Krailaz [Tefa Mamus]

  Chapter 1: Point Of No Return

  Episode 1: The Tiny Caterpillar

  A compact, cozy timber house nestled within the tranquil scenery of Rochester, Minnesota, USA, served as the genesis of this entire journey. Inside a living room filled with laughter, a blonde-haired Caucasian family of five was enjoying their time together in bliss.

  Eight-year-old Chris was busily performing a magic show he took great pride in for his guest of honor: Bjorn, his six-year-old brother, and Liv, the youngest sister at just three years old. The two little ones stared at their big brother with wide, sparkling eyes, clapping and laughing joyfully.

  While the children were immersed in their world of imagination, over in the kitchen, Astrid, the mother, was busy preparing dinner. Lars, the father, leaned against the kitchen counter, discussing an important matter with her, his expression turning serious.

  "The company wants to send me to India... for eight full years, Astrid," Lars began. "They want me there as an expert to oversee the entire system and train the new generation of Indians on our workflow."

  Astrid’s hands paused mid-cooking as she immediately countered in shock, "Eight years, Lars? By then, our children will be all grown up."

  "I know... I thought the same thing," Lars replied, his voice softening. "Deep down, I don't want to be away from this family for even a single minute. But the boss knows exactly how much I love you all. That’s why he offered to relocate the entire family. The company will provide the best housing and schools for the kids... if you agree to it."

  Lars locked eyes with his wife, seeking her thoughts. "What do you say, Mom? Are you in?"

  The two fell silent for a moment, contemplating a future that was about to change drastically. They spent a long while exchanging views and weighing the possibilities until, finally, they reached a mutual consensus.

  "Let’s go ask the kids as well," Lars concluded with a smile.

  ————————————————————————————————————————

  Present Day, 2026 – New York City

  The warmth of that distant memory was abruptly severed by a chaotic reality of smog and noise. In the heart of Manhattan, where crowds surged past one another in a relentless hurry, a young man stood.

  Cris Thorn, an eighteen-year-old Norwegian-American, stood on the sidewalk—his makeshift stage. Standing about 175 centimeters tall, his slumped shoulders and abnormally thin frame gave him the appearance of a shut-in gamer who had never seen the inside of a gym.

  In a city defined by fashion, he looked painfully outdated. He wore his favorite pair of jeans and a faded red-and-black plaid shirt that had seen better days. Despite having the sharp facial structure and Nordic features of a true Northman, his lack of self-care and the hollow, uncertain look in his eyes buried any charm he might have possessed.

  Cris attempted to begin his street magic performance with awkward, fumbling gestures. He was no smooth talker; in fact, he looked visibly nervous every time he had to make eye contact. Yet, a small group still gathered to watch his basic routines—card tricks, coins vanishing into jars, and simple mind-reading.

  Amidst the sparse applause, the sting of whispers reached his ears. "The same old tricks... everyone does this." "How boring. I’ve seen this a thousand times."

  Those critiques were like needles piercing his fragile confidence. Cris’s hands began to tremble as he grew frantic. Part of the crowd started to drift away, leaving him facing a widening void, save for a few who stayed, hoping for something—anything—original.

  "Hey! With all this copycat stuff, when are you ever gonna make it big, kid? You even ripped off your name!"

  A thunderous voice boomed from a massive Black man who looked like he had just stepped out of a hardcore gym. Wearing a black tank top that showcased bulging muscles and arm-sleeves of tattoos, his baggy hip-hop pants and buzz cut made him a formidable presence. He glared at Cris with a mocking sneer.

  "Show us something strange, something we can't catch... but wait!" The giant paused as if a lightbulb had gone off. "Aren't you that magician who embarrassed himself on TV earlier this year? The one who got caught in front of the whole country during that card trick? What was the name... Cris... Cris-something?"

  The eyes of the surrounding crowd locked onto Cris, then shifted down to the hat he had placed on the ground for tips. Written simply on that hat was: Cris T.

  The whispers escalated into loud, mocking demands. "Time for a comeback, Cris! What have you got?" "Comeback! Comeback! Comeback!"

  The suffocating pressure of the chant filled the air. Cris stood frozen in the center of the circle, his eyes reflecting a state of utter confusion and agonizing anxiety…

  “Comeback! Comeback! Comeback!”

  The chants shattered the silence around him. Cris took a breath so deep his chest heaved. His trembling gaze steadied for a split second before he murmured in a voice he fought to keep firm.

  “Alright... okay. I will show you something unlike anything you've ever seen.”

  The crowd began to quiet down, curiosity replacing contempt. Cris half-closed his eyes, his lips moving as he muttered to himself with a look of intense concentration, as if communicating with something invisible to the rest of the world. Then, he opened his eyes and locked his gaze on the massive Black man standing about ten meters away.

  “Fine... I will use my power to ‘touch’ the back of your head,” Cris stated, raising his hand. “You... please stand still.”

  Cris slowly extended his palm, delicately touching the empty air as he aimed at his target. Suddenly, the big man jolted. He spun around, looking left and right in a panic. The people nearby scrambled back in confusion.

  “Hey! You’ve got a crew, don't you?! Who was it... who just touched the back of my head?!” the man bellowed, swatting at the empty air. But the sensation of a touch on his nape was so vivid that his face began to turn pale.

  Sparse applause broke out, accompanied by skeptical murmurs. Yet, amidst the budding wonder, another white man blurted out in frustration.

  “Bullshit! It’s all a scam. You two are obviously in on it together. How pathetic,” he sneered with disdain. “I’m out of here. For all I know, everyone standing around here is a plant!”

  The mounting pressure and insults caused Cris’s emotions to flare. A long-accumulated annoyance pushed him to do something that went beyond his usual limits.

  “To hell with it,” Cris thought to himself. He shot a quick glance at the skeptic before shouting with newfound confidence.

  “Then how about this... everyone, please move away from him!”

  The crowd retreated as instructed, creating a wide clearing between Cris and the massive man who now stood isolated in the center of the circle. Dozens of smartphone screens were hoisted high to record the event. Everyone held their breath, wondering if they were about to witness a fraud or a rare miracle.

  Even the skeptical man stepped back, though his eyes remained fixed, hunting for any sign of trickery in the young man's every move…

  Cris began to move both palms, weaving them through the air as if molding an invisible mass of energy. He took a deep breath before thrusting both hands forward, aiming directly at the massive man.

  The man, still reeling from the eerie sensation of the mysterious touch, felt an anomaly intensify until the hair on his arms stood on end.

  “Why… why do I feel so light?” he muttered, his voice trembling. He tried to steady himself, but it felt as though gravity was simply fading away. “Light… I’m light as a feather. Hey! What are you doing to me now?! Oh my God! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please don't do this to me!”

  The surrounding crowd furrowed their brows in suspicion, watching the muscular man exhibit such raw, genuine terror. Cris remained silent, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on his sole target. He exerted himself, his posture mimicking a superhuman display of power that seemed almost theatrical—like something straight out of a superhero movie—even though no visible aura or energy radiated from his body.

  And in that very second…

  The massive frame of the man began to drift upward, hovering about 10 centimeters off the ground!

  A deafening roar of applause and gasps erupted instantly. The skeptical white man tried to interject with a shout of “It’s a fake—,” but the word died in his throat. He stood frozen, mouth agape, because the man didn't stop there. His body continued to rise, ascending until he was hovering a full meter in the air.

  Suspended in the void, the man’s terror escalated. He looked like someone on the verge of a total mental breakdown, his arms swimming frantically through the air, desperate to grab onto anything—but there was only emptiness around him. The crowd broke into thunderous cheers; some were so mesmerized that they rushed forward to drop money into Cris’s hat until it overflowed with tips.

  “Higher! Take him higher!” The cheers erupted from every direction.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Cris felt a surge of hope. His once-dull eyes now sparkled with a newfound joy, basking in public validation for the first time in his life. Meanwhile, the skeptical white man refused to back down. He crept closer to the hovering body, peering beneath the man’s feet and searching the sky above for any sign of hidden wires or translucent monofilament.

  “Just watch... any second now, his ‘crew’ will bring out a hoop or something to pass around him to prove there are no wires. Mark my words, it’s all mechanical!” he shouted to the crowd, refusing to concede. Yet, at that exact moment, the massive man’s body drifted even higher... steady and completely devoid of any stagecraft.

  Cris moved his palms again, his confidence surging. He turned his palms downward and snapped his wrists with a quick twist. Instantly, the giant frame of the man spun in mid-air, flipping until he was suspended head-down toward the pavement, his legs pointing straight up at the sky.

  “I’m sorry! Enough! I believe you! Just put me down!” the man shrieked, begging for his life in a mix of pure panic and mounting vertigo.

  This utterly supernatural sight finally silenced the skeptic. He stood there, stunned, frantically feeling the air and scanning every square inch for hidden cables or mechanisms. But when he found only empty space, his pride crumbled. He raised his hands and began to applaud Cris, his face filled with unconcealed awe.

  Cris swept his hand through the air once more, forcing the man's body to flip back upright. With a determined upward thrust of his palms, he boosted the altitude until the massive frame was soaring three meters above the heads of the crowd.

  The thunderous applause intensified as people from the surrounding blocks began to notice a human hovering in the middle of New York City. The crowd surged inward like ants swarming sugar, everyone hoisting their phones to capture the moment. Some were live-streaming, broadcasting this miracle to viewers across the globe in real-time.

  But then... just as Cris attempted to push the body a fraction higher, everything came to a grinding halt in mid-air.

  Cris’s eyes snapped wide in shock. He felt a strange resistance, a force unlike anything he had ever encountered. He tried to compose himself, straining to channel more power toward the man, hoping to force him upward as intended.

  "Agggh! Stop it, Cris! Please!" the man flailed his arms. He began clawing at his own body in agony, screaming his plea. "Don't do this... it hurts! Everything hurts!"

  The spectators erupted in laughter and jeers, thinking this was all a scripted performance, a perfectly timed act to heighten the entertainment. However, the man's expression had turned grim, etched with a level of excruciating pain that was haunting to behold. His screams grew louder and more piercing, causing the atmosphere to shift.

  A young woman in professional attire, noticing the anomaly, stepped toward Cris and whispered a warning. "Stop... that’s enough. You’ve proven your point to everyone. Look at him—he’s on the verge of a total breakdown.”

  Cris’s face went deathly pale, his panic now impossible to hide. The surge of triumph from moments ago vanished instantly, replaced by a cold dread gripping his heart. He could feel the energy he had channeled slipping from his grasp, spiraling out of control and violently lashing back at the man.

  He hurried to move his hands downward with agonizing slowness, desperate to guide the hovering body safely back to the pavement. The crowd began to jeer and boo in disappointment, assuming the show was simply coming to an anticlimactic end.

  However... the man’s body refused to descend with Cris’s movements.

  He remained suspended in the void, his agonized wails reaching a fever pitch. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his frame convulsed with a level of torment beyond human endurance. “Please... I don’t want to die! I give up! I give up!” His plea for mercy was so shattered and pitiful it was haunting.

  Cris tried to gather his focus once more. He strained, forcing every ounce of his power toward the man in a desperate attempt to bring him down. But it only made things worse. An invisible, crushing pressure tightened its grip around the man, so intense that even the onlookers finally realized something was horribly wrong. The skeptical white man rushed beneath the floating body, leaping frantically to grab the man’s legs to pull him down, but at three meters high, he was far beyond reach.

  And then... the unthinkable happened.

  Dark, thick blood began to hemorrhage from the man’s mouth. His face contorted in such excruciating agony that his veins bulged and pulsed against his skin. His eyes rolled back into his head until he drifted into unconsciousness, still suspended in mid-air. Then came the sickening snap of breaking bones. His arms and legs were twisted and folded into horrific, unnatural angles by a massive, unseen force—like a ragdoll being torn apart by a sadistic child.

  "KYAAAAAA!!!!!!!"

  Screams of pure terror erupted from the crowd as they scrambled back in panic. Yet, some remained "brave" enough to keep their distance, relentlessly hoisting their phones to record every second of this life-and-death horror.

  Cris stood there, shaking violently in shock. He reflexively yanked his hands back to his chest, staring at his left and right palms in utter terror... Were these the hands that had just destroyed the life before him?

  The sound of the man’s bones snapping and folding echoed incessantly—"CRACK... SNAP... CRACK!"—ringing clearly in everyone’s ears like the splintering of dry wood. People around him screamed, nearly losing their minds; some collapsed to the pavement in sheer horror.

  However... something even more unthinkable followed immediately. The man’s once-muscular frame was seized by an invisible, massive pressure, crushing him from every direction. His mangled limbs were forced inward toward his torso, as if a giant, unseen hand were molding the entire human being into a gruesome, fleshy sphere.

  This nightmare unfolded in the blink of an eye, until the body reached its absolute breaking point under the mounting pressure...

  SPLAT!!!

  A sickening explosion thundered as the man’s body vanished into fragments in mid-air. Dark mist of blood, shards of bone, and remains erupted in every direction, showering the clothes and faces of the onlookers—a vivid portrait of hell on earth.

  Screams of people fleeing for their lives roared across the street, mingling with the chaotic rhythm of frantic footsteps. At that moment, nearby police officers on patrol heard the unnatural shrieks and rushed to the scene. But the sight that greeted them brought them to a dead halt in total shock. Crimson blood was splattered everywhere, drenching the pavement as if a lethal bomb had just detonated.

  The police quickly regained their composure, their safety instincts kicking in. Hands clamped onto the grips of their holstered sidearms, they moved with extreme caution. "Oh... God! What kind of madness is this?!" one officer exhaled in horror, before grabbing his radio to urgently call for back-up to secure the area.

  As for Cris... he stood frozen, as if trapped in a deep trance. His eyes remained wide, staring into the empty air where a human being had been suspended only moments before. His hands drifted aimlessly through the space, brushing against the fine mist of blood still lingering in the atmosphere, before he looked down at his own palms—now stained with the victim’s vivid, crimson blood.

  He stood there, motionless... as if his very soul had departed from his body.

  Amidst the uproar, a male witness scrambled toward the officers, stammering out the details of what had just unfolded. Upon hearing that the young man before them was the catalyst for the bloody tragedy, the officer’s eyes widened in shock. Without a second’s hesitation, he drew his service pistol and aimed it directly at Cris.

  "Don't move! Freeze! Hands up and get on your knees, now!" the officer bellowed with a firm, tactical tone, following his training to the letter.

  Cris jolted as if suddenly awakened from a nightmare. Terror surged through him so fiercely it felt as though his heart might explode. He glanced back and forth between the muzzle of the gun pointed at him and the officer’s stern face, yet he didn't dare make direct eye contact. Trembling violently, the young man slowly obeyed, raising his hands above his head before lowering himself onto the blood-stained pavement.

  "I didn't do it! I didn't do anything!" Cris cried out, his voice a mix of panic and desperate pleading, while watching the crowd around him who continued to relentlessly record every moment on their phones.

  Within seconds, four more officers arrived to reinforce the scene. Every single one drew their weapon and aimed at the same target, leaving Cris trapped in a tightening circle of muzzles.

  "I really don't know what happened..." he tried to explain, his voice growing fainter.

  "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," one officer recited the cold, standard protocol.

  While Cris remained on his knees with his hands up, one officer cautiously holstered his weapon. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and began to approach Cris with extreme vigilance, while his colleagues kept their guns trained on the boy from every direction, maintaining a terrifying perimeter.

  Still just a teenager with zero life experience, Cris kept his head down, murmuring the same phrase over and over like a broken record. “I didn’t do it… I didn’t do it…”

  However, at the very peak of the crisis, his expression suddenly shifted. The panic in his eyes was replaced by a flash of iron-clad resolve. His drifting consciousness snapped back into focus as he calculated his only chance of escape.

  The officers watching him felt a shift in the air; their instincts flared. Another policeman quickly holstered his sidearm and lunged forward, intending to help restrain Cris's hands so his partner could finish cuffing him as quickly as possible.

  But it was already too late.

  Just as the officer’s hands were about to reach him, Cris swept his raised arms down in a blur to evade the arrest. He sprang to his feet in an instant, coiled his body into a crouch, and then launched himself toward the heavens at an unthinkable speed!

  Cris soared upward, hovering more than 20 meters above the ground, leaving the police and the crowd below frozen in absolute disbelief.

  “What the hell is this… is he Superman?!” one officer gasped, unable to believe his eyes, while the others kept their guns aimed at the figure suspended in the sky, their minds reeling in confusion.

  Cris looked down at the chaos below for a split second. He scanned the area, overwhelmed by a feeling he couldn't describe. “What the hell is happening here?!” another officer roared.

  Those who still had their wits about them scrambled to point their phone lenses skyward to record this historical moment. Some were live-streaming with voices trembling from pure adrenaline. “It’s a real-life Superman, man! Look at this… I’m filming Superman!”

  "BOOM!!!"

  A deafening Sonic Boom roared through the atmosphere as Cris accelerated, lunging into the high heavens until he vanished from sight. The massive shockwave from the air displacement slammed into the ground below, whipping the clothes of the onlookers in every direction. Even a police officer's cap was snatched by the gale and swept away into the air.

  He left behind nothing but an empty sky and a lingering chaos that no one would ever forget…

  ————————————————————————————————————————

  The Past – Rochester, Minnesota

  The scene shifts back to the tranquil, familiar atmosphere of the kitchen. Eight-year-old Chris sits amidst his father, mother, and siblings.

  "Are you really going to pursue magic seriously, Chris?" Lars asked, gazing at his son with eyes full of affection.

  "He’s still young, Lars. He’ll probably grow out of it when he gets older and find something new to play with, just like any other kid," Astrid replied to her husband with a gentle smile. She turned to look at all her children, her eyes brimming with love and brightness.

  "I want big brother Chris to perform magic for me every single day!" Liv, the youngest, piped up in her adorable, chirpy voice. "I’m going to film his clips and put them on YouTube so lots of people watch. Then we’ll have tons of money, and Chris will become a famous superstar!"

  Liv’s innocent words brought smiles and laughter to everyone in the house. It was a dinner that felt both delicious and heart-warming. This small spark of family happiness served as a shield and the driving force that gave them the courage to face the outside world.

  "I’m going to be the greatest magician in the whole world!" Chris boasted to his parents with a wide grin, revealing the pure, unsullied dreams of an eight-year-old boy.

  The scene at the dinner table, once radiating warmth, began to fade as the perspective slowly zoomed out. The view drifted away from the joy in the kitchen, ascending toward the second floor of the house.

  As a bedroom door creaked open, it revealed the scattered remnants of childhood in every corner. Toys of all kinds littered the floor, the plush bed, and the overflowing shelves. Tucked amongst these belongings were various magic props, indistinguishable from the ordinary playthings—a testament to a passion that had grown alongside him since he was small.

  On the somewhat aged walls, several posters of the world-renowned magician Criss Angel were pinned up. The man in the photos stared back with a mysterious gaze, serving as the sole inspiration the young boy held close to his heart.

  And then... everything was swallowed by a desolate darkness.

  Amidst an eerie, haunting silence, a voice suddenly resonated—trembling, yet fierce and commanding. It was the voice of an old man, sounding grim and bone-chillingly evocative.

  "Come back... return... immediately... NOW."

  —————————————————————————— Ruth VT-Hin ————————