The figure before me was a towering man dressed entirely in red.

Standing over two meters tall, he wore a crimson trench coat and a wide-brimmed red hat. The sinister elegance he exuded felt almost surreal, a seamless blend of malevolence and poise. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, its gaunt features marked by sharp, commanding lines. He stood motionless in front of the doorway, one hand resting on his hat, as if he'd been there for ages, shrouded in solitude and an air of defiant gentleness.

"Passion, conviction, ingenuity, adversity, counterstrike, annihilation," he murmured, his tone like a poet reciting verse. "What a splendid battle that was."

I wasn’t in the mood for compliments. This guy had clearly been watching the entire time without lifting a finger to help, and that alone irritated me to no end.

"Are you messing with me?"

I stepped back toward the fallen beast, yanking the fire axe free from its carcass.

He chuckled—a dry, gravelly sound like earth being ground to dust. The laugh seemed restrained, as though barely containing an underlying madness.

"Not at all. You've passed the trial. Congratulations. You're the first one to make it through."

Despite his words, I couldn’t shake the unease he caused. There was something deeply unsettling about him, more so than the invisible beast I had just fought. A strange, overwhelming scent of blood clung to him, as though the red of his attire had been soaked in it. The air around him felt heavy, oppressive, laced with a madness so tangible it pressed down on me like a suffocating tide.

It wasn’t just his appearance—my instincts screamed that he wasn’t human. It was an immediate, visceral certainty I couldn’t ignore.

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“Relax,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm. “Let’s get to the point. I know you have questions, but I can’t answer all of them. Time is short.”

He produced an hourglass and abruptly flipped it over, cradling it in his hand. Sand began to stream through at an unnaturally rapid pace, almost like liquid.

“Time starts now.”

I kept my gaze locked on him, refusing to let my guard down, even if he didn’t seem hostile. The sand slipped away far too quickly, and I felt my pulse quicken.

“What is this place?”

“The Apocalypse Mirage,” he replied.

“Why were we brought here?”

“To save the world,” he said in a singsong tone, dripping with mockery.

“…”

Was he joking?

“Of course not,” he added, as if reading my mind.

“Who are you?”

A smile spread beneath the shadow of his hat, a crooked grin that sent a shiver through me. Two glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, and his silhouette seemed to dissolve into swirling tendrils of mist, more like a nightmare than a person. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw his body wrapped in sinister threads, writhing like living tendrils. But when I blinked, the image was gone.

“I am the Harbinger of the End,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “You may call me… Carmen.”

With that, he raised a single finger.

“One last question.”

Startled, I glanced at the hourglass. Its sand had nearly run out—only a single grain remained, improbably suspended at the top of the glass. An unseen force seemed to hold it in place.

“What do I do next?” I asked, seizing the chance for one final question.

Carmen, the self-proclaimed red-clad harbinger, hummed in amusement, clearly pleased.

“How interesting, little boy,” he said, his voice laced with a peculiar delight. With a flick of his hand, the hourglass vanished, as though it had never been there. As he spoke, his figure began to dissolve into the encroaching shadows, consumed by the darkness flowing in from behind him. Only his voice lingered, echoing through the corridor.

“Look at your wrist.”

As his words faded, the suffocating darkness ebbed away like a retreating tide. The wooden door at the end of the hallway was still open, spilling sunlight into the space beyond. The room inside was bright and serene, with a wooden table and chairs bathed in golden light, as if purged of every impurity.