The desolate wasteland stretched endlessly before me, a cracked and broken plane littered with the remains of things that should have stayed forgotten. Mutilated bodies, fragments of shattered buildings, and twisted souls dragged themselves through the haze like worms inching toward decay. Everything reeked of despair, the air thick and bitter with a metallic tang that stung the back of my throat. It was a world where even the ground seemed to shift and twist, as though alive with malice.
I felt a cold tug on my back. Turning my head, I saw it: a thin, pulsating cord glowing faintly, stretching out into the fog. It was made of orbs of essence, each glowing in shades of blue and violet, connected like beads on a delicate string. It glimmered with a faint beauty, but it felt… wrong. Almost parasitic. I reached behind me instinctively, gripping the cord as if to tear it off.
"Don't," the Fool said sharply.
I froze. His tone was uncharacteristically serious. He floated beside me, his skeletal fingers twitching as if restraining an urge to snatch my hand away.
"That's your tether, little godling. Your one and only link back to the god plane. Without it, you'd be stranded here forever, trapped in the World of the Lost." His mismatched eyes gleamed with something between pity and glee. "Not even I could pull you out if you sever it."
I shivered and let the cord slip from my fingers. "Why does it look like that?"
"Because you're Tethered. It's a symbol of your connection to the living," he explained, circling me like a vulture. "See, every soul trapped in this world has lost their tether. They've been cut off from the living and the gods, abandoned to wander these ruins for eternity. But you, Cairith…" He grinned, tapping the cord playfully. "You're the lucky one. The connected."
"Lucky?" I snapped, my voice rising. "This place is a nightmare. Why the hell would anyone call this lucky?"
The Fool chuckled. "Because unlike the rest of them, you have a way out. You can come and go as you please, thanks to those pretty eyes of yours." He tapped his own golden eye socket, almost mockingly. "The Eyes of the Forgotten let you open the gates between worlds. But there's a price, of course."
"Another price?" I growled. "Haven't you taken enough from me already?"
"Don't be so dramatic," he said, waving me off. "All great powers come at a cost. This time it was your left eye. When you exit this place your left eye will act as an anchor. A sort of a window that blends the two worlds for you. Showing you the live and the dead alike."
I flinched on hearing the cost, he did mention something about my eye back then too. Why did I not think before taking this deal.
He turned his gaze toward the wasteland, where countless souls shuffled and moaned, their translucent forms barely clinging to shape. "In this world, Cairith, fear is the only currency that matters."
"Fear?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Exactly." The Fool's grin widened as he twirled a coin between his fingers—a small, glowing orb of essence that pulsed faintly with a dark light. "In the World of the Lost, you don't pay with gold or favours. You pay with terror. The more fear you cause, the more power you hold over the lost souls here. And the more power you hold, the more they'll flock to you."
I frowned, glancing at the endless hellscape.
"So you're saying I have to scare them into doing what I want?"
"Exactly," he said. "And with your powers, you've already got a head start. But don't get cocky, little godling. The spirits here aren't like the gods or mortals you've faced before. They've already been broken. Tortured. Shattered beyond repair. The things that scare them…" His grin twisted into something darker. "Let's just say your little illusions will need to delve a greater punch if you want to make them to even flinch."
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. My illusions had worked on Dorian and Rudriger, but only because they still had something to lose. These souls… what could I possibly show them that would make them tremble? What could frighten those that have already been damned?
"Great," I muttered. "So I'm in a world of monsters, and my only hope at survival is to make them fear me. That's just perfect."
"Don't sound so glum!" The Fool patted me on my back, his laughter ringing out like broken glass. "You're in the perfect place to build an army! Look around you, Cairith. Every lost soul here is a potential pawn. All you have to do is make them kneel."
His words sent a chill down my spine, but before I could respond, I heard the sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and getting closer.
I turned to see a group of spirits emerging from the fog, their forms twisted and grotesque. Some were missing limbs, others had faces that seemed half-melted, their features blending into one another like wax left too long in the sun. Their eyes glowed faintly with malevolence, and their tethers were gone—severed stumps where their cords once attached.
"Tethered," one of them growled, his voice like gravel scraping against metal. "You shouldn't be here."
The Fool leaned toward me, his grin widening. "Ah, the locals. How fun. They've smelled your fear already."
"What do they want?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.
"They want what every soul here wants," the Fool replied, floating lazily behind me. "Your tether. Your fear. Your life."
I took a step back as the group closed in, their movements predatory. The leader—a towering brute with jagged scars crisscrossing his chest—pointed a clawed finger at me.
"That cord on your back," he snarled. "Hand it over. Or we'll rip it out ourselves."
My heart raced, the thin tether glowing faintly in the corner of my vision. I clenched my fists, trying to summon some of the confidence I'd had in the god plane. But here, surrounded by the damned, my bravado felt paper-thin.
"I… I'm not giving you anything," I said, my voice shaking. "Stay back."
The brute laughed, a deep, guttural sound that echoed through the wasteland. "Brave words for a little godling. But we've dealt with your kind before. You're nothing but fresh meat."
They advanced, their forms flickering and distorting like shadows cast by an unsteady flame. My instincts screamed at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. The wasteland stretched endlessly in all directions, and even if I could escape, they'd track me down. The Fool's words echoed in my mind:
The only currency that works here is fear.
If I wanted to survive, I couldn't run. I couldn't hide. I had to make them fear me.
"You've survived this far, Cairith," the Fool whispered, his tone oddly encouraging. "Now show them why."
The leader lunged toward me, his claws outstretched, and I stumbled back, my breath catching in my throat. My illusions had always been enough to scare gods and mortals, but would they work here? Could they even scratch the surface of these hardened souls?
I had no choice but to try.
I closed my eyes, reaching for the essence that swirled inside me. The images came naturally—gruesome, terrifying visions pulled from the deepest recesses of my mind. I was used to this by now
As the first spark of essence ignited in my hands, the gang circled closer, their twisted faces gleaming with hunger. My heart pounded in my chest, and for the first time, I felt it: the weight of the world pressing down on me, daring me to rise.
I opened my eyes, the essence burning brighter than ever.
I looked towards the fool, hoping for acknowledgment, that my visions were enough. A subtle sign like a smile or excitement that he had always shown when I used a horrific vision, but this time. This time his eyes looked bored, disappointed.
"Guess words aren't enough huh? Well just too bad you'll have to learn the hard way." He whispered before flicking his fingers.
What did he mean learn the hard way?
The leader of the spirits, bogged his head around surprised. Not fear, nor dread just plain surprise.
Did he not get affected by the illusions? No that's not possible I did all the steps correctly.
The leader's gaze darted around, his jagged, scarred face twisting into confusion. His molten features rippled like wax under fire as he tilted his head, studying the darkened, grotesque vision I had conjured.
"Strange place," he muttered, his voice almost casual, as though I hadn't just drenched the landscape in blood-soaked horror. "Different from the usual… But this? This is nothing." He scratched at his clawed chin, his eerie calmness chilling me far more than the illusions I'd summoned. "Just a change of scenery."
My stomach sank. Just a change of scenery? I clenched my fists tighter, pouring more essence into the vision, twisting the surroundings into something even more horrific. Corpses writhed at their feet, rivers of blood carved into the earth. The faces of the lost contorted in agony, screaming silently at the gang of spirits. And yet… nothing. The leader shrugged, his expression empty, his predatory smirk unbroken.
The Fool sighed loudly, floating beside me. "This is what I meant, little godling," he said, shaking his head as if disappointed in a child who had failed a simple lesson. "Your illusions? Cute. They're enough to frighten mortals, even gods who haven't stared into the abyss. But these spirits?" He gestured lazily at the group, who stood unfazed amidst the carnage I'd conjured. "They've lived this. Fear can't just be seen. It has to be felt."
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as his words settled in. "What are you saying?" I whispered.
"I'm saying your little tricks work fine on someone who's never known true dread," the Fool explained, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement. "But for these poor bastards? This is just another day." He leaned closer, grinning, his jagged teeth almost glowing. "Your illusions need to touch more than their eyes. They need to claw into their minds, their flesh. Their souls. Fear isn't about what they see, Cairith—it's what they experience."
"How do I do that?" I hissed through gritted teeth, the leader and his gang circling closer.
"You think, little godling," he replied, twirling the coin between his skeletal fingers. "Think of all the senses. Make it real. Show them that this isn't just another nightmare." His grin widened. "Show them who you are."
My heart thundered in my chest. All five senses. Make it real. I shut my eyes, clutching the essence tighter, forcing it to flow through me like a flood. The screams I had conjured grew louder, but now they weren't hollow—they carried weight. Heat surged through the air as flames burst from the cracked ground, the stench of burnt flesh choking the air. The earth itself quaked under their feet, forcing the spirits to stagger, their faces twisting in sudden panic.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't just showing them a nightmare.
I was the nightmare.