NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 82: Meriem

> WHITE.

Everything was white—as far as the eye could see. A blank canvas of endless whiteness.

No shadows, no visible source of light.

An infinite plane: silent, flat, disturbingly plain.

Like the page of a notebook where even existence had been erased.

Mirelle knelt in the middle of this emptiness.

Her breathing was rapid; her lungs didn’t feel full.

The surface beneath her had no substance—it was intangible, like brushing against a hallucination.

Questions swirled in her mind, but none had answers:

"How did I get here?"

"Was it that creature who did this?"

At that very moment, without her realizing, a speech bubble appeared above her head, her thoughts written inside:

"How did I get here? Was it that entity’s doing?"

She looked around. No buildings, no signs, no beings, not even a horizon.

Just white—thick, bottomless, meaningless.

She cleared her throat and tried to call out:

(Speech bubble) "Is anyone there?"

But no sound came. Her lips moved, her chest rose and fell, but nothing echoed.

She tried again, this time louder:

(Speech bubble) "AAAAA!"

Still nothing changed. Just whiteness, silence, and void.

In this strange place, Mirelle noticed something was wrong with her body too.

When she took a step and glanced at her feet, the colors weren’t right.

She bent down and touched her toes.

Her skin—pitch black and paper white. Rigid. Numb.

Like a pencil sketch an artist had abandoned before coloring it in.

"Why do I look like this? My hands too... black and white. What is this place?"

Her mind was blurry. The only thing she could remember was the team.

They had been venturing deep into the forest together.

Then something had appeared. Darkness followed, a clean break in time.

"Am I still there? Is this just a dream?"

But how could something so vivid be a dream?

Worse, this place didn’t just blind her eyes—it dulled her thoughts.

Even the air carried a strange scent: dry ink, pungent and heavy.

She started walking. Her footsteps made no sound.

They didn’t press into the ground; she was gliding, floating a few centimeters above it.

A faint breeze passed by, but one thing stayed constant:

the overwhelming scent of dry, old ink.

After a while, a silhouette appeared in the distance.

At first, it was impossible to make out. But as she approached, the details began to surface.

A man, sitting on his knees.

Wearing a monochrome suit—sharp black and white.

His eyes spun like spirals, drawn from lines that seemed ready to pull the viewer inward.

The smile on his face wasn’t real. Fixed, plastic, almost animated.

His nose looked misaligned, creating a strange bump across his face.

He tilted his head slightly and raised a single eyebrow.

Then, forming a finger gun, he clicked his tongue with a "puff" sound.

A speech bubble appeared above his head:

"Well, well. Look who wandered into my domain. Welcome, Mirelle."

Mirelle flinched as soon as she heard her name.

The fact that he knew her sent a chill across her skin like a slow, crawling fog.

She slowed her steps but didn’t stop.

Her instincts screamed for retreat, but curiosity and stubborn bravery took over.

Trying to steady her voice, she asked:

(Speech bubble) "You know me? How do you know my name? Where are my friends?"

The entity—Eme—didn’t respond right away.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out an invisible pair of glasses, and mimed placing them on his nose.

Then, he gazed skyward.

His smile didn’t waver.

He stood up. As he rose, he twisted one foot in the opposite direction and pantomimed stepping onto an invisible stair.

Wherever he stepped, the whiteness dimmed.

Reality etched itself into existence behind him.

He locked eyes with Mirelle. Another speech bubble appeared:

"I had a little chat with your friends. But don’t worry, I gave them new assignments. They’re performing decently."

The words struck Mirelle like a blow.

Eme’s voice didn’t carry through the air, but every word vibrated directly in her mind.

The word "assignments" left a sour taste.

Her body trembled. A cold sensation crept up her spine.

But she didn’t step back. Her eyes narrowed now, her voice gaining strength:

"What did you do to them? Answer me! Did you kill them?"

Eme remained quiet.

Then he raised his hands and mimed pulling puppet strings. His expression remained static.

A pause—then a new speech bubble appeared:

"I wouldn’t put it that way. They became my meal. Nothing too dramatic. I mean, think about it—being devoured by a being like me, that’s practically a privilege."

Mirelle stood frozen.

"My friends... are dead," she thought.

"All of them."

But something felt off.

There was no anger. No sadness.

Only a flat, almost sterile numbness.

She didn’t understand herself.

"They’re all dead. So why am I not sad? Or angry?"

Just as that thought surfaced, Eme reached up with two fingers, pinched the corners of his painted smile, and peeled it off like a sticker. Then laughed—soft and bizarre.

His eyes spun. One hand swirled above his head in a graceful, dance-like arc.

"Hahaha. Of course you can’t feel sadness, or rage, or fear. This is my playground.

Your emotions follow my rules. And soon, you’ll be joining them. Don’t worry."

Right then, the surrounding whiteness began to shift, fading into thick, smoky gray.

Eme walked toward her. But Mirelle didn’t move.

It was as if her body already understood the end had come.

"I don’t feel anything. No rage. No fear. Not even grief.

Who was I really?"

By the time Eme stood right in front of her, Mirelle’s eyes had gone dark.

The white sketch lines across her skin dissolved.

Her body came undone—like a sketch unraveling from the page.

Fragments of her dress drifted up, then vanished into the stillness.

Eme bowed slightly, as if finishing a theatrical performance.

He held that pose for a moment, then sighed and shook his head:

"Your capacity was low, but at least your design was clean.

Still, even one interesting mind could’ve made it fun.

Honestly, you were all dreadfully boring."

And just like that, Mirelle’s silhouette vanished into the void.

Only a wisp of suspended black dust remained.

Eme lifted his palm. A ripple cut across the air like tearing paper.

A sheet emerged.

Lifting his finger, he drew a door into the empty space.

Straight lines. A curve. Handle. Shadow.

Once the drawing was complete, he nodded—like a cartoonist satisfied with the final stroke—and stepped through it.

---

Real World — Forest

In the forest’s heart, among wild, tangled roots and whispering leaves, a drawn door stood.

In front of it—someone waited.

Heavy clouds slid across the sky.

A woman with violet eyes stood calmly at the door: Meriem.

As Eme stepped out, Meriem spoke—her voice sharp and cold:

"What took you so long?"

Eme flared his arms out theatrically, then snapped his fingers:

"Who knows. I had some fun. I’ve been dormant too long.

Had a dance before dinner, a little conversation. It felt good.

By the way, Meriem, you’re not mad I ate them all, are you?"

Meriem gave him a brief, disinterested glance:

"I don’t care. I’ve devoured enough kinds already.

The weak don’t offer me anything anymore."

Behind Eme, the door began dissolving with a faint flicker.

He turned for a moment and looked at Meriem.

He didn’t squint or smile—he simply stared.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

Meriem blinked.

Eme rarely asked.

He usually acted—without warning, without explanation.

Still, she responded without hesitation:

"Speak. What is it?"

Eme leaned forward slightly. His spine cracked audibly. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Then he arched back, flung his arm over his head, and bent his knees in one flowing gesture.

"I need time to rest. My domain.

Walking the broken sea segment stretched my capacity too far.

I need to reconstruct my body. I never fully adapted to this world."

Meriem turned her head a bit, remained silent.

She found most of his words pointless. Still, she asked:

"How long?"

Eme pressed his thumbs into his forehead, fingers threading through strands that didn’t exist.

"Three weeks. Maybe four.

But don’t worry—I’ll be nearby.

When I say ’on top of you,’ it’s mostly metaphorical... but not entirely.

If something interesting happens, I’ll be watching."

Meriem exhaled slowly.

Eme was impossible to read.

Sometimes threatening. Sometimes childish.

She tilted her head:

"Fine. What do I do?

Should I go deeper into the forest or stay here?"

Eme crouched down.

With a fingertip, he drew a spiral staircase into the earth.

When the drawing was done, the ground opened like soft clay.

"Of course. Go. Wander however you like."

His tone dropped. Eyes froze. Smile faded.

"If you find someone interesting—keep her.

Do whatever it takes.

Hold her until I return."

He stepped onto the spiral staircase, descending.

Each step left behind dusty pencil lines.

Meriem didn’t look back.

She had no interest in watching him vanish.

She turned away and walked, alone, into the trees.

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Author’s Note:

The being known as Eme does not speak aloud. His words are always expressed through speech bubbles, much like those seen in comic books. This is a unique form of communication inherent to his nature.

Anyone who enters Eme’s domain is involuntarily compelled to adapt to his "way of speaking." Within this area, spoken language becomes impossible; thoughts are instantly transformed into visible speech bubbles.

This rule applies only within Eme’s domain. Outside of it, normal verbal communication is possible, but Eme still "speaks" exclusively through speech bubbles.