Saa'ir’s gaze narrows as he surveys his surroundings, his cautious steps echoing within the shadowed hallway. into the shadowed corner of the hallway, the cool stone beneath his feet giving way to an eerie, unsettling stillness.
As he rounds the corner, his eyes widen with confusion—he’s greeted by an exact replica of the hallway he just left. Every detail is identical: the cold gray stone and the flickering torches casting long, wavering shadows.
A chill creeps up his spine as he takes this in. "What did it mean." he mutters to himself, recalling the entity’s parting words. 'The girl’s hatred lurks in every corner.'
He clenches his fists, steadying his breath, but there's no denying the gnawing unease building within him. This place is dangerous, far more dangerous than he bargained for.
The truth sinks in as his mind reels, piecing together the clues: the repeated hallways, the relentless tension, the oppressive shadows. He isn’t just in any place, this is that girl's mind—Giona's mind.
"A nightmare..." The thought passed through Saa'ir's mind. It was a dark corner of her subconscious, corrupted and coiled in on itself, a nightmare come to life.
Saa'ir closes his eyes, feeling the pulse of malice woven into the very fabric of this place. He senses it in the air, thick and unyielding, an unspoken anguish taking form in every stone. Whatever entity he encountered—it wasn’t just taunting him; it was also giving him a cruel warning.
The girl’s negativity had turned against her, shaping this labyrinthine prison that he now found himself trapped in. It was a stomach-churning sight—a sign of the clear trauma she had suffered. A perverse corruption of innocence, turning her raw, unhealed emotions into walls, corners, and endless hallways, that served only to nurture her despair.
More than that, he could feel that the entity had rooted itself deeply into this place. It may have not been the maker, but it's feeding on and using her own darkest feelings as weapons, like some parasite.
Just like any parasite though, it both needs their suitable host to stay alive and, most importantly, a habitable environment. This labyrinth of negativity would be a perfect place for such an entity.
Saa'ir lets out a slow breath, opening his eyes and steeling himself. If he’s right, then the entity is drawing him deeper into this nightmare, hoping to disorient him, to weaken him, before it strikes again. All so he can't interfere with what it has planned.
Grimly, he places his hand on the cold stone, grounding himself, focusing. "If this is a nightmare, then there’s a way out—only known to her."
Right on cue, Saa'ir heard the girl's voice, echoing from a great distance. Her voice trembled with desperation, her words fragmented, barely audible. “Dama… Please...help…” her tone is heavy with fear, each word weighted with the kind of vulnerability that twists at Saa'ir’s heart.
Then he hears another voice—a softer, boyish sound, carrying a determination that seems almost surreal against the oppressive silence of the place. “I’m here, Giona!” His words cut through the darkness like a fragile but persistent thread, filled with a courage that seems out of place, but undeniably real.
Saa'ir frowns, feeling a strange mix of confusion and unease. The hallway around him seemed to shift, the shadows flickering as if responding to Dama’s words.
"This isn't right... What is a boy doing here? Dama and... Giona?" Saa'ir thought to himself, questions flooding his mind. What confused him further was the fact he could almost feel a heartbeat in the stone itself. It pulsed in time with Dama’s vow to reach Giona, as if the nightmare is reacting to their connection.
In the silence that follows, Saa'ir then heard a faint, mocking laughter in the air. A low, sinister and garbled sound—it was the entity's laugh. The malice within it spoke volumes. "Oh no...! Don't tell me that thing is going after...!?"
As a wave of dread crashed over the ghostly guardian, Saa'ir steadied himself. He exhaled as he reached deep into his soul, letting his energy flow like a steady current through his hand into the cold stone floor beneath him. "Sensori La Darshita!" he intoned, allowing his spirit to resonate, seeking out any trace of life amidst this shadow-infested place.
The darkness pushes back, thick and resistant, veiling everything in a stifling haze of malice and confusion. It twists around him, purposefully dulling his senses, drowning his vision in a shadowy fog.
But Saa'ir persists, intensifying his focus, letting his soulura radiate outward like a continuous pulse. Then, finally, a glimmer breaks through.
A warm light emerges, pulsing from somewhere within the labyrinth. Saa'ir narrows his focus, sensing its nature. This light is different—unusually radiant, almost untainted.
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It’s with no doubt the boy’s soul, untouched by darkness. A pure soul, glowing with a warmth that Saa'ir felt he hadn’t sensed in ages. Even here, in this twisted nightmare, the boy’s soul shines like a beacon.
Yet just as he begins to draw comfort from this purity, something else catches his attention. Another light, then another—a pair of souls flaring to life within the shadows, bright akin to, yet also distinct from the boy’s.
These two lights weren’t simply pure; they held an intriguing quality to them. Saa'ir’s brows knitted in fascination as he concentrates on these two new souls.
Though each has its own unique soulura, they are undeniably linked to each other and the boy's soul, almost as if they were extensions of the boy himself.
They draw from his strength, his essence, as if his soul served as their source, their anchor. It's as if they’re bound to him, relying on his soul to fuel their existence and sustain their own energies.
Saa'ir’s heart quickens as the realization sinks in. These souls are untouched by the darkness here, meaning they didn't belong, yet each a testament to innocence and willpower even in this nightmare realm.
As Saa'ir sharpens his senses, he reaches out once more for the girl’s soul, the young, haunted presence that had drawn him here. But it’s gone, seemingly erased from his perception.
A scowl tugs at his brow, and he grits his teeth in frustration. This could only be the work of that malevolent entity, its darkness somehow smothering her soul’s energy, blocking him from any chance of finding her.
Shifting his focus, Saa'ir directs his energy toward the remaining souls he detected, seeking the nearest one. He finds one close by, but it’s moving—fast.
The soul blazes down unseen pathways, darting with an intensity and swiftness that suggests it’s searching, desperate, or perhaps even running from something.
Without a second thought, Saa'ir rises, his feet barely touching the ground as he hurtles forward, his soulura surging like a jet stream behind him.
The labyrinth blurs around him as he navigates corner after corner, a relentless drive pushing him toward the elusive soul. The identical stone walls and flickering torchlight are disorienting, but he stays locked onto that single point of light as his guide.
However, as he rounds one more corner, a fist flashes out. Saa'ir twists his body just in time, swaying sideways as the fist misses his face by a breath. His momentum breaks, and he tumbles, rolling onto the ground before flipping to his feet, alert.
He finds himself staring at the back of his attacker. The figure is shrouded in a black robe, the insignia of the Soul Divination Council emblazoned on its back.
Saa'ir's brow furrowed in contemplation, a wave of recognition giving way to a flicker of past memories."That symbol... It looks so familiar, yet something's...off..."
After a short moment, the figure slowly turned around to face Saa'ir. The shadowed figure's face was obscured, a pool of darkness where its features should be.
Saa'ir’s instincts jolted to high alert. He steps back, noticing five other similarly cloaked figures surrounding him, each face hidden in shadows. They are uniform in appearance, like specters born from the same abyss.
His mind raced, grasping for any clue as to who, or what, these beings might be. "I couldn't sense them at all...! They're not human, that's for certain, but still...just what are these things?"
Each stands poised with an eerie stillness, their darkened faces devoid of any expression, yet emanating a silent, unnerving intent.
Instinctively, Saa'ir shifted his weight, his body lowering into a defensive stance.
He first rooted his feet and positioned them diagonally apart, one foot slightly forward and the other back, creating a sturdy base that allows him to shift weight quickly in any direction. His knees became bent, ensuring both agility and balance.
He raised his arms but remained relaxed, elbows tucked close to protect his sides while his hands remain open. His fingers spread for greater sensitivity to incoming movements.
His gaze sharpened to the levels of a top-grade sword, one that could stagger even the hardiest of foes. They were poised to tracking his opponents' every movement.
His shoulders and hips stayed loose, primed to redirect force rather than absorb it. He then adopted a slight forward lean in his stance, keeping his center of gravity low.
This stance was the product of a type of jujutsu, created to be practiced in the time of great peril. It allowed the practitioner's movements to flow into blocks, redirects, or evasive maneuvers, embodying a defense-first approach that turns their enemies’ energy against them.
Saa'ir's mind continued race, piecing together fragments of what he’s seen and sensed—the oppressive darkness, the blocked soul, and now these ominous figures. But then, he saw something that pieced it all together—the torches on the wall.
Like a lighthouse guiding a boat within the darkness and fog of the all consuming night, the torches revealed to Saa'ir just what exactly the figures were on the wall.
As the torches' light flickered and waved, shadows, including Saa'ir's, danced in tune. However, when it came to the figures, their shadows were no where to be seen. "So that is it! These things have no souls, which is why I couldn't sense them and why they don't cast a shadow on the wall. It'd be the other way around if we were in the real world."
Bringing his attention back to the figures, Saa'ir continued ot study them. "Not only that, but they must be manifestations of this nightmare. That's the danger that thing had warned me about! The lurking malice that saturates every corner of this twisted nightmare..."
The six robed figures stand motionless, their hidden faces unreadable, yet an intangible weight fills the air, pressing down on him with an eerie, hostile energy. Yet, Saa'ir didn't falter, his focus intense, scanning for any signs of movement or vulnerability.
But, these beings offered nothing, only silent, shrouded stares, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
With one deep breath, Saa'ir summoned his soulura, feeling its warmth course through his body—a flickering shield against the shadowed forces that close in on him.
In response, the six figures lurched forward without a sound. Their movements a distorted flow, like ripples of dark water crashing towards him.
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Next: (Chapter 60) Nightmarish Struggle