Traverse The Fog

With a feline grace, Caitríona glided ever closer.

"Night after Night, I've dreamt of you, Cyrus," she uttered, quickening her approach, dark mists coiling around her.

Meanwhile, Cyrus gritted his teeth. Shoulders shaking, He balled his fists until his fingers cracked and stepped forward.

Caitríona watched him with raised brows but still scoffed at the sight. Slowly, her steps moved faster and faster until she appeared just before Cyrus! But the latter was ready. He punched forward, incandescent flames coalescing into a small yet violent plume.

"And in every dream, you've either ignored me or lied to me," she hissed, effortlessly evading to the side.

She then retaliated by slashing upwards with her dusk-wreathed claws. She sliced through the skin of Cyrus' bicep as if it were butter. The pain forced Cyrus to reel back, eyes widening at the burned and blackened lacerations on his arm. But there was no time to linger on it. He ignored it and continued his attack, sweeping his leg with all his might. Surprised, Caitríona's gaze flickered before she tumbled backward.

There. Already willed his fiery runes to his good arm, Cyrus punched forward, fire pluming between his fingers. A hit! Wait, no. It was a feint!

Caitríona flashed a sly smile and dissolved into darkness. However, Cyrus had prepared for it. He stepped to the side without hesitation, narrowly evading the clawed darkness behind him.

"Tsk. Even after years of practice, I still can't figure out everything about you," Caitríona remarked, her upper half emerging from the swirling darkness.

She then pointed at him. Gloam coalesced into a tiny sphere on her fingertip, then shot at him with the speed of an arrow. That Cyrus didn't expect. Yet, it didn't stop him from instinctively moving towards the right. The sphere brushed past his left shoulder, leaving another black gash on him. Pain burned through his arm. But Cyrus forced himself to stand as the two paused, silently staring down at each other. The moment gave him time to think. What should he do? Come on, think!

Yet his thoughts dashed as the two looked upwards. Save for the single spotlight from the void, there was only darkness, except for that presence staring down. At first, it felt far away. But as time took its toll, it drew closer and closer. It brought a feeling of terror in Cyrus and zeal in his opponent.

It was getting impatient.

The air around the two began to solidify. And Cyrus knew the show was coming to a close. He had to do something, anything. But his flames were useless while his lig—My light!

How could Cyrus have forgotten so quickly? There was only one shot for this—one desperate gamble. And it was now or never. Quickly, Cyrus took a step forward, willing his fiery runes up to his jaw. Meanwhile, he channeled mana through them and his light runes.

"Oh, you're taking the initiative?" Caitríona smiled, the cloaked darkness writhing around her in excitement. "True enough. It's about time we finished this performance."

She then vanished into the shadows. The next moment, Caitríona appeared before Cyrus sans dark mist from her form, clawing his throat with both hands.

Now! Cyrus' gaze shone like a lighthouse, illuminating her with shining brilliance. Caitríona gasped in response as the light dispersed her claws. For a single moment, even her person flickered. Seizing the initiative, Cyrus reached out and grasped her by the wrists. Then, using all his strength, Cyrus stretched her arms upwards.

Now was the time. Cyrus had to do this or suffer the consequences. Yet, he hesitated. Cyrus wasn't a fighter or a killer, and he never wished to learn to become one. Why was he being forced to do this? Such thoughts melted at the sound of her voice.

"You're going to die here, Cyrus!" she hissed, darkness struggling to form in her hands. "I'll make sure of it!"

And that was enough. He did not want to die, not like this. With it brought a weak steel of determination. Quickly, the mana channeling through his light runes abruptly shut down. Then Cyrus took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide. At that moment, he and his fire runes aligned as one, coming out as an all-consuming fiery breath onto her.

And she was engulfed in flames!

She screamed so, so loud. It was enough to bring pause to Cyrus movements, but only for just a second. Amidst her agonizing screams, he held her arms tight for three seconds, spewing as much fire as he could. And when his mana tapped out, he released her and swiftly kicked the blazing woman's stomach with all of his strengt. Meanwhile, Caitríona flew backward onto the ground. She shrieked and rolled as she tried to put herself out. Meanwhile, a gasping Cyrus watched this in stunned silence, adrenaline vaporizing from the sounds of her hellish torment. Did he really light someone on fire? Should he help her?

Was it over?

Cyrus then took a step forward. He wanted to escape or help, to do something. Slowly, he moved forward, only to come to a halt. His gaze widened at the sight of Caitríona melted into a black, burning, writhing mass. And then she vanished.

Silence fell upon him. But only for a moment.

"That's so rude, Cyrus." Her tease came from behind. Her tone was soft and voice chillingly intimate. "Why you do that? Don't you like pretty girls?"

The air caught in Cyrus' lungs. Desperate, he turned around, only to find Caitríona standing there, unharmed. And in her hands was a cudgel of pure darkness.

She smiled sweetly, followed by a swift slam into his stomach and a sweep of his feet, the blows forcing him to crash on his back.

"Stay still, now," she said, quickly lifting the cudgel into the air. "You're going to feel a small prick."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

At her words, the bottom of the cudgel sharpened into the shape of a stake. And with a cruel smile and wide, insane eyes, she stabbed downwards.

The air escaped Cyrus' lungs once the spear ripped through his abdomen. And if it weren't enough, she twisted it as if trying to pin him to the ground, causing Cyrus to spasm.

There were no words to describe his pain. And... was that blood pooling onto his back? He could barely feel something warm spreading outwards.

"Too easy." Caitríona let go of the spear and strolled over his head, delivering a kick that made him spit blood. "And too predictable." She then folded her arms onto her hips, eying the spear. "I want to have more fun with you" —he twitched at her words— "To make you scream." A pause. "But my Lord has called for you, Cyrus."

Then, she sauntered back to the cudgel. Meanwhile, Cyrus remained in a dazed agony as he listlessly observed her close her eyes. She... she started silently praying?

Despair and hopelessness flooded him as a choir of voices began whispering. There had to be a way through this. Was he about to die here? No, it can't end like this.

Desperate, Cyrus reached for the cudgel in some vain hope of escaping. However, it all came crashing down once his hands phased through it. But that was not enough. Cyrus felt his strength ebb away as if being absorbed by the spear. His vision blurred and darkened as they remained fixed, Caitríona.

And to think, earlier today, they met in the library by touching hands on a book, like some cheesy love story.

"What's going to happen to me?" Cyrus weakly gasped, spitting out more blood in the process.

"What's going to happen to you?" Caitríona gaze opened. Her eyes were as black as the void around the two. "It doesn't matter what happens to you." Her face twisted in zeal and madness. "You're only here to witness his magnificence!"

The darkness beyond the spotlight reverberated as the world began to tremble. It was the end. The distorted voices escalated into a crescendo, pounding on Cyrus' ears, drowning his thoughts as he stared vacantly at the void above.

Meanwhile, Caitríona kept her gaze trained on him. A sickening mixture of excitement and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she anticipated the arrival of his horror.

Her lord was coming.

Then, everything ceased—the voices, the tremors, the looming dread all stopped. Even Caitríona stood frozen before Cyrus as if he were simply staring at a frozen tableau.

Cyrus tried to call out for help. Yet, something within his sense of self-preservation urged him to preserve the unsettling yet serene equilibrium. So, he opted for caution, attempting to move his limbs.

A failure. His head remained as frozen as his body. Yet, strangely enough, Cyrus could still dart around. Only then did he realize that his pain had disappeared as well.

There has to be a way out of here, Cyrus thought.

Quickly, his attention shifted from the frozen Caitríona to searching the void around him. But there was nothing. And even Cyrus' mana sense remained frozen despite his plight.

The scene offered both reassurance and distress to Cyrus: he wasn't dead, but the prospect of enduring immobilization for what might be an eternity seemed worse than death. He would be left forever alone in the darkness, unable even to hear his very own heartbeat.

With the thought, a torrent of intrusive thoughts flooded him. Desperate, Cyrus scanned his surroundings for any glimmer of hope. Maybe there was something on Cait—Cyrus froze. From behind, two black, gnarled, and elongated claw hands gripped at the frozen Caitríona's shoulders. And the sight of them broke the quiet equilibrium that Cyrus prayed to keep.

They then twitched. Gripping Caitríona tightly, it moved. Under Cyrus' horrified gaze, a pair of gnarled limbs, gray and dark, stretch outwards from behind Caitríona, far transcending her dimensions. And a long and twisted headless torso was connected to them. It rose higher and higher, towering, monolithic.

Time stilled for a moment. But only for a moment as it twisted its attention onto Cyrus. Slowy, it reached out toward him with both gnarled hands. Cyrus' gaze narrowed. Like a caged animal, he tried to move despite his frozen body. But it was of no use. He could not even scream as it drew closer and closer.

With long fingers stretched outwards, it touched his face. Then, it began exploring Cyrus' features, tracing his contours, and remembering them. And Cyrus was forced to endure this silently.

There was no help. There was only The Entity. As if growing bored, it then stretched its fingers outwards, perfectly fitting around the contours of Cyrus' face.

Its fingers began to dig into his skin. And the pain defied description.

A frozen Cyrus suffered its fingers slide under his flesh, taking great care to avoid his eyes. Once every gnarled digit centered under his skin, the pulling commenced. It tugged and tugged against Cyrus' skull. Until a mind-numbing agony came, followed by tearing off his face with not a single ounce of spilled blood. Only then could he open his mouth, features now replaced by exposed muscles. But even then, Cyrus had a mouth but could not scream.

The Entity drew Cyrus' skin mask toward it. As if sensing his anguish, it gingerly placed a finger on the mask's lips. "Shhh."

With deliberate slowness, The Entity positioned the face just above its torso, affixing it akin to a grotesque mask over an invisible head. The face twitched momentarily. The empty eye sockets and mouth moved as if whatever was wearing it sought to accumulate the very idea of having a face. But only took a moment. And like the muse of comedy, the face stretched outwards into an unnaturally broad smile. Cyrus' mind stilled, transfixed at the sight of The Entity leaning down towards him, empty sockets of impenetrable void locking with his gaze.

It spoke in Cyrus' voice. "I've been waiting for you for so, so long, Cyrus. Now, the show can begin."

Then, The Entity stood upright. Slowly, theatrically, it stretched its arms outwards into the darkness as the flickering spotlight focused its brilliance.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The Entity spoke with such grandiosity. "Our main lead has finally entered the stage!" —It stretched a gnarled open hand to the pinned and faceless Cyrus— "Please, offer him a round of applause!"

A roaring applause resonated throughout the void as if an unseen audience had been watching this spectacle. Some roared Cyrus' name at the top of their lungs, while others whistled in this grand ovation. As if satisfied with the results, The Entity lowered itself to align its socket-less gaze with Cyrus' once more, the latter shaking as it spoke twisted into something lighter, friendly even, but no less horrifying. It spoke in Lilie's voice

"Can you believe it, Cyrus?" Excited, The Entity gestured toward the darkness around the three. "The crowd loves you! And I know that you'll become a fan favorite. They just need to spend some time with you." —It turned to meet Cyrus' petrified face— "Can you not see the excitement in their eyes?"

There was nothing out there, not that Cyrus tried searching in this insanity. And The Entity noticed this. With that horrid smile quickly shifting to a face of tragedy, it slowly inched its face mere centimeters from Cyrus.'

"Could you not see them, my lead? Can you not perceive their eyes fixated on your handsome features?"

The deafening applause continued as if waiting for Cyrus' acknowledgment. But the latter would have already fainted if it weren't for something preventing him from doing so.

Despite this, The Entity remained nonchalant. Slowly, it extended two twig-like fingers toward him, ever moving toward his eyes as if intending to poke them out.

"Would you like to?"