The 'foreign' battle-suit was, in fact, the Holo-suit worn by Sikhail GodFiend. Beyond the guarded door was a trip down to hell, figuratively.
He looked at his mini-map. Sophia was hindered by the administration. In the time he spent getting down here, she was moving but never managed to advance. Since that was the case, he would just continue on without her.
The stair opened up into a hallway, a very long hallway, a seemingly endless hallway. He focused as one of his pupils lit up with red, blue, and green. The hallway was about 50 feet long with 5 intersections. He released his aura, tapping out with his palm gently. There were a few blind spots up ahead. He calmly took a step forward, another step, continuously.
He approached the intersection and looked down all 5 hallways. They were equidistant to each other. He blinked his eyes and walked forward. The angle looked different now. He stepped forward, stepped backward. The angle changed depending on how far away you were. He walked to various locations and noticed the reflection of light. He stepped forward calmly, throwing multiple objects to represent panic and flight. No response. He tapped several doors and looked into the rooms. Nothing. The reflection was more pronounced now. A mobile whiteboard was in front of it.
A crude drawing of a stick figure. There are lines, a depiction of aura? Only a Supernatural Entity can release an aura. They're very powerful. People with extremely vicious blood lust can also release an aura. A person? Or something else?
A strange signal appeared on his overlay. The Holo-suit filtered all foreign entities out, apparently. A nice feature. Physical, digital, or incorporeal. It recognizes an entire spectrum of possibilities. He plays along and acts like an idiot.
——|——|—|—|——|——
It stared on, apprehensive. A terrible feeling was released earlier. Then the door banged. Now another horrible feeling. The evil person is coming. It tries to peek without getting seen. Very difficult. The person is very sharp, so keen. It senses treasure and becomes restless. Should it? But it'll be tough to get close? Is it possible to get close?
It jumps into the thing, hiding. It travels from room to room, unhindered. No good angles. Higher, and it'll be difficult. Lower, but those things are lower. Which is worse? The wrong person or the bad things? It hides. The risk isn't worth it. The direction is also off.
Who are they?
The crazies. Yes, the crazies will move soon. Make a move after they come out.
——|——|—|—|——|——
The signal disappeared, and no matter what he did, it didn't return. Can it be reverse-engineered? Time to let the Holo-suit process it. Maybe it'll pick something up.
The mirror is bolted to the ground. It was placed there intentionally. What's the purpose of it, though? Disorientation? Much easier ways to do that. More flexible too.
Maybe, one is supposed to bump into it? Flick it? Slap it? Slam on it with a palm?
(Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr)
There was a different signal now. Louder. Erratic. Fierce. Violent. The line was jumping all over the place.
(GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRR)
It was breathing, getting closer. The blood in his veins was pumping furiously. Words and pictures began to flood his interface. The punch landed while he was distracted. He stepped back a little. A light push to be honest.
A glitch.
Hovering mid-air.
Some kind of fantasy world opened up.
A child was sprawled back on the ground. Injured. The child struggles to get up. Vows to get strong.
The child turned into a teenager.
The teenager became a young man in the military.
The young soldier was on a mission.
There was a bloodbath.
The soldier is pulled to an operating room and put on the table.
The soldier begs for help.
A scientist operates on the soldier. No anesthetic.
The soldier screams, begging for a quick release.
The soldier stops screaming and starts growling.
The soldier is mutating, but it stops.
The soldier hears that the experiment failed.
The soldier is left by himself, discarded.
The soldier is hanging on with all his might.
The soldier's resentment allows him to break out of his shackles.
The soldier slowly becomes a half-living monstrosity.
The soldier skirts the edge between reality and death.
The soldier wonders where they are.
The soldier is tortured every day by existing. It's unwillingness.
The soldier waits for someone, anyone.
The soldier finds hope. The soldier sees a commander. A strong commander.
The soldier tries to talk to the commander.
The commander goes crazy instead.
The air mends itself as the memory ends. In front of Sikhail GodFiend is a shadow that resembles the soldier in the glitch.
'Please help me… You understand... I see you understand,' the shadow grunts desperately. 'You're not crazy like them. Please. Please help. I cannot bear this anymore.'
It sounds like whispering, static, and a dream all in one.
"Why do they go crazy?" Sikhail asked.
'I don't know. I ask them for help. I have no idea,. If I knew, I would stop and try something different. I try my best, but no one listens,' the shadow grunts.
"Are there others like you?" Sikhail asked.
'I'm not sure. I only see myself. I see the damage. That is what you seek. I hear the crazy ones. They are unfortunate. Terrible. They hold the same treasure you do. Treasure. TREASUREEEE,' the shadow screamed as though it grabbed onto a lifeline.
He squeezed his fist, instantly hitting the shadow. It didn't die immediately.
(Gurrrrrrrggleee)
As the shadow disintegrated, it turned into light. The light got brighter and brighter, turning blue. The shadow split down the middle as an ear-piercing scream acted like a vacuum. Countless shadows emerged, screaming as they were pulled in. Myriad voices bombarded him, but he remained undisturbed. Each voice was like a suggestion that compelled him to take specific actions. As they were killed, their suggestions turned into sorrowful pleas for help. Those turned into gratitude.
As the shadow finally disappeared, his interface captured one last message.
'Whoever you are. Thank you. I've always wanted to take down as many of them as possible. Save others. I heard those terrible voices before they claimed me. I just wanted to help. Please. Find the one who did this and give me justice. Why? Why did they do this? Be careful. There's a long line of them.'
He took the voice recording and put it into a simulator. He pressed fast-forward to see what should've happened to him. Ultimately, he offed himself with his own hand to see if he was stronger or if his defense was impenetrable. He wanted to know if he was strong enough to stop the enemy, no matter how tough they were.
His hand trembled with rage. A manipulation of self-destruction was, in fact, a voice of reason, a pleading to release a soul from eternal misery and suffering. It preyed on your common sense and goodwill. These entities sought out the strong because they weren't strong enough to fend for themselves. An honest attempt for help sent their saviors to their doom.
U.N.F.O.R.G.I.V.A.B.L.E
But the process! He was so close, and yet the process still deluded him. He knew that an operation was involved. That was always obvious. The critical part of the surgery, the only part that mattered, was missing.
He slammed his hand on the wall out of frustration. It crumbled, and some minor cracks opened, but everything remained intact. His face was grim as he restrained himself. He lost control and went overboard.
He looked down.
Thankfully, the damage only traveled to the 5th floor. He locked onto most of the shadow down to the 10th floor in that emotional outburst. All the floors were empty. His target was the 11th floor.
There would be plenty of pain and bodies being buried. This was the commitment he made. He jumped down all the way to the 5th floor. He took calm, steady, murderous steps towards the 6th floor.
***Your blood lust is thick, powerful, and oppressive. Under normal circumstances, I would extend an invitation. Unfortunately, you're here for malicious purposes. I won't be able to let you step any further. You're too dangerous. I won't let you hurt them***
A peculiar type of shadow came out of nowhere, circling him, judging him with its eyes. The shadow was mixed with smoke. As it compressed and condensed, it boiled like steam, transforming into a pale young lady wearing a thin dress. She weaved her hands, smoke, and shadow following at her command.
***They were all strong. The mind works in weird ways. You heard what you wanted to hear. We provide opportunity. Not all are capable of realizing it****
Sikhail squeezed his fist, but the shadow and smoke were like a shield. He dashed left and right, firing more shots, but they stuck to him like glue.
***I'll only give you a few more warnings. You come with a misunderstanding. Your judgment is clouded. If you insist, I'm afraid it will be worse than hell or death***
"I see. Are there others like you? Your tongue is quite crafty. Not many professions cultivate such a skill," Sikhail proposed a question.
The pale young woman frowned, upset.
***You seem to avoid advice like an unruly kid***
"What kind of ability do you think I possess?" Sikhail ignored her threats.
***You're definitely sharp of mind and quick with your hands. Do you think I'm just an innocent lamb waiting to be slaughtered?***
"You thought I was being a hero by promising justice," Sikhail replied.
***The last warning. Your mind is clouded***
He took a step forward, followed by another step, calmly, in a carefree way. He acted like there wasn't any pressure on him.
***Are you stupid? Delivering yourself to my door? Do you think you can come and go freely just because you believe yourself righteous? FOOLS LIKE YOU FALL LIKE DOZENS UNDER MY WATCH. UNCULTURED ANTS DON'T UNDERSTAND IDEALS AND AMBITION***
Smoke and shadow rushed at him like a scythe ready to reap his life. As the sharp blade fell, a fist rose and met it.
"The justice I promised was to figure out the truth," Sikhail stated simply as the tip of the scythe shattered after sparking, breaking from an incredible rebounding force.