A young man fell.
And then...
BAM!
He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his spine and ribs. His armor, cracked loudly beneath him. He groaned and rolled over, gasping.
*Sniffs*
It was strange.
Truly was.
All he could perceive now, was...
Rot.
Just rot. A stench so foul it made bile claw up his throat. He spat, coughing violently, and blinked through the darkness.
This wasn't the castle.
This wasn't anywhere he'd ever been.
The ground beneath him was flesh.
Flesh!
He scrambled to his feet—then wished he hadn't.
The terrain squelched and pulsed like a heartbeat beneath his boots. Veins, black and red, ran across the ground like roots. The air shimmered faintly with something not quite fog, not quite light. It felt like the afterimage of a scream.
His comrades were nowhere in sight.
Just moments ago, he'd been stationed outside the castle Assigned to keep an eye on that masked noble—the one who'd dared punch the Princess.
And then the black smoke—
Then the second explosion.
After that?
Only this.
Only this… place.
He reached for his sword. Found it, still sheathed. His hand trembled as he gripped the hilt.
He then sensed it.
Something was watching him.
Not from a distance.
Not behind a tree or shadow.
No.
It watched from inside him.
Like the world had crawled in through his skin and taken a seat in his skull.
A sound.
Scraping.
Not from any direction he could trace.
He spun, blade drawn. "Who's there?!"
Nothing replied.
But the silence broke.
With laughter.
Soft. Mocking.
Not human.
A cluster of figures stepped into view, emerging from the haze. Four of them. All in partial armor—two knights, one mage, and—
"Sir Ealdric?"
The grizzled commander looked wrong.
His eyes looked.
Dead.
His smile was too wide.
Too wrong.
"Ah, Lorian. Good lad. You made it here too."
His voice was hoarse. Not from age. From damage. Like his throat had been torn and barely stitched back together.
The others… weren't moving right. Their joints bent strangely. Their steps made no sound.
Lorian backed up, heart pounding. "What… where are we?"
"Oh, you don't know? It's home," he said.
The knight frowned.
"You're not him." Lorian tightened his grip on his blade.
Ealdric's smile widened.
And then—
He moved.
Too fast.
A blur of motion and teeth and nails, more beast than man.
Lorian parried, steel screaming against whatever Ealdric's hands had become.
He leapt back. "No—no—what the hell is this place?!"
The mage behind Ealdric chuckled softly, her face half-melted.
The others began to advance. Step by step.
"You don't belong here," Ealdric rasped, tongue flicking over bloodied teeth. "But you came anyway. And now…"
He raised a hand.
From the ground behind Lorian, something rose.
It had no form. No face.
Just fingers.
Dozens.
Long and thin and twitching. Clawing out of the flesh-ground like worms.
"…Now you get to be part of the story."
Lorian ran.
He didn't know where.
Didn't care.
He just ran.
Behind him, laughter echoed—layered, inhuman.
....
---
"HAAAAAAAAH!"
I jolted upright, gasping, heart hammering against my ribs.
Where—?
Where the hell am I?!
I looked around, panic still clutching at my lungs.
"Finally," a voice said behind me.
"Any longer and I'd have slapped you awake myself."
I turned.
And saw him.
Leon.
"You?!"
Oh no.
Not him.
"Hello... again," he grinned.
Goddamn it.
Of all the people—of all the things I could've seen—why him?
I sighed. "Where the hell is this place?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You seriously don't know? Huh. And here I thought you would know what this mystic world is."
I was still trying to pull myself out of whatever that vision was.
I didn't have the energy for this fucker's mind games.
"Just tell me."
"Fine." He shrugged.
"This world you're in now—this realm—it's tied to the Adenai."
My eyes narrowed. "The Elder Gods?"
"Ding ding ding," Leon said with a smirk.
"Specifically one of their followers. Velzareth—the god of dreams."
Okay, fuck am I supposed to know that?
"This world is built upon one law he carries," he continued.
"What law?" I asked.
Leon grinned. "Come on. Take a wild guess."
"…Nightmares."