The longer she walked, the worse it got. Turns out the oddities before were nothing compared to this—more than just animalistic mutations, but vague humanoid figures too. Some of those… things simply stood still, watching her every move with blank stares or eerie smiles. Some walked around, talking in a garbled tongue; she ignored every one that tried to speak with her, or acknowledged her existence at all.

That not-blood practically covered everything, seeping out of every hole it could or splashed across her path when she blinked. More of it was on her now; it was hard to avoid after a certain point. It was cold, hardening a bit like dried mud, but not enough to prohibit her movement. If she didn’t think of something else, she heard whispers coming from it, so she did everything she could to keep her mind occupied.

She heard more voices; several that she only heard once or twice, though there were two that played more frequently. She hadn’t heard that first person’s—the Fallen One, it seemed—voice since the end of that fragmented story.

At first she tried making sense of the things that they were saying. Eventually she decided that, just like this place, there was no point in trying. It mentioned names that she knew—all of them were, actually, if not vaguely—yet it matched nothing that she’d ever been told or read. Something was a lie here and she wasn’t quite in the state of mind to think it was generations worth of folktales.

“My brother, we will join you.” It was the voice that apparently belonged to “Caeso.”

Then came a related quote from “Simros.” “Our creator has gone too far. Our intent should not be to harm, but to help. We must stand for what we believe is right.”

A cold laugh. “Yes, we should.”

Mernia passed by an intricate piece of stained glass. On one side, there were four gryphons, all similar to the artistic representations of Caeso, Opiter, Drusus, and Ninnia—the leader of the gryphons and his loyal siblings. On the other, there were four humans—or at least what appeared to be humans—dressed in matching white and blue robes. She recognized them as the Heralds, or the Fallen’s Angels… but she knew no more.

She didn’t want to consider what it meant to be able to read the ancient text written at the bottom.

You may call yourselves Heralds, but you will only ever bring your own destruction.

A young woman’s cry immediately put her on edge. A name was shouted, but it was impossible to understand, as if the world didn’t want it to be known.

“This is the price you pay,” Caeso’s voice murmured, cold and uncaring, “for your disobedience. All is as our creator wills.”

“You will regret this,” was an even quieter response from Simros, defeated.

“I won’t. This is only your punishment for betraying your master.” A chuckle echoed through her head. “And this is just the beginning.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Mernia shivered. None of this was real—whoever this Caeso was, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same gryphon people looked up to as a protector. It couldn’t be. He’d never do anything like that.

At least, not by their understanding of him.

But a place like this definitely wasn’t in the stories, either, and the Fallen One wasn’t meant to exist anymore.

She heard a girl’s giggle. “Another story, please!” It was different than all the other voices—it had one, constant direction.

“Nebli?” Mernia called, hoping that’s who it was. She started walking in the direction of the voice, moving out of the altar-like area and into multi-colored fields taking the shape of random objects or animals. “I’m Officer Mernia Vacaryn of Maeqa! Your parents sent me here to look for you. I’m going to get you out of here and bring you back home, okay?”

She still couldn’t see Nebli, but she heard her response. “Aww, I don’t want to go! Do I have to?”

“Your parents are worried about you. I have to bring you back.”

“Then just a little longer! I want to hear more stories. They’re all so fun!”

“I’m going to—“

But when she took that step closer, the ground collapsed from under her. She fell down through it and, though she braced herself for something worse, she effortlessly landed in somewhere very dark.

That is, until the lights slowly flickered on, revealing a very familiar place to her. The police force’s break room. She was standing by the door, her father right beside her, the rest of the officers sitting or standing somewhere in the room.

“It’s not official until tomorrow morning,” her father began, full of pride, “but I wanted to tell you all first. Mernia is joining the force—she’s coming in with more knowledge than any other new recruit, thanks to all of you.” He smiled at her but, when he touched the not-blood on her shoulder, his hand turned black and… melted. She jerked away from him but he didn’t seem to notice. “You know what, Mer? I know you’re going to do great things. Istrus will always remember you—if not all of Vresta, or the whole of Aedrisea!”

She nervously laughed, both now and in that memory. Then she had thought he was exaggerating—she still did—since she was his daughter. Now it was because she couldn’t help but wonder what else might happen here.

To that end, she immediately regretted looking at the others.

Those who had been sitting stood up and all of them clapped or gave their congratulations. But it wasn’t right. Their smiles were wider than they should’ve been—than what was naturally possible. Their hands turned black and began to deform the longer they clapped. They were crying the same not-blood that, in a blink, now covered the walls here, too.

She wished, if this was a nightmare, she could wake up now.

No matter how much she willed it, she didn’t wake up.

“Something wrong?” her father asked. He tried to reach for her again but she stepped back. He noticed this time, meaning that they were no longer following something scripted. “Mer, this isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

He didn’t have eyes anymore, just black gaps crying that not-blood. More than just his arm was melting—nearly his entire body was. Everyone was the same way, no longer the friendly faces she considered friends. She only half-believed that, despite all that not-blood on her, she still seemed to be exactly like she was when she came here.

When she didn’t answer, her father repeated, “Mer?”

She just vigorously shook her head, avoiding directly looking at any of them. She couldn’t stand to be there.

Partially against her better judgment—she had no idea where she was going or what else she’d find—she simply backed out of the room and ran. Anything to get her away from them. She didn’t want to be with them and that not-blood any longer.