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THE FOOL : ERA OF MYSTERIES BEGINS

Chương 1: Rising From The Depths

I jolted awake from a deep, peaceful sleep, only to be met with a rough jerk and stifling darkness. My mind was groggy and i struggled to make sense of the situation. I tried to shift my body, but my arms and legs wouldn't move. The space around me was tight, suffocating and even after opening my eyes, all i can see was darkness. My breath immediately quickened as I realized I was lying in something cold and hard.

"What the hell?" My heart pounded in my chest as i found myself in strage situation. I tried to sit up, but my forehead slammed against a solid surface just inches above me. Panic surged through me like a bolt of lightning. I thrashed against the confining walls, feeling the rough, splintered wood biting into my skin.

"Help!" I screamed, my voice muffled by the thick, suffocating darkness. "Someone, please help me!"

But my scream fell to deaf ears, and no response came. Even amidst panic i tried to make sense out of the situation. The air around me felt heavy and stale. I strained my ears, hoping to hear something—anything—that might give me a clue about where I was. But there was nothing, just an eerie, oppressive silence.

A cold sweat trickled down my face as my hands explored the cramped space, tracing the edges of what I now recognized as a coffin. A coffin. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was buried alive.

"Oh God, no. This can't be happening," I whispered, my voice trembling. "This can't be real."

Desperation fueled my movements. I punched and kicked against the lid of the coffin, ignoring the pain that shot through my limbs. "Help! Help!" I screamed until my throat was raw, hoping, praying that someone would hear me.

Amidst the rising panic, I took a deep breath, fighting back the rising fear. "Stay calm," I thought, my mind racing. "Think." I pressed my hands against the wooden lid above me, testing its strength. The rough wood scraped my fingertips, but I didn't flinch. I needed to find a way out.

Bracing myself, I pushed against the lid with all my might. It didn't budge. I tried again, harder this time, my muscles straining. Still nothing. Sweat continued to trickled down my forehead, mixing with the grime on my face.

My breath came in short, controlled bursts. "Come on, come on," I muttered, my voice a low growl. I shifted my weight, bringing my knees up to my chest, and kicked out violently. The coffin creaked, but remained solid.

A surge of frustration hit me, my resolve hardening. I wouldn't give up. I couldn't. I pounded my fists against the wood, the impact reverberating through my bones. Each strike was more forceful, more desperate. The pain in my knuckles was a distant sensation, overshadowed by my determination.

Time blurred into a haze of furious effort. I clawed at the lid, splinters embedding themselves under my nails. I kicked and punched, my movements becoming more frantic. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe, but I forced myself to stay focused.

In the pitch black, my mind conjured images of my loved ones, of sunlight, of open spaces. I latched onto those thoughts, using them as fuel. "I will get out of here," I repeated to myself, a mantra that kept my spirit from breaking.

But as the minutes dragged on, the reality of my situation seeped into my mind like a slow poison. The walls of the coffin felt closer, the darkness more oppressive. My strikes lost some of their power, my movements growing sluggish.

My breaths were shallow, my strength waning. I lay still for a moment, gathering my remaining energy. The silence was deafening, a void that seemed to swallow my thoughts. I could feel the weight of the earth above me, an unyielding barrier between me and freedom.

I resumed my efforts, my actions fueled by a quiet, steely resolve. Each punch and kick was a testament to my will to survive, even as exhaustion began to take its toll. My movements were methodical, precise, driven by a refusal to succumb to despair.

As the hours passed, my body ached, and my mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion. I stared into the darkness, my eyes wide open, searching for a glimmer of hope. A deep, heavy weight settled in my chest—not of fear, but of a somber determination.

In the silence, my thoughts turned inward, reflecting on my life with a melancholic clarity. I thought of the paths I had taken, the choices I had made, and the moments I had cherished. I didn't cry, didn't scream. I just kept fighting, driven by a quiet, unyielding strength.

As my movements slowed, I didn't think of giving up. I would keep going, keep fighting, until the very end. The darkness might have been overwhelming, but my spirit remained a stubborn, flickering light, refusing to be extinguished.

My kicks had turned into a rhythmic hammering, each impact against the wooden lid echoing through the confined space. Sweat poured down my face, mixing with the dirt and grime. Frustration mounted, but I refused to stop. My body ached from the exertion, yet I pushed on, driven by an ironclad will.

Then, with a sudden, jarring creak, the coffin jolted beneath me. The sound was unexpected and strangely promising. My heart raced with renewed hope. "Maybe, just maybe, I'm getting through," I thought, clinging to the faint possibility of escape.

But that hope was short-lived. A new sensation, cold and damp, began to seep into the space around me. I felt something heavy and wet fall against my leg. A rancid, earthy smell filled the coffin, assaulting my senses.

I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. I reached down and touched the slick, cold substance now coating my legs. The realization hit me like a jolt: the wooden surface I'd been kicking was giving way. Damp earth was seeping in, trickling through the cracks I'd created.

Horror washed over me, freezing me in place. My mind raced with the terrifying implications of my actions. "What if the coffin collapses completely?" I thought, the chill of dread creeping down my spine. The thought of being buried under a collapse of dirt, trapped in a coffin slowly filling with soil, was unbearable.

Panic surged anew, more intense than before. The wet earth, now encroaching around me, felt like a malevolent force closing in. The thought of suffocating under the weight of the soil, trapped with no chance of escape, sent a shiver of terror through me. I could almost feel the heavy pressure of the earth pressing down, a palpable force that seemed to conspire against me.

I felt a surge of self-loathing and frustration. How had I been so reckless? My desperate, frantic efforts to escape had only made my situation worse. My chest tightened with despair as I realized the true horror of my predicament. The coffin was no longer just a prison but a potential tomb, hastening my demise with every passing moment.

The earth continued to seep in, and my frantic efforts turned into a desperate, futile struggle against the encroaching soil. The wet smell, the chilling dampness, and the growing pressure were all too real, each one a stark reminder of my grim reality. I could no longer afford to be hopeful. The very walls of my confinement were betraying me, turning my fight for survival into a horrifying, inescapable fate.

It was then that something unexpected happen, something i can't explain, but I'm grateful it did.