The river carried Rhys upward towards the void.
The voices that had clawed at his mind didn't vanish. They sank with him, whispering and wailing in languages that curled like smoke around his thoughts.
He couldn't breathe, but it was like he didn't need to. His body was weightless, stretched thin between sensation and silence.
Then…
The void cracked.
The crack was thin and delicate, like a hairline fracture in glass. Light bled through — faint, silver-blue and barely there. It spread slowly, threading its way across the darkness like veins in marble.
The river carried Rhys through the narrow fissure and almost immediately, the voices fell silent. Now without a tether, he began to 'float' aimlessly in nothingness. This was definitely a weird feeling, to say the least. Never having indulged in drugs himself, Rhys could not even describe or reference what this felt like. If he found the words, he'd say it felt like the inside of a dream someone forgot to finish.
'I'm either dreaming or this is some kind of messed up afterlife. Figures I'd die as soon as I step outside the Indie borders. But looking at the bright side, at least I died a human!'
Just then, the nothingness gave way.
He landed on something solid. Something smooth and unmarked by time. The ground below was like polished obsidian, but darker; so dark it seemed to drink the edges of his vision. There were no reflections. No shadows. Just a deep, endless black that shimmered faintly where his feet touched. Each step he took sent faint ripples outward in muted pulses of light.
Rhys looked around, trying to ground and orient himself. But that is where the problem lay — this space had no sense of direction or bearing, only this vast, flat expanse stretching into infinity. Above it all, there was a sky. Or rather, the absence of one.
And then…
They appeared.
Doors.
One by one, rising from the dark like memories surfacing from a forgotten past. Some stood tall and proud, others leaned at odd angles, half-buried in the endless floor. Some floated inches off the ground, suspended without reason.
Each one was different, but three in particular stood out.
Rhys walked forward, drawn by something he couldn't name. His steps echoed, though the surface made no sound. The air, if it could be called that, was thick with the same omni-present gaze, observing him.
He passed a door carved from old oak, iron bands rusted along its length. A lion's-head knocker hung lifelessly from its centre. He knew what it was before he even reached it.
The orphanage.
His throat tightened.
'Why is this here?'
He remembered the creak of that door. The day he ran away, and never looked back. Rhys' hand reached out inspite of him, he had to forcefully yank it away.
'No. It's in the past. That incident wasn't my fault anyway.'
Forcing the memory that was bubbling up back down, he stepped away.
His gaze drifted to another door. This one was different.
Tall and ornate, its frame glowed faintly violet, runes etched into the wood like scars. A tapestry hung behind it, once regal, now tattered and worn. The hinges were forged in blackened steel, twisted into shapes that almost resembled wings.
Something about it stirred in his chest. Rhys approached slowly, each step sending another ripple through the breathing floor. As he neared, whispers slithered through the air, brushing against his ears like unseen fingers. Except, he could hear clear as day what they said.
[For The One Who Returns]
He stopped just short of touching it. In his head, he repeated the phrase multiple times trying to extrapolate any kind of meaning.
'The One Who Returns. Where are they returning to?'
He clutched the the brass knob out of curiosity, but he didn't intend on turning it. Not yet, anyway.
'I'm guessing wherever this leads to.'
Rhys let go of the knob and stepped towards the third door. This one, though, was rather innocent looking. There were stickers on it from various video game characters and cartoons that indicated that it probably belonged to a kid's bedroom. It was really just a normal looking door, so what was it doing here?
The door was cracked slightly, revealing that this one bled light, slow and deliberate, like blood seeping through cloth.
Through its narrow crack, Rhys caught a glimpse of something impossible.
Twin suns — one violet, one crimson — hung low over a ruined skyline. Towering spires jutted toward the sky like broken bones, their surfaces scorched and pitted. The air shimmered in an unnatural hue visible even from this distance, thick with the scent of ozone and ash.
Before he could look away, the door shuddered. Almost as if it had been waiting for him.
The crack opened further, as if to swallow him whole.
Then—
Rhys felt a pull. It was violent and sudden. Like a vacuum had opened inside his chest, yanking him forward with no regard for will or warning.
He tried to scream, but sound vanished the moment he opened his mouth.
The obsidian floor disappeared beneath his feet.
Time bent.
Reality twisted.
And Rhys was pulled through.
***
Rhys' eyes snapped open as he took a sharp breath, taking in the cold air.
His heart pounded. The remnants of his dream, no, his nightmare still clung to him. But as he felt the hard ground, reality quickly settled.
'This is…reality, right?'
The sky above him was a churning blend of violet and crimson. Twin suns hung suspended in the void, their unnatural hues bleeding into the world around him. The air itself was thick with colour, almost like it carried weight to it.
From there, he surmised that he was pulled through the door that he saw.
'Of course. Why not?'
Rhys inhaled sharply and tried to push himself up, his muscles sluggish and weak. Pain spiked through his ribs and due to his missing left arm, he lay awkwardly on his side.
He had forgotten thanks to that 'dream' but the pain was a sharp reminder of everything that had happened before.
'That damn monster. All because I tried to save one girl. She better be alive.'
He sighed deeply before speaking to nobody in particular:
"I'm never getting on a train again."
After struggling his way up, he finally began to take notice of his surroundings like they were hidden from him until now.
Rhys wasn't alone.
A few feet away from him, two bodies lay motionless.
They were dressed in paramedics' uniform but they no longer looked human. Their bodies had mutated into a sickly deep purple hue and tendrils seemed to be squirming around under their skin. Bones protruded from their collar bone and elbows and the nails had elongated into monstrous claws.
His breath caught in his throat.
'Yeah, wasn't I just fighting for my life in the back of an ambulance? How did they end up here with me?'
He turned behind him and that's when he saw it.
Obsidian spikes grew out the ground all around them, piercing the driver's head through the windscreen and impaling the ambulance. Another paramedic's body hung out the passenger window and crimson blood trickled down the spike. Both their bodies mutated in the same state.
Nausea rose up from Rhys's stomach, and he retreated behind one the obsidian spikes to throw up.
'Shit! Haven't I woken up from my nightmare yet? Yeah, it's definitely still a dream. Otherwise, how could I have possibly survived this?'
He crouched as he fell deep in thought.
After thinking for some time, he decided to move. He had no idea where he would go, but it did not matter to him as long it was away from here. Whatever freaky activity was going on here, standing around would certainly not help.
Also, he didn't know what had caused the paramedics to mutate like that but he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around to find out!
As he crouched beside the jagged, obsidian-like spike, he ran his fingers along its surface. Cold. Smooth. Unyielding. He pressed against it, testing its strength. It didn't budge.
He gritted his teeth.
A sharp weapon. That's what he needed. Something — anything — to protect himself. These spikes seemed perfect, but no matter how hard he struck with the metallic debris from the ambulance, they wouldn't break. Even rocks would crumble. These spikes were practically indestructible.
Rhys exhaled sharply, glancing around. There had to be a way.
Then his eyes landed on the bodies.
He had avoided looking too closely before. The twisted forms of the paramedics were grotesquely misshapen. But now, one detail stood out.
Their hands.
Or rather, their claws.
Long, curved, and unnaturally sharp. Just like the Reaper's.
Rhys' mind flashed back to the subway; the way the Reaper's claws sliced through steel like paper.
That was it.
He swallowed hard, pushing down the revulsion curling in his gut as he stepped toward one of the corpses. The thing that used to be a paramedic lay slumped against a half-buried structure, its arms stiff and contorted. Its fingers ended in claws that gleamed under the violet-crimson light.
Rhys hesitated.
Then he grabbed the arm and yanked.
Nothing.
He adjusted his grip, planting a foot against the body for leverage. With a sharp twist and a sickening crack, the arm snapped off.
Rhys clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the sound, the texture, the way the limb still felt human in some places.
He turned back to the spike.
Lifting the severed arm, he brought the claws down against the obsidian.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then—a deep, clean slice.
Rhys exhaled, gripping the arm tighter. He struck again. And again until his arm was screaming in pain. The spike gave way.
With one final strike, a shard broke free, landing at his feet. Long, jagged, razor-sharp.
A weapon.
Rhys tossed the arm aside, picking up the shard. It was rough in some places, but the edge—deadly. He ran a thumb along it, feeling the sharpness bite at his skin.
It would do.
After using the spike to cut off the paramedic's claws, he rummaged through the ambulance wreckage and found a medical pouch and also took a pair of boots, a bloodied jacket and tactical gaiters from one of the bodies. Undressing the corpses almost recalled his nausea, but he managed to keep it down.
With his preparations finished, he was set to leave.
He glanced back to make sure the bodies hadn't moved.
'Good.'
He pressed forward.