Traverse The Fog

Just as The Entity's fingers drew closer and closer, it stopped mere centimeters from Cyrus' unblinking eyes. Gasping, it then covered its 'face' in a 'feminine' gesture.

"But I don't think you're ready just yet, Cyrus," it said, mimicking Dílis' voice. "An actor must be able to separate themselves from the audience. And I don't think you're ready yet."

The sight of this thing and its actions brought endless terror to Cyrus. He struggled with all his might—all fruitless. And The Entity remained unconcerned despite his struggles. It patted Cyrus' chest in a 'friendly' gesture, fingers digging into his flesh, unleashing a corrosive pain that burned Cyrus' insides. The corrosion swept throughout his body as if searching for something. It sifted deeper and deeper within him. And yet, The Entity released him.

"Not enough. Not nearly enough." Its face contorted downwards, far beyond humanly possible. It sighed in disappointment. "What a shame. Our dear lead must act in more stages before commencing the final act." And with its declaration, it drew uncomfortably close again, forcing Cyrus to stare into those empty voids for eyes. "You're too dull, my lead. You'll need to sharpen up!"

With his words, the air began to shift. It then rose, towering above, and reached for the skin mask. Slowly, deliberately, The Entity peeled it off and draped it over Cyrus' face. The sight of its performance and words somewhat mollified Cyrus. Maybe he still had a chance.

But oh, how wrong he was.

A black and corrosive droplet dropped on his exposed face, burning him in unconceivable torment. And then another. And another. More spilled like a river of tar-like substance rushed down The Entity's gnarled hands, streaming onto Cyrus' face, smothering him, drowning him. He frantically struggled again despite the pain. Why? Why was this happening to him? Yet only darkness answered him.

***

Where was Cyrus? There was only darkness around him. But that did not matter.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

Just what was that? A heart? Should he answer? What was in his hand? It felt sharp but right.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

Dazed and lost, Cyrus stepped forward. Each step came with crunching sounds, followed by a tide of skittering somethings crawling up his legs. But that did not matter.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

And Cyrus kept moving without thought. Each step synchronized with the rhythm of the ever-pulsing heart. Deeper and deeper he went. Was he in a tunnel? A cave? Some godsforsaken pit?

It didn't matter.

Cyrus felt his flesh bitten by those skittering things. He felt something warm stream from down his eyes. But it didn't matter. Just keep walking.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

Time passed in the unending darkness. After an eternity of numbing agony and obscurity, a dazed Cyrus suddenly found himself away from the void and into the light. Before him stood a vast throne room of golden white. The addled Cyrus looked around, taking in the ornate furnishings and pillars surrounding him. Lining the walls were banner strands and tapestries, each holding unknowable designs made from golden threading that shifted from one moment to the next.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze onto the statues below them. Each was depicted as a winged, angelic being with an indiscernible face. But that didn't matter.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

Cyrus ignored the majesty around him and slowly sifted his gaze along the pure white marble floors and onto the red carpet that led toward the heart of this place—the ivory throne. Furnished with golden ornate carvings, it stood on top of marbled steps, where a luminous ray landed as if blessed by the heavens. Even still, it did not matter. Only the woman who sat upon it did.

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

The pulsing beats quickened the closer Cyrus drew. And he paid no mind to the runes that flittered around him, glittering like jewels. No, only she mattered. One step. Two. Before long, he stood at the base of the steps, gazing up at her.

And she was beautiful. With golden-wheat long hair draped to the side, she was as faceless as the angels lined the walls and painted the ceilings. Yet her simple white dress and presence exuded a tranquil aura. Was she in a serene slumber? She appeared to be sleeping on the armrest. Was she waiting for someone? Did it matter?

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

Cyrus stepped upwards without a single thought, no mind to what he was doing. He drew closer and closer. And once he was before her, Cyrus tenderly bestowed a gentle caress akin to a lover's touch.

However...

Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum

...All the love poured into that caress did not matter when he slashed her neck with an obsidian dagger.

***

"What happened?"

Cyrus groaned. Slowly, his fluttered gaze opened, and he glanced around, only to jerk backward at the sight of the ever-frozen Caitríona standing before him. Under the lone spotlight and surrounding darkness, the two remained locked in sight until Cyrus recovered.

"I can move?" Cyrus asked, gaze widening. "I can move!"

Quickly, he scrambled upwards, followed by checking over his body. What had happened? Wasn't he injured? And where was that thing? All he could remember was the tar spilling onto his face before he fell unconscious. Cyrus then looked around. And what luck! There was no monstrosity wearing—

—My face?! He pressed his hands over his features, tracing his curves and contours. Thank goodness.

Indeed. Cyrus was both fine and unharmed. And despite the hazy recall of what happened after he fell unconscious, Cyrus felt oddly at ease. But why? Questions for later. Shaking his head, he looked around. What should he do? Should he march right into the void?

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

No... Cyrus thought, turning towards the frozen woman, his gaze landing on that sickening expression of ecstasy. "I'm still alive, but I'm still stuck here with you."

Maybe she had the means to escape this place. Without hesitation, he began rifling through her pockets, hoping to find something useful.

"Wait. What's this?" Excited, Cyrus pulled out a silvery pendant in the shape of the two muses of comedy and tragedy. "A Symbol of their god?

Shaking his head, Cyrus tucked it into his pocket. Maybe he could perform some research or speak to Lord Dílis about it once he finds a way out—if he finds a way out. But after a minute of searching, Cyrus was left at a loss. Not even her leather satchel carried anything beneficial.

"Now what?" Cyrus looked around again before focusing on her soft, freckled features. "Don't tell me I have to..."

Groaning, he stepped back. Did Cyrus really have to kill the girl? Why? The flames he spewed on her earlier were a means of defense, not offense. And now that the adrenaline had subsided, all Cyrus could see was a frozen, powerless woman despite her cruel insanity.

Even now, he couldn't visualize himself killing her.

There has to be something, Cyrus thought, closing his eyes.

He recalled everything that had occurred earlier today. Maybe Caitríona had said something or used some weird magic? But nothing came to mind. Sighing, Cyrus returned his gaze toward her, his voice lowered into a whisper. "Perhaps rendering you unconscious will suffice."

Would it be enough? Only one way to find out...

"Let's get this over with," Cyrus muttered, his fists poised with a few practice punches into the air.

Would it take a single punch? After all, she was a mage... and very adept in com—the darkness shimmered around the spotlight. Before Cyrus could react, a million different voices spoke from the void.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." the voices paused for some sick attempt at dramatic effect. "Please enjoy Act One: Doubt!" Then, the applause returned.

The next moment, Cyrus clutched at his head, straining at the pounding and screeching inside his skull. Unbeknownst to him, a black sigil melded on his forehead. It shifted and churned into a myriad of unstable glyphs.

Meanwhile, a thousand voices drowned Cyrus' thoughts. They told him incomprehensible and incredible things. Things to come—everything stopped. Yes. It was all clear now.

Slowly, a listless Cyrus, his gaze cloudy, turned toward the frozen girl. How could he not have known? It seemed so silly that he hadn't realized this earlier. Thanks to it, Cyrus had finally found his purpose after all these years of searching.

And that was to kill Caitríona.

***

"What happened?" Caitríona looked around, her gaze scanning the floor where Cyrus had been pinned just moments ago.

Wasn't her god supposed to appear before the two and reward her for her faith? But now, he was nowhere to be se—she melded into the darkness. The next moment, a fiery burst landed where she once stood. Thankfully, her instructor trained her to meld inside the darkness once the void orb was used, or she would have been lit up in flames.

"Cyrus?" She walked along the gloam haze, her gaze trained on the glossy-eyed man. "How did you escape?"

There was no response.

Caitríona frowned in confusion. This was not part of the script. Maybe he, too, had some illusion glamour on his person? But was that the case? Cyrus had never used it before in her dreams. Moreover, Caitríona had sensed the watchful gaze of her god earlier, indicating that her plans were unfolding as intended. Well, it doesn't matter. All she needed to do was defeat Cyrus once and for all and offer him a tribute. Yes, everything was still in her grasp.

"Giving me the silent treatment, Hun?" Caitríona broke into a smirk, slowly striding towards him through the dark folds of reality. "Aww, don't be like that. You're going to make me cry."

She will teach him the consequences of hurting her feelings. And who knows? Maybe she'll be bumped up to a specialist once she's done with him. The idea made her shiver with excitement.

This time, I'll ruin that handsome face of yours, she playfully mused as she focused her mana.

Her hand wreathed in darkness, silently stretching toward his face. This time, she would claw those pretty steel-blue eyes out. That way, Cyrus would be left powerless. After all, he wasn't even an apprentice.

What a loser.

But Caitríona was wrong. The instant she drew close, she was dazzled by the blinding radiance igniting from both his gaze and mouth.

"Wha—" She shrieked as his attack dispelled her dark abilities, forcing her out of the void.

Caitríona was left momentarily stunned. How was he able to do that? His affinity for his domains should be weak and unable to suppress her—Cyrus' fist connected squarely to her nose, sending her stumbling backward.

"How the fuck did you do that?!" Caitríona groaned, scrambling upwards.

Again, no response. However, that didn't stop her screaming in anger. This wasn't supposed to happen. While light was supposed to counter darkness, she far surpassed Cyrus by mage standards. After all, she was on the brink of ascending to the third rank! Furthermore, she brimmed with hundreds of gifted dark runes, and her faith in her god bolstered her affinity to darkness!

But there it was, mocking Caitríona in the face. And worst of all, so long as Cyrus kept channeling his light onto her, her dark powers were null and void!

"No matter," Caitríona said, wiping the blood trickling out of her nose, and retreated a few paces.

She didn't understand how he gained a backbone despite her dreams proving the opposite. But as long as she takes him down with her strength, this is just a tiny detour on her path of greatness. As her god had spoken, there was no other outcome; Cyrus was to be sacrificed.

So, the final fight began.

Undeterred by the dazzling light, she channeled her life runes to strengthen her body before rushing toward him. After all, it wasn't like a non-apprentice could duel-cast his flames and light.

Caitríona feinted a jab towards his neck, intending to follow through with a kick to his groin. However, to her shock, Cyrus swiftly evaded and seized her leg, delivering an elbow strike to her thigh, powerful enough to leave her gasping.

She was left momentarily dazed. But only for a moment, as she then twisted her hip with the intent to kick him in the head—a miss as Cyrus released her. She toppled backward, but she swiftly recovered.

Damn it. Why was this so difficult?! He's never fought a real fight in his entire life! And she should know. This was just another of the hundreds of beatdowns Caitríona had given him!

More moves were exchanged, and she soon realized she was fighting someone else—someone quiet and ruthless, effortlessly countering her moves and returning them in kind.

And why wasn't he saying anything?!

Shouldn't he have run out of mana by now? Caitríona began to panic as another strong punch landed squarely on her stomach. No, this has to end now.

A savage determination etched across her face, and she reached towards his eyes, intending to claw them out. However, she paled when Cyrus seized her hands and utilized his strength to draw her closer.

What was he doi—he punched her face. Once. Twice. Over and over again, the silent Cyrus punched her down. And slowly, her vision began to darken.

"Wait. Cyrus, stop. I give—urk." Another fist crashed into her face.

Caitríona had to die.

Her pleas to her lord remained unnoticed. And even when Cyrus' knuckles began to bleed, and her cries grew softer, he kept punching. How could this have happened?

Dazed and disoriented, Caitríona felt a hand seize her face and slam her forcefully onto the ground. Was it over? She hoped—prayed—that Cyrus was finished with her.

"Please, let me go..." she sputtered, blood escaping her lips.

Yet all hopes of escape shattered as a scream tore from her throat, terror mounting at the sight of Cyrus' hand illuminating her vision in a fiery, searing red.