walking late one evening, the city empty except for the hum of streetlights above him. He had seen something out of the corner of his eye. A figure. No, it was more than a figure—it was a movement, a blur of shapes that didn't belong. He turned quickly, but there was nothing. Just the silence of the street, the faint sound of his own breath.
His feet had carried him home faster than he'd intended. After that, he didn't feel right. It wasn't like the usual unease one feels after seeing something out of place. No, it was deeper. It sank into him, making his skin feel too tight, as if his body was suddenly not his own.
He hadn't told anyone about it. He tried to ignore it. But it wouldn't let him. The dreams became more frequent, the presence in them stronger, and the sensation—oh, the sensation—turned into something he couldn't escape. Like a hunger.
Now, here he was, sitting in the chair in his small apartment, his mind feeling crowded, more crowded than usual. He was losing track of time. Hours blurred into one another. His days felt like something he had forgotten how to live.
The bugs came at night, sometimes with the dreams, sometimes not. They didn't always appear in the same form. Sometimes they were tiny, crawling along the edge of his vision, their long legs twitching with unspoken urgency. Other times they were larger, their shapes hovering just out of the light, their bodies distorted, full of angles that shouldn't exist in nature. He could never make out the details—only the feeling of them. The terrible, oppressive feeling.
He gripped the armrest of the chair, his knuckles white. His skin itched. The sensation was spreading, deeper now, a crawling itch beneath his skin that he couldn't scratch. It was more than just his body, though. It was his mind. They were in it. They were inside, everywhere, filling the empty spaces, moving between his thoughts. A low, constant pressure, pressing against his skull. Every time he thought he could escape it, it came back stronger.
The lights flickered. Not the normal flicker—this one was different. As if the lights themselves were hesitant to stay on. He stood up, but his legs felt unsteady, and his thoughts didn't align properly. He stumbled, falling into the wall. His eyes burned. He didn't know if it was from the lack of sleep or from something else, something deeper.
He reached for the lamp, but his hand froze just before he touched it. He felt it. The pressure again. The same sensation. It was here. The presence was in the room with him now, something between the walls, something watching. Something waiting.
The air was thick now. He could taste it in his mouth. He wanted to run, to leave. But his feet wouldn't move. His mind wouldn't move.
A sound.
It came from behind him. Not loud, not immediately alarming, but the softest scrape. The faintest noise, like the scratching of something against metal.
He turned slowly. His heart pounded.
Nothing.
Just the quiet of the room. The shadows in the corners, deep and thick. His breath felt too shallow, too quick.
Then, he saw it. It wasn't quite there—more of a suggestion, a distortion in the air, like a flicker, but wrong. Too sharp. Too much movement. He could hear it now—the buzzing. Low at first, then growing louder. The walls seemed to close in, like they were shrinking around him, pressing him tighter. The room itself was turning into a cage.
It moved. There it was. From the corner. The thing, or things. He couldn't quite tell. They weren't entirely insect, not entirely human. Their form was too complex to be something he could understand. The legs, the shifting body, the way they moved, almost crawling but not.
And then, the voice. Not a sound. It wasn't spoken. It came from everywhere. It was the absence of sound, the way a thousand voices could feel when they weren't there at all, when they were pulling, stretching, urging him toward something that didn't belong to him. His mind cracked under the strain. His body didn't belong to him anymore.
"Leave me alone," he gasped. His voice was weak, far too weak. It felt like the words were being dragged out of him, stolen before they even reached his lips.
The air was no longer breathable. It pressed against his lungs. His mind strained to stay intact as it was yanked in different directions. He could feel the crawling things inside him now, inside his thoughts, moving between the cracks.
He stumbled, his head spinning, trying to focus. But the darkness was coming, creeping into the edges of his vision. The buzzing grew louder. It wasn't just in the room now. It was everywhere, inside him, in his bones.
His thoughts began to scatter. The thing in the corner—it wasn't just standing there anymore. It was close. Too close. He felt it touch him. Or was it in him? It was impossible to tell. His hands were shaking as he reached for his head, clawing at his skull, trying to stop it. But the things—they were already inside. They were everywhere. They were him.
The presence was moving through him, like it had always belonged. It didn't hurt anymore. His body, his thoughts, everything was theirs now. And then, his eyes glazed over. He wasn't sure if he was still breathing. He couldn't tell if his body was still his own, if his mind still existed the way it had before.
The things—they were him now. He could feel them crawl through the edges of his mind, slipping between the cracks, taking control, pulling him apart and putting him together again. He felt his limbs move, but he wasn't the one moving them. The things were moving him.
His body jerked. His hands reached for the door handle, and he stepped outside, but he didn't know why. He didn't need to. The things didn't need him to know. They just needed him to do what they wanted.
And the lights—there were more lights now. Too many lights, too many eyes watching him, waiting. He could feel them, feel the buzzing, feel the hunger. It was everywhere. And the thing—the thing inside of him—it made him smile. But it wasn't his smile. It wasn't even his face.
He stumbled into the street, his mind too far gone. He didn't even notice the people around him anymore. The streets, the houses, everything was a blur. The only thing that mattered was the buzzing, the crawling, the things that were inside him now. The hunger they had. The hunger they would spread.
And as he walked, moving without his own will, he knew that it wasn't over. It would never be over. The Legion had found him. The Legion had taken him.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder