“Where am I?” Scott muttered to himself, his voice echoing within an unfathomable darkness, devoid of light. This place... it reminds me of the nihilistic zone, but it lacks that gnawing emptiness...

Scott glanced at his form. Though he seemed naked, his figure remained obscured, glowing faintly with an ethereal, crimson light. He knew this wasn’t his body, not really. Whatever part of him had been summoned to this mysterious place, it wasn’t his physical self.

How did I even get here? Scott wondered, turning to look in all directions. Nothing came into view. "Orion? Are you there?" He called out, both aloud and mentally, but his voice didn’t even echo—it was swallowed whole by the oppressive nothingness.

A frown deepened on Scott's face. The last thing I remember... there were system notifications, and then... I woke up here. He lowered his gaze to his hands. As expected, the chains and pendant were gone. More troubling, he felt as though his connection to the nihilistic zone had been severed, and all his abilities were suppressed.

I could have sworn I saw something about the Authority of Madness before all this, Scott thought, brow furrowed. The system message had flashed too briefly for him to read before he was whisked away.

Surveying the darkness again, Scott stood still, his glowing form casting the only light in the vast void. The crimson hue surrounding him seemed to pulse softly, but beyond that, there was nothing.

"Can anyone hear me?" Scott called again, frustration growing. Silence greeted his mind, and his voice didn’t carry beyond an arm's reach.

Unperturbed but now irritated, Scott took a step forward. At that moment, a massive crimson flame erupted a few paces ahead of him. He narrowed his eyes, noting a pathway within the inferno—a clay road, reddened by the heat of the roaring flames. The hollow tunnel before him was the only distortion in the oppressive darkness.

He stepped back, and instantly, the towering flames and pathway vanished. Scott moved in another direction, but nothing happened. He repeated this in all directions, but only that first position triggered the flaming road.

Seems I don’t have a choice... Scott grimaced, stepping forward again. The pathway manifested once more, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. With measured, deliberate steps, he walked toward the blistering road. The heat seared the air around him, but Scott remained focused, his face impassive.

As soon as his feet touched the road, a sizzle echoed through the space. The flames churned with excitement, forming phantasms who twisted into grotesque shapes. Scott’s body began to burn, the crimson light flickering more intensely as his form seared. Yet he didn’t make a sound, walking gallantly through the inferno, his expression unmoved.

The fire phantasms drew closer, laughing mockingly at Scott's attempt to cross the road alone.

“It has been a while since someone came here,” a shrill voice whispered.

“Look at it. What is it?” another voice asked, dripping with curiosity.

The phantasms moved closer, fighting amongst themselves to get a better look at Scott. He, too, studied these strange beings, their forms shifting in response to the inferno’s intensity.

“Why did it stop?” a voice asked.

“It must be feeling the heat now,” another cackled. “Look at it—standing there helplessly. It’s trying so hard not to react.”

“I want it,” a lustful voice purred, filled with greed.

“Me too!” several others roared in unison. The formless beings clashed against each other, intensifying the flames. Heat waves distorted the path ahead, and cracks appeared along the clay road as though it teetered on the brink of destruction, yet it remained intact.

What are these things? And why are they acting like I can’t see or hear them? Scott wondered, though his features betrayed nothing.

He took another step forward.

Suddenly, one of the fire entities slammed into him. Scott staggered back, pain far beyond anything he had ever experienced ripping through every fiber of his being.

Laughter erupted from the phantasms, watching gleefully as the assailant slowly peeled itself away from Scott, ensuring it inflicted as much agony as possible.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” one voice whispered, trembling with excitement.

“I wonder who it’ll choose,” another voice chimed in, just as excited as the first.

Scott, however, gathered his will, forcing himself forward despite his form verging on destruction. His features remained impassive, and though his steps grew labored, his pace stayed resolute.

The laughter within the inferno faded as the formless beings watched the voidweaver trudge onward. Then, another entity violently slammed into Scott’s form, halting his progress.

“Let us hear your screams!” a voice roared from the flames.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Scott steadied himself and took another step forward. Enraged, a dozen entities surged toward him from all directions, crashing into his body with brutal force. His form trembled violently as thick, black fissures appeared, threatening to tear him apart. Agony beyond words, primal and unending—pain that clawed at the core of his soul, verging on the edge of madness—ripped through him. Yet, not a single sound escaped his lips, nor did his expression waver.

Scott stood firm as the phantasms slowly tore themselves from his form, dragging out the torment as long as possible. Then, he took another step forward.

“No, no, no... this isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” a voice complained bitterly.

“How can we feed if it feels nothing?” another voice hissed in frustration.

“I won’t accept this!” another bellowed. “You will scream. Like the others before you, we will feast on your suffering!”

A swarm of phantasms, maddened by rage, descended upon Scott from every direction. “You will scream!” they cried in unison as they struck him with relentless fury. The onslaught lifted Scott’s trembling form, widening the fissures in his body. The clay road beneath him began to crack, teetering on the brink of collapse. The phantasms squirmed over Scott’s body like living snakes, embedding themselves in him, only to tear free repeatedly, wreaking havoc on his very existence.

Then, came Scott’s screams.

“That’s it!” a voice cried in glee.

“More! Give us more!” others howled in euphoric frenzy as the flames blazed brighter, basking in their supposed victory.

But amidst their celebration, a voice faltered. “It’s empty. Why is it empty?”

“It’s tasteless,” another voice bemoaned. “Why does it taste of nothing?”

Confusion rippled through the inferno as the phantasms realized their mistake. They listened closer to Scott’s screams, and a strange unease settled over them. His cries weren’t the maddened howls of agony they expected. Instead, they heard something far more chilling—delirious, maniacal laughter.

“You... dare to laugh!” The inferno itself seemed to roar in fury at Scott’s defiance. The entire flame storm surged toward him, seeking to obliterate him once and for all. The phantasms, now desperate, tried to flee, but they were too slow. The firestorm consumed Scott’s form, and with a resounding crack, his body exploded into a fiery tempest.

For a brief moment, darkness swallowed the road. But only for a moment.

The inferno reignited, burning higher than before. This time, the flames were no longer crimson, but a cold, eerie blue. Ghastly wails echoed from its depths.

In the center of the flames, where Scott had stood, a formless mass of black hovered, twisting and contorting as it reshaped itself into the voidweaver. His maddened laughter echoed once more, louder than before. The phantasms, now trapped within his form, clawed desperately to escape, but black tendrils entwined around them, drawing them deeper into his body.

One by one, the flaming entities were extinguished, their lights snuffed out without a sound. Scott’s laughter faded, his eyes glowing with a dangerous mix of madness and euphoria. Unlike before, the blue flames no longer harmed him; they embraced him.

Scott took a step forward.

A voice whispered in his ear, seductive and inviting, “Do you seek power?”

Scott paused, his gaze scanning the area. No new apparitions had formed. The flames flickered in eerie tranquility.

He ignored the question and took another step.

“Do you seek fame?” another voice called out.

Scott paid it no mind and continued walking.

“Do you seek revenge?” a third voice whispered, closer this time. But Scott marched on, unwavering.

“What do you seek, Scott Dorsey?” a voice suddenly called out, halting his advance. He turned, his gaze locking onto a face—a face he didn’t recognize—materializing in the flames.

“Do you even know who you are, Scott Dorsey?” the face asked, its lips twisting into a crooked smile. “What are you willing to lose, Scott Dorsey?”

Another face emerged beside it. “Everything you love will die!” it declared, its voice heavier, more menacing. “Your ambitions will only lead to your destruction.”

A third face appeared, echoing the others. “You’ve suffered so much already. Why continue to endure more pain?”

“Are you content with your aspirations, Scott Dorsey?” the first face asked, its voice haunting and cold.

“Your existence is meaningless,” the second face berated, its crooked lips curling mockingly at the voidweaver.

“Your soul yearns for peace. Why must you deny it?” the third face chimed in, its voice a hollow whisper against the inferno.

Scott’s gaze flickered between the twisted faces, their words filling the silence he maintained. The first face’s recognition of his name caused a brief flicker of surprise in him, but it was fleeting, buried beneath his unyielding resolve. Without a word, he averted his gaze from their grotesque forms, taking yet another step forward.

“Even a nonentity like this can make it this far?”

Scott halted as the new voice, dripping with scorn, echoed in his mind. He instinctively glanced around, yet the faces lingered, still whispering their verbose accusations. But none of them bore the tone of the derisive voice he had just heard. Several more deformed faces had appeared, each spewing their own tirades, yet none carried the same malicious inflection.

Unperturbed, Scott pressed onward, his steps cutting through the barrage of voices, until the flames, the clay road, and the cacophony of faces vanished altogether—suddenly leaving him in the blackened void once more. This time, however, he was not alone.

Three beings, each glowing with an ethereal bluish hue like his own, stood before him. Their forms, though cloaked in azure light, bore distinct shapes. The largest of the trio had the towering form of a bipedal ox, its form rippling with otherworldly energy. The other two were unlike anything Scott had ever seen, their proportions shifting, and abstract, mere hints of form compared to the phantasms from earlier. Despite their nebulous shapes, Scott could feel their sentience and knew they had endured the same trials he had.

“So, you’re the one deemed worthy of taking part in the inheritance.”

Scott turned his gaze to the leftmost figure. The scathing voice—he was certain now—originated from it.

“There’s nothing remarkable about you,” the figure continued, its voice icy with indifference. “Enlighten me—how many of the whispers did you bond with?”

Before Scott could respond, the figure on the far right, shrouded in light, spoke. “A dozen at best,” it remarked with casual disdain. “Their absence is a sign of—”

Scott, silent as ever, took another deliberate step forward.

In an instant, the trio disappeared, and Scott found himself back on the flaming pathway. This time, however, he was assaulted by a deluge of voices—thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands—each demanding answers, each seeking to tear at his mind, unraveling the very essence of his being.

To make matters worse, some of the faces began to tear themselves free from the flaming walls, their forms even more grotesque than the phantasms before. They twisted and contorted as they emerged, their monstrous bodies dripping with malice, their eyes gleaming with hunger for his mind, his soul.

They bombarded him with questions, their words like daggers aimed at the heart of his consciousness, seeking to shatter his very essence.