The monstrosity's wounded but it wasn't dead. And it's angry.
"Clever... Oh! But it's hurt... IT'S HURT!" it gurgled, its movements becoming even more erratic. "Why you hurt me?! I just want... to play... WHY HURT ME!!"
The walls around them began to pulse, the lockers rattling as though something inside wanted out. Nyx realized with dawning horror that his attack might have made things worse.
A new sound joined the chaos, distant, rhythmic knocking coming from one of the classroom doors. Then a whisper.
"Come this way. Quickly."
Nyx familiar with that voice. It's the unseen, mysterious woman's.
So he ran. Chasing the voice.
Her whispers wouldn't stop. It's soft but urgent, coiled around Nyx's thoughts like smoke, guiding him through the endless, shifting halls.
"Left... now right... keep moving..."
He didn't know who she was. Didn't know if she was even real. But with the monstrosity's ragged breath and the tack-thuk of its steps still hunting him, he had no choice but to listen.
The hallway twisted, walls stretched like wet gum, until suddenly...
A door on the cracked wall.
Ancient oak, carved with symbols that squirmed under his gaze. A heavy brass knob, cold to the touch. And that aura... thick, cloying, like the air before a storm. It pressed against his skin, whispering in a language he couldn't understand.
Wrong. This is wrong.
Nyx's fingers hovered over the knob. Every instinct screamed at him to turn away from this wooden door.
However.
TACK. THUK.
The monstrosity rounded the corner, its wounded faceless head tilted, cleaver-arm dragging sparks against the floor.
The woman's voice turned sharp.
"OPEN IT NOW!"
Nyx wrenched the door open, flung himself forward, and stumbled into silence. The door slammed shut behind him, vanishing as if it had never been.
He stood in a library, grand library.
Endless shelves stretched into darkness, books of every size and color lining the walls, some bound in leather, others in what looked like... human skin? The air smelled of dust and something metallic.
And in the center of the room, behind the receptionist desk, bathed in the sickly glow of a lone oil lamp, sat a figure.
A woman in a nun-like habit.
Pale. Smiling.
The upper part of her face hidden by the shadow, but Nyx knew she looked at him.
"Welcome, sir," she murmured. "You've been expected."
Nyx's hands clenched at his sides, the chair leg still gripped tight. His voice came out raw, edged with fear and frustration. "Who are you? Why did you bring me here?"
The woman's smile didn't waver. Slowly, she lifted a finger to her red lips, not in a shushing motion, but as if savoring a delicious secret.
"Names have power here, sir," she murmured. "Best not to give yours away so easily."
A rustling noise came from the shelves. Nyx flinched, half-expecting another monster, but it was just the books, their spines shifting slightly, as if restless.
The woman tilted her head. "You want answers. But first, tell me, do you know where you are?"
Nyx swallowed hard. "In my dream, a nightmare. Some how I can't wake up."
"Not even close," she said, amused. "This is the Night Realm. A reflection of the waking world, where forgotten fear, hideous sins, and misshapen tale take shape. And you, sir, are one of the Tainted."
Hearing that unfamiliar term sent a chill down his spine. "What do you mean tainted?"
She chuckled, low and knowing. "The Night Realm remembers all who walk its lands. Especially those who survive long enough to be... stained, thus the Tainted."
The woman grown silent and then smiled.
Before Nyx could press further, a distant thud echoed through the library, like something heavy hitting the door that was no longer there.
The monstrosity, it hadn't given up! Nyx thought, unsure how he knows it.
The woman sighed, as if annoyed by the interruption. "Ah. It seems your playmate has followed your scent."
Nyx's grip tightened on the chair leg. "What do I do?"
"You have two choices, sir. You can keep running... or you can learn—"
To fight back. She left the last part unspoken, but Nyx understands nonetheless.
Her pale hand drifted toward a book on the table, its cover dark wine, its pages brittle with age.
"The first lesson is always painful. It might just save your life or harm it." She opened the book, presented it to Nyx. "Now touch the page, and you'll be surprised by what it's have, exclusively, just for you."
Nyx took a step back, shaking his head. "No. I'll not partake in whatever is this about."
The woman's smile didn't falter, but something in the air shifted, a subtle tension, like the moment before a storm breaks. However, it soon gone as fast as it's come.
"As you wish," she said, her voice a whisper of amusement. "But remember this, the Night Realm is not so easy to escaped from, it hides dangers in its every corner. Without your card, you're like a candle flame in the middle of a storm."
Nyx turned away, ignoring her along with the book she offered, and strode into the labyrinth of shelves. He stalked between towering book shelves, scanning for exits, vents, anything that could lead him out of this place. But the deeper he went, the more the library seemed to twist in on itself, aisles looping back in impossible ways. Every row he passed looked the same, endless tomes with titles that slithered out of focus when he tried to read them. Ladders stretching up into darkness with no ceiling in sight.
No doors.
No windows.
Just endless books and the oppressive weight of silence.
His breath came faster, panic clawing at his ribs, his heart beating crazy. He picked up his pace. The Phantasm was still out there, and this place was a dead end. He needed an exit. Now. But the fact is, he was trapped.
Exhausted, Nyx slumped against a shelf, pressing his palms to his eyes. Think! There has to be a way out.
He lost on his own mind, heedless to what's around him.
A whisper of fabric. The scent of something faintly floral, just like a morning rose.
Nyx's head snapped up.
The woman stood before him, close enough to touch. He hadn't heard her approach. Hadn't even sensed her presence until she was right there, in front of his eyes, noses almost touching.
"Lost, sir?"
Nyx froze. Up close, he could see the truth he'd missed before, her eyelids were sewn shut!
Thin black stitches crisscrossed the delicate, pale skin, pulling her lashes together in a grotesque mockery of rest. Yet despite that, he felt her gaze, heavy, knowing, relentless.
Nyx recoiled, nearly tripping over his own feet. "What the hell are you?"
She tilted her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her red lips.
"A guide, a prisoner, a keeper of stories," she said. Her stitched eyelids twitched. "And now, unfortunately for you sir... your only chance."
Behind them, the distant tapping steps came again, closer this time.
The monstrosity was inside the library.
Nyx's breath came sharp and fast, his back pressed against the shelves as if they could somehow protect him. The tack-thuk-tack of the monstrosity's approach vibrated through the floor.
"Enough riddles," Nyx growled, turning on the stitched-eyed woman. "You brought me here. Now get me out."
For the first time, her smile faded. The flame of oil lamp on her hand guttered, casting jagged shadows across her face.
"Out of this library? That's easy. But I know that's what you mean. You want to get out off this dream of yours, the nightmare, the Night Realm. I... I can't help you... you need to search it yourself."
"..." Nyx couldn't says anything under her forlorn voice.
"To tell you, sir. There is no 'out,'" she murmured. "Not truly. The Night Realm doesn't let go it's dwellers so easily."
Nyx's stomach dropped. "There's always a way."
The woman lifted her pale hand, caressed his cheek gently.
Nyx wants to slap her hand away, but he can't. Her touch. Why he thinks it's so familiar, makes him yearn for more. He swore he never meet this woman before.
"Some doors only open once. Some paths only appear when the story demands it." Her stitched eyelids twitched again. "You want escape? Then you must pay the price, but I'm afraid you can't afford it"
The tapping footsteps grew louder and faster.
Nyx's pulse roared in his ears. "What price?"
The woman's lips parted, just as the shelves exploded behind her.
Wood splintered. Pages scattered like frightened birds.
And there, framed by the wreckage, stood the monstrosity. Its wounded faceless head cocked, cleaver-arm raised, a form of intimidation and clear hostility.
"Found you, friend," it rasped.