An obscured, hulking silhouette fills the temple entrance. It almost blocked the light from the dreary outside. Standing on its hind legs, at the height of seven ft. Its shoulders rolled forward with a quiet and composed power as it stepped inside.
The dull light caught the outline of its sturdy frame.
Black fur bristled. Dampened by the mist - carrying small pearls of past rainfall- spreading over muscle that moved with unhurried precision. Its blood-red eyes pierced the veil of the lingering mist as it scanned the broken interior.
The creature didn't rush.
It didn't need to.
The ghouls moved aside without further instruction- without question. Creating space for the towering beast. He stalked deeper inside, calm and steady. Almost soundless. He slowly turned his head and raised his chin, trying to catch a certain scent dwelling in the dank, cold air. The beast crept closer to where Paradonia was situated. He inhaled the air again. Slow. Deliberate.
To him, the scent was faint, but he knew it came from elsewhere. He paused in his steps and crouched down, sniffing downwards, near the floorboards.
It wasn't the smell of decay. No. It was the faded scent of sulphur - as though something was still quietly burning. He stood back up, shifting his posture subtly, not with aggression, but rather with keen focus.
The ghouls watched his movements with silent and aching anticipation. Ready on standby for his command.
From within the shadows and layers of mist, the elf could perceive more of the beast's face. A long and strong jaw. Pointed, canine ears, wth cosemntic tearing along the rim. A thick neck and a broad pair of shoulders. Sharp fangs. Red irises.
A werewolf.
His glowing eyes continue to observe the shadows, daring to creep closer.
Paradonia exhaled slowly, keeping her breathing even and controlled.
She'd realized that this wasn't hell.
This was a different level of pressure that settled over her hunched form, easing into her skin. The constant demand to survive wasn't so brutal in comparison to her time serving in hell. The demons she once fought were cunning and depraved.
In terms of power, the ghouls and the werewolf were nothing.
Then the mist lingering in the temple began to thicken and stir, as if it possessed a consciousness of its own. Bringing a faint smell of wet earth and a brief bite of chill.
Her weight shifted decisively. She moved with the fog's fluidity and motion, using the ethereal veil as cover. She silently crept back through the entrance of the temple and trudged lightly uphill.
The werewolf inhaled again, detecting a change in scent - it moved.
His posture sharpened, and the ghouls around him tensed, twitching with uncertainty. Agitation had already crawled under their skin. They flexed their long, spindly talons. Their heads twitched almost mechanically - chattering their fangs.
Paradonia ambled up the steep hill, keeping her pace light and quick paced. The terrain gave way to even more grass and moss-covered stone. Slick with moisture and worn down by time. The further she climbed, sharp pinprick sensations began to dance around her palm where the mark remained as a gaping, crude burn. Then, without hesitation, the searing pain tore through her flesh again as though she was being rebranded all over again.
The mark flared further - blazing and weeping. The forefront of her mind was bombarded by flashbacks, impaling straight through her mind. Past visions of the infernal realm. Her wounded palm trembled as she was forced to relive the memories - hissing through her gritted teeth. She bit down on her lip, drawing out blood. Enough to produce a surge of sharp pain to anchor herself to reality. Keeping her grounded.
With a staggering lurch, she forces herself to advance with blood smeared across her bottom lip, along the steep, beaten path.
Then Paradonia's steps eventually stop.
Before her stood a stone archway. Intricate sigils and characters were engraved into its weathered surface, humming with a dim azure glow. Her pale hand swept over the etched and chipped stone, as though she was reading Braille.
The mark across her palm pulsed again, like a heartbeat, and the scenery around her began to distort.
The werefold was climbing up the hill, following her scent. Getting closer with each stride.
The mark flared once, and Friederei stood in the thicket of the forest, looking back at her with dull eyes.
His shape contorted.
Bone cracked, earning a sickly wet sound.
It was grotesque.
His face morphed into a cackling imp.
It jeered - and mocked Paradonia for abandoning her only son. The stone archway grew hot to the point of smouldering, and crumbled to the ground, only to then reconstruct itself into a pair of infernal stone gates. They towered at the height of twenty ft. The sight of them was worse than the last vision.
A distant echo of a bell tolls - and the gates slowly open with a groan. A gust of searing heat hit her face at full force. Blowing her red hair from her face. It was like standing in front of a furnace.
Most would have had blisters and burns by now, but for Paradonia, she was already acclimated to it.
The hellfire rages beyond the entrance. She looks around frantically. The werewolf, who was only ten steps away from her position, undergoes a bloody metamorphosis, reducing the beast to a hellhound. Molten fissures crack and split through its black fur. Flames burn from the canine's eyes.
Paradonia's breath catches. She staggers back, feeling surrounded - cornered.
Her heart drums against the inner walls of her chest.
Everything felt too close for comfort.
The line between illusion and reality had ultimately blurred.
Vanished
Swallowed by the emerging cognitive madness.
The ghouls behind the hellhound split apart and reassembled their anatomy into a clumped, malformed, moving abomination of flesh. Flames dance along her sword's edge, raging. Her eyes narrow and focus on the hallucinations, unable to see them for what they truly were. Then her own hand shoots up to her head, clutching her own hair. Her face grimaces as the early memories of her servitude bled into the forefront of her mind.
The chains.
The anguish.
The burns.
The endless bleeding.
She could see Brymthos standing over her while she was lying flat on her back. She had just landed in hell. Lying down on the reddened and soot-covered earth. The spiralling crimson skies and their unforgiving sun glaring down at her as brythom stands silhouette against it. She could feel his dead and empty gaze meeting her own. There was a profound and terrible hunger - the hunger for dominion.
The memory pierces deep. It may as well have been a sharp steel pick eager to perform a lobotomy. Mind -splitting and soul-wrenching anguish drove her body forward as her mind was being torn apart by memories. All she could see around was hellspawn taunting her. The elf charges and whams her fiery blade upon the imp, pulverizing it into ash.
More demons manifest around her, leaking from her memories. Paradonia swings her sword, unleashing a wave of fire through the forest directed at the hellions, setting the trees and grass aflame. Her breathing started to become laboured and heavy with each swing, halving the trees.
The werewolf watches her unravel in real time. He coughs on the smoke, threatening to invade his lungs. The ghouls scream as they are caught in the surging wave of fire. Hellfire itself burns from Paradonia's eyes as she succumbs and is pulled deeper into her psychological episode. Going berserk. Turning the forest into its own infero. Becoming a pocket of purgatory that exists in mind and in reality.