Garden Of The Abyss

Looming over the less-than-welcoming staircase, he couldn't see what it led to as shadows clung abundantly to the passageway below.

I could probably just rest here...right? He thought.

Looking around, it didn't seem to be a bad place to stop and rest, though it would hardly be comfortable. Sitting down with his back to the wall and his eyes on the entrance, he attempted to relax, but found himself restless at the existence of the stairway.

It wasn't exactly that he had a boundless, unquenchable curiosity pertaining to that stairway; it was that sitting there in silence resulted in his mind wandering, latching onto anything else it could find.

Minutes passed of him simply trying not to think, but it was an impossible task to ask of his fractured mind. All of the bravado he forced from himself during his journey alone fell to ruin once he was finally allowed to sit in silence, alone with his thoughts.

I still don't get it, he thought, what the hell does 'Belmon' want with me? Clearly, they expect something of me...but, what is it? I don't know a damn thing...they can burn in hell, for all I care. I'd prefer that. It's just...I can't shake this feeling: a cold uneasiness causing my heart to beat as if I'm constantly afraid.

What's so special about me to them anyway? Why the hell would a cult want me?

I don't want to think about it right now...I just want to sleep. I can save those questions for after I make it out of here--with everyone.

If he attempted to sit there with only the gently swaying flames of the lit lanterns filling his ears with a slight crisp, all he could think about were the dreadful memories etched so abhorrently into his mind as if carved by a wicked dagger through the grooves of his brain.

Lamentation was all he could experience during stillness; if nothing else was felt, it was painful regret.

"Iris…" He muttered to himself.

Her smile was etched so deeply into his mind; the kindness, beauty, and serenity of it was enough to bring him to tears even as a memory.

Even that pristine memory was tainted by the repulsive events of recent; attempting to remember her voice brought with it the gurgles of blood, and the crunching of bones. If anything, it served as fuel--an anger that constantly rekindled itself as his conviction was reinforced.

I won't let you become a memory. I promise, I'll save you...I'll save everyone, he promised, clenching the fabric over his right eye.

More than anything, he remembered the haunting face of the Marquis responsible for it all--remembering the agony he suffered at his hands, all while listening to his harrowing laughter.

The restlessness manifested itself into an itch across his body that shifted into a bubbling heat radiating through his veins if he didn't scratch. After indulging his itch, he found his chest bleeding as he was lost in his plaguing memories while fervently scratching.

"...I'm a mess," he whispered to himself.

Slumping his shoulders, all he could do was look up at the stone roof that was absent of a few slabs, allowing for a gentle, light sprinkle of snow to find its way inside. He placed his hand over his covered eye, still experiencing a constant, slight ache, though it was nothing compared to the episodes of agony it spurred on randomly.

Falling into slumber, he woke up every few minutes, accumulating only a sparse amount of sleep over the course of a few hours; only finding solace in those minimal sections of rest.

Waking up again for the dozenth time, he yawned quietly, sitting still with his body wrapped as much as possible in his silver cloak, watching the faint amount of snow trickle down through the fractured roof.

Alone in Purgatory again, huh? I guess it's not too different from how I started, he thought, slumping his shoulders.

Forcing his eyes shut, they popped open a few seconds later as he huffed, walking back over to the stairway.

"Dammit, there's no way I can ignore this…" He muttered.

Only the crackling of the toasty flames filled his ears with a slight ambience as he looked around briefly one last time before venturing into the depths below.

Here goes nothing...hopefully, he thought.

Swatting away the veil of cobwebs guarding the stairway, he began his descent--slowly and cautiously.

The steps beneath his boots felt unstable; the mossy, damp stone seemed to sink just slightly beneath each slow step he took, resulting in small squelches of the clammy overgrowth beneath his soles.

Does anybody take care of this place?...Stupid question. It's definitely abandoned...I hope, he thought.

As he stepped down the lengthy, gloomy staircase that was filled with an aroma of stagnant, old air, he pushed low-hanging veils of overgrowth away from his path. The mixture of vines, leaves, and roots that seeped through the cracks of stone intrusively worked to obscure his vision as they acted like curtains.

Continuing his slow stride in an attempt to maximize caution, his next step sunk into the stone slab below unnaturally--resounding against his ears with a clear 'click.'

"Huh?" He muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed the gray square to his left open to reveal a false window.

It was almost a moment too late; leaning back from pure reflex, he avoided the object that launched from the trap door embedded into the wall.

From how claustrophobic the narrow walls at either side of the dank stairway were, there was little time given to him to react in the first place as he stood there for a moment out of complete shock.

"I'm...alive?" He muttered in surprise.

In front of him, he saw the tricky weapon that attempted to take his life: a long, metallic spear that was now lodged into the right side of the staircase.

It still hummed quietly as the metal wiggled lightly from its swift departure. There was no doubt in his mind that a hunk of sharpened steel launched so violently would have brought him to a premature end of his journey.

What the hell? Why was there a trap here? He thought.please visit

Looking at the hole in the left wall that was now revealed, a dust-laden contraption inhabited the secretive spot, giving off small, used-up particles of mana.

"Was it set by magic?" He asked himself in a whisper, inspecting it.

--He wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to engineering, preventing him from really figuring out how such a lethal trap existed.

All he knew now was that whatever caution he carried himself with had to be multiplied several times over.

Ducking beneath the spear, he continued traversing the creaking steps while keeping his eyes dead set on each and every square-inch of the stairs.

This place is rigged, that's obvious now, but the question is...who set it up? Is it something Purgatory itself set up? Or is someone else using this place? He questioned.

That question lingering in his lead to further hesitation as he slowly descended the deadly stairs; after cautiously stepping down a few more steps, his eyes found the bottom of the shadowy, enclosed stairway.

As if each step carried a balance between life-and-death, he traversed the final few steps before reaching the floor made of smooth, moss-carpeted stone below.

"That wasn't so bad…" He let out a sigh of relief.

--Placing his hand on the edge of the stairway, his palm pressed against a loose section of stone that resounded with an eye-widening 'click.'

"...Wha--?!" He let out in shock.

He had yet to so much as get a glimpse at the area he found himself in yet before having to quickly decipher from what direction the activated trap came from.

It was a barren corridor overtaken by such abundant overgrowth that it almost seemed to be a verdant tunnel rather than one of stone; only a sparse few, orange lanterns hung from the walls like miniature chandeliers.

From the unchanging appearance of the hall before his eyes, he deciphered in less than a second where the trap would spawn.

Below! he thought.

Spinning to the side, his deduction was proven violently correct as a spear launched from a false door below, propelling into the stone ceiling as sediment rained down from the harsh impact.

"I'm alive...again," he breathed out.

Clutching his chest as he regained his breath, he looked up at the silver spear that embedded itself into the verdant-coated ceiling.

Just before he could take another step forward after catching his stolen breath, he was stopped abruptly.

It was directly at level with his eye: an incredibly thin line running from the left wall to the right. Such a minuscule string could only be noticed because of the subtle shine it gave off, completely stopping him in his tracks as he froze like a statue.

"Close...way too close," he whispered to himself.

Moving only his eye, he attempted to find whatever contraption bumping into the line would trigger, but the veil of moss made it impossible to see the fine details of the stone beneath.

Ducking beneath the string, he moved past it before coming to yet another stop.

"...You have to be kidding me," he muttered in disbelief.

It seemed almost comical, but even more so--it was harrowing: like an impossible maze, dozens of lines ran from wall-to-wall, and ceiling-to-floor.

But, more than that, he realized something after looking at the assortment of barely visible threads:

It wasn't meant to be passed through.

Even the most flexible, world-class acrobatic would be unable to pass through the barrier of strings, that much was painfully obvious.

"I really don't want to find out what touching these does, so I've got one option…" He breathed in-and-out.

His eyes were set on the large, iron-clad door that sat at the end of the enigmatic hall, aiming his eyes on the abundance of moss and roots that scaled over it.

ραпdα nᴏνɐ| сom It's weird to have to yell it out now...but I'm not taking any risks! He thought.

Focusing himself as he stood on the tips of his toes with his entire body flexed, he was ready.

"Dunkel: Shadow Step! Times Three!"

Yelling it out, he flung himself through the shadows at a distance multiplied by a successive use of the spell.

Landing harshly against the broad, metal-reinforced threshold of the large set of doors, he smiled at the success of his plan.

He looked back briefly at the army of strings that laid in the hall, still fearing that even the subtlest movement might still set off a string.

"....Again, I'm alive," he celebrated wryly.

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