I heaved a breath as I awoke.

My whole body was tingling in pain. At first, confusion set in. Then, I started to gain my wits back. My friends were nowhere to be found. I was in a dark, damp room. Brick walls surrounded me. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the dimness of the room. My heart thudded in my chest as I forced myself to sit up, wincing at the sharp ache in my ribs. My surroundings were scarcely illuminated by a yellowish light coming from a small, barred window near the ceiling. The shadows danced across the walls, personifying them.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. I strained my ears for any sound of my friends, but all I could hear was the relentless dripping and the occasional, ominous creak of the old building.

I pushed myself to my feet, steadying myself against the cold, rough wall. As I scanned the room, I noticed a few disturbing details: the floor was strewn with broken glass and rusty chains, and there was a heavy metal door on the far side, its lock glinting menacingly in the weak light. I approached the door cautiously, my footsteps echoing unnervingly. I peered through the narrow gap beneath the door but saw only darkness beyond. A sense of dread settled in my stomach. Where were my friends? What was this place?

A sudden noise—something scraping across the floor—made me jump. I spun around, my pulse racing. The sound had come from behind a stack of old wooden crates in the corner. I edged closer, my breath shallow, and peered behind them.

A small, tattered piece of paper lay half-buried in the dust. I picked it up with trembling fingers and read the hastily scrawled message:

"They’re coming for you. Don’t trust anyone. They know you’re here."

The ink was smeared, as if the writer had been in a hurry or had been interrupted. My mind raced. Who could have left this note? And who were "they"?

A muffled thud echoed from somewhere outside the room, followed by a low, rumbling growl. My skin crawled. I had to find a way out, and fast.

I returned to the door, examining the lock more closely. It was old and rusty, but the heavy metal reinforced it. There was no way I could force it open with my bare hands. I glanced around the room, searching for anything that could help me. My gaze fell on the broken glass scattered across the floor. It was risky, but it might be my only option.

I grabbed a shard of glass, feeling its sharp edge dig into my palm. I approached the lock, working the shard into the mechanism. It was slow and painstaking, but as I worked, the muffled noises outside grew louder and more urgent. My heart pounded in my ears. With a burst of mana, the lock clicked open.

Just as the lock clicked, the door creaked open slightly, and I heard a distant, hurried voice—one that sent chills down my spine. It was a voice I recognized, but it was distorted, like a garbled transmission. My friends? Or something else entirely?

I hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open just wide enough to slip through. I emerged into a narrow, dark corridor, the walls lined with old, peeling wallpaper and the floor littered with debris. The distant voice was clearer now, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Every instinct screamed at me to stay hidden, but I had to find out what was happening. I crept down the corridor, the flickering lights casting long, eerie shadows. The distant growl sounded again, closer this time. I reached a junction in the corridor and peered around the corner.

There, at the end of the hallway, a figure stood silhouetted against a door marked with strange symbols. The figure’s head turned slowly toward me, revealing a face obscured by a dark hood. The eyes glinted in the dim light—cold and calculating.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The figure’s gaze seemed to pierce through me, and I could feel the weight of their scrutiny. They moved slowly, deliberately, their footsteps echoing ominously.

"Rowan Dolidze, son of another world. Average talent, not yet assigned, yet multiple Gods show interest."

The figure's voice was smooth, but it carried an unsettling undercurrent. My mind raced to process the words—the man knew my information, my most heavily guarded secret. I barely registered the ominous tone in their voice; my focus was on their chilling gaze. I took a cautious step back, trying to disappear into the shadows, but the figure seemed to anticipate my move.

"Do you think you can hide, Rowan?" the figure continued, their voice reverberating through the corridor. "You’re far from the safety of your little world."

The strange symbols on the door behind them seemed to glow faintly, casting an eerie light that made the figure’s silhouette even more menacing. My pulse quickened. This wasn’t just about finding my friends anymore; there were things here that I didn’t understand, and they seemed to have a direct interest in me.

I needed a plan. If I stayed put, I would be a sitting duck. If I moved, I had to be cautious. I glanced around the corridor, looking for any means of escape or concealment.

"What do you want from me?" I gained the courage to ask.

"Nothing. Just the erasure of your existence." The figure said casually, as if it was a simple conversation.

'Erasure of my existence?'

"You are an anomaly, and the Void does not like anomalies." It spat the last few words with venom on its tongue.

My body suddenly locked in place, and my sensors ran on overdrive. An excruciating, head-splitting ache came from my head, even worse than the last time. My eyes rolled back. I couldn't take this anymore.

Then, suddenly, a voice sighed.

"That is enough, Arsmos."

The figure leered. Arsmos jumped in surprise. "How are Gods bypassing the barrier?"

"He is mine. Let go of him." The voice said again, each syllable reverberating, shaking the corridor.

The voice that cut through the tension was both commanding and soothing, its resonance filling the corridor with an almost palpable power. Arsmos, the hooded figure, recoiled slightly, their gaze flicking nervously toward the source of the voice. The air seemed to shimmer, the walls vibrating with a low hum that grew louder as the voice continued.

"Begone."

I could barely process the shift in atmosphere. My head was pounding, and I felt as though I was on the brink of collapse. The figure known as Arsmos had clearly been taken aback by the divine intervention, but their expression quickly hardened into one of reluctant submission.

“Very well,” Arsmos said, his tone laced with venom. “I will withdraw. But remember, Rowan Dolidze, the Void does not forget. We will meet again.”

With that, Arsmos’s form seemed to blur and disappear somehow into the shadows, leaving only the echo of their footsteps as they retreated. The corridor was eerily silent now, the oppressive weight of the dark presence lifted, but the air remained charged with an unsettling energy.

The voice that had intervened remained, a calming force amidst the chaos. “You are safe for now,” it said, the tone warm yet distant. “You have been under the protection of forces beyond your understanding. But the danger is far from over.”

I leaned against the wall, trying to steady my breathing and regain my composure. The pain in my head was fading, but I felt weak and disoriented. I scanned the corridor, looking for any sign of the speaker. Shadows clung to every corner, and the source of the voice was nowhere to be seen.

“Who… who are you?” I managed to croak, my voice barely more than a whisper.

There was a soft, almost imperceptible rustle of movement, and a faint light began to glow ahead of me. It illuminated a figure standing at the end of the corridor, cloaked in a shimmering aura that contrasted sharply with the surrounding darkness. Their presence was imposing yet reassuring, and their face was obscured by a flowing, ethereal hood.

"I have many names. Many forms. Many that you are not able to witness. The most common name I bear, however, is Jorundar, the God of Reincarnation." The figure said, their voice echoing softly. “I am here to guide you through this peril. The path you must take is fraught with danger, but you are not alone.”

The figure extended a hand, and a soft, radiant light emanated from it. The light formed a faint, glowing path leading deeper into the labyrinthine corridors. I felt a surge of hope at the sight, a sliver of direction amidst the confusion.

“Follow this path,” the God instructed. “It will lead you to a place where you can find answers and possibly reunite with your friends. But be wary—those who seek to destroy you are still near.”

I nodded, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that still lingered in my temples. As I stepped onto the glowing path, the corridor behind me seemed to dissolve into darkness.