The statue's pitch-black eyes shifted, unnervingly lifelike, scanning the prisoners chained before it. Its gaze seemed to pierce into their very souls, lingering for a moment too long on each one. Around the towering monolith, the black-hooded figures bellowed in unison, their chants reverberating like the toll of a mournful bell.
"O Great Her-Gok, feed on this land… Accept our sacrifice."
The chant rose and fell, a dreadful rhythm that filled the air with an almost tangible weight. Even the red-hooded figure, standing apart with an air of authority, joined the chorus, his voice a sinister crescendo to the growing cacophony.
Nyx's chains bit into her wrists as she struggled against them, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced around, desperate for a way out, but all she saw were the prisoners.. their faces pale and hollow with terror... and the hooded figures encircling them like vultures. The atmosphere was suffocating, thick with the stench of despair and the metallic tang of blood.
Her gaze snapped back to the statue as the first of the hooded figures began to dissolve. Their forms wavered, dark smoke curling off their cloaks like whispers of shadow. The smoke twisted and writhed, snaking through the air until it was greedily swallowed by the statue's gaping mouth. One by one, the black-hooded figures disintegrated, their chants fading into the void as their essence was consumed.
And then the prisoners began to dissipate too.
"No… no, no, no," Nyx muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the growing roar of the ritual. Her body trembled as she pulled at the chains with desperation, her thoughts racing. Come on, come on! The iron shackles held firm, unyielding against her frantic struggle.
She stared at the dark smoke funneling into Her-Gok's mouth, her stomach churning with dread. The countdown began in her mind. Five seconds. That was all she needed. Five seconds to prove to herself that she wouldn't end here, in this godforsaken place.
Four.
The statue's cracked lips stretched into a grotesque smile, its obsidian eyes narrowing with cruel anticipation.
Three.
Nyx's breathing quickened. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the chains.
Two.
The air hummed with raw energy, the very ground trembling beneath her feet.
One.
Her lips twisted into a grin. I don't think I'll die here today, she thought.
And then it happened.
A deafening BANG shattered the ritual's rhythm, the sound slicing through the oppressive atmosphere like a gunshot from the heavens. The very ground bucked as if recoiling in fear. The prisoners screamed, some collapsing under the weight of the shockwave. Nyx's ears rang as her vision blurred momentarily.
From the shadows emerged figures clad in exoskeleton armor, their presence heralded by the glint of metal and the hum of advanced machinery. The suits covered them from head to toe, their designs sleek and foreboding. They moved with calculated precision, cutting through the chaos like phantoms of retribution.
A bullet, almost luminous with its destructive energy, hurtled toward Her-Gok. The impact was catastrophic. The Great Old One's stone visage cracked, fragments falling like meteorites. The entity's mouth twisted in a soundless scream, a wave of psychic agony rippling outward. The scream struck the prisoners first, their bodies convulsing in response. Some fell silent, lifeless, while others writhed in torment.
Nyx felt the scream's force like a dagger in her mind. Pain erupted behind her eyes, her vision dimming as blood trickled from her nose and mouth. She tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat. Her head spun, her thoughts slowing to a crawl. The last thing she registered was the sensation of falling, her body plunging into an abyss of darkness.
....
When Nyx awoke, her body jerked upright instinctively. She gasped for air, her hands flying to her chest and arms, searching for injuries. But there was nothing. Her skin was unbroken, her limbs intact. She was alive.
Her surroundings, however, were disorienting. Everything was stark white, an expanse of brightness so intense it burned her eyes. She groaned, shielding her face with her hands. Slowly, her vision adjusted, and the world came into focus.
She was lying on a pristine bed, its sterile sheets devoid of any imperfection. The room was featureless, its walls seamless and unbroken by windows or doors. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, sharp and clinical.
Nyx swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold, smooth floor. She turned, scanning the room with growing unease. It felt too clean, too orderly, as though the space itself denied any semblance of life.
This must be the Confined Zone, she thought, her brow furrowing. The place where injured students were sent to recover in the game. But something didn't add up. The Confined Zone was exclusively for academy students, not… whatever she was. She wasn't supposed to be here.
Before she could piece together an answer, the room shifted. It wasn't a sound or a vibration but a subtle distortion, as though the air itself had been reshaped. A door materialized in the wall, its edges forming seamlessly from the blank surface.
Nyx's breath hitched. She rose to her feet, every muscle in her body tensing as the door creaked open.
And then someone stepped through.