Deep within the light that devoured every presence, a blackened, charred body convulsed. It showed movement it had long forgotten. Then, with a sudden burst, a new realm gate opened, and a woman with black hair and crimson eyes stepped out.
The glaring rays of the sun had no effect on her. She turned toward the doorway, beyond which the sun burned, and walked through it.
Suddenly, the blazing sun convulsed and its hue changed. It turned black. Burning with fear, it caused the entire hallway to writhe.
Creak.
The hallway began to fracture.
Creak.
Reality trembled, and a sharp, breaking sound echoed through the space.
The loop was broken. The charred body moved and stood upright. Slowly, it began to restore itself, piece by piece.
Moments later, a figure leapt from a building, landing hard on the roof of another.
He turned back to look at the structure he had escaped from. It burned in black flames, groaning like a living thing. Its cries filled the eastern sector with fear and horror.
"Black fire," he murmured, watching the inferno consume the building. "The fire that burns with fear."
The system displayed a window before him.
[Summon time remaining: 3 seconds]
He turned toward the mist filled city. The mist here was much thinner than in the southern sector. Taking the thin air in his lungs, he slowly made his way toward the streets. The groaning building behind him had likely already drawn the attention of the ruler's lackeys and the other powerhouses of the eastern sector. Rosacer did not linger.
He disappeared into the mist.
He tried to limit his use of Ananta. It was not easy to calculate, and more importantly, he had just learned that the passage it used for teleportation existed within non reality. He did not know what kind of repercussions moving through such a space might bring.
For now, he chose to avoid using it.
He checked to see if anyone was following him, deliberately trailing in circles around several streets. After noticing no one in particular, he entered a building.
Inside, it was lit with lights. Not the flames used in the southern sector. These were electric lights. Their power source was unknown to him, but the glow was familiar.
It was the same kind of light as the modern world he had once been part of.
A clerk sat behind the desk. The building appeared to be a lodge.
The clerk was a man in his forties, perhaps. There were no visible mutations on his body, at least at first glance.
As Rosacer entered, the man raised his head, which had been glued to the book in his hands. The title read: Sculptress and Sculptor.
"Welcome, sir," he said with a smile.
His hair was grey, his beard the same. With narrow eyes and spectacles perched on his nose, he carried a scholarly air.
Rosacer returned the smile. "Is there an empty room, perhaps?"
The clerk smiled again as he pulled out a register and a quill. "Yes."
"Please sign your name here, sir," he said, pointing to an empty spot in the register.
"The price for one night, no meals included, is one vial."
It was dirt cheap. The problem was that Rosacer did not ways to earn more vials. He rarely used them, but he still needed them if he wanted to stay awake.
He had obtained a total of ten vials from a southern sector merchant in exchange for the heart of a snake with a human face. After consuming one, he now had nine left.
He signed his name in the ledger as the clerk behind the desk handed him a key. The room number etched into it read 33.
"Your room is 33," the clerk said.
Rosacer nodded as he handed over the vial and took the key.
He had already mastered the use of his inventory. By slipping his hand into his coat and calling the system, he could pull an item directly from storage. To anyone watching, it looked as though he had simply taken it from inside his coat.
The clerk accepted the vial and placed it into a chest to his right.
Key in hand, Rosacer moved toward the hallway. A staircase led to the upper floor. The building had no concept of elevators. He already knew this and did not bother to ask, though he wished it had one. He was more tired than he wanted to admit.
If I don't sleep, I might start to mutate like the people of this city, he thought, a trace of sadness passing through him.
Rosacer climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking under his weight in the old building. There was no trace of the yellow mold he saw everywhere in the southern sector.
He sighed in relief, "Good… I don't have to see that devil art." Though he despised the yellow fungus, he was secretly grateful for it—it had saved his life once, even if he had ultimately been killed by traps set unbeknownst to him.
His footsteps echoed a bit too loudly in the narrow hallway, reminding him just how silent the lodge was. Still, he was relieved to hear no steps trailing behind him, no whispers seeping through the walls plotting against him.
The corridor on the upper floor was long and straight, lit by pale electric lamps fixed at even intervals. Their light hummed faintly. Doors lined both sides, each marked with etched numbers. He counted as he walked.
Thirty one. Thirty two.
He stopped before thirty three.
The key slipped in with ease, and the lock clicked open with a muted thud that seemed weightier than expected.
Rosacer paused for a moment before entering, his senses stretched, waiting for something to react.
Thankfully, nothing reacted.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, muttering something under his breath. The room was simple—a narrow bed tucked against the wall, a wooden table with a lone chair, and a small window overlooking the misty streets below. Overhead, the electric light flickered once before settling into a steady glow.