Hallux City — Orteils District, Pied Prefecture, Kingdom of Gaulia.
December 6th, Year 1453 of the Henovic Calendar.
It was late at night in the city, and a crimson moon hung high up in the sky; the frosty winter air swept through the dense expanse of snow-covered trees and greenery, gently rocking them back and forth.
The towering trees were scattered all across the place, their roots splitting foundations and their branches twisting through broken windows of the dilapidated buildings. Dense, snow-covered greenery decorated the buildings; the vines and moss nearly outnumbered the remaining pieces of the buildings. Despite the state of the place, there was little trash or dirt, just rubble.
Snowflakes drifted and fell gently, covering everything in a thick layer of snow. The snow, bathed in a distinct crimson hue, danced through the air; there were few streetlights around these parts, leaving it up to the moon to illuminate the surroundings. Avenue De Phalange in particular was especially barren of streetlights, leaving it nearly entirely illuminated by the moon's soft red light.
The air was sharp and frigid, biting at the skin and burning the lungs. At the same time, a dry and chalky scent drifted through the air. It was a putrid stench that wafted through the air. It was a sweet but sickly scent of sulfur and rotten meat, with a slight hint of iron and decay.
The further one ventured into Avenue De Phalange, the more unbearable the stench became, with every step revealing another layer of decay.
Frozen corpses lay strewn about in the avenue, decayed and half-buried in snow, some hanging out of windows, hidden in rubble and greenery. Few survived the harshness of winter; many succumbed to illness and starvation.
As a result, the place slowly became associated with death and poverty; many tramps began to use it as a final resting place. The locals had begun to refer to Avenue De Phalange as Le Cimetière Des Pauvres, the poor man's graveyard.
Though as the times changed and the comforting glow of the streetlights became the norm in the city, fewer and fewer people frequented the area. By the end of the war against the Alleshkenaz Empire, large parts of the city had been completely decimated, and only so many places could be repaired with the little money the kingdom had left after losing the war; certain areas were simply forgotten.
Avenue De Phalange had become lonely and desolate, accompanied only by the insects, wandering animals, and the occasional scavenger or tramp who served only to add more corpses to the avenue's graveyard. But now, with the harsh winter winds having scared off even them, all that was left there was an eerie silence and motionless, decaying corpses.
Among the many decrepit buildings, only one of them remained intact. All its windows were broken; glass fragments scattered across the snow near them. A metal plate hung above its half-broken door frame; it read: "Room-001".
Sitting right by the door, hidden by a coat of snow, was a severed androgynous head. Its eyes were closed and swollen, and its long, messy head of black, nose-length hair was damp and slick with a greasy substance, like wax. Its pale-white face, untouched by the passage of time, gleamed with resplendent crimson light.
Suddenly, the countless lamp posts lining the street began to flicker as if fighting something, before turning off completely, drowning the entire avenue in darkness. The darkness shifted, thickening with every passing second. Even the crimson moonlight seemed to retreat, as though darkness itself had swallowed the sky.
Suddenly, from within Room-001, the only intact building remaining on the street, a scream tore through the darkness.
After several moments, the darkness receded, returning the avenue to its previous state. However, the corpses had vanished. In their place stood wooden figurines, each carved in perfect imitation of the dead—their positions, their wounds, even their expressions preserved. Some still wore expressions of terror.
Except for a single fresh corpse, hidden within Room-001. A strong metallic smell seeped out of the building's windows and into the figurines. As it drifted into the air, it condensed into a string of bloody red symbols.
"All of us will die, including me."
Abruptly, the eyes of the figurines opened, glowing bright red. Their heads turned slowly; all of their gazes fell upon a singular spot.
Room-001.
...
He awoke within a dimly lit room. It was sparsely decorated; black-and-white floral wallpaper adorned the walls without anything else in sight. Its only furniture was a brass-frame bed with a simple mattress draped in a thin blanket that would do little during winter's harsh reign.
As consciousness returned to him, the first thing he noticed was the overwhelming metallic taste in his mouth and the burning pain in his eyes. As he opened his teary eyes and drew in a breath, a putrid odor assaulted his nose. The stench was reminiscent of burnt powder, but with a hint of iron, and it clawed at his throat. He wanted to cough and throw up all at once.
It was then that a horrible pain assaulted him; it felt as if someone was carving into his forehead with a scalpel. He tossed to and fro like he was having a seizure. His field of view was saturated with myriad colors and impossible geometries. Even with his eyes shut tight, he could still see. Colors bounced around his field of view chaotically.
Then his body violently jerked, recoiling back into the wall. His body collapsed against it, limp.
...