The night was colder than usual. I shifted under the thin blanket, trying to coax some warmth into my bones
My fingers brushed the keys of the laptop, sending the screen's faint glow dancing across the room. The buzz of the laptop-fan, worn and exhausted from years of use, was the only sound in the otherwise dead silence of the room.
I stared at the last page of Ashes of Eternity, Volume 2.
An alchemy of awe and frustration curled inside my chest. The protagonist—Klein—bloodied and battered, had just escaped an impossible situation—only to stumble directly into the jaws of something worse.
My finger hovered over the trackpad, my impatience bubbling as I scrolled through the thread of multiple forums and reddit posts, each comment reflecting my own despair.
"When is Volume 3 coming out?"
>Lisa420
"Seriously, how do you end it like that? God, the cliffhanger's killing me."
>NoodleDumpling
"Fuck the author man, he's always ending the volume on cliffhanger!"
>Zysex69
"Y'all fuckers should calm down. The volume ended just today. Besides, it ain't even that good."
>Incezangwill (47.1K replies)
"I'd love a big juicy cock right now, ngl–"
>KomradeCrusader
Ufff…yeah, he's done. Clicking on the guy's profile, I could already see his comment karma going into the extreme depths of negatives. RIP.
"The suspense, damn! It's going to kill me!"
>OctaNibbiKoji
A laugh—bitter, hollow—slipped out of my mouth.
'Killing me,' I thought. No kidding. It was like the author had a sick sense of humor, yanking us back to the edge of oblivion and leaving us there, hanging over a drop with nothing but darkness below.
"Dammit," I muttered under my breath. My eyes flickered back to the screen, devouring every new comment that filled the thread, but nothing satisfied the gnawing curiosity that had settled deep in my gut.
Nothing but the story itself.
Why couldn't they just release the next volume already?
I leaned back against the pillow, the creak of the old bed under me familiar but distant. My thoughts wandered, each one bouncing around in my skull like an echo in an empty room.
I was too tired to keep going, but I couldn't shake the craving for more. The world the author had built… I didn't just want to read it. It felt so intuitive, so real, so intricate that I wanted to crawl into it, feel its grimy, suffocating air crawl under my skin.
I wanted to live in it—to survive in it.
"Maybe I'm just crazy…" A self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips.
The screen flickered, the glow of the laptop distorting as a strange weight settled into my limbs, heavy, like the air itself had thickened. My eyelids fluttered. The exhaustion wasn't the familiar kind that comes after a long day, but something deeper, more consuming.
A last thought ran through my mind: If only I could be in the story…
Then, the world went black.
------------------------
G̢̢̮͙͔͖̥̾̓̃͌̋̊r̢͕̫̱̣͈̳̳̱͋̉̓̂̅̽̐́̊̇_̴̱̪̠̫͗̉̊ͫͥ͛̅̏̔͜ͅa͉͑ͯ̕n̶̵̟͓̪͖̹̳̞̔̕t̶̸̷̢̡̨̢̳̯̩̱̱̼͍̗̣͑ͦ͛ͭͤ̒͐̓ͥ̽͋́̓ͬ̊̊̀̍ͧ̒ͥ͜͟͜é͘ḑ̴̸̨̛͇̤̪͙̘̜͔̮̹̻ͩ̏ͬ̀͑͋ͣ͆ͤ̍̆̒ͫ̆̽̊̋ͣ̾͟͢_̸͖͢
------------------------
When I opened my eyes again, it was to the sharp, biting sound of chains rattling.
The air was cold, but it was nothing like the chill of my room. This was a deeper, more oppressive cold, like the world itself had forgotten how to feel warmth.
The ache in my bones—like something had cracked inside me while I slept—sprawled across my body. My head throbbed, and every breath felt like it came through a thick, unseen barrier.
I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my vision. The last thing I remembered was my bed, the laptop screen glowing faintly in the dark.
The smell of something foul, rotten, and sharp hit me before I could process anything else—a rancid, stinging stench that turned my stomach and made my eyes water. I twisted my head, feeling the scrape of rough stone against my cheek as I took in the surroundings.
A sick feeling settled in the pits of my gut.
Gray. Everything was gray.
The sky above was choked with a thick, suffocating blanket of ash that blotted out the sun. The earth beneath me cracked and crumbled like brittle bone, the jagged remnants sharp against my skin, mocking every step I took.
Every breath I took was coated with a thin layer of soot, the smell of decay overwhelmingly present. And there—just ahead of me—was the faint outline of what looked like ancient structures.
But they were no more than skeletal remains now, reduced to nothing but crumbling stone and rotting timber.
I tried to move, but something heavy yanked at my wrists, pulling me back. The cold bite of metal scraped against my skin.
'Manacles…? I thought through the haze of pain. Jerking my hands, I tried to break free but they didn't budge.
Panic surged through my chest as it tightened while I twisted my head, searching desperately for any sign of recognition. Something, anything that could explain what was happening. But nothing came.
"Get up," a voice growled, cutting through the haze of confusion.
I snapped my head toward the sound. A man, or what I assumed was a man, loomed over me.
His face was weathered, skin pulled taut over bone, eyes dark and hollow like he'd seen too many things that had killed parts of him. His hands were calloused, covered in dirt and grime, and his lips were pulled into a sneer, revealing teeth that were more jagged than human.
He grabbed the chain attached to my wrists, yanking me to my feet. The movement was brutal as I stumbled forward, barely able to catch my balance. The cold stone ground scraped against my bare feet, and I could taste the ash that filled the air with every breath.
"Move," he barked, his voice harsh.
I didn't even try to fight it. I couldn't. The reality of my situation hit me like a sledgehammer. The moment I stood, I was shoved forward, my legs unsteady beneath me as I joined the throng of others—figures that were little more than shadows, their bodies hunched and broken.
Some moved slowly, dragging their feet as though they had forgotten how to walk. Others were completely still, faces blank as if their souls had already abandoned their bodies.
It was now my own memory, but I somehow understood it.
Slaves. I was one of them.
It felt like I was in a nightmare, but the sensation of everything was so real and tangible that every part of my being screamed that it was the cold hard reality.
The sound of chains clinking together was like a chorus of death, punctuated by the groaning of the wind as it blew through the ruined landscape. My breath was coming too fast, too shallow, but I couldn't stop it.
This isn't real.
The thought fluttered like a bird in my mind, desperate, futile, despairful. I tugged at the chains again, but they didn't give an inch.
My skin prickled with something else now. Fear. The air tasted of it and I was drowning in it.
"Move faster, you son of a bitch," the man behind me growled. His foot slammed into my back, forcing me forward, sending me stumbling toward the line of silent figures—all chained, all broken.
I tried to steady my breath. The sheer amount of horror from the situation was too much for me to think straight. It didn't even feel like my own fear, since while the scene around me was horrifying, it was not enough to make me feel this paranoid and scared. Something about this fear felt odd, strange…foreign.
My legs moved on their own accord, driven by nothing but fear and instinct.
The air smelled worse now—sweat, blood, and something foul that clung to the very earth beneath my feet. My eyes blurred, and I wiped the ash from my face, but it just smeared, turning my hand black. The others ahead of me didn't seem to care. They just moved, empty-eyed, their bodies nothing more than husks, their minds long since destroyed by whatever had dragged them here.
Ok, let's think this through. I was inside my room reading the super hit story Ashes of Eternity. And then I slept. Then how am I here?
I am sure I am not dreaming. Then how? Is this a hallucination?
That can't be. I locked the main door, and made sure to bolt my room's door and twist the key to lock it as well.
Am I in a coma? How did I lose consciousness? If so, how? I made sure to turn the gas knob off as well…
I looked up at the sky again.
A perpetually gray sky with ash that stings the lungs…
Wait…this can't be…
Am I in…
Suddenly, the sting of a whip cracked across my back, and a raw scream tore from my throat, splitting it wide open.
"Hinder the movement one more time and I will fuck you up." The same man spoke, a hateful look on his face.
I looked up at him and then down at myself. Nodding slightly, I moved, pushing through the scalding pain through gritted teeth.
I looked around. There were a total of around 10 people who were herding us–the slaves like a flock of sheep.
We marched through the ash for hours, my body growing heavier with each step. My feet were raw, skin caked in soot, and every breath felt like my life was dragging out of me. The guards remained silent—for the most part—watching us like vultures, their eyes scanning the slaves with casual contempt.
Every so often, one would bark a command, and the slaves would move just a little faster. Faster—as if it would save them—us.
By the time we reached the foot of the mountain, the damped sunshine was a faint memory, a dim, orange smear in the ashen sky. The mountain was scorched black.
Suddenly, the guards shoved us inside into a tight circle.
My breath hitched in my throat as I was pressed in between the other slaves.
The ambiance was very much like Ashes of Eternity, but I had never read a setting like this. Even if this was ashes of eternity, how the hell did I even make it here?
Shaking my head and fearing another whip, I focused on myself. I looked down at what was left of my clothes—a tattered shirt that had once been white, now faded to a grimy gray, barely holding together.
The seams strained against the stretch of my movements. Over it was a thin waistcoat, its once-deep color now washed out, and the chill that gnawed at me seeped straight through it, clawing at my skin beneath.
The cold didn't just sit on top of me—it got inside, wrapped around my ribs, tightened in my chest. I tried to ignore it. I had no choice but to.
The other slaves around me shifted, chained like animals, eyes glazed and tired, dragging their feet like they'd forgotten how to move.
The mountain loomed in front of us and in the distance, jagged peaks reaching up into the sky like broken teeth. The wind carried a biting taste of ash that scraped at my throat and made my chest burn with each ragged breath.
Suddenly, my stomach growled. The confusion and paranoia was so deep that I had almost ignored the fact that why I felt so lethargic. It was hunger. The sensation that made me feel like I hadn't eaten in days.
"Eat." One of them barked, breaking a thick brick of stale bread as they started to toss it to everyone.
I didn't reach for the scraps they threw to us. It didn't feel like food anymore. It was just pieces of nothing, bones coated in stale bread. The others—some of them—scrambled for what little they could get.
Their hands were trembling, clawing at the dirt, mouths desperate, lips cracked and bleeding. But I didn't move, despite the feeling of my guts eating away at my soul. Just the thought of eating them revolted me.
As everyone got busy eating, the guards started circling.
The way they looked at us made my skin crawl. I could feel their eyes on the women first, always on the women. The ones with their heads down, the ones too broken to fight back, to resist.
One of the guards stepped forward, his boot crunching in the gravel as he grabbed a woman by the arm, yanking her roughly from the line.
"Eat."
"I can't…" She spoke. One of her lower teeth was broken as she showed the man how hard the piece of bread was.
A knowing smile crept up the man's face.
I couldn't help but watch as he dragged her, her feet scraping against the dirt, her face hollow with exhaustion, with submission. He smiled at her like she was nothing but a piece of meat—his grin wide, sickening, showing too many teeth.
"Ya want a proper meal?" he growled, his voice thick with something far too cruel to be called a joke. "Then get to work."
The others barely flinched. They didn't look away. They didn't even seem to care anymore.
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
A second guard picked another woman beside me. She barely seemed to register his touch, her body sagging under his grip, like she'd already known this moment was coming. It wasn't even a struggle. She went with him willingly.
There was no fight left in her.
As they entered the tent, the sound of fabric ripping reached my ears.
And then, there was something else. A softer sound, but equally disturbing, echoing between the slaps—a muted, percussive rhythm.
I could hear it over the wind, over the murmurs of the others. The sound of skin on skin.
A chilling wave coursed through my entire body.
An ash-covered sky.
The stench of death.
And a ruthless world detached from the real one.
There was no doubt about it. I was inside "A trial" in my favourite book—Ashes of Eternity.
Despite the sudden screams of the women that made my skin crawl as the guards started to go back in and continue their hideous activities, a knowing smirk crept up my tired, fatigued features.