From the edge of his eyes, Sorken could easily discern around forty people sprawled across the altar-like ground around him. The eerie silence was punctuated only by the occasional rustling of clothing as some tried to comprehend their bizarre predicament, while others remained in a stupor, their senses yet to return.
The ground beneath him was peculiar. Initially, it had felt cold and unyielding, much like any stone surface. But now, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the distant pyre, its true nature became apparent. It was almost illusory—a shifting, shimmering expanse that seemed to breathe with an otherworldly life of its own.
Sorken's gaze finally settled on a figure at the room's periphery. Unlike the others, this man had managed to sit up, but there was something profoundly unsettling about him. Sorken narrowed his eyes, focusing intently on the stranger.
'His eyes are empty,' Sorken realized with a jolt of horror. It was as if the man had witnessed something so terrible that it had drained all life from his gaze, leaving behind only vacant, haunted orbs.
Every fiber in Sorken's body screamed at him to remain still, to not pry any further into the nightmarish situation unfolding around him. He knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that if he didn't lay motionless like a frightened deer until the danger passed, his fate would be no better—perhaps even worse—than that of the hollow-eyed man.
'Shut your eyes,' he commanded himself silently. 'Don't open them. I will know when the time comes to understand what's happening. That man... he saw something he shouldn't have. And that voice... it's related to all this. There's someone here who can make people shiver with just their voice and kill with a mere glance. Where in the name of all that's holy are we?'
The entire place was shrouded in darkness, save for the flickering light emanating from a fiery pit at the far end of the altar-like ground. The flames danced and writhed, casting long, menacing shadows that seemed to reach out with grasping fingers toward the prone figures.
Suddenly, a sound sliced through the silence:
'Sssss sssss ssss'
It was followed by another, equally chilling noise:
'Sahhh sahhh'
Sorken's heart rate skyrocketed, pounding against his ribcage like a frenzied rabbit trying to escape a predator. He yearned to find a hole, any crevice, in which to bury himself and hide from the terrible being that stalked among them.
'There's something moving around,' he thought, his mind racing. 'It's definitely above us. What is it? And there's a second sound, too. It's closer... Wait, Tamara is here. Could it be her? Is she trying to wake up? I need to look, to warn her somehow. If she makes the same mistake as that man... No, no, no, no...'
With agonizing slowness, Sorken turned his head, desperate not to make a sound. Logically, he knew that whoever—or whatever—was among them likely knew if they were awake or not. With the being's apparent powers, it seemed impossible for it to be otherwise. But that wasn't what mattered now. What mattered was avoiding direct confrontation. There was a high chance that it was the energy surrounding this entity that was lethal, rather than a conscious action on its part.
Sorken's eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking out Tamara. He found her nearby, her own eyes squinting as she struggled to open them. After what felt like an eternity, she succeeded. Like him, her first instinct was to search for his face among the sea of bodies.
As their gazes met, Sorken felt a surge of warmth floods his heart. Even in this nightmare, Tamara's tender look was a balm to his frayed nerves. For a brief moment, the horror of their situation receded, replaced by the comforting familiarity of her presence.
But curiosity, that age-old killer of cats, soon got the better of Sorken. As he basked in the warmth of Tamara's gaze, a traitorous corner of his eye twisted to steal another glance at the person he had noticed earlier.
'Is he... flying?' Sorken blinked, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. In the near-darkness, he wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes were playing tricks on him. 'Am I hallucinating? Has someone slipped me a potent drug? It must be the latter; no other explanation makes sense.'
As a man who prided himself on his rationality, who viewed the world through the lens of cold, hard logic, everything before him seemed more likely to be a product of hallucination than reality. Hell, he had even administered drugs that could induce ultra-realistic hallucinations in uncooperative subjects during his work. So such an experience wasn't outside the realm of possibility. And yet... he knew that even the most potent drugs couldn't replicate the visceral feel of reality. But if that was true, then... what was happening?
The question had a terrifying answer, one that Sorken was in no position to accept. To do so would be to destroy the very foundation of his mental model of the world, a cataclysm that would doom even the strongest of men. At this moment, Sorken was neither in the right mind nor in the right situation to grapple with such existential quandaries. All he wanted—all he needed—was to understand the immediate danger they were in and the consequences that awaited them.
He had already witnessed death here; there was no doubt that whoever had brought them to this place harbored ill intentions. If they could kill so casually, their ultimate goals were irrelevant. In the end, Sorken knew, they would all be forced to bend to the will of their captors.
A wave of gloom washed over him as he realized the gravity of what he had done. Until now, he had been unable to speak, shocked into silence by the surreal horror of their situation. But as fear gave way to a grim determination to survive, he became aware that his mind was clearer now. Perhaps the mental shackles that had rendered him mute were no more.
Suddenly, a voice boomed from above, causing Sorken to flinch involuntarily.
"Silence! You do not grasp the gravity of your situation."
Sorken's blood ran cold. 'I'm done for,' he thought, bracing himself for... something. But nothing happened. Confusion mingled with his fear as he waited for a punishment that didn't come.
Without warning, an intense heat enveloped his senses. Every instinct screamed at him not to look up, remembering all too vividly the fate of the hollow-eyed man. But Sorken knew there was no other way out of this situation. He had to face whatever—whoever—was tormenting them.
Steeling himself, Sorken lifted his gaze.
Hovering above him was the source of the voice—a man with fiery eyes that seemed to bore into Sorken's very soul. Upon closer inspection, Sorken realized that the figure wasn't as elderly as he had initially thought. Middle-aged, perhaps, with light skin marred by what appeared to be burn-like scars. The man was clad in a golden robe adorned with mystical symbols that seemed to shift and dance in the flickering firelight. His physique, Sorken noted with a mix of admiration and fear, was impressive for his apparent age.
But as Sorken tried to focus on the man's face, he found he couldn't. It was as if a veil had been drawn over the being's features, leaving them blurred and indistinct.
"Who... what are you?" Sorken managed to croak, his voice hoarse from disuse.
In his mind, he was certain of the answer 'He was the one I heard when I woke. It's definitely him. but unlike that time, his voice isn't that numbing. he potentially controlled it to ensure we survived through it. but now I will finally know the answers to all the questions. our reason to be present here and what in the world is going on with this place'
The figure's eyes narrowed, the flames within them intensifying. "I am your judge, your jury, and potentially your executioner,".