He could see them even through that dream like land, if it could even be called land; or a dream rather than a nightmare.

On an ever shifting platform that felt so much like the rough waves of a stormy sea, except they could stand on this water, and it was made of ever shifting rainbow, and other, colors in their darkest hues. He couldn't see any distinguishing features except what might have been a collapsed sun very far on the horizon, and the rugged looking barbarians who were even now running towards the new meat, battle cries raging.

Garin closed his eyes to fight the disorientation, but still when he opened them the land rocked in that unnatural way. But he was prepared for something like this, or something similar. Mostly Sol’s man had just fed him conjecture. No one had been inside and survived, or so it was believed.

Still, Garin didn't have time to ruminate. The ambient energy from the aperture visibly slowed down the attacking veteran prisoners, but that would only last until the last prisoners came through. And Garin had no doubt most of his fellow new bloods would be attacking him too. He needed to acclimatise quickly.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took a general stance like he was going into an induction. The light from what looked like a broken sun made life difficult, but Garin managed to convince himself. This is land, just land, hard firm soil.

Garin never thought he'd miss having soil under his feet, but here he was. Because even after his view point changed, he could still see those sickly green and orange and violet waves at the edge of his sight. And when he walked it was like he was walking on top of the gruel they fed on back at the island.

Still, at least the land directly in front of him had stopped rocking, and there were hills, and it was dark, so very dark.

The land still had the consistency of cotton, but he could now hide and watch. And so he did. The new prisoners took their time acclimatising, and all the while their flimsy protection was expiring. The veterans looked rough, most of their slowly advancing faces filled with scowls.

When they found out what was about to happen, most of the new prisoners searched the area around, probably looking for that little child everyone had been watching. But he wasn't there. Someone even asked about him, although in a trembling voice.

Then the violence started, the culling of the weak, before even the veterans who were less than a metre away could arrive. And when the veterans joined them, the land seemed to tremble in joy, the distant broken sun turned red with a core of spiraling darkness at its centre.

“Interesting, that sun, isn't it? You can see it from anywhere in this cursed place, you know? It's always there, always watching.”

Garin had already jumped away at the first words, having not seen this new person arrive. He was already on his guard, watching the man's tattered and barely existent clothing. His very scarred and wiry body. Then he felt the one behind him.

This place was messing with his normally acute senses. He steadied himself, not making any threatening movements. Another thin man stepped onto the hill like thing to his right, showing his rotting gums in what was supposed to be a grin.

The newest arrival opened his mouth to say something, but then someone grabbed his neck from behind, and carried him up with only one hand. It was one of the new prisoners, a giant of a man. He used his other hand to hold the man's thin torso; and then he pulled.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Garin wanted to retch, but he dare not take his eyes from his surroundings. He took a fraction of a second to survey the battle near the aperture. It was a blood bath.

Some of the veterans used what looked like human bones. They killed everyone, even each other. Garin wondered for a second if this was an effect of the sphere on its inhabitants, but he had received a timely distraction and he was going to use it, no matter what.

The man who'd spoken first glanced away from the hill with a snort, only to find a tiny hand going straight for his neck. Red gushed out as Garin withdrew his little knife and ran past.

The man's cries of agony cut off behind him, but Garin dare not look back. He was stumbling like how he'd expect a drunk to, but he was fast getting used to running in this weird place. He sensed there were two people chasing him, although there might have been others behind them. He knew only these two possessed a chance of catching up with him though.

Then he heard a grunt, and a sickening crunch. He didn't need to look to know that absolute monster of a man had killed the other veteran.

I killed someone today. But Garin didn't have time to feel guilty. He could feel his own reckoning coming.

It came from the side, in the form of a kick Garin had to hastily defend with his forearms. He used the resultant momentum to roll backwards.

The big man from behind caught up meanwhile, and there was someone else from the front. Garin kept himself in a crouched position, studying all three of his attackers carefully. He was quite sure there was no one behind him, but then again, he'd failed to sense anyone on two occasions already.

Either this place was too dangerous it messed with his senses, or these people had some secret way of moving through the sphere. Some instinctive form of hell dance, perhaps.

“Why are you running, kid?” the big man said with a grin, not a beautiful one. “Why are you running?”

“Yeah,” said the guy who'd kicked him earlier. “We just want to share. Didn't your parents teach you to share?”

“And not to carry sharp objects?” said the third man, “such things should be left to adults.”

Garin took a heavy breath. I killed someone today. But he'd already entered the induction stage on his next breath.

When the ntan who'd kicked him moved, Garin moved too, and he was faster. He ducked under the man's bone clab, and let his momentum drive his gut into one of Garin’s little knives. As the man collapsed screaming, the giant's hand crushed him in it's bid to crush the little kid.

Garin only had to move back two steps, and then he was running, using the thick arm that was yet stuck in the ground as a bridge to the largest man's head. His head was open, the knife descended, and rebounded with a dull thwack.

Garin launched himself backwards to avoid the flailing hands. And while he was in the air he watched the state of the battlefield. He clicked his tongue as he watched the man he'd struck first get back up with only a bleeding wound. It was deep, but likely survivable. The knives were just too small. The third man had his club up and was waiting for Garin to reach him before he could bat him into the ground. The giant was screaming bloody murder and touching an extremely shallow wound on his head.

Garin grimaced, and before he could reach the third man, manipulated the light to hide his whole body. All three men froze and looked around. Garin landed, and gave them not a chance as he fleeted around the encirclement.

The third man had ten shallow wounds across his abdomen before he could scream, and by that time Garin was already onto the giant. He only cut twice, the first cut only managing a thin wound, and the second bouncing off after barely penetrating the skin.

With a click of his tongue Garin appeared behind the man he'd already wounded. For some reason, the man was standing up straight, making it a little awkward for Garin to reach for his neck. He could launch himself upward, but he had a better idea. The third man was already recovered from his wounds too, and Garin could only maintain a dance state too long. His knife fleeted out, low as he could go.

And then he was running, repeating the same action once, twice. Very thin cuts in a place that would have the most success.

Not their groins, Garin had some respect and empathy. It was the muscles around their heels, thin and exposed they were. By the time the first man he'd attacked cried out, he'd already finished attacking the last.

All of them collapsed, crying out in pain. The big man looked around in panic, bawling up a river. The others looked like their bodies were too dry to even produce tears.

“Please. I can't die here! You can't kill me!” the big man cried. “I'm too young! I-”

A knife to the throat shut him up, and then the other two. With a blood stained cloak, Garin continued his journey into the hell sphere, ignoring the way the ground seemed to greedily lurp up the blood.