The young boy and the young girl moved past another particular aisle in the seemingly grand library filled with knowledge.
At first glance, they didn't notice it, but when they walked further into the library, it looked to be far more luxurious, majestic, and rustic than they had thought. Even though the bookshelves, were mostly made of wood, the fences from the second floor above them, with pillars supporting said fence and floor here and there, were all mostly outlined, painteed, or perhaps even made with some kind of shiny, brass-like material.
It doesn't go without mentioning that even the hanging chandeliers above seemed to also be made of the same brass-like material. With a dark golden glow reflecting off its metallic sheen from the chandelier's light, the brass-like furniture gave off a far richer and deeper luster, creating an ancient, majestic, and quiet atmosphere.
Speaking of books, rows upon rows, of them lined up in front of them in a seemingly endless manner. With the sheer size of the library, and these bookshelves acting like obstacles, it would be more fit to call it a maze. If not for the directions from the librarian, they would surely never manage to find it as quick as possible.
After walking down the main hall for literal minutes, the creaking wheels and footsteps echoing a bit too loudly for their own tastes, they arrived at a certain aisle with a large, hanging symbol they cannot possibly define.
Actually, they were just too lazy. Too many lines to describe it and all that.
Making sure it was the right symbol, they moved into the aisle, stepping onto a rough gray-blue carpet that's laid out in the space between each bookshelf.
Looking left and right, he left the girl behind and began to scour the left side of the aisle. The girl then, with some difficulty and unfamiliarity, began moving the wheelchair towards the right side.
It was just a way to save time and find what they need quickly. After their other self made it out of the cell. They had frozen in place in the center of the library for a brief moment before moving once more at a much quicker pace.
They no longer had the false luxury of time.
For many minutes, they had skimmed the titles and covers of the book- the girl mostly looking upon the lower shelves for the survival guide.
Of course they had already thought of the unfortunate circumstance that being disabled might not allow them to reach the book they need on a higher shelf, but they were close enough to help each other out if needed.
Moving down the aisle with muffled footsteps, the young boy skimmed the words along the spines of the books on one of the many, wide and tall bookshelves where no one seemed to be around.
Sometimes, he moved his fingers along the books, sometimes slowly skimming over them, or caressing them here and there.
As they searched, they couldn't help but deeply breathe in the scent of old, weathered paper, ink, and leather, swathing them in an indescribable feeling closely related to serenity.
They would've basked in it a while longer to the unfortunate circumstance of their other self.
For the boy...he was looking for the "real deal."
Unfortunately, the many books he saw relating to what he wished to search for was not what he had wanted, such as:
"[Ancient Rituals and Spells (𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻)]"
"[Beastmen: How they are not simply related to the Old Gods (𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻)]"
"[Introduction of the Old Gods (𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻)]"
"[Influence and Corruption (𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻)]"
"[How to tell whether or not you're already corrupted! -Comes with notes written specifically by the author!]"
"[Why a person shouldn't read anything related to the Old Gods (𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻)]"
"[Why people decide to join the Cults of the Old Gods (𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗘𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻+++)]]"
Excluding that last book that curiously had a few too many symbols, the young boy had already flipped through a few on the spot, and with just going through a few pages, he knew these wouldn't cut it.
The bane of all things exciting and whatnot: censoring.
They all couldn't help but click their tongues in unison, especially the other self in the dungeon, who immediately covered his mouth.
No doubt these books were related to the old gods. However, they were all edited in one way or the other.
Through reasonable and baseless guesswork, they guessed the unedited ones were in a "restricted" area.
Before he attempted to give up, move to another section, and tear his eyes away from the endless books for just a brief moment, he abruptly halted.
Many of the books they had found were a mix between young and old, mostly made of leather or similar material, but one particular book strangely stuck out more than it should. There was an indescribably peculiar air about it.
It looked to absorb all the color around it, like a black hole that pulls in all eyes and the weak-minded.
Any sane soul would surely tear their eyes away, squash and incinerate any sense of curiosity, and report it to the guards.
Luckily for the book that would've been sealed away, this "strangeness" was what they needed. Coincidentally enough, this book had a trait very, very similar to a certain something they had recently just come across.
Almost like it was fate.
'Fate,' they thought, toying with that one word around in their mind, only for it to be swiftly overwhelmed by the countless thoughts and ideas in the chaos.
The young boy's eyes then strayed away from the book and looked left and right. Making sure there was no one but themselves, he reached out and grasped the spine of the book.
With a slight, quick tug, the book fell off and into his hands.
In the shadows casted by the bookshelf over them, the book seemed to be about nine inches long and three inches wide, and its gray cover made out of some kind of unidentifiable leather.
Flipping it around, he could feel a warmth that shouldn't be present on cold, dead leather soaking into his palms and fingers.
After looking around it, he finally brought it face-up and peered at the cover. On it, between the top and middle section was something written in an unfamiliar language. It looked to be carved into the cover by something sharp, rather than written over it.
When they observed it a while longer, as though it was waiting to be called, slowly, the words began to magically shift and morph. Lines and symbols magically moved across the strangely warm cover here and there, replacing this and that. In just a few seconds, the words were rearranged into a language he- no, they still couldn't comprehend.
After looking it over, the young boy looked up high at the ceiling and closed his eyes.
'...that was...astonishingly disappointing,' they thought.
Suddenly, as if some other force was at work to prove them wrong again, in their mind's eye, they suddenly felt as though they could understand what was written on this peculiar book's cover.
"[𝘛𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯]," they whispered, and the voices in their mind all sighed in eerie unison. A slight, growing, pounding headache frequently grew more and more noticeable in their heads, but the peculiarity was already enough for him to take it.
Anything that can change the voices and make his- or rather their- headache grow worse was enough evidence for it to be authentic.
Surely this was what they needed-
"Urk-?!"
The girl and the young boy nearly keeled over with their hands instinctively pressing on the back of their head.
What was going on-?
...
It had been about one hour since they woke up- the young man to be exact- woke up in his aged cell.
It has been about thirty minutes since he escaped from his cell.
It has been twenty minutes, and he still continued wandering around without so much as a light source to make sense of anything in the darkness.
His heartbeat pounded loudly in his chest and head as he slowly made his way down the long hallway. After a minute or two of running, he had slowed to a walk, gasping for air as the adrenaline in his veins faded away.
As he attempted to calm his breathing, he soon barely noticed his surroundings. It was completely dark, but he managed to make out he was in a stone hallway. Although there were no more cells that lined both the left and right sides of the hall, the putrid smell of rotten flesh and blood still stunk the air.
The young man shivered slightly. With the adrenaline gone and the stinking stench flooded into his nostrils, he suddenly realized he had no real destination in mind.
No, rather, he had no real plan to reach his destination.
Safety? Strength? At this moment, he doesn't know where he can get them, and he can only wait for the news from his other selves.
With that thought rolling around in his mind, he set off to find at least a place where he can rest and think things through. Very quietly, one step at a time, he moved his bare feet across the ancient stone floor, pricking his skin against sharp crevices and rubble here and there.
Trying to make as less noise as possible, the young man strained his ears.
He tensed and winced every time a piece of stone rolled away from his feet. Everytime, the rolling, small piece of stone created a spattering of thunderous noises that screamed into his ears, echoing down the old hallway. He paused during these moments, intently listening for any signs of movement.
After a full twenty seconds or so did he begin moving again.
This pattern repeated over and over. During this time, sweat had already begun soaking his hands, and sometimes he thought he was hallucinating or hearing things.
The voices in his head didn't help at all, messing with his hearing and all that.
Not only time, the young man began to feel the side effects of doing things without training. He can already feel the bruises forming, running down from his right shoulder to his elbow. The bottom of his feet began to burn as well, no doubt due to the crevices and rubble.
Surely unprotected feet won't inhibit him from running in any way, shape, or form.
As he was thinking of finally throwing away the last bit of dignity, taking the ragged pieces of cloth covering his privates to cover his feet and act like shoes, he spotted something in the distance.
A source of light.
In this dark dungeon, common sense dictates it is certainly a trap.
The young man didn't know if it was a hallucination or not, but he immediately crouched down and observed with squinting eyes.
After staying as still as possible, and seeing nothing happening for half a solid minute, he forcibly swallowed down his wariness and boiling paranoia, took a deep, quiet breath, and slowly made his way over.
It was a simple deduction that deduced what to do.
An unknown, potential evil ahead, or a known, certain evil behind? It was either forward or back, and he would rather not go back, for he was certain that monstrosity would be waiting for him.
The thought of the empty void pulling him in made his heartbeat quicken just a tad bit.
So, licking his dry lips, he inched closer and closer. Every step closer made his heart beat louder and louder inside his chest and head. Every second made his breathing more and more ragged to the point where an infectious feeling sprouted in their madness for...something.
An irrational force began to grow inside. He didn't know when, but when he barely noticed it, it had already become a great force he could barely contain. With every step he took towards the light, it welled up more and more.
Was the light flickering? Dancing? Was it the eyes of a beast, waiting for him to step into its gaping maw? Maybe it was all an illusion, born from his chaotic, mad mind?
Was he repeating himself again? Deluding himself into thinking he was repeating everything he did and thought? Did these mad, insane thoughts finally get the edge over him?
No, they were always there. They were strangely, and forcibly, brought to the forefront of his thoughts, overwhelming all rationale and caution.
The thoughts born of this fever daydream of his endlessly branched into a seemingly, eternal conflict. The thought of this being an elaborate trap made for him made him want to scoff if he was sane at this moment. The thought of seeing another monstrosity just prior to his escape made him want to bolt into the darkness then and there.
These thoughts fought and moved against each other, creating more dross. These strange words; the unintelligible mutterings whispering into their heads and ears- he couldn't ignore them, and it made him want to explode. He wanted to slam against the wall- scream at the world as though it was the source of his- no, their suffering.
This feeling was also familiar to him. Just like back then, in that darkness.
Yet, just like in that terrible place, something held him- no, them back. Something-
The young man didn't know when, exactly, but when he regained clarity, he already found himself standing in the midst of this source of light.
As though he was in a state of stupor, blinking, his eyes blankly looked around.
It was...just a lit torch hanging on a very old stone-brick wall that suffered erosion. The flickering, dancing orange flame only illuminated the ground a few short meters around in circumference, casting taller objects just like his own shadow away from it.
With the light of the fire, he could now see that the height from the stone ceiling to the floor was a bit over four meters.
The wall the torch was hung upon stretched to the left and right, presumably branching into two different hallways leading deeper into the darkness. On it, just like the small crevices, cracks, and slightly jutting gray stone here and there, there were also faint spatterings of dried, dark red blood, though no one could possibly tell when it was spilt. However, it did hint at the possibility of how old this ancient, underground dungeon may be.
Still, the young man's stunned eyes returned back to the torch- from its dancing orange-yellow fire, to the base of the rotted, wooden torch, connected to some black metal that was nailed into the ancient wall.
For a long while, he just simply stared deeply into it, seemingly attempting to uncover its illusory secrets.
As he continued to stare at it, the feeling of wanting to laugh out loud grew in his chest.
Was he really cautious? Working himself up into a tiresome state of stress and anxiety just for this?
Did he become a boring, guest-starred narrator, describing every small, little action and thought process of his in great detail?
Even he would be bored out of his mind if he took their place.
As thoughts of laughter died down, the young man looked back at the torch. Frowning, he placed a hand over his chest. Somehow, closely watching the flame flicker and dance chaotically sprouted the familiar, welling madness inside him.
Wasn't this the feeling when he first saw it and began approaching it?
'Wait,' he suddenly thought. Now that he thought of it, he was in an open space, and there was no other torch lit but just this one. 'Who would light this-?'
All of a sudden, something smashed against the back of his head, and he crumpled to the ground like a sack of trash.
'This sucks,' the young man thought before all he could see was darkness.