Arin woke to an icy chill biting at his skin, pulling him abruptly from unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, the dim light stinging as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the hard, unforgiving floor beneath him, its rough texture scraping against his arms and legs. He shifted slightly, his body protesting the movement after what felt like hours of immobility.
The air was heavy with a damp, musty smell that made his nose wrinkle. As his senses sharpened, the sound of faint, rhythmic chirping reached his ears.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
It wasn't just one source—it was a chorus of crickets echoing from the corners of the room. The buzz of flies joined the symphony, their incessant zzzzzzz circling around him in dizzying patterns. He waved a hand instinctively, trying to swat one away, only to feel something slimy brush against his palm.
"Ugh," he groaned, jerking his hand back in disgust. The slimy texture left a faint squelching noise as it smeared across his fingers.
Squish. Squish.
He sat up slowly, his muscles stiff and protesting the movement. His gaze dropped to his hand, now streaked with a grimy residue. The sight made his stomach churn.
The room around him was a nightmare. Cracked walls dripped with moisture, the streaks forming abstract trails that ran to the floor. The corners were shrouded in shadow, home to skittering insects whose movements made faint click-click sounds as they darted about. Cobwebs clung stubbornly to the ceiling, swaying gently in the draft. His clothes were damp and clung to his skin uncomfortably, adding to the unease that settled over him.
"What… is this place?" Arin muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of insect noises. He scanned the room, his mind still foggy, trying to piece together how he'd ended up here.
His thoughts were quickly consumed by a far more pressing concern: Two weeks without the system. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. His breath quickened as panic clawed at his chest. The system had become his anchor, his guide in a world that constantly sought to crush him. Without it, he felt exposed, vulnerable, like a soldier stripped of his armor in the middle of battle.
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a faint creak. His head shot toward the sound—the door. It moved slowly, the hinges protesting loudly with a drawn-out creeaaaaak. But Arin was too lost in his panic to register the movement fully. His mind churned with the implications of being severed from the system for so long.
The next moment, an icy shock brought him back to reality.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Cold water crashed onto his head and shoulders, the force of it drenching him instantly. He gasped sharply, the freezing sensation cutting through his dazed state. The water dripped from his hair and soaked into his already damp clothes, forming a shallow puddle beneath him. His breath came out in sharp gasps as he whipped his head around, fury igniting in his chest.
"What the hell?!" he snapped, shaking water from his face. His voice echoed in the eerie silence that followed.
Standing in the doorway, holding an empty bucket, was Dray. A smirk stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction.
"Well, well, the rat finally woke up," Dray drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. He tossed the bucket aside, the metal clanging loudly against the floor. The sound echoed in the room, blending with the faint squelch of water pooling around Arin.
Arin glared at him, his teeth gritted in barely contained anger.
Dray stepped into the room, his boots crunching against the debris-strewn floor. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he sneered. "I expected more from you, runt."
Arin remained silent, his gaze locked onto Dray. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to suppress the anger bubbling inside him.
Dray's smirk faltered for a split second, his annoyance at Arin's lack of reaction becoming evident. "Oh, what's this? No pathetic excuses? No begging for mercy?" He crouched slightly, leaning closer to Arin. "You've gotten awfully quiet. What happened to that big mouth of yours?"
Arin refused to rise to the bait, his silence only fueling Dray's frustration. The older man straightened, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Maybe you need a little… encouragement," he said, his tone venomous.
With a sharp movement, Dray pulled a long, gnarled stick from his side. The wood was dark and twisted, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly energy. The faint hum it emitted filled the room with an ominous undertone, a subtle vibration that Arin could feel in his bones.
Dray raised the stick, the faint hum growing louder, sharper, almost like a low-pitched whistle. "Let's see if this jogs your memory," he sneered before swinging it downward with force.
Whoosh!
The air whistled as the stick came down, aiming directly for Arin's shoulder. But Arin's instincts kicked in. His hand shot up, grabbing the stick mid-swing.
Thwack!
The force reverberated through his arm, making it tremble. The impact was immense, a surge of power that left his muscles quaking. But Arin held firm, his grip tightening around the stick. His weeks of brutal training with the system had paid off. Though he wasn't as strong as Dray, he was no longer the weakling he had been.
Dray's eyes widened in shock, his smirk vanishing as disbelief flickered across his face. "What the hell?!" he snarled, yanking the stick back.
Arin let go, his arm still shaking from the effort, but his gaze remained steady. A smirk of his own crept onto his lips, his voice dripping with mockery as he said, "That all you've got, Dray? I expected more."
Dray's face turned a dangerous shade of red. He raised the stick again, but Arin's laughter stopped him.
"You're pathetic, Dray," Arin said coldly. "Always trying to prove something. What's the matter? Afraid people will see you for what you really are—a coward?"
"You little—" Dray growled, his voice trembling with fury.
"Coward," Arin repeated, his voice sharper, cutting through the air like a blade. "You can't even handle a little resistance, can you?"
Dray's nostrils flared, his grip tightening on the stick. "You'll regret this," he hissed.
The room seemed to shift then. The air grew heavier, oppressive, as if an invisible hand was pressing down on Arin's shoulders. His knees buckled slightly under the sudden weight, but he forced himself to stay upright.
Dray's ability.
The pressure intensified, crushing him from all sides. His breathing grew labored, and his muscles screamed in protest. But Arin gritted his teeth, refusing to yield.
"You think this will break me?" he spat, his voice strained but defiant. "You're pathetic. And nothing you do will ever change that."
Dray's fury reached a boiling point, the pressure in the room growing almost unbearable. But even as his body trembled under the weight, Arin stood tall, his gaze locked onto Dray's with unyielding determination.
For the first time, doubt flickered in Dray's eyes.