Highflayer: Lite Night (Chronicles of Zahiris al-Miraj)

THE END "There it was," the man began, his voice taking on a playful, dramatic tone, "the iconic CYOA ending, leaving you to your own imagination to—" Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain tore through his chest, cutting his words short. !!!! The man froze, his fingers twitching involuntarily as the pain radiated outwards. A gasp escaped his lips as he stumbled upright from his chair, gripping his chest in disbelief. "The hell—" he started to curse, but his breath hitched, the pain intensifying in a wave of fiery heat. He barely managed to stay upright for a split second before his knees buckled beneath him. Thud! He hit the floor with an unsettling finality, his hands clutching his chest as the pain continued to wrack his body. His vision blurred to a crimson haze, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Panic surged through his veins as reality warped around him. He tried to scream, but his voice felt trapped in his throat, suffocated by the growing darkness. No... no, I don't want to die... The thought reverberated in his mind, sharp as a blade, and yet, it was becoming increasingly impossible to hold onto. His heart raced, every beat feeling like it might be his last. He fought to stay conscious, his mind screaming for clarity, but the more he struggled, the more the world around him slipped away. And then, in the very depths of that suffocating darkness, a voice whispered—a voice not his own. It was familiar, yet alien, soft, yet demanding. "You have been chosen." The words echoed in his ears, and with them came a strange warmth, like a distant star flaring to life within him. The man's body spasmed again, and for a moment, everything went still. His mind, clouded with fear and confusion, barely processed the impossibility of the situation. Then, like a slow burn, a realization crept into his consciousness. He—