Step. Step. Step.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in a long, dark corridor. Heavy tapestries, frozen under layers of dust, told of glorious… yet forgotten battles. The heroes woven into their threads seemed to follow me with their eyes, judging each of my steps.
I walked on, my neck stiff, my palms damp, thinking of my father. My chestnut hair and brown eyes lent me a noble air… but the scars marking my neck, arms, and ribs told the story of a brutal upbringing.
Step. Step. Step.
I stopped before a massive door of solid wood. It was covered with countless inscriptions in Eudorian—the language of the ancient idols. Drawing a small dagger from my jacket, in keeping with imperial fashion, I cut my hand and let my blood run over the inscriptions.
A few seconds passed before a click sounded and the lock gave way.
"As expected," I whispered with satisfaction. A blood seal—a common safeguard among noble families.
"Fuck… I have no chance of surviving this ritual… That bastard wants me dead."
Throat tight, I pushed the door open. It creaked loudly.
A staircase revealed itself, swallowed by shadow. The steps vanished into a darkness so dense it seemed alive—like a night without moon or stars. The air there was colder, heavier.
"According to the old texts… an idol could allow me to survive this damned ritual. And according to my tutor, there's one in the basement. Seems he wanted me to come here—unlike my father."
I took a deep breath and set my foot on the first step. My father called these idols treacherous, cursed: to make a pact with them was to risk corruption.
Each step made the stone groan. A sharp echo sliced through the silence.
"The basement's been sealed for over thirty years by my father's order… who knows why. Probably just some control freak's whim… tsk."
The descent seemed endless. The deeper I went, the thicker the air grew, and the more the shadows clung to the halo of my lantern. The smell was a blend of mold, rusted metal… and blood? My muscles tensed despite myself.
GROAAAAAAAAAA
I froze. A cold draft brushed the back of my neck.
"A draft… here?"
"Impossible. The basement has only one entrance—the one I came through."
After what felt like five minutes of descent, my steps brought me to a ruined corridor. The smell changed—more acidic, more acrid.
On the ground and walls, dark stains everywhere: puddles, streams dried to nothing… coagulated blood. Bones, far too many bones.
But that wasn't what froze my blood. It was the runes—dozens of them—broken, scratched, torn from the stone. The walls bore the scars of a savage fight. Not against men, but against a beast: enormous claw marks, like gaping wounds, proved it.
"What happened here? Father never told me about this…"
At the end of the corridor, a vast chamber awaited. Luminescent stones lit massive arches supporting the ceiling. Around the battered pillars, runes like those in the corridor spiraled.
At the center lay a great red circle. All around it, corpses. The corpses of children—preserved by some sorcery—wearing on their frozen faces the morbid expression of their innocence. Upon them, flowers.
Blood-red flowers, their petals seeming almost to pulse.
"I'm gonna be sick—GLUUUURP"
Coughing and spitting onto the floor, my breath ragged, my veins burned with horror.
COUGH COUGH COUGH
Catching my breath, my gaze fell on the center of the circle. A pentagram, crudely carved, as if in haste.
It called to me—I could feel it—like a divine command urging me to come closer.
A faint purple glow, hypnotic, spread from it.
"So beautiful…"
My body moved on its own, crawling low to the ground, nails breaking, the skin of my fingers tearing, leaving my blood to feed the circle.
My stomach growled, my mind clouded.
GROAAAAAAAR
A hellish wind blew, scorching my face.
GROAAAAAAAR
It intensified, ravaging the room, setting those beautiful flowers ablaze.
Five meters from the pentagram.
—
-
A̰ͯD͖̂VE͋̓̃N̙̝͍̓ͮͫĬ̸͛͊O̶
-
—
A whisper brushed my ears.
Four meters—
-
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Ą̡̩̱̬̦͖̞͙̥̘̖̭͖͖̒͌͐͂̇ͮ͐͛ͩ͊͒̉̒D̳̫̰̲̱̘̳̫̹̪̹̤͛͆͊͋ͬͧ̄͊͋̓ͮ̏V̝͚̠̯͇È̢̃̿̓̏ͪ̇ͭ̑ͣ͌̓̊̚͏̬̣̪͇̼̮̯̦̦͔̺̠͇ͅNͨͦ́ͭ͏̢͈̜̬̪͟I̓͐͐̒̿̓͗͑́͆̏ͨ҉̻͙̮̯͕̬̦̻̣̮̩̘Ȍͣͤͨ̌͏̝̤̫̜͢͟ͅ…
-
-
The whispers grew louder, mingling with the faint cries of children in the distance.
A headache. Crushing, unbearable.
Three meters—
The ground… gone.
Red. Everywhere a red—thick, pulsing, alive.
My hands… smaller. My legs… trembling.
I was wearing a white tunic. Soaked. Sticky. Red stains blooming across it.
Other children beside me, their eyes swollen, lowered, lips bitten until they bled.
A tall figure in front of us, wearing a black cloak and a golden mask.
He spoke words—rrh'ak ven tora…—that I could not understand.
Behind him, the circle—this circle—glowing, screaming without sound.
A nauseating stench assaulted me. Burned meat—human or otherwise, I could not tell.
He seized a boy and dragged him to the center.
The boy's mouth opened—a scream of terror tore me from the vision.
—
Cold stone under my hands, worn smooth. My breath ragged.
I was back. Alone.
-
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Á̡̗̝̳͇͔͎͡H̜͍̲̫ͅA… H… A…Á̡̗̝̳͇͔͎͡H̜͍̲̫ͅA… H… A…
-
-
-
Harsh, mocking laughter echoed. My ears bled under the agony.
Two meters—
Grotesque, misshapen shadows appeared around me. Ten, twenty, fifty—impossible to count. They stared at me with hollow voids where their eyes should have been. Cold sweat drenched my back, my hair stood on end. Drool mixed with vomit dripped from my mouth.
They smiled in unison, a twisted, demonic grin, never advancing—only watching.
Despite the pain, despite my body breaking apart, I still felt the horror of their gaze. Yet my body crawled toward the pentagram, escaping my control.
One meter—
The shadows swelled, towering to the ceiling, bending their monstrous upper bodies toward me, their faces now only a few meters away.
My fine silk trousers, embroidered with the family crest, had long since been soiled with urine and excrement.
They leaned closer still, as if to touch me, keeping that same terrible smile.
My eyes began to bleed, drowning my vision in scarlet. My throat burned; my guts shifted inside my body.
Pain! Pain! Pain! Pain!
Never had I known such agony—not even under the blows of that heartless bastard.
The rasping whisper continued, tearing my mind apart in indescribable torment.
My hand hovered above the pentagram… and finally touched it.
— Orth'am —
Then nothing.