The horizon shimmered with unnatural heat, distorting jagged, diamond-like crystals that jutted from the ashen ground. Every step was a risk, the sharp formations threatening to pierce through tattered boots and flesh. Yet, the trio pressed on, their resolve unwavering despite the desolation.
Nightfall offered no relief. The creatures of the Black Theatre were nocturnal, their twisted forms adapted to the planet's cursed landscape. Their presence was felt before seen, a suffocating pressure clawing at the mind. Belial, Xin, and Raven moved cautiously, barely visible against the bleak terrain. Surviving the catacombs had been one thing, but this was different—here, the monsters were worse.
Minor Mirror Monsters
And they reeked. The creatures' presence was heralded by the overwhelming stench of methane and decay, a toxic blend that made every breath a choking struggle.
Belial's once-decently tattered clothes were now tattered rags, barely clinging to his frame. Xin's cloak and clothes underneath, though torn, still offered some protection against the elements. Raven, however, was the worst off. His armor—once a proud testament to his station was now a mangled ruin, battered and dented from their trials in the catacombs. Dried blood crusted over the shattered metal, a grim reminder of every battle, every wound that had nearly ended them.
The sun would rise soon. They had to find shelter before its merciless light seared the landscape, transforming it into an uninhabitable wasteland of blistering heat and radiation.
Through sheer fortune or perhaps some cruel twist of fate they stumbled upon a cave. Its jagged maw gaped open like the hungry jaws of an ancient beast. Without hesitation, they entered, the darkness swallowing them whole. The air inside was damp, the walls slick with moisture that reeked of something organic. The deeper they ventured, the colder it became, the silence pressing in around them like a living thing.
The three of them settled near the back of the cave, where the air was stagnant and unmoving. It was the first time in what felt like an eternity that they allowed themselves a moment to breathe.
Belial exhaled, his muscles aching from exertion.
Now would have been the perfect time to tell them about the game to prepare them for what lay ahead.
But the moment he opened his mouth to speak he was stopped again. but this time he pushed through, agony lanced through his body, indescribable and absolute. A searing pain, as though something deep within him had turned against him. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and for an instant, the world around him twisted.
Karma: 1.
Xin and Raven remained oblivious, their gazes fixed elsewhere. And in that moment, he understood the Restriction: No spoilers.
He couldn't speak of the game. The rules were absolute.
Belial clenched his jaw, steadying himself before exhaling sharply. The sound shattered the quiet. "This place is a nightmare," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "But I didn't come here just to run and hide."
Belial Finally spoke up. "I have goals. Things I need to accomplish in this hellhole." He turned to Xin, his expression sharpening. "And so do you. Whether you realize it or not, what you're looking for is here."
Xin stiffened. He wanted to argue, to deny it—but deep down, he knew Belial was right. The Black Theatre was more than just a death trap. It held answers. It held purpose.
Both turned to Raven, who had remained silent all this time.
"What about you?" Xin asked. "What's your deal?"
Raven remained still, shadows casting his face in an unreadable expression. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, measured. "I was a personal guard," he admitted. "For someone important. There was… an issue. One that wasn't easily fixed." His tone tensed. "So I left."
A weighted pause filled the space between them.
"And now?" Belial pressed.
Raven's fingers curled into a fist. "I'm looking for something," he murmured. "A purpose. I protect. That is what I do. That is what I am."
He didn't elaborate further, and they didn't push. Some things were better left unsaid.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. The distant drip of water echoed from the depths of the cave, the only sound punctuating the quiet. Eventually, Belial inhaled deeply.
"There's something I need from you both," he said, his voice low, serious. "Trust me. No matter what I do—no matter how irrational it may seem—I need you to trust me. And don't ask why."
Xin and Raven exchanged glances. Neither of them was fond of blind trust, but after everything, it made a strange kind of sense. Belial had led them through that hellish catacomb. If he hadn't, they wouldn't be here now.
They nodded in uneasy agreement.
Belial's expression remained grave. "There's something else you need to understand about this place." He shifted, his voice taking on an eerie quality. "Don't trust everything you see."
Xin frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your own senses can and will deceive you," Belial continued. "Don't believe anything you hear, no matter how convincing. You may think you've grasped the truth, but at best, it's a white lie."
Belial's amethyst eyes locked with Xin's striking jade-like gaze.
"Xin, you're the smartest one out of all of us, so this is mostly directed at you."
A chill ran through them, though the cave was already cold.
"Make sure reason is your will," Belial pressed. "And only trust your soul. Make sure you doubt, and always question. A mind that never doubts is a dead mind."
His words lingered, heavy in the air like a foreboding omen.
Then—from the cave's entrance—came a sound.
Soft. Wet.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Their bodies tensed, breath catching in their throats. The scent of methane and rot seeped into the cave, curling through the air like a creeping poison.
A scraping sound, like claws against stone.
Then—silence.
The three remained motionless, straining their ears against the oppressive quiet.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the presence faded. The foul stench receded. Whatever had been outside had moved on.
Xin had been quiet for a while—too quiet. The kind of silence that built not from calm, but from thought churning just beneath the surface. Finally, he shifted, lifting his head slightly as he looked toward Belial. His voice was low, almost uncertain.
"So… is it true?" he asked. Belial didn't look at him immediately. He didn't need to—he could hear the weight in the question. "What?" he said, though he already knew.
Xin hesitated, as if giving himself one last moment to consider whether to ask. "Back in that catacomb… there was no time to think about anything but surviving. But now I can't stop thinking about it." He looked up, the dim light casting hard shadows across his face. "Is it true that you once worked with a demon?"
The words hung in the air like a blade.
Belial froze.
It wasn't the question he'd expected—not in this fragile moment of rest. But it was a question he knew would come eventually. They all knew why they'd been sent to that gods-forsaken pit. Their mission had always been tainted by something unspoken.
He didn't answer at first. A lie would've been easier. Safer. But something deep in his chest—the last flicker of something honest—kept him from it.
"…Yes," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, rough like gravel.
Xin blinked, his surprise obvious. But Belial wasn't done.
"It was my master Afterall " he added, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Silence.
Shock passed over Xin's face like a wave. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again as questions tumbled out in a flood.
_How did they meet?
What was he like?
Were demons really evil?
Could they be trusted?
Were all the stories lies?
Belial deflected most of it, his responses clipped and vague. He avoided details, especially about him and his master.
But one answer he gave with slight hesitation.
"But to answer your question, No. Demons are not all evil well—maybe they are I've only ever met one." he said plainly.
Xin fell silent at that, the weight of the answer sinking in. He didn't know what to make of it—and Belial offered no comfort.
Belial exhaled slowly, resting his back against the cave's cold wall. "We should get some rest," he muttered, though his voice betrayed the truth—there would be little sleep tonight.
Xin and Raven nodded in silence.
The cave was no haven, but it was the best they had. The walls wept with slow trickles of weird moisture, the air thick with the earthy scent of moss and decay. Belial's violet eyes flicked toward the mouth of the cavern, where dawn was fading into full day. The Black Theatre's sky looked like a reflection, a mockery of clarity over a land of madness.
He lowered his gaze. Sleep tugged at his mind, but he refused to let go.
Beside him, Xin sat cross-legged, his cloak drawn tightly around his shoulders, face downcast in thought. He hadn't spoken again since the confession. It sat with him heavily, reshaping something in him.
A few feet away, Raven lay on his side, his back to them, his breathing deep but uneasy. His armor creaked with every breath, the metal groaning softly as it settled. He hadn't spoken once since they entered the cave. He rarely did. But his silence tonight felt different. Heavy. Intentional.
Each of them had come here seeking something—answers, atonement, redemption—but the Black Theatre offered none of those things. Only suffering. Only truth, if one was desperate enough to survive long enough to see it.
And truth, Belial knew, was rarely kind.
Time stretched on, marked only by the rhythmic drip… drip… drip of water echoing from deeper within the stone.
The fire burned low.
Belial's mind drifted—to the catacombs, to the demon who once called him pupil, to the choices that had led him here. The weight of it all sat on his chest like armor he couldn't remove. He dared not close his eyes, not for more than a few seconds at a time.
Because something still wasn't right.
The cave was still.
Too still.
The quiet pressed in too tightly, the shadows too thick, too patient. There was something just beyond their senses, something watching. Waiting.
Belial's fingers curled instinctively around the hilt of Bloodhound, his body was still tired but he was ready.
He didn't know what would come next. But when it came…
They would be ready.
Or they would die.
When morning came, the nightmare would begin again.