The trail of flame ran into the darkness, and the boy followed. A comfortable silence fell between Bell and Meshach as they continued to follow the trail. The splashing that occurred whenever Bell sloshed his feet through the oil became droned out as his mind grew accustomed to the sound. Where was it they were going? Strangely, it didn't matter. So long as he wasn't alone in the darkness.
As Bell continued to walk, he noticed walls beginning to emerge, illuminated by the trail of fire. They seemed to close in on it, like stilled moths wanting to huddle around the flames. The way they were constructed and constrained, it looked as though they were entering a stern. A faint nostalgia for the great colosseum in Orario washed over Bell, but he quickly brushed it off. A memory, a pointless one at that.
"So, where is it we're going, if you don't mind me asking?" Bell said, breaking the silence.
Meshach placed a hand on the bottom of his chin.
"Well… topside, I guess. Honestly, we should really even be down here. I'm only here because, well, you showed up."
Bell mustered an apologetic smile. Though, he wasn't entirely sure what it was he should be sorry for. Inconveniencing Meshach? He didn't know where he was or how he even wound up in this place. He died; that was all he knew.
"I'm just as confused as you," he said with a pitiful chuckle.
Meshach gave him a reassuring thumbs up.
"I'm sure we could get some answers when we get back up top. We're not far from the exit. We're getting pretty close."
Instilled with a newfound sense of vigor, Bell pressed forward, flame in hand. Soon the walls began to show carvings on them. Cracked and chipped, but standing their ground through the stains of time. Bell's eyes began to stare as his body still pressed on. The carved rock resembled a cloaked figure.
The cloak had holes and was torn at the bottom. But what caught Bell's attention was the bottom part of the cloak had markings on it, resembling scorch marks. His physique was more akin to a male. In his left hand, he held a greatsword, though it was broken in three different places, forming crude diagonal slashes and curved edges on its three points. Near the figure's shoulder's were wings. Though, they were depicted to resemble a flickering flame.
Though his face was masked by a hood, he seemed rather sad. Bell couldn't quite put his finger on it. But the longer he stared at it, the more it seemed more animate, life-like.
"Pretty neat, huh?"
"Huh?"
Bell hadn't realized that he had stopped moving to further stare at the figure on the wall.
"I can't really blame you for staring at them. Sometimes, I just go down here to look at these carvings."
Carvings? Instinctively, Bell held Meshach closer to the wall to better illuminate it. Sure enough, there were multiple figures on the wall.
One had a helm that covered over his head which bore a beak. He was adorned in a trench coat with wrappings around both forearms. Staring at him sent shivers down Bell's spine, though he didn't quite know why. And yet, Bell seemed to oddly admire the figure. An estranged sense of deja vu washed over him. Bell looked away, discomforted by his feelings.
Another wore a long sleeve top that had long sleeves and belts and straps that dangled loosely from it—a straightjacket. He had bags underneath his eyes and wore a strained smile on his face. Bell couldn't help but feel pity for the man. He seemed just so sad. Again, there's that feeling. That feeling of familiarity.
A third man wore a button-up shirt with suspenders. The straps dangled just past his knees. He seemed stern, yet his eyes held a soft kindness in them. The longer Bell stared at him, the more that he felt a pit welling up from within his stomach. It was akin to guilt. Why? Why did he feel guilty? What was there to feel guilty of?
There were two other figures on the wall, but Bell's attention was pried away by the sound of dripping. He felt his heart seize for a moment before a sudden rush of calmness hit him. He let out a cool exhale as he steadied his heart. Ever the adventurer, ever the hero.
"Huh? What is it?"
Meshach looked at Bell, his eyes ablaze with curiosity and concern.
"Dripping," Bell responded, his voice vigilant and weary. He spoke in a half-whisper to the flame. "Something is here…"
Slowly, he began to turn away from the wall and continue to walk the path of the fire.
"Huh—huh? That can't be right…"
Though Meshach's doubt was immediately silenced by the sound of dripping coming from the trail behind them.
Bell began to weigh his options. Fighting wasn't necessarily one of them. A last resort, if anything. He wasn't armed with any kind of weapon. His firebolt magic may be able to buy him and Meshach time should confrontation be inevitable, but Bell could sense that whatever it was that lurked in the damp darkness was far too strong to even attempt to fight back against.
Walk, just keep walking. The exit is near.
One step.
Drip.
Two steps.
Drip, drip.
A hazed shadow cloaked in the darkness beyond the veil of the flame's light loomed over the two. They found little to no comfort in one another's company. Safety in numbers was just a pitiful excuse to stifle their fear. The terrible unknown stalking them from afar. Bell wasn't entirely sure if it had caught onto the fact that they knew of its presence, like how a predator senses its prey's sudden irrational fear for its life. It didn't seem that way, but that could easily change in a single millisecond.
"Bell," Meshach whispered. "If you think it's best, there is another path we can take."
Bell looked down at Meshach, his crimson eyes glowing with a newfound spark of interest.
"It's more dangerous than following the trail, but we lose whatever it is that's following us."
Options. They were few and far between. Only two. He could continue on the path, the trail of fire. But that ran a greater risk of being caught by the entity and snatched away back into the darkness. Or, he could take heed to the flame's advice and go off the blazing path and towards supposed safety. It wouldn't be the first time he had been forced to make this kind of decision. He remembered when he was forced to carry Welf and Lili to the eighteenth floor after being over-run by a passing parade of dungeon monsters. It's funny how it all worked out for the better in the hand. Who would have thought a future familia member almost had him killed. Well, she wouldn't have been the first—
No. Stop. Focus back on the task at hand.
Bell felt that playing it safe would be best. He wasn't entirely sure how close the pair were to the supposed exit, but he still didn't want to run the risk of being caught. This thing was too great a threat to risk such a high-stake gamble on.
"Okay, where is this other path?"
Meshach pointed out to their left.
Bell wordlessly nodded as he looked out into the darkness. Just within the diminishing grasp of the light could he see that there was a narrow gap between the walls. It was just small enough where he could squeeze himself through if he shifted his body at a perpendicular angle. He could fit. That is if he wasn't wearing anything particularly bulky.
He looked down at his chest to see his armor. Another piece to be lost to the oil and dark. But he had no choice. This was necessary for his survival.
Poised and prepared, he steadied himself as his hand clasped the strap that held his armor to his chest. Meshach didn't say a word. Anything that he could say wouldn't be of any use. Words mean nothing now.
Bell chuckled to himself in his mind. Wonder what Welf would say, chucking all this equipment away. It was probably worse than them being smashed to bits like they usually wind up as. But he couldn't necessarily let his feelings get in the way of his survival.
"Welf would want this. He would want me to survive," he thought as he coaxed himself into loosening the strap.
Three, two, one.
Splash!
One. Two. Three—
Drip. Drip! DRIP!
Sensing that its prey had noticed its presence, it immediately pounced upon the boy. But the rabbit managed to slip just out of its grasp. It snarled fiercely as it pivoted itself in the dark in an attempt to lunge once again. And yet again, he evaded it.
No! NO—!
It let out a horrific shriek as it reached out from the darkness, but it was only met with infuriating disappointment. Its shoulder collided with cold stone as it reached forward into the gap. Nothing. It frantically waved its arm around but the flame that the boy carried was moving further and further away. It bared its teeth and roared. Huffing, it pulled its hand back and continued to stare at the path the boy was headed.
Soon. So soon. It will have him soon enough.
.
.
.
Wheezing, Bell fell to his knees and collapsed onto the floor. He felt the urge to hurl, but he swallowed hard amidst his frantic breathing. He forgot what it was like to not have a Falna.
Gasping for breath, he looked back towards the gap. Close, too close. Bell didn't dare to take a look at whatever it was that was chasing them during the pursuit. He wasn't sure if he did want to gamble a look. His feeling of its proximity to his own was enough to warrant fear within him.
"Hah…hah…where are we?"
"This path leads to the atrium to the Scorning."
Bell looked incredulously at Meshach.
"The Scorning?"
With such a name like that, it certainly seemed like a pleasant place.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Meshach assured him. But before Bell could breathe a sigh of relief, Meshach spoke again.
"Just, ignore the voices."
Always something. Can't have it ever be simple or safe.
Bell looked at the flame and sighed from exhaustion. Oh well, it surely had to be better than whatever fate would have befallen them had Bell chosen to go for the exit; his gamble paid off.
While there was no longer any trail of fire to lead them, the space that the gap led to was far tighter and seemed more navigable.
"Keep going forward. As we continue, we'll be on dry land and you'll begin to hear voices calling out to you. Ignore them. Ignore them as best as you can. They'll say things to take you off the path, and I won't be able to get you back. Keep walking forward, and we should find ourselves back on the trail, and hopefully, far away from that thing."
Bell let out a cool exhale as he recomposed himself.
"Alright, let's go."
And so, he began to walk forward, flame in hand. The comfortable silence to two had shared previously had all been shattered. It was all so quiet, so eerie. He kept an ear out in case the sound of dripping returned.
Paranoid. When was the last time he felt so paranoid? He didn't notice that his knees were no longer submerged in oil. But even then, all he began to notice were the whispers. At first, they were quiet, inaudible almost. They sounded like snips of static.
.
.
.
"̵̼̈́̈́͂͂͌͂̒H̸̙̼̩̻̰̜̬̜̣̠̃̿͑̕a̸̪͙̗͓̹͇͠ş̴͈̋͐̓̏̈́̉͝s̶̡͚̝̮̄ͅp̷̪̓̄͑̍̆s̵̮̱͎̙̠̙͈̮̝̐̑͐́̑̅͑̔̏͠p̴̨͎͍̩͚̪̖͍̉͋̂́̚s̸̛͎̥̻̮͆͑̀̍̅̽͠p̷͓̺͎̱̝̙̫͈̑̊̐̈́́̌͝s̷̢̪̗͖̮̙̈́̓̐͗̂̃̔p̶̢̠̣̗̙̀̊͑̏͂͗̚̕ŝ̵͉̟̹̺͈̟̾͌͋̈͐͐͛͝.̶̛̼̱͇͓͈̤͐͂̌̒̑͆̅͛͝ H̷̡͍̥͍́̽̀̽̕͘͜͠a̶̧̻͚̻̰̟͙̋́̅͋̇̌̉̚s̶̲̘͇̲̲̘̹̞̳͋͒̑͌͐̅̅̍̈́̔s̸̛̘͚̮̣̦̭̳̬͕͂͂̽̆͐̈́͘͜͝͠p̴̗̂͊̌͠s̷̝͔̖̘̞̭͈̹̼̑p̶͔͈̖̯̝̬͐̓̀̍̓̚̕͘ͅs̵̻̜̱͗̓͛p̶̺̙͖̫̯͙̐̽̾̎̊̀̚͝͝s̸̨̰̭͔͕̟̙̜̙̮̔̒́͋͝p̵̧̢̨̻̝̩̪̞̎s̸̨̤̊̏̐͐̊̿̓̀͌̂p̴̛̞͓͇̺̝͂̅̔͘͜ͅs̶̡̱͔̞̩̖̺̓͒.̴̢̼̼̽̓̓͆̉̈́̾͝
.
.
.
But with each step, they progressively became louder.
.
.
.
"̵̼̈́̈́͂͂͌͂̒H̸̙̼̩̻̰̜̬̜̣̠̃̿͑̕a̸̪͙̗͓̹͇͠ş̴͈̋͐̓̏̈́̉͝s̶̡͚̝̮̄ͅp̷̪̓̄͑̍̆s̵̮̱͎̙̠̙͈̮̝̐̑͐́̑̅͑̔̏͠p̴̨͎͍̩͚̪̖͍̉͋̂́̚s̸̛͎̥̻̮͆͑̀̍̅̽͠p̷͓̺͎̱̝̙̫͈̑̊̐̈́́̌͝s̷̢̪̗͖̮̙̈́̓̐͗̂̃̔p̶̢̠̣̗̙̀̊͑̏͂͗̚̕ŝ̵͉̟̹̺͈̟̾͌͋̈͐͐͛͝.̶̛̼̱͇͓͈̤͐͂̌̒̑͆̅͛͝ H̷̡͍̥͍́̽̀̽̕͘͜͠a̶̧̻͚̻̰̟͙̋́̅͋̇̌̉̚s̶̲̘͇̲̲̘̹̞̳͋͒̑͌͐̅̅̍̈́̔s̸̛̘͚̮̣̦̭̳̬͕͂͂̽̆͐̈́͘͜͝͠p̴̗̂͊̌͠s̷̝͔̖̘̞̭͈̹̼̑p̶͔͈̖̯̝̬͐̓̀̍̓̚̕͘ͅs̵̻̜̱͗̓͛p̶̺̙͖̫̯͙̐̽̾̎̊̀̚͝͝s̸̨̰̭͔͕̟̙̜̙̮̔̒́͋͝p̵̧̢̨̻̝̩̪̞̎s̸̨̤̊̏̐͐̊̿̓̀͌̂p̴̛̞͓͇̺̝͂̅̔͘͜ͅs̶̡̱͔̞̩̖̺̓͒.̴̢̼̼̽̓̓͆̉̈́̾͝ D̷̫͖̤̼͖͉͇̏̇̔̍͗͆̇ȇ̴͈͓͔̖̻̼̗̀̉̐́̓̔̓͜r̸̤̻̯̹̈̀̂̇̑̾͒͘̚͠é̵̻̹͖̗̖͂͗̔̚͝͝r̵̭̓͐.̴̨̡̖̤͚̭̫̲̏̓̃̄̉͋͗̉͐̔ͅ Ǘ̵̻̟͙̦͖͍̙͎̈̓͋́͛̈́͝͠͝d̴̫̼͔̠̰̞̭̲̰̄̓͜e̷̦̼̬̎͆̾́̑̓̔̕͝͝r̶̠̈͑̆̏̏̀̓͘͝͝ȩ̶̛͇͖͕̩̹̟̼̔͋̍̍̾͆̾r̷̯͈̼̲̜̃͂̆́̅̾͠.̷͈̇͛̓̈ M̸̖̹͕̰͈̳̹͕̟̌͋̍̋͑̊͂͘ṳ̶̫̻̖̦̙̼͊̓͂͜ř̴̖d̴̟͔̰̗̰̫̹̞̑͐̌̀͊͝e̵̡̢̫͎̯̞͈͉͓̓̔̒̾̿r̴̤̫̰͔̱͔̭̾̾͝ȅ̷͉͈̠̬̿͋͘͠͝ŗ̸̹̱̠̳̺̟̬̉̔̄͒…̷̭̪̣̭͓͚͕̲̎̓̉͛̉̄͜"̸̨̦̤̰͓̪̥̹̅
.
.
.
Then, in one, cruel instant, they became clear.
"Murderer! Killer! Slayer! Destroyer! Scourge! Death!"
Ignore them. That's what Meshach said. Ignore them. But they just continued to grow louder and louder.
Bell felt a fire burning from within his chest. Anger. But why? Why was he angry? These words, these insults, these taunts. They don't mean anything. So why was he becoming enraged with each passing comment?
"Bell. Bell!" Meshach called out. "Come on! We're almost through. Just keep going. Keep going—!"
His voice was growing more frantic as he looked upon Bell's face.
"One foot. One foot in front of the other! Hop, hop!"
But much to Meshach's fear, Bell began to slow down, until he came to a final stop. He looked down at his feet to see a stuffed bunny. He bent down and picked it up. Its white cotton fur had been singed leaving blackened spots akin to bruising.
An estranged urge took hold of Bell and he looked to the right. There was an opening. Staring down the newly formed path, Bell made out a stone formation. It looked familiar. Just so, so familiar. What could it be?
"Bell, Bell!"
Meshach was practically shouting at the boy, but he did not react at all. Instead, he shifted to his right and began to walk forward. Meshach jumped off and could only stare in horror as Bell began to walk off the path.
It was too late. The boy walked as though he were entranced. Meshach tried to pull at Bell's soggy pant leg, but he was far too weak to stop him.
Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go!
Meshach fell backward clumsily as Bell began to wander off the path. Meshach tried once again to reach out for him, but he was gone. Helpless, Meshach curled himself into the fetal position on the ground and began rocking himself back and forth.
It was his fault. He shouldn't have suggested going here. But, they would have died. Even still, it's his fault, right?
Meshach began humming a tune to himself to soothe his guilt-filled mind. It was a tune belonging to a bygone time. The notes and tempo all seemed off like it was either a pitch too high or a pitch too low, or the rhythm was inconsistent, being Allegro or Adagio. But he still found comfort in it.
He'll be back. He has faith he'll be back. He's just taking a little detour. He'll wait here until he comes back. He can wait.
.
.
.
Bell walked towards the stones. There was a peculiar rigidness in his movements that made him seem so inhuman. The liquid ground rippled beneath his feet with each step. His sole purpose was to reach that stone construction. He was so fixated on it that he didn't even notice the marble statues that stared at him as he continued forward. Left and right, statues, all bearing their stone-cold eyes upon the boy. They had their hands clasped together in a notion of prayer. But Bell didn't even bat an eye at them.
He approached the stone structure to see that it was an altar. On top of it was a shattered blade. Bell recognized it as the sword from the carving. Seeing it before him, it looked just so tragically beautiful. He placed the rabbit doll he held in his hand upon the altar and reached out for the blade. But as he did so, the altar seemingly morphed into a statue in the blink of an eye. It laid flat with its face down upon the ground. The statues began whispering again. Bell hadn't even noticed that they had been silent since he had walked from the path.
Bell rushed down and flipped it over. He gasped in horror as he saw his face carved into the stone. Its eyes fluttered open, and without moving its lips, it muttered the words.
"You did this."
No... No! NO!
In a blind rage, Bell began smashing his fists upon the figure.
Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet! LEAVE ME ALONE!
He flung his head side to side to see that the statues were now replaced by figures of ash—cremated on the spot, frozen in time. Some held out their hands over their face to vainly shield themselves from the flames, an act of selfish preservation. Others put their hands over the faces of others, a gesture of selfless protection.
The dream, the dream! It all came flooding back to his mind. He remembers the dream.
He wanted to scream, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came from it. Having no other way to vent his anguish, he closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and began slamming them down upon the statue.
NO!
BOOM!
NO!
BOOM!
NO!
Drip, drip, drip.
Bell immediately spun around to see it emerging from the ground.
It was hunched forward and had a bull's skull encasing its own like a helm. The left horn had been snapped off like a twig, while the right horn remained seemingly unblemished. It had gray skin that wrapped and ensnared itself onto its bones, taking the phrase "skin-tight" far too literal. It had no muscle or fat, just all skeleton and the tight wrapping of skin covering its body. Bell could practically see the totality of the monster's rib cage beneath its chest and every bone interlocking with one another in its arms and legs. It had crooked and bent claws on its hands and feet. Despite its posture being skewered and its slender physique, Bell surmised that it was easily five feet taller than him, at the very least.
It lunged forward at him with a mighty ferocity. Bell scampered to the side, narrowly dodging its jagged claws. Bell's eyes darted around for something, anything to use to defend himself. Bell spotted the shattered sword by the monster's right hind leg. As it made another lunge for him, Bell skillfully dodged with a tuck and roll. As he came out of the roll, he dove for the sword. Holding it with both hands, Bell glared defiantly at it. It roared fiercely.
Die! DIE!
It pounced once again, its claws clashing with steel as it attempted to slash and stab at the boy. Bell was sent back from the sheer force of the monster's assault. He recoiled, finding his footing once again. He steadied himself as he waited to counter. The monster was ferocious but predictable. Once again, it leaped forward, but Bell sidestepped its attack as he swung at its face. Bell felt his blow connect, feeling the friction between steel and bone. He immediately attempted to slash its back before it had a chance to turn, but he gravely mistimed it, and it swung its backhand against his chest in retaliation. Bell was sent flying back, the blade's grip being knocked from his grasp. His back skittering and skipping on the ground three times before he stopped. He felt winded, like the air in his lungs had been completely knocked out of him. Groaning, he leaned forward to see it already in a posture to pounce him once again.
This thing was relentless!
It shrugged off its wound in a matter of moments and hurdled towards him, its jagged claws outstretched. But before they could connect, it stopped. Seemingly, it was frozen in mid-air. Bell stared in utter disbelief. Before he could attempt to move out of the attack's path, a voice rang out in his mind.
"Bell, you have to switch with me."
"What?"
The voice sounded familiar to Bell. But as soon as he felt this way, he immediately became wary. He's only in this place because he felt as though he had a connection to it. This place fed upon familiarity. Nevertheless, the voice pushed from the recesses of his mind.
"We're going to die unless you switch with me."
"I—I don't understand. Am I not already dead...? Who…? Wait… no, no, no, no, no—"
Paranoia began to seep into his mind. He wanted to clutch his temples to try and make the voices vanish. But he could not move. Time was simply frozen for him.
"You're not real, you're just another voice in this place—! You're not real, you're not real, you're not real, you're not real, you're not real!" he cried.
"I'm real, Bell. I've always been real," the voice said firmly. "You have to let me switch back, or we'll both die."
Even with that threat looming over him, he couldn't do anything. He was frozen in time, and even if he wasn't, he was still paralyzed by fear. He wanted to clench his eyes tightly and embrace the end. Or maybe, this was all just a terrible nightmare and he would finally wake up! But no, he could not close his eyes. All he could do was stare at the claws that wished to pierce his body.
"Bell," the voice said, his tone softer. "I know you're scared. I know that you feel alone, that you feel abandoned, and helpless. So, let me bear that burden. Let me bear that fear. Let me fight this thing."
Snapping himself out of his stupor, Bell opened his mouth and muttered aloud, his lips trembling.
"Okay... Okay. Do it. Switch."
Bell immediately began to feel himself slip out of consciousness as the voice began to take hold.
"Thank you."
His eyes fluttered as it all faded to black. But before he fully blacked out, the voice called out again.
"Oh, one thing before we switch. Hold your breath."
Wait, what?
Before the words could fully register in his mind, he slipped into darkness. And time resumed.
The monster stared for a few moments. It was confused. It felt its claws pierce flesh. It looked to see its claws had gored through the boy's open palm. But, the boy's entire persona had changed. He stared at it, his sapphire eyes ablaze with such loathsome scorn. A new feeling welled up from within its being. Fear. It tried to pull its claw away, but as soon as it departed from his flesh, the boy grabbed hold of it.
"Hmph."
It grew ever more frantic as it tried to pry itself away. The predator had just become the prey. But the boy's newfound strength made it impossible for it to escape. What changed? It made no sense! How did it become like this? It was going to die. It was going to die. It was going to die—!
The boy held his hand out in front of the monster. It froze, completely petrified with fear. It could only stare as his hand began to glow as magic coursed through his veins. Then, he muttered the last word the monster would ever hear.
"Infernum."