The shelter Rey had built was quiet—too quiet.
He hadn't slept. Even underground, his mind wouldn't rest. The wall of realms haunted his thoughts, especially that ominous arrow pointing to the second realm. He didn't know who built it, or how old it was, but it confirmed the terrifying truth:
He didn't start at the bottom.
That meant every beast, every horror he'd met so far… belonged here—on the second realm. And he wasn't ready for that.
But ready or not, the Abyss didn't care.
Rey stepped out of the cave, weapon in hand. He had to move again. The wolves that chased him before would eventually catch his scent, and if they found his hideout, it would be over.
He scanned the horizon—cracked soil, dead trees, and those same crimson skies. There was no direction that felt right.
So he walked toward the quietest place he could find.
Hours passed. The dry jungle faded, replaced by something worse: emptiness. Not silence. Not peace. But a suffocating, echoing emptiness that pulled at his mind.
And then he saw it again.
The ruins.
But not from the side he entered before. This time, Rey stood at its rear. Black spires jutted out like spears, twisted and charred, forming a jagged ring. Cracks in the ground glowed faintly red—like the land itself was bleeding.
The air was thick. Unnatural.
Rey knew he should leave. But his feet moved anyway.
He passed under a broken archway and returned to the shadows of the ancient ruin. But something was different now. The place no longer felt dead—it watched him.
He moved slowly, step by step, following instinct rather than logic.
And then he found it.
In the very center of the ruins… a vast, circular chamber, surrounded by stone pillars covered in worn carvings. In the middle stood a monolith—black as void, untouched by time.
Rey approached.
Each step felt heavier, as if the air itself thickened around him. And when he stood before the monolith, his breath caught.
Carved into the wall above it… was a mural.
A great chasm.
Nine realms—each one larger than the last. Beasts. War. Flames. Shadows. And in the deepest realm, a throne made of bones.
It wasn't just a mural.
It was a history.
And possibly… a prophecy.
Rey stared at it for a long time.
He didn't understand the full meaning—but he recognized pain. Struggle. Isolation.
And a path that only led deeper.
Then, something flickered.
At the base of the monolith, faintly glowing, was a single handprint—made of blood.
Rey didn't touch it.
He couldn't.
Instead, he turned around.
And walked away.
Not because he wasn't curious. But because, for the first time since he entered this nightmare world…
He was afraid of what he might become.
As he exited the ruin, the wind howled again.
Rey didn't look back.
His eyes were hollow, and his cheeks stained by silent tears.
He didn't cry for home.
Or his lost life.
He cried because a part of him knew: there was no going back.
This world wasn't just a prison.
It was becoming a part of him.
And as he stepped into the lifeless dust once more, his shadow stretched long under the red moonlight—
Alone.
Determined.
Changed.
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