As reality wrapped around him once more, the man stood in a room filled with death. The floor of the room was filled with sigils and incantations, etched into interlocking circles. Whatever substance was used continued to writhe and pulse with a life of its own, climbing the walls, seeking communion with the ceiling.
An eerie stillness hung in the air, punctured only by a disembodied voice that now resided within his consciousness—a voice as clear and cool as a winter's night.
"Do you remember your name?" the voice probed.
He surveyed the room, his gaze falling upon the scattered bodies. "No," he confessed. That strange woman from before was in his head, sure. He'll deal with this later, once he's out of this place. First, strip the bodies. Scrapping bits of skull and grey matter off a cloak, ripping severed feet out of boots, it didn't matter. Survival took priority.
"Then for now, I'll call you Ultisz."
"Do you have a name? Who are you and how did you end up here?"
"I am Yulia, a mage who was imprisoned in the outer darkness years ago." That probably wasn't the whole truth, but again, later.
He pried a dagger out from stiffened fingers. Other more delicate implements had shattered in the backlash of whatever this ritual did. Piles of broken wood and splinters that may have been staves lied in pieces as well.
"Take up the lantern," Yulia directed him towards an intact artifact of blackened metal. "Its light will guide us through the darkness of this dungeon."
He hoisted the lantern, its blackened metal cold and unyielding. At Yulia's behest, he placed a hand upon its cover, and immediately, a numbing cold spread up his arm, a stark reminder of his novice status in this arcane rebirth. "Forgive me," Yulia's voice echoed, "your soul has yet to acclimate to the flow of mana. For now, leave this to me."
With her essence flowing through him, the lantern blazed to life, a flame of haunting blue that illuminated the room. In a particularly eye-twisting phenomenon, the lantern illuminated a section of floor that lay within the room but was somehow extra. Anyone looking could trace a whole and perfect circle at the perimeter of their vision, yet at the same time there was something more there, squeezed into that whole.
"How?" Utisz breathed, his mind reeling at the impossibility unfolding before him.
"The realm from which this breach springs is not bound by your world's angles," Yulia elucidated. "Here, a circle has more than three hundred sixty degrees. Any ordinary light can only illuminate an ordinary sphere. It takes a specific construction to reveal what lies in the extra space. Now, gone in that direction.”
The room led into a stairwell made out of the same weathered and pitted stone. The stairs were not proportioned for human feet, oddly long and slanted. Utisz descended in silence, the only sound that of his ill-fitting boots on stone. Apertures cut into the stairwell momentarily allowing illumination into long-deserted halls and rooms. There was nothing special about the space, despite it being impossible by human reckoning, but it made for a strange and isolated journey as the lantern failed to reach the far wall.
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Suddenly, a pattering—something else was also here.
"Ready yourself," Yulia warned.
He nodded, though she could not see, and crouched low, the dagger's weight in his hand a counterbalance to the fear. He could feel something channeled through his limbs, bolstering his strength. His eyes, adjusting to the lantern's spectral glow, fixed on the disturbance.
Something pale squeezed itself out of a large crack in a wall. Almost human. No eyes, though. Smooth sockets, pale skin, mouths filled with rows of sharp teeth, like the mouth of a leech. It slithered out on bones with the consistency of gelatin, tentatively pawing the ground with fingers that had almost six joints, sniffing gently at the stone. Extending a long, prehensile tongue to lap at the moisture accumulating on stone, tasting it for the presence of prey.
Yulia's presence in his thoughts was a bulwark against the creeping terror. "Strike swiftly, for hesitation will be your undoing."
He lunged forward, his body propelled by a mix of adrenaline and channeled mana. The creature, sensing the imminent threat, let out a gurgling hiss, a sound that chilled the blood. But Utisz was committed; he had the momentum, the surprise, and the desperation of a cornered man.
His dagger found its mark, plunging into the gelatinous mass of the creature's torso. The blade met resistance, carving upwards through the dense, unnatural flesh, and the creature recoiled with a screech that shattered the sepulchral silence of the dungeon.
Green blood splattered across his body as the creatures guts poked out of the wound. It snapped and he dodged, jamming the dagger under its jaw and forced it deeper.
More patterings, growing louder, more insistent. The sound was not singular but multiplied, a chorus of creeping dread that echoed off the stone walls and floor. The creature's kin were drawing near, alerted by the commotion and the scent of their comrade's ichor.
Utisz steeled himself against the coming tide. With each heartbeat, Utisz felt Yulia's arcane presence within him, guiding his hand, sharpening his senses.
"Follow my directions closely, Utisz," she urged. "There's a safer area up ahead, but you have to cut your way through."
In the penumbra cast by the lantern's baleful glow, shapes began to detach themselves from the darkness, converging towards Utisz with an eerie synchronicity. He rushed towards them, focus intensifying with every step.
One of the creatures lunged, its gaping maw a silent scream, and Utisz met it with a sidestep and a thrust. His dagger sliced through the cold air, finding the soft, yielding flesh beneath its pale exterior. The creature fell away, a limp heap upon the ground, but more were quick to fill the void it left.
"There's a rhythm to their assault," Yulia's voice guided him. "Now, move—left, then right. Strike, and then forward!"
Utisz moved as if in a dance, his actions not entirely his own, the lethal choreography authored by the mage within. He was an instrument of her will, each parry and attack an extension of her whispered commands.
They pressed on, the slain creatures a gruesome trail marking their path. The air grew heavier, the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon a tangible weight upon Utisz's chest.
"Nearly there, Utisz," she assured him as they navigated through the labyrinthine passageways, her voice a lifeline amidst the chaos. "There's an opening just beyond. Push through!"