The hallways drag on for miles.
Seeing the same boring white walls and crappy decorations gets tiring after a while.
And by a while, he means the first minute or so.
He usually doesn't walk this long.
Who really does? Walking sucks.
His mom would probably hit him in the back of his head if she heard him say such a thing.
Walking --or really, exercising in general-- is her thing. Like, a big part.
She might even love it more than him. Okay, definitely not that much, but she loves it a lot.
Alright-- time to focus on the objective at hand. Getting back to the family and meeting the old man who might be cool, maybe not, but probably isn't.
Gonna have to find out on his own.
The boy's stubby legs carry him down the unnecessarily long hallway, rubbing uncomfortably against the harsh and brittle fabric of his village hand-me-down sweatpants that no one else wanted, and as such, he ended up being stuck with.
He can see why they didn't.
They feel like rocks. Or glass shards. Is that much of a difference? He's not sure.
But it feels like there'd be a big difference between them. One's razor sharp and the other is...sharp and uh, you know what, it doesn't matter actually.
None of whatever he was thinking about matters right now.
Except the 'getting back to the family' part, because that does.
He lets out a loud groan, stretching out his arms.
His eyes wander, catching more details than he originally intended to.
Sylus comes to an abrupt stop.
Huh.
He steps closer to the wall on his right.
That's weird.
His eyes squint, his brow lifting slightly.
They're a different color-- a soft beiger rather than their original bright white.
"Wasn't this--" He pauses, turning to look at the left wall, then back to the right one.
"Weren't they white just a second ago?"
They were definitely white the last time he checked.
Okay-- that can definitely be explained. Maybe it's one of those optical illusions.
That doesn't make a lick of sense.
But then again, it's walls. So not that big of a deal.
Maybe if it were...
For a moment, he swears the lights flicker a dark blue.
Totally not creepy.
No. No.
It's not a big deal.
He needs to relax.
This is what happens when you watch one too many horror movies-- you start thinking someone's out to get you.
Paranoia.
The lights flicker again.
And for a moment, Sylus' eyes read over words etched into a wall before they disappear as quickly as they came.
He gets back to walking-- faster this time.
Nope. Not paranoia. Something weird is definitely going on, Sylus refuses to deny so anymore.
What exactly, he's not sure yet. But things are getting freaky.
Numbers posted by the door come and go in the blink of an eye.
They too are wrong.
Not only are they in the wrong order, but they're in the wrong language.
Okay.
There's a chance he was wrong and this is a bigger deal than he originally thought.
But at this point that's just obvious.
What could it be though-- ghosts? Hospitals are ground-zero for vengeful spirits that wanna take revenge on people that had nothing to do with their deaths, though that's all media, which has never made any sense to him. Why try and come for people who've never done anything to you?
Just sounds like a waste of time to him.
Or maybe it's some creep 'tryna mess with people. He's not sure which one sounds worse.
Definitely the creep. 'Cause ghosts are useless, they can't actually do anything-- other than possess you, but they typically don't do that.
They just knock stuff around and act scary, so kind of like having a cat.
A creep sounds way worse than that.
Who wants some weirdo following them around, with weirdo intentions? Absolutely not. He'll take the ghost any day of the week.
His pace quickens by a considerable amount-- yet nothing changes.
His surroundings stay the same.
The same rooms. The same numbers. The same lights. The same plants-- the same everything.
No matter how far he walks or how fast he walks, nothing ever changes. And right now, he doesn't think they ever did.
Possibilities run rampant in his mind.
Most of them don't make any sense.
But one in particular sticks out like a sore thumb.
A loop.
They're uncommon. Rare even.
But it's the only thing that makes sense. The only piece of the puzzle that fits in place.
'Loops' are spells typically cast by those with a large pool of Mana, the life-force energy that exists within every living being, ones that force the victim into repeating an endless cycle, whether that be of a place, time, area or thing, which can only be broken under specific circumstances.
Those being through overpowering the spell...which he doesn't believe himself capable of doing, or...
Being let out by the one who cast it in the first place.
And he doubts that's much of an option.
Who puts someone under a spell and then removes it willy-nilly? Would just be a waste of time and effort.
It's fine.
The chances of escape are slim but never zero.
He's got this.
Totally.
"Oh, who am I kidding-" he throws his arms into the air and sighs heavily, smacking them against his thighs-- which hurts more than he expected it to. "I'm gonna get whisked off and taken to the black market so they can take my organs, and sell 'em for big bucks."
Especially 'cause he's been eating so much sweets lately.
And everyone --yes, everyone-- knows that if you don't stick to your parents dietary restrictions, the black market people will come for you.
His parents taught him that.
Other kids have denied such a thing existing, but he refuses to accept anything else.
It just makes sense.
Sylus halts his movement, leaning against the wall for support.
Jokes aside-- he's vastly unprepared for this.
And assumingly, there's no one else around.
Not his parents, not his grandfather, and not any random bystanders either.
It's just him and the spellcaster. Whoever that is.
Which means, for the first time in his life, he's all alone. Left to deal with a problem much bigger than himself.
Sylus slides down the wall, his backside meeting the baseboard. The floor's unkempt, candy wrappers and dust everywhere.
He pulls his knees to his chest, muttering words under his breath.
The only thing he can do now is wait.
What feels like hours go by, and yet nothing happens.
No strange music or sounds, just...silence.
And perhaps, that's worse.
He'd rather get chased around by ghosts, monsters, or the creepiest of creeps.
Because then at least he'd know what to expect.
He knocks his head against the wall, groaning softly.
This is torture.
It wouldn't be that bad if whatever's going to happen hurried up and happened already.
Because seriously-- what kind of psycho-maniac forces someone into a loop, then makes them wait for whatever evil plan you're going to inflict upon them?
Somebody that's mentally disturbed, that's who.
Really the only explanation.
He grips his hands.
Exhaling slowly, steadying his pulse.
There's nothing else to do really.
A soft jingle catches his attention. It's soft and barely noticeable at first, but continues long enough to raise suspicion.
His head lifts, slightly.
He's careful not to make too much movement. It could be nothing.
Though that's unlikely.
Nothing is ever nothing. Not in situations like this.
But going out of his way to check out whatever made that sound is a no-go.
He's eight, not an idiot. That's like asking to get murdered.
Or his organs taken. Or something.
The jingles get progressively louder, harsher-- like two clackers hitting each other at impossible speeds.
Whatever it is that brought him here, is on its way.
Sylus doesn't move form his position.
The thought never even crosses his mind.
And yeah, he could get up and run himself dead hooting and hollering, waving his arms around like a madman, but what would be the point? To answer simply, there wouldn't be one.
Other than wasting both time and energy to look like a complete moron in what could be, and part of him believes to be, his final moments on Overworld.
Staying right here, unmoving and relaxed, is the best thing he can do for himself right now. He refuses to succumb to fear nor temptation-- just like an Aegis.
Even if a potentially dangerous monster or person is heading his way.
Even if a potentially dangerous monster or person is heading his way.
He'll deal with it when it comes, and not a moment sooner.
A moan ripples down the hallway like a stone skipping across sea.
They frequent with each passing second.
Footsteps, heavy and fast, come next.
His eyes dart around.
There's no telling where it is.
Or where it's going to come from.
A lump grows in his throat, thickening every second his curiosity goes unsatiated.
The hallways shake with an unmatched fury.
Sylus readies himself.
There's no telling what he's going to see.
It starts small.
A hand as black as night and frail as glass, a small layer of skin hanging off the bone, slowly creeps behind a corner-- its nails long and sharp like claws, slowly digging into the wall.
Okay.
This is worse than he originally thought it'd be.
And that's saying something.
He slowly starts scooting away, although knowing it to be futile.
He's locked in here with that thing.
His breath hitches.
It's coming.
It's coming for real this time.
This isn't a game nor a laughing matter anymore.
"Don't move. Don't you dare move."
The entity slowly begins to reveal more of itself.
It's arm, long and just as frail, sticks out like a sore thumb. Covered in fur from an array of different animals, some he recognizes and others he doesn't, as well cuts and bruises that can only be described as wounds of long-term abuse.
"There's a chance that, if I don't move too much, if I'm perfectly still...that it won't see me. That it'll leave me alone."
Wishful thinking.
He's never been that lucky.
His body shakes.
Mind races. With both fear and endless possibilities.
The creature is unusually tall, standing at seven-foot and eight inches.
It's bulbous head is big and squishy-looking, kind of like...a grape.
Weird.
Uncanny, even.
It's eyes are white as snow, straight and narrow-like slits.
The thing stares at him.
Not moving, or talking, or breathing just...standing there.
Doesn't even blink.
Creep.
He doesn't get it.
He doesn't understand why it's not coming for him, running over and ripping him to shreds.
Does he want any of that? Of course not.
Staying alive is great. Better than that, actually.
But that doesn't mean he can't be a little curious as to why it hasn't killed or snatched him.
Perhaps it's...waiting for something?
Or someone.
Someone's orders.
Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, really.
But that just poses more questions.
Like who or what is giving the thing orders.
And what kind of orders they're supposed to be or will be given.
He slowly starts getting up off the floor.
Maybe he should try and run.
Get at least a bit of distance between them.
Is it gonna matter in the long run?
Nope. But he can still do it anyway.
Better than nothing, Sylus supposes.
It puts one foot forward.
Then another.
It's mouth opens wide, revealing hundreds of thousands of teeth, all razor-sharp and primed for eating.
"S-Y-L-U-S"
"My..."
Dear god.
"It knows my name."
It knows his name.
Problem-- this is a problem.
A really big one.
How does it know his name? Has it been watching him, maybe?
And if so, for how long?
Has it been watching his parents too?
His parents. God, his parents.
"Sylus?" It speaks again, this time using a familiar voice.
His mothers voice.
"Come," calls the monster, stretching out its arms. "Come to your mother."
It sounds like her, but not quite. There's something different-- something off about how it speaks.
An imperfect replication.
His lip quivers.
"I'm-" He swallows hard. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I know what you are-- you're not my mother. Just a...a cheap imitation." His words are latched with an unmistakable venom, although it goes unspoken of by the lanky creature.
Its face contorts.
With what, he can't be sure. A little hard to tell when his jaw is hanging wide-open and catching flies, but Sylus doubts he'll like the answer.
It steps toward him again.
Arms held wide open.
Then again.
It's not stopping. Nor slowing down-- not for a second.
The thing wasn't moving like this before.
So-- "What changed?"
Was it his response? Doesn't seem likely.
Or else it would've done something sooner.
No.
This is what he was talking about earlier.
It needing some sort of orders.
But that begs the question. Who's giving the orders and what kind of orders are they?
A black, swiveling aura envelops the abomination, causing immediate consequences.
His body is instantaneously forced to the ground, crushed by an unquantifiable amount of gravitational pressure.
Sylus recognizes the ability immediately.
An Aura-Barrier.
The outline of one's soul.
But that's the issue-- this shouldn't be possible.
It isn't possible.
He's been checking this entire time. There's not a soul in this building.
And it's not possible to manifest an Aura-Barrier without first having a soul.
He grits his teeth, attempting to pull himself up with a mixture of sheer willpower, determination, and every ounce of strength his body holds.
But it's useless against an Aura-Barrier.
The only way to fight one is by unleashing your own-- a technique he's yet to learn.
It grabs him by the leg, slowly dragging him down the hallway.
He wants to kick.
To scream.
To break free. But it's hopeless-- it's always been hopeless. He's only just now realizing that.
His eyes are firmly rolled to the back of his skull, rendering him --albeit temporarily-- blind.
He squirms, yelping at every step of the way.
It hurts-- god, it hurts so bad. He tries to shut his eyes, but they're locked in place. There's no moving them.
The discomfort is beyond anything he's ever felt before. And there's no way to bring himself relief.
Aura-Barriers are this worlds greatest power, yet also its greatest weakness.
Though in order to understand why, one first has to understand both Mana and Aura beyond a surface-level understanding.
But first, you gotta actually...know the basics.
It's crazy how many people don't.
Like, you learn about this stuff really, really early on.
Or at least he did.
Aura and Mana are similar yet strikingly different in many ways.
Like for example: they're both energy sources native to Overworld and it's people. But that's the basic, basic stuff.
Everyone --regardless of class, race, gender, or sex-- is born with a pool or 'reserve' of both Aura and Mana that fluctuates depending on the person rather than genetics or anything concrete.
In day to day life, this usually wouldn't matter.
Most jobs don't require you to have a Mana reserve the size of an ocean to get hired, so regardless, its not that bad.
Expanding your reserves is possible, though unrecommended to anyone who doesn't have a death wish.
Mana, the life energy that flows within every living creature, is most commonly used for spell-casting, although has far more, untapped utility, than the average joe realizes.
With enough concentration and practice, you can augment your physical and mental capabilities, infuse the soles of your feet to walk on walls or water, the possibilities are, realistically, endless. There's almost nothing that you can't do with enough Mana reserves.
Aura, however, is different.
Whereas Mana is like water, free and flowing, Aura is rigid like stone.
There exists little to no flexibility.
Aura is spiritual energy, the makeup and guardianship of one's soul.
It too can be used for spells --ones far more powerful than Mana spells-- albeit with a cost.
Death.
Unlike Mana, which can be used at any time as much as one wants, Aura must be used sparingly.
Depleting your reserves means instant death. No questions asked.
Which is partly what makes Aura-Barriers so risky.
Aura-Barriers are created when one grabs hold of their soul and wears it over themselves like a suit of armor: bringing forth an unrivaled pressure capable of unspeakable damage.
Which sounds nice...until it ends up broken.
And then boom-- you're dead. Just like that.
Hence the risk.
Which he would exploit--
If he had the power to do so, that is.
And that's definitely not gonna happen.
Not with this scrawny...pathetic body.
Instead, he lays perfectly still-- scraping against the floor like roadkill.
He hates every second of it.
It's humiliating.
Dehumanizing.
But he doesn't have much of a choice either way.
He has to take it.
And perhaps, that's worst of all.
The moment between them drags for an eternity.
His body screams for relief.
To feel anything but pain.
He's not that lucky, though.
Never is.
He can feel himself slipping away.
The pressure is too much. Especially for a boy his size.
His body begins to crumple.
Buckling under the Aura-Barrier's mounting, gravitational pressure.
He hears footsteps.
Different than his or the monster's.
A man steps into what little view Sylus has left.
He's unlike anything the boy has ever seen before.
Goat horns protrude from his forehead-- A Satyr? No.
Not fully.
His arms and legs are wooden.
A half-Satyr...half Dryad?
He speaks smoothly, almost calculated. "Don't hurt him more than you have to. Only use the appropriate force to bring him in."
The monster grunts, though relents-- dialing back its previously uncontained power.
So this is who was giving the orders.
Great.
He's definitely not getting out of this.
Not that he was before, but it's more solidified now.
The hallway finally comes to an end.
The loop must be over.
"It's over...Someone should be around, right? Maybe I can call out for help--- there's no doubt my parents are looking for me right now."
His mouth opens.
Thank god for the thing lowering the output of its Aura-Barrier.
Eyes are still rolled back though.
Which sucks.
He screams and screams.
Louder than he ever has before.
Tears flow as emotions get out of control.
But no one comes.
Not a single soul.
"You can scream as much as you'd like, but no one's coming. Don't you think we planned for this already?"
Unfortunately valid.
A portal as blue as the sky swirls into existence right before his eyes.
It's obvious what's going to happen from here on out.
They're going to take him away. And he's never going to see his family again.
The tears start all over again.
Crying is usually seem as a form of weakness for a man.
Something to look down upon.
But he can't help it.
Nor does he want to.
There's a good chance he'll never see his folks again.
And he's not ashamed to say that idea breaks his heart.
It's not fair.
Not at all-- he'd rather die than to go with them and never see his parents again, but there's nothing he can do.
It's out of his hands.
Doesn't make him feel any better though.
He squirms to the best of his abilities. Which isn't much.
But Sylus tries his best.
His efforts don't go unnoticed.
Not that it changes much.
The mix-breed steps through first.
Must be safe, he supposes.
Him and the creature are up next-- sadly.
The urge to fight or try and escape builds in his chest.
He swallows it down without a second thought.
It'd just be a waste of energy.
Stepping in-- well, being dragged through the portal is unlike anything he's ever felt before.
It's like his entire body is being rearranged and then put back together at the same time.
But still not a welcome feeling.
His surroundings change in the blink of an eye.
From hospital to...what he assumes to be the guy's evil lair.
Kind of anti-climatic.
Once they're through, the creatures Aura-Barrier drops-- finally allowing him to breathe.
And move his eyes around.
God, did he miss that.
"Never going to complain about them again," that's probably not true in the long-run, but for right now, it is.
Oh-- and taking deep breaths.
As it turns out, breathing when the equivalent of a black-hole is pressing on your spine for several minutes is really difficult.
Who could've guessed that?
Rhetorical question, by the way. If that's not already obvious.
He looks around, breathing in the space-- literally and metaphorically. There's a lot of dust in the air.
And honestly, that's half of the room.
From what he can tell, which isn't much because his vision is still blurry and his eyes hurt like, a lot, the place is practically barren-- devoid of any personality or charm.
From what he can tell --which isn't much because his vision is still blurry and his eyes hurt, like a lot-- the place is barren and lifeless, devoid of any charm or personality, a stark contrast to the bright and vibrant hospital that at least had the dignity to invest in some plants and paintings.
Even if they weren't that great.
The lack of decor is, surprisingly, not the worst thing they've got going on around here.
Machinery and pieces of equipment his brain cannot fathom are sprawled out all over the floor and living-space, if you can really call it that.
Cages hang from the ceiling, each one carrying a different species.
Their bodies are frail.
Severely malnourished.
They're nothing but husks of flesh and bones.
He only wishes that were the worst part.
His breathing slows-- a new weight settling on his chest.
Horror.
Stasis tanks filled with a murky green liquid sit neatly in the corner of the room, housing those too large for the cages.
There's dozens of them. Maybe more.
And he's going to be next up.
The half-breed steps in front of him, wearing a welcoming smile. "Don't be afraid, you're here for a glorious purpose."
Great.
He's stuck here with crazy people.
Kind of obvious by the cages and stasis tanks though.
Sylus slowly inches away from his current position. What does one do in a situation like this?
Running sounds nice, but stupid with the guy's bodyguard standing right across from him.
No way to get a message out when he has no idea where he's been taken.
And that's as far as his brain is willing to go.
It might be time to start looking at this as his permanent residence.
"B8, Take him to his new living-quarters," says the half-breed, starting to walk away.
He speaks without a hint of emotion.
The man is ripping him away from his family, for what he assumes to be some kind of torture fantasy-- and he doesn't even care.
There's no telling how many times he's done this. Or will continue to.
Sylus doesn't understand.
What possesses a man to do something like this?
To take kids away form their families for his own sick and sadistic pleasure?
It just doesn't make sense to him. But maybe it's not supposed to.
He's not sick in the head like this man clearly seems to be, so of course it doesn't click.
B8 steps toward him, its jaw clamped shut.
Man, that name is so stupid.
Completely ruined any fear he had for the thing.
It's like being afraid of a guy named Hilbert.
Never happening.
B8 grabs him by the arm with more force than necessary when trying to restrain an eight-year-old boy, yanking him toward the hanging cages.
Great.
New home.
"I already miss the village," words he never thought he'd utter.
'Cause yeah, it was never the greatest place to live.
The elders sucked-- they were way too pushy.
Controlling as well.
They suck. Or, sucked.
But this is worse-- like, infinitely worse.
"...And, I think...no, I know...I miss my parents." They don't suck. Never did.
They're great. The greatest.
And unfortunately, he may never see them again.
Tears threaten to fall, but Sylus refuses.
He can't let them know how much he's hurting.
That, more than anything, he just wants to go home.
To hold his parents again. Even if for one last time.
Instead, he's thrown into an empty cage and locked inside.
At least he gets his own room.
One bright-side to this.
Oh, who's he kidding? There's no upside to this.
It stinks in here.
He's living in a cage-- away from his friends and family.
And god, is it cold. Are they not handing out blankets around here?
Because no way is he going to just shiver all day every day. Not happening.
He grips the bars, resting his forehead against them.
"Can I get a pillow-- or a blanket?" They probably won't answer, and there's even less of a chance he'll actually get either of his requests cause they're evil, but its worth a shot.
"Don't make so much noise," one of the boys --an elf-- hisses from his cage. "You're going to get all of us either killed or punished."
No idea what that guy's talking about.
And besides-- who's gonna listen to someone who's been trapped here for god knows how long?
He's smart enough to know what's gonna happen if he steps out of line, but not enough to try and escape? Yeah, no thanks on the advice.
Maybe if he wasn't sitting inside of a cage, he'd think about it.
"Helloo?" Sylus calls out again.
Silence.
Might not be getting that pillow or blanket.
He blows a raspberry, tapping his nails against the cold metal.
This sucks.
But then again, that's probably by design.
This place isn't exactly a five-star hotel.
Really wish it was though.
"Don't bother calling for them-- nobody is going to answer."
Is everyone here a negative nancy with only one default response?
Like seriously-- what's the harm in just asking for stuff? Are they gonna blow up if he asks for a blanket or something?
Sylus looks over to the voice's origin-- a girl whose long red hair flows behind her like a flag going with the end, onyx eyes that pierce through his soul and a tanned complex that really shouldn't be possible if none of these guys have seen the sun, but that's the least of his worries.
Huh...
Maybe being a negative nancy isn't so bad after all.
"Why not?" he tilts his head.
She leans against the cage, their eyes locking into a dance.
"Because they don't care, no matter how much you complain and whine."
Well, thanks Captain obvious...
"Uhh....duh?"
She rolls her eyes, as if already sick of him.
Not that he asked for her input anyway.
Like seriously-- what's with these guys and always inserting themselves where no one asked them to?
A little narcissistic if you ask him.
No one is, but still.
He needs out of here-- these guys are drones.
How? Not a clue.
Still need to get out of here though.
"I'm serious. Unless its a life-or-death situation, you can scream and call for them all you want, but they aren't going to listen."
"Not unless their 'merchandise' are hurt..." She grimaces, turning away from him.
Well...when you put it that way, this is seriously messed up.
Cause-- "Merchandise is crazy."
Absurd, even.
She chuckles. "Look, I'm not trying to come off any type of way, but as someone who's been here a while, its best to just...keep your head down."
"How long have you been here for?"
"Do you know what year it is?"
He hasn't even answered yet, and can already tell she's about to say something crazy.
"3040...why?"
"Then I've been here for 6 years, I think."
Oh hell no.
"...And you haven't tried escaping?"
"I did. But I failed. Sixty-two times."
Absolutely not-- hell to the no.
Six years and sixty-two failed attempts is ridiculous.
And yeah, they are drones-- that's true, but even the dumbest person alive could escape from somewhere, or something, after trying sixty-two times.
He might be screwed.
Actually-- might is an understatement. He is screwed.