Garden Of The Abyss

Chapter 120 - Sanity, Crumbling

Slowly his eyes parted open, after unknowingly having fallen into slumber. Even in the somber environment, the subtlest instances of light made his eyes water, his own body attempting to force his eyelids shut.

"--I fell asleep?"

Sitting up and rubbing the back of his head, Ren's dreary eyes shot wide at the sight of the lifeless body resting against the damp stone.

"Goldheve?!"

Steam rose from the man's unmoving body, giving Ren temporary relief as the body still held the warmth of life in it.

Checking his pulse, however, did away with that short-lived reprieve. There was no response met with his touch as he checked the man's limp wrist, the same null sensation came when he pressed his fingers against the man's jugular.

"What happened…"

Seeing the gaping hole in the man's chest caused him to gag, throwing himself near the edge of the flooring before heaving bile into the abyssal lake. The sight of mutilated flesh dragged unwanted memories to the front of his mind as water flushed from his eyelids, continuing to heave waste from his mouth to the water below.

--Did I do this?...I wouldn't. Why would I do something like this?

Looking at his hands, cloth from his tunic had been wrapped around his palm, dyed with a familiar red that had made its way down his forearm.

--His body is still present...It didn't turn into a stain of red like usual.

Coming to this realization finally, Ren had fully realized what this had meant. The man he saw before him, or rather, the husk of the man he had known--was gone.

Sitting in the puddle of blood that had seeped from Goldheve's lifeless body was Belus, lifting it from the lake of crimson with a somber expression. All he could see from the once beautiful silver was now a tool of evil, a weapon that assisted him in crossing a line that should not be crossed.

Looking at the blade, soaked in scarlet, he could only muster one thought.

--I want to throw up.

Attempting to rid himself of the sight of blood, he swiped the blade in the air a few times before sliding it into the pocket of leather formed for it. He had almost missed them, but a handful of crimson coins bathed in the pool of blood. Leaning down, Ren hesitantly retrieved them, "...Were these his?"

Deciding whether or not to stuff them into his pocket manifested a dilemma. The stench of blood and guilt reeked from the hellish currency, but if he wanted to make it out—he needed whatever he could get.

"Sorry, Goldheve."

It was a choice made with Iris in mind, as well as his own life.

--I have to move forward, no matter what. This place is banking on me breaking down, succumbing to its sick games so that the gods can get a kick out of my own misery. Even if I want to stop...I can't. I won't. Somewhere out there, Iris is all alone...If there is one thing I can still protect, please let it be her.

As sluggish as his body felt, he dragged his boots forward against the weathered stone, damp with blood and water as he pushed himself into the next waiting corridor.

Each step he took forward, it felt as if it was a bet against his own body if the strength of his legs would falter beneath him.

The next room he was led into took the shape of a dome arena, reminiscent that of the ancient Colosseum of Rome. Like everything else in the twisted labyrinth, it was distinctly inhuman, holding an air of old, dried blood and death along its cracked, dirtied stone walls lined with grime and other substances he didn't dare ponder too hard about.

That coppery stench of blood made him want to heave, sapping the already minimal strength from his tired body as he stood at the entrance of this colosseum room. Just one look at it, far-stretching yet so very lonely--he became exhausted just at the thought of what awaits him here. After his brief, but densely-packed time in the domain of Asterius, Ren had already become accustomed to its ways.

If there was ever one guess to make about a chamber within the labyrinth—it wants to torment you.

--Come on, body, move.

He watched with his unmoving mirrors as his presence in the enclosed arena had awakened its inhabitants--bat-like creatures that hung from the ceiling, responsible for the droppings on the floor below. From the distance he saw them, they had looked small in size, roughly the same as the bats he knew of on Earth--however, as they flapped their black curtains towards him, approaching with clear hostility, their size became apparent.

--Move. Move.

Fatigue had won its battle against his will, losing control over his motor functions as all he could do was watch as the human-sized flying mammals bared their fangs, making clicking noises as they swiftly approached the unmoving young man.

Not even fear was enough to move his body, as the first of these oversized bats had reached him, taking a chunk of flesh from his cheek with a swift swoop past him.

It had happened so fast that his body didn't seem to process the pain, or was too exhausted to do so--as he only felt a vibrating heat emanating from his torn cheek.

--I don't want to die.

All he could muster was a wiggle of his fingertips, brushing against the handle of Belus as he begged for it to come to his hand. Another of these airborne creatures reached him, using the razor-sharp edges of its wing to slash his shoulder, cutting through his leather armor easily.

The next one followed, leaving another eviscerating attack through his hip, nearly knocking him over from the weight of the impact. It was a miracle in his exhaustion he had remained standing, feeling as though the soles of his feet were glued to the stone below.

As another bat-like creature approached, he saw directly into its merciless, beady eyes as it parted its jaw, dislocating it like a serpent before it took a serving of flesh and leather from his shoulder. He felt naked against these gluttonous creatures, who tore through his armor and clothing as if it didn't exist.

Ren wanted nothing more than to scream out as his nerves woke back up, making up for the moments of pain he had avoided as it seared through his body like lava.

Through his scalp, their talons of black steel showed no mercy, then his arms and legs experienced the same visceral attack as soon he stood in a puddle of his own arterial secretion.

Finally, he fell onto his back as his blood emptied itself from his body—but somehow, there was one question he asked himself in this maddening time of agony.

—Why am I not dead yet?

After falling into his own lake of red, the winged, black-furred creatures claimed the spoils of their offense, gnawing at his flesh. Their incisors dug into him like pliers, pulling back ravenously as his skin unraveled like a ball of yarn.

In his tired haze now fueled by blood loss, he attempted to count the number of attackers as his own way of counting sheep, only seeing red as his own blood poured over his sclera.

By the sensation of teeth pulling and tearing away at his arms, legs, torso, face—nothing was left untouched. It had to be a dozen of these creatures, all attempting to take their share out of fear of losing out on a meal.

As terrible as the pain has become, their teeth reaching bone, he couldn't scream out—opening his mouth in another failed attempt to roar out in agony as one of the creatures took away his lips as compensation.

--...This is it.

At some point, it had become apparent to him something wasn't right. He could feel it—his blood, the liquid that retained his life, was pouring from every torn apart pore of his body, yet—he was still alive, even conscious.

--The price of power. At least, this is the price given by the detestable deities that created this tomb of endless torment.

There was only so much the human mind could handle, after enough, reason began to fade--even if it meant eternity in this hellscape, he wants to rid himself of this agony. Attempting to bite his tongue to end this misery, the creatures had already eviscerated the muscles empowering his jaw—disabling his one ticket out. All he could do was cry, letting out gargled groans as his blood filled his mouth.

No matter how much they ate, it was never enough. Their rabid mouths found their way to his blood-soaked eyes, sinking their sharp, frontal teeth into his squishy orbs of sight—tearing their heads back as they pulled them out from his sockets.

Every atom that made up his body fired up with a heat that became his entire being, simultaneously radiating with agony, contorting his mind into a vessel that could only feel torment. By some miracle, his body had finally succumbed to the cold embrace of what lies beyond the edge of mortal's power.