The transition hit Hill like a freight train. One second, the spinning vortex engulfed him in the padded cell; the next, he was hurled onto rough rock. He inhaled a chestful of hot air that scorched its way down his lungs.
Why is it so hot?
He coughed and pushed himself up, his muscles struggling to hold his weight. His vision slowly adjusted—not to darkness this time, but to a weird orange-red glow from below, throwing these weird dancing shadows across the rocks.
Hill found himself placed on a volcanic rock shelf that felt warm under his hands. To his right, the shelf fell away to a sea of molten lava that pushed heat upwards in slow undulations, causing everything to ripple like a desert mirage. Above him, he couldn't even glimpse the ceiling of the cavern—only darkness and the dimly seen stalactites hanging down.
Underground. He was somewhere deep underground.
Panic started climbing up his throat. Kael's words echoed: Hell.
Yeah, this definitely checked that box.
Before he could completely lose his mind, he felt a weird clarity within his consciousness. Closing his eyes, he saw the runic letters swirl into readable text right before what he believed to be his mind's eye:
[Transit Complete: Welcome to Igashia.]
[Harbinger Deity Defeated: Ghost of an Uncertain Future.]
[Deity Ichor Absorbed.]
[WARNING: Harbinger Deity Defiled.]
Defiled? Hill scowled, remembering how he'd torn the ghost's head off. What bullshit. What was I supposed to do? Should I ask it nicely to die? I couldn't even use my damn arms!
Absorbed ichor? It must've been the freezing blood he'd swallowed when he bit down on the ghost's neck. Just thinking of it made him shiver.
And Harbinger Deity?That thing was some sort of god? The thought made his stomach drop. Usually, killing a god meant something really good in the stories—but it could also mean you've messed up royally. That warning message made it pretty clear which side of the fence he'd landed on.
More text appeared:
[Soul Art Manifesting...]
Hill held his breath. A Soul Art—his own power, earned through that nightmare. Despite everything, he felt a flicker of excitement. What would it be? Something to help him survive this hellhole?
[Soul Art Granted: Phantom Hand.]
[Description: The phantom watches. From the unseen, a hand extends to guide, assist, and manipulate when the wielder falters or overlooks. A silent partner in the soul's shadow.]
Phantom Hand? The description was creepy and vague as hell. A helping hand from... who exactly? The phantom that watches? It sounded less like a power he controlled and more like something using him.
Well, fantastic. If some monster jumps me, I'm at the mercy of this mysterious "phantom."
More text appeared before he could worry too much:
[Blessing Manifesting...]
A blessing? I've never heard of that... do awakened people usually get blessings? How can I get one after supposedly "defiling" a deity? Weird as hell.
[Blessing Granted: Frost Sentinel.]
[Description: The lingering chill of the vanquished Harbinger suffuses your soul. Attacks may carry the bite of frost, slowing and weakening foes.]
Ice powers from the very cold that nearly killed him. Hill rubbed his arm, the memory of frostbite still raw. It made sense in a twisted way. And an ice ability might actually be helpful in this furnace.
But the glowing text wasn't finished. One final line appeared, killing his brief moment of relief:
[Curse Manifesting...]
His blood ran cold. Curse? Was this because he "defiled" the ghost? Because of how he won?
That is such BULLSHIT!
[Curse Inflicted: The Undying Brethren.]
[Description: Defilement binds the echo. Many phantoms now cling to your soul, tethered by transgression. When consciousness rests, a hungry phantom stirs.]
Hill stared at the words, his gut twisting with dread. Many phantoms... When consciousness rests, a hungry phantom stirs.
So I'm being haunted by MORE than one ghost? Great. Just great.
The text faded before he could get any answers.
He took a deep, shaky breath. Fine. First things first. Get the hell out of this cave. Then I can worry about this curse business.
The heat emanating from the lava was vicious—standing beside an oven at full blast was nothing compared to it. He'd die from heatstroke or dehydration if he didn't get water and cooler temperatures immediately.
Hill scanned the cavern that seemed to stretch beyond the lava's glow. The molten sea churned far below, dotted with islands of volcanic rock. The ledge he stood on connected to a narrow path winding upward, linking rock formations like some treacherous natural staircase toward the shadowy ceiling.
Not entirely natural, though. Squinting, he made out footprints—impressions pressed into solid rock. Hundreds, maybe thousands, overlapping and scattered. But there was a pattern. Six-legged, like some insect, but way too damn big.
What kind of bug leaves footprints in rock? It must've happened when the rock was cooling... which means whatever walked here has to be immune to the heat.
Shit.
Carefully, Hill started climbing, stepping onto the narrow path. The rock burned through his cheap shoes, cooking his feet. The higher he climbed, the hotter it got. The rising heat was doing him no favors. His head spun, throat already bone-dry.
He moved from one rock mound to the next, the path sometimes barely a foot wide, with nothing but a sheer drop of bubbling lava on one side and the cavern wall on the other. Those six-legged footprints were everywhere.
After what seemed an hour, he reached a broader platform, perhaps fifty feet up. He backed against the wall to catch his breath, and that was when he spotted them.
Creatures crawled across the rock face above him, emerging from dozens of black holes. Six-legged monsters the size of large dogs, with segmented bodies covered in gleaming black carapaces like obsidian. Sharp spikes jutted from each body segment.
They moved with that jerky, unsettling way bugs do, clinging effortlessly to vertical surfaces. They had disturbing, whip-like tongues that flicked out now and then. Their mandibles clicked loudly enough to cut through the lava's constant rumbling.
There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. They crawled in complex patterns, tending to the holes in the wall, apparently oblivious to him below. As far as he could see in the dim red glow, the entire upper section of the cavern wall was alive with them.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand and whispered, "I am so fucked."