The walls pulsed and distorted, flickering into a black void one moment before tearing into multicolored splashes of fragmented shapes. Even the corpses of his false parents bulged and twisted, their forms writhing into other people, other faces from his past.

He shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. He had to escape, but reality was melting all around him. And the voices had returned, no longer a whisper but a chorus of screams. He covered his ears and stumbled for the hall, his feet nearly slipping on the blood slick floor.

“This way!” someone shouted.

The voice was different from the others. Louder and full of concern. He followed it, the voice his beacon in the growing darkness that clawed at his mind. And then he saw the door, its shape the only solid thing in the crumbling nightmare. With his blood pounding in his ears, he shuffled forward. But the hallways stretched, tearing at the seams as it extended further and further away.

You belong here, the darkness breathed into his ear. Ours for eternity.

He put one foot in front of the other, focusing on each footfall. Nothing but going forward mattered. Each step was his only focus, and he stared down at the rippling carpet. Red one moment, then purple, then red again, it began to tug him backwards. He dug his bare feet into it and advanced.

The door opened, golden light burning into the dimming hall. A man stood beyond, his hulking silhouette a blotch of shadow against the glorious shine.

“Hurry!”

Darian hardly heard his voice through the screaming in his ears. But he followed it, focusing on his shape, a sense of familiarity forming as he grew closer.

Interloper! the darkness roared. He is ours!

Bits of the ceiling came free, the chunks turning to ash as everything shook and rumbled. Then the walls ripped away, an eternal darkness beyond. Wind sharp as razor blew from the blackness, slicing fine cuts across Darian’s arms and legs. But he ignored the pain, focusing on the man, the only thing that was real.

Then the paladin reached out and Darian gripped his hand. He tugged him into the light, and the world faded away.

***

Darian blinked at the night sky overhead. He was in a forest, the trees thick and charred, ash on the wind. He spotted a sputtering campfire ahead, and he walked toward it, his mind finally free of the shadows.

“Who are you?” he asked.

A tall and broad-shouldered man squatted by the fire, his long red hair tugged by a dead breeze. He wore armor edged by bright silver and gold, the steel plate carved with glowing runes. There was a blade at his hip that radiated a dim light, even through its scabbard. When he looked up, Darian met his green eyes and stepped back.

It was the paladin from his nightmares.

“Be easy,” the man said in a measured voice. “I am not like the other souls here. I’m a friend.”

“A friend?” Darian raised his arms, ready to fight. “I’ve seen you before. Always at the lake of blood, always looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.”

“Well, are you?” The paladin stood, his shoulders proud. “Are you a monster?”

“No,” Darian replied. “Not more than anyone else in this cursed world.”

The paladin chuckled, his harsh face softening. “You believe this realm is cursed?” He stared off into the charred woodlands. “Perhaps it is. But that is why I brought you into this world.”

Darian took a half step forward. “The only two people who can say that just died in front of me.” He glanced over his shoulder, half expecting them to be standing there. “Even if they weren’t real.”

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“Real and imaginary are trifling concepts in this place.” He looped his thumbs into his sword belt. “And what I said before, I meant it in a literal sense. I am Radrick Von Rostcliff, paladin of Argus and the man who summoned you into this world.”

“Radrick?” Darian studied the man’s face, his eyes. “You’re Fria’s brother.”

He grinned. “I am. And I know about your little adventure with my sister. I’ve been watching you.”

“You my stalker or something?” Darian spun in a circle. “And where the hell are we? I was in the Lich Cult’s fortress and then…I was here.”

“I am an echo, the last wisp of the man I was. When I gave my life to summon you, a piece of my soul latched itself onto you. I have been sleeping within your divinity ever since you first opened your eyes.”

Darian froze. “Wait, you’re dead?” The last thing Fria told him was that her brother was on some kind of journey or quest.

“In a sense, though so long as a piece of me remains here, death has not truly claimed me. But enough about that.” He stepped back and drew his sword. “The shadows have found us.”

The whispering returned, distant, but growing closer by the second.

“You must cast off your mental shackles if we are to survive this,” Radrick stated.

Darian turned on the paladin. “What does that even mean? You’re speaking nonsense.” He reached down and snatched up a weighty stick.

“We are within your mind right now. The world beyond us is frozen, all of this happening in the span of a single breath. But the cursed spirits within the Soul of Damnation have pierced the skin of your soul. They are pulsing through you like a virus, and we must burn them out before it’s too late.”

A twig snapped within the forest, shapes filtering between the trees.

“Everything you see is conjured from your soul. You control this world, but your self-perception is holding you back.” Radrick grabbed Darian by the shoulder and pushed, nearly sending him to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Darian righted his stance, the whispers almost upon them.

“You still see yourself as that sickly boy you once were.” He gripped Darian’s arm, his hand latching on like a vice. “But you are an Aspirant, a God in the making. Weakness should be a foreign concept to you, yet you hold back. You fight your own nature. You put your old-world morals and ideas at odds with your new reality, and it’s tearing you apart.”

Darian jerked his arm free. “Alright then, so what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fight.”

He almost wanted to laugh. “I’ve been fighting since my first night here.”

“Fighting without a purpose yes, but you have power. Power to shape and change, to alter the realm in your image.”

“I never wanted that,” Darian replied, gripping his improvised weapon tightly. “I never wanted any of this.”

“Yet it is here, and you must make a choice.” He moved to Darian’s side, the light from his sword brightening. “Die here and become an empty husk, or live and fight for whatever future you can envision.”

“And what if this future isn’t a good one? What if all I end up doing is making this place worse? What then?”

Radrick smiled. “I’ve been watching you, Darian. I trust that whatever world you wish to create, even if the road there is full of blood and darkness, it will be a better place for us all.”

“Your faith is misplaced.” Darian widened his stance. “But I’m not dying here. Not after I fought so hard to survive.” He raised the stick, the wood falling away to reveal the shape of a sword. “Because living is the only way I can ever pay back their kindness.” The faces of his parents flashed into his mind. All that hardship they went through raising him, caring for him as his body fell apart. It couldn’t have all been for nothing.

“Whatever reason you decide to fight, hold it close to your heart. It will serve you well in the war to come.”

“War?” Darian shot the paladin a quizzical look. “What war?”

Before Radrick could answer, the shadow creatures burst from the trees. They hissed and screamed, their forms hard to make out in the darkness. But then they began to writhe and convulse, their bodies morphing into familiar shapes and faces.

“Do not be deceived,” Radrick said, marching into battle. “They are not­­—”

Darian surged past the paladin and sunk his blade into the chest of a beast that took his mother’s face. Then he pulled back and took its head with a single strike.

The shadows all paused.

“How dare you,” Darian growled through gritted teeth. “Shame her memory like this.” He turned to face the growing horde of cursed souls.

A shadow, larger and taller than the others, moved to the front of the pack. The rest formed up behind it, some wearing the face of Fria and others of Jorg.

“Rage all you like,” it said, hundreds of smaller voices trailing each word. “But the damned do not know fear.”

Darian laughed, the sound coming out half mad. “I don’t care if you’re afraid.” His face fell slack, all emotion drained from him. “You’re all going to die either way.”