The coffin hung mid-air, suspended by chains that groaned under the weight of whatever lay within. The iron links strained, their metallic creaks echoing through the cavernous chamber, as if they were barely capable of containing the horror they imprisoned. The coffin itself was a grotesque masterpiece, its surface etched with runic symbols that pulsed faintly, like the slow, irregular heartbeat of some ancient, malevolent being. The symbols glowed with an eerie, sickly light, their luminescence spreading outward like veins of infection, crawling across the stone floor and infesting it with an unnatural energy. The air was heavy, thick with the stench of decay and something far worse—something that defied description.
Xin stood frozen, his breath shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes darted across the room, taking in the surreal nightmare before him. Beyond the coffin, something loomed—a massive altar, its form shifting and warping in and out of perception. Every time he tried to focus on it, his vision distorted, his stomach churning violently. It was as if the altar existed in a space between realities, its edges blurring and twisting, defying comprehension. An invisible force pressed against his mind, gnawing at his sanity, filling his skull with static whispers and chaotic thoughts that did not belong to him. He could feel it—a presence, ancient and malevolent, probing the edges of his consciousness, searching for a way in.
He wrenched his gaze away, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't look at it any longer. If he did, he feared he might lose himself completely.
Instead, his eyes locked onto the massive double doors at the far end of the room. They loomed like a promise of escape, their surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe under his gaze. He signaled to Roderic and Huey, his companions, who stood nearby, their faces pale and slick with sweat. They nodded, their movements stiff and hesitant, their fear palpable.
The two moved cautiously, hugging the edges of the room, careful to avoid the coffin and the pulsating runes that surrounded it. The air grew colder with each step, their breath visible in the dim light. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of the chains and the occasional, distant whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
When they reached the doors, they placed their hands on the cold, etched surface and pushed with all their strength. The doors did not budge. Not even a fraction. They exchanged a glance, their eyes wide with dread, and a silent understanding passed between them. There was no way out—not through the doors, at least.
Their gaze turned back toward the coffin.
Something was wrong.
The air grew thicker, heavier, as if the room itself had begun to breathe.
A dark, chaotic gas began to seep from the cracks in the coffin, spreading outward like a living thing. It was wrong—a darkness unlike anything Xin had ever encountered. Belial's darkness, though deep and odd, had a certain solidity to it, a foundation that could be understood, even if it was horrifying.
This was different. This darkness was twisted, shapeless, mindless—pure, unadulterated evil.
A wave of nausea slammed into Xin, so intense that he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His vision blurred, his skull throbbing with a pain that felt like it was coming from deep within his brain. It was as if insects had crawled into his mind, burrowing into his thoughts, chewing through his sanity. He could hear Roderic screaming, his voice raw and guttural, his body convulsing as if he were being electrocuted. Huey was retching violently, his face twisted in horror, his hands clawing at his throat as if he were trying to tear something out.
Then the pain came.
It was unlike anything Xin had ever experienced. A thousand blades seemed to pierce his flesh simultaneously, twisting and sinking deep into his bones. The pain was excruciating, unbearable, as if his body were being torn apart from the inside. He gasped for air, but none came. Instead, it felt like something had reached down his throat and was pulling his insides out—slowly, methodically, mercilessly. His vision went black, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the agony. He could feel his sanity slipping away, fraying at the edges like a threadbare cloth.
The pain seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching into an infinity of torment. His body convulsed, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. He could hear Roderic's screams growing weaker, more desperate, until they were little more than hoarse whispers. Huey had collapsed to the floor, his body twitching, his eyes wide and unseeing.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The pain vanished, leaving behind a sickening void, as if his body had simply given up trying to process it. Xin collapsed to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body trembling uncontrollably. He could feel the cold stone floor beneath him, but it felt distant, unreal, as if he were no longer fully connected to his own body.
Then, a voice.
No it was multiple voices. It was coming from the miasma round it.
It was not the voices that belonged in this world.
It was deep, yet soft. Guttural, yet soothing and filled with a malice that made Xin's blood run cold.
It spoke in a language that he could not understand, its words twisting and writhing in his mind like serpents.
Its voice was a cacophony of screams, a thousand voices twisted together into a single, horrifying sound.
"ㄴPreliminary actions complete. Get ready to start your secret dream stage!ㄱ"
The chains snapped.
The sound was deafening, a metallic screech that echoed through the chamber like a death knell. The coffin creaked open, its lid slowly lifting to reveal a darkness unlike anything Xin had ever seen. It was not the comforting, solid darkness of Belial's Hax—this was a swirling, chaotic abyss, a void that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. From within the depths, a blackened gauntlet emerged, its fingers splitting apart, twitching unnaturally as if they were alive. More miasma poured from the coffin, spilling onto the floor and curling like smoke from a dying fire.
Then, it pulled itself free.
A knight.
No—something that only resembled a knight.
Its armor was warped, twisted metal that shifted and breathed as if it were alive. The plates of its armor seemed to ripple and flow, the metal twisting and contorting in ways that defied logic. Its helmet lacked a visor—instead, a gaping void sat where a face should be, leaking thick, writhing darkness that seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. Its presence was wrong—like a wound cut into reality itself, a tear in the fabric of existence.
It lifted its head toward them, the void where its face should be seeming to stare directly into Xin's soul. He could feel its gaze, cold and unrelenting, probing the depths of his mind, searching for something. He wanted to look away, to run, to do anything to escape that gaze, but he was frozen, his body refusing to obey his commands.
The knight took a step forward, the sound of its armored boots echoing through the chamber like a death knell. The air grew colder, the darkness around it seeming to deepen, to thicken, as if it were drawing the light from the room itself. Xin could feel his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as the knight moved closer, its presence growing more oppressive with each step.
He knew, deep down, that there was no escape. This was not a foe that could be fought, not a force that could be resisted.
They were going to die.