"How…no, no, this isn't real…it's a dream—an illusion!" He stammered out.
He messily returned to his feet, covering his mouth as he shook his head, only able to glance at the bodies of his comrades that filled the chamber with a dreadful atmosphere.
With his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness of the small chamber, he could see what transpired; a mess of blades were embedded in both bodies of his comrades, skewering them mercilessly as the gray walls were painted in their blood.
Across the floor, blood-soaked blades laid alongside loose chains and medieval contraptions that looked to be nothing other than torture devices.
"It's not real, right…?" He whispered to himself through his fingers.
It was false; an illusion, a dream, a nightmare--this is the answer he brought his mind to, clinging to that fragile wish fervently.
It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. Just...keeping moving. I have to get out of here--the enemy is trying to play tricks on me. That's it. That's all this is, he thought.
Staying in that room any longer would rot his mind; he knew as much as the bile-reeling stench aided in pushing him forward as he slowly dragged his feet down the next corridor.
Over and over again, he flooded his mind with the idea that everything he just saw was an illusion; even so, he squeezed the handle of his blade so tightly his hand ached.
"Iris…" He muttered.
Thinking of the one he loved being in a place of such dread, her name escaped his lips in anguish and worry as he pushed himself forward.
"Not again," as he passed through the next chamber, more bodies awaited, this time recognized as the verdant-haired scholar and the curly-haired man.
"...Jay," he let out quietly.
"Not again," he didn't repeat this continuously in his head to wish for a lack of death before his eyes; he wished it to deny the repeat of the very event that introduced him to this world.
As tears left his eyes and bile from his mouth, he managed to push himself forward in hopes of finding her.
Push, and push, and push, and push, and push, and push. Each step he took forward required everything; his legs beneath him felt like groups of air, dispersing and challenging his balance as all he did was want to fall to the ground and cry.
It was all too real; the smells, the visuals he saw, the emotions flooding through him, the tears, the pain in his heart--all of it.
...Damn it. Damn it. It's not real. It can't be. It just can't be, he thought.
Before reaching the next room, he fell to his knees, turning himself around as he wanted to reject the very notion of having to see it one more time: the sight of his fallen companions.
The possibility, which grew larger with his experience in this unknown domain, of the same fate befalling the girl, gripped his chest with a restraint on his breath as he huffed.
Clap-tap. Clap-tap. Clap-tap.
The sound of steps entering the domain behind him hit his ears like a sharp wind; each uniting of the unknown's figure's shoes against the cold, echoing stone heightened the beating of his heart as it slammed against his chest.
Expecting the steps to continue until reaching him, he found himself at a loss for breath as suddenly--the repetitive footsteps stopped from what sounded like the middle of the echoing chamber behind him.
In place of another clack of the enigmatic entity's soles against the stone, a solid thud resounded through the repugnant chamber behind him.
"Will you sit there and quiver forever?"
A voice spoke from the chamber; in the emptiness of the darkness, the words could be meant for no other person except himself.
"It's a perfectly valid option; you have freedom over your own body, do you not? What kind of heartless fiend would I be to take that right away from you, I ask? Sit there and shake all you like, I suppose."
It was a voice that thought spoke cohesive strings of words, was laced with a certain, inexplicable tune that harmonized with madness.
He ignored it; for some reason, the last thing he wanted to do was turn around.
That is, until the unknown man spoke once more:
"However, if you don't do anything, she will die. You'll be the reason for it; your own weakness, helplessness, cowardice, reluctance, hesitance, fear, inhibition--she'll die because you did nothing. She'll scream because you're unable to stand. Those yells will crawl past your skin, embedding into the marrow of your bone, yelling over and over, day and night--"Ren! Ren! Ren! Why did you let me die? Why did you let me die? Why did you kill me, Ren?!"--all because the man she loved was a coward."
Such words were spoken fervently through a mix of tones as the mysterious man contorted his own voice with a harmony of unrestrained madness, even mocking the girl's own voice in his words.
Even if he wanted to reject the words, claiming them as lies, such thoughts were tarnished as the muffled screams of the girl could be heard.
His breath was hastened, becoming thinner as the taunts of the man drilled past his skull, causing his thoughts to cease.
He was driven to his feet at the threats standing against who was without a doubt the girl he loved, forcing himself up.
The return to his feet drove a cackle from the man's lips that spilled out like a vile orchestra, pleased that his words coaxed the result he wanted.
Finally, he turned around, and as he did--faint torches gave a slight light to the chamber he found himself in.
What his eyes first saw in the darkness was the shadow behind the man who spoke to him; an array of limbs, human and monstrous, waving and contorting behind him in a dance of shadows before the light cast his horrific nature away, showing only a bright, harrowing smile.
"No…"
Tears immediately strolled down his cheeks, leaving his shattered gaze as he realized the source of the death-ridden stench of the chamber.
They were all strung along the bloodied floor; each member of the Weltwanderers--bloodied, limbs twisted, eviscerated, and worst of all--lifeless.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," he began to shake his head while repeating the single word.
He fell to his knees, releasing his flood of unknown emotions and disgust onto the floor as he wailed out. As much as he tried to deny it, attempting to wash the morbid reality before his eyes with his childish rejections, it only grew stronger.
Not a single one was spared, save for the azure-haired girl he held dearest to his aching heart.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Stand, Ren. Stand, stand, stand, stand, stand, stand! All hope is not lost! Even in the middle of such despair, this is where heroes shine, yes? The damsel is in distress! Alive, and waiting for you, Ren! Save her! Save her!" The enigmatic man coaxed him.
He lifted his head hesitantly with dripping lips as his quivering eyes laid on the form of the man, though his appearance was shrouded by the dimness of the room, and the dark, obscuring robes he wore.
Even so, his eyes focused on the girl laid on the floor with her arms tied behind her back, muffled by rope caught between her lips.
"...Iris! Iris! Iris!" He stammered out in a strained voice.
He picked himself up, nearly falling back over as his body was drenched in hopelessness; a weakness that sapped the strength and will from his legs.
Falling back to his knees after taking only a single step, he pressed his forehead to the stone, warm and damp with fresh blood as his tears mixed in with it. He held his position, prostrating himself to the unknown assailant.
"...Please." His voice came out muffled as if his nose was stuffed from a cold.
The abnormal man leaned forward, holding his hand to his ear as if trying to listen closer, "Please? Please, what, Ren?"
"...Please. Let her go...please…" He begged, keeping his head down.
It was all he could think to do. Failing to protect his comrades, all of the strength he believed he accumulated had vanished; every ounce, every droplet of faith he had in himself evaporated.
There was nothing; no will to fight burned within him--all he could think to do was simply beg, simply wish for an act of benevolence from the one who stood at the pinnacle of malevolence.
As he held his head down, waiting for an answer, his sobs didn't stop as his expression contorted with grief and sorrow, creating a mess of his pores that unleashed his emotions.
"How disappointing. How absolutely, completely, unequivocally, purely, disgustingly, disappointing. You're a coward. You can put on that tough exterior all you like, but when it comes down to it, you're nothing but a shell, Ren. Powerless, meager, repulsive, impulsive, greedy, yet weak, boastful, yet you're nothing; devoid of any courage. You're depraved, Ren."
By the way the words slipped from the man's abhorrent lips, starting with contempt, they ended with glee as if the man was smiling as he spoke.
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