He was falling, falling from a height so vast that even the word abyss felt like a frail whisper against the truth. The world above had already dissolved into a pinprick of brightness, swallowed whole by the fathomless plunge.
The wind battered his face with merciless hands, flattening his breath, hurling his hair and green-striped cloak backward as though the gale itself sought to tear him from his own skin.
The descent was endless. Through the sheer cliffs of a mesa, a towering rock formation that rose vertically like some ancient, petrified titan… all flashing past in a blur. He plummeted deeper and deeper into the chasm, his scream ripping from his throat until it cracked raw, yet still the drop did not end.
Through his blurred gaze, Simma caught sight of something beneath him; an immense whirlpool of energy, a storm made flesh. It churned like a colossal tornado, black and white currents twisting into a ravenous spiral.
Lightning, which were jagged, storm-born, and blindingly white, lashed within it, sparking with thunderous snarls that shook the very marrow of his bones.
He threw his arms over his face as the storm swallowed him whole. The howling funnel was no mere tempest, it was a portal. He plunged through its furious mouth and slammed into its core, crashing to the ground with a force that rattled his soul.
Simma staggered to his feet, legs trembling. His wish for the fall to end had been granted, yet the price was a landing so violent that lesser men might have slipped into unconsciousness. Even imagining such a descent was enough to wring breath from lungs, surviving it felt almost unnatural, as though fate itself had chosen not to crush him.
Before he could steady his racing heart, the voice of his ES flickered into his ear, broken and warped like a candle guttering in the wind:
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[Second tournament successful]
[Final tournament in progress]
[Location: Soulnex…nex…soul…]
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His ES started glitching weirdly, and it left him confused with only one question in his head: What the hell is going on?
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[Location: Soul…..nex…x…..]
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The glitching jarred him, twisting his stomach into knots. His eyes narrowed. Soulnex? he thought. But the words warped again, shattering into something darker:
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[Location: …Demon's Lair]
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What's going on with my ES? he asked himself. Yet again, the ES had wanted to say "Soulnexer's Lair," but now it glitched and wound up saying Demon's Lair.
His blood chilled. 'Demon's Lair... Impossible'. No way that was the drill. He wasn't even an Azren yet, and already he was hurled into the most abominable den of Waithraites. A place where demons with three soul cores prowled, beasts whose very breath reeked of death.
The thought clawed through him. His ES was broken, his trials rigged. First Draco's treachery, now this. Was the entire tournament corrupted? Or was this all a surprise party thrown by the board of W.O.O.D.?
His heart clenched at the thought of Sarah and Lucy, and the other recruits. Including the one that had just woken up and wanted him dead, Draco.
'Were they too flung into such nightmares?' He prayed Sarah had endured. If he became an Azren, she was the only one he would wish to share that triumph with whole heartedly.
Simma dragged his gaze across the world around him. The air shimmered with a red, molten aura, as if unseen rivers of lava bled their glow into the atmosphere. The land was jagged and cruel, fissured with yawning cracks like scars left by earthquakes. Each breath he drew felt thick, almost metallic, as though the place itself resisted him.
Apart from the rough air he was breathing, the place was empty and wide, with only a twin crimson moon which hung like watchful eyes, their light draping the world in a sinister scarlet halo, adding to the already red aura of the place, as its lights stretched through the far hills at the other horizons.
Ahead, a towering gate loomed; iron and mahogany, its surface so polished it glistened with a cruel elegance.
The earth trembled as its massive halves groaned apart, opening wide enough for a hundred men.
Simma looked around. He guessed maybe that would be the next tournament, and the only way to know if his guess was right was to check it out himself. So, therefore, he walked towards the gate and through it.
Simma stared with utmost shock and misunderstanding. Beyond the gate still held the same red aura, the same ground, but not the same quietness. For deep voices cut through like a sharp axe tearing into Simma's ears and causing his stomach to give a lurch.
That sound was like people cheering and hailing, except now, it was not people but demons.
Still confused, he thought of the reason why he was sent here. Was it to die? Since nothing else had happened; no hint, puzzles, trials, nothing else but him hearing demon voices.
These voices weren't close, though. They were far. And from the place he was, which seemed high. His vantage point revealed a vast settlement beyond, where dark towers clustered around a monstrous citadel that reigned at its heart.
That was where the voices swelled, an ocean of demons roaring in unison.
So, therefore, right where he was, no one was there except him and the gate, well, not counting Miss Shady, who was in the shadows.
He took a step forward. Since he thought maybe it was because he had been standing in the middle of the gate, that maybe it was the reason he had not heard his ES, but even after he entered fully and had walked to the heart of the deserted place that led into the main city of demons, still he heard nothing.
Or so he thought, for now, because he heard something…. something that sounded like the tearing of flesh.
And there he was, thinking he was all alone. But right beside the wall that held the gate he had just passed was a demon feeding on something.
Simma didn't actually see its feast clearly. But it didn't matter now, for the demon had made eye contact with him.
Simma shivered. It was as though all those fears he held back when those eyes were asking him riddles back at Zolomon's maze came rushing back. The demon was something that would probably add to his nightmares, even triple them.
It had this ugly face that looked like the sketching of a sadistic god, layered with extra eyes that blinked in disjointed rhythms. Where a nose should be were two slits, breathing foul vapours. And below that slit noses is the; fang-lined maws dripping scarlet.
Its limbs were wrong, grotesquely elongated, the forelimbs long and dragging like monstrous crutches. From its back jutted two additional arms, straddling a spine that hissed with each breath.
It gave Simma a loud…
Grrrrrrrr.
As though they had been quarrelling for ages.
Simma's eyes were transfixed on the demon, his heart pounding against his ribs, his lungs as flat as a wall and seeming as though they could hardly contain enough air. His breath was now rising and falling rapidly, and he was sure that even ten oxygen masks might not rejuvenate him.
The demon had left its former meal.
Who wouldn't leave a cold pizza for a hot one?
It started making funny and dangerous steps toward Simma.
Gods, that was not how he wanted to die… No, not as some meat for some stupid demon. But..
BOOM.
The beast lunged, claws gouging the scarred earth, flinging soil as if the ground itself protested.
Simma's heart skipped; he could swear his skeleton nearly fled his body. He staggered backward, weaponless, the raw terror in his chest screaming at him to run. But the demon was faster. Its charge a blur of hate, and mealtime predicament.
In a blink, the demon had covered the distance, and with a bloody leap it dived at Simma; front limbs stretching for his throat.
But instinct struck. No way all his training was in vain. Quickly, he rolled underneath the beast as it grabbed thin air and landed on the floor, its four legs screeching it to a halt.
Filled with agility it spun, and snarled, drool spattering the ground in hot crimson strings. Hunger for Simma's taste burned in its gaze.
Simma just hoped it didn't signal other demons. But looking at the anger on the demon's face, how it looked hungry, and how badly it wanted him, he kinda felt like the demon wouldn't call anyone but would want to feast on him alone. But that is if he made it easy for him.
That said, the demon was back on its track, aiming for Simma once more. But this time, its movement confused him. It galloped toward him in a zigzag running pattern, causing Simma not to know where it was attacking from.
And before Simma could wrap his head around what was happening, the demon had dived at him. Its claws seized him, slamming him onto the ground with crushing weight.
Pain exploded across his body, and blood and saliva rained from the demon's jaws as it lowered its fangs toward his flesh, its sharp maws telling Simma it was going to graze him now.
Simma found himself fighting to free himself. He writhed…. still trapped, lungs screaming for air, but the beast pressed harder, savouring his struggle.
Its maws were inches away from tearing his chest open and…
Puuuum!
A thunderous BOOM split the air.
The demon was blasted from atop him, flung like a ragdoll into the iron gate, its grotesque form smacking stone with a sickening crack.
Simma blinked, gasping. Relief flooded him as his eyes darted to the shadows.
Ms. Shady had just arrived.