Chương 10: A red stain

It was a grim day. if one could even call it a day. Time did not exist within this realm, at least not in any way it was meant to. The pale sky never dimmed, the black suns never shifted in their frozen orbits, and the endless ocean of blood lay still, unmoving, except when its master allowed it. Only the faint ripples born of battle disturbed the surface now, spreading like dying echoes through the crimson sea. At the center of it all, two figures clashed.

One was a boy, no older than seventeen, fighting desperately, hopelessly, to land a single meaningful strike. His opponent was a man impaled by countless weapons, their broken blades jutting from his flesh like thorns. His armor hung in tatters, and in the center of his chest gaped a hollow void where his heart should have been. a heart long since torn from his body and used to forge the very weapon the boy now wielded.

And yet, despite the grotesque state of his body, the chained man fought as if untouched by pain. He overpowered the boy with terrifying ease, their "battles" ending in mere seconds before beginning anew. For this was a loop without end. a cycle of death and rebirth, broken only by victory. Vale lunged forward, his movements fueled by desperation rather than strength. The chained man moved to meet him he was fluid, precise and inevitable. Their blades met for an instant that stretched into eternity.

Then it was over. The man's sword pierced straight through Vale's chest, its tip bursting from his back, dripping with fresh blood. The boy gasped, crimson spilling from his mouth as he stared down at the blade impaled within him. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to the man before him. He could not see his face, only the obsidian mask that concealed it. Upon its surface glowed a single golden eye, radiant and cold like a false sun. Vale's breathing grew shallow. His fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword.

A faint, almost playful smile tugged at his lips.

"Almost… gotcha," he managed to whisper. Then his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, blood cascading from his wound and mouth alike. His body slumped forward, still and lifeless once more. But peace, even in death, was a luxury this realm refused to grant him. The blood that had spilled from his body began to flow backward, defying gravity, obeying some cruel rule of this place. His flesh knitted itself together. Breath returned to his lungs.

Within moments, the boy's eyes opened once again, pale, unblinking and unyielding. Vale exhaled softly.

"I died again, huh?" he muttered to himself, pushing his hand against the surface of the blood to rise. The liquid rippled beneath his touch as he stood, soaked and trembling but not broken. He reached down, retrieving the sword forged from his enemy's heart. The weapon pulsed faintly in his grip, as if mocking his weakness.

"Well," Vale said with a small, determined grin, "each time I die, I get one step closer to beating you… even if it doesn't seem that way." The chained man said nothing. He tilted his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment. Vale chuckled dryly, though exhaustion weighed heavy on his voice.

"What's the longest I've lasted in these fifty attempts?" he asked, almost to himself.

"Ten seconds, right?" The man gave a small shrug, neither confirming nor denying. And so, without another word, Vale lifted his blade once more, stepping forward into the blood that mirrored the sky. The next battle began. The fifty-first death awaited. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

"Tels og aniga," the man said beneath his black mask, lifting his long, bone-like blade and pointing it toward Vale.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Vale replied, shifting into a combat stance. He didn't actually understand the pale man's language, but the intent behind his movements was clear enough. Even without words, their bodies spoke, a language of battle and instinct. In the blink of an eye, they moved. Vale lunged forward with reckless speed, driving his sword in a heavy thrust aimed straight for the man's chest. The attack, however, failed miserably.

The chained man twisted aside with effortless grace, his motion almost lazy, and countered in the same breath. Vale, caught mid-charge, overextended himself, too much force and too little control. Now he was directly beneath the man's blade. The chained man raised his weapon and, with a single sweeping motion, brought it down. Vale split cleanly in two. His upper and lower body parted ways, falling toward the scarlet-stained ground below. As his body hit the sea of blood, something strange happened.

Tendrils of muscle fiber coiled and stretched, pulling the halves back together until Vale stood whole once again. His eyes shot open, breath rasping in his chest.

"That might've been one of my fastest deaths yet," he muttered, groaning as he rose to his feet and retrieved his sword.

"Damn, I really shouldn't do that again." He glanced down at himself he was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of torn white pants that might once have been part of some formal uniform. It was too damaged to tell. Oddly, neither his blade nor his clothes ever stayed ruined; they always repaired themselves.

"Right," Vale murmured, thinking aloud.

"Anything destroyed here returns to how it was when it first entered… makes sense, I guess. Still, it's only a theory, and I'm the only test subject." Across the crimson plain, the chained man sat patiently, his blade resting at his side, waiting for Vale to recover. There was no malice in his stillness, only a kind of silent understanding. Vale sheathed his sword halfway, tilting his head.

"Hey… uh, mister," he began uncertainly.

"You understand me, right?" The man slowly lifted his head. His obsidian mask faced Vale directly, giving the eerie impression that he could see perfectly through it. A long silence followed as heavy as the air between them, then the man gave a single, deliberate nod. Vale exhaled in relief.

"Good. Then… maybe you can answer some of my questions?" The chained man touched his chin thoughtfully, as though considering the request. After a long pause, he lowered his hand and raised his thumb in a wordless gesture of agreement.

"Alright then," Vale said, gripping his blade tighter.

"Guess we'll start with the easy ones." Vale stood silently, studying the chained man. A dozen questions flooded his mind, some trivial, others that felt heavier, more important. He knew he couldn't ask them all, not yet. He needed to start somewhere.

"So… I wanted to ask," he began cautiously, his voice echoing faintly through the still air, "is this a dream?" He expected a simple yes or no. Instead, the man placed a hand on his mask once again, fingers brushing against the smooth black surface as if searching for the right words. He stayed like that for a long moment, motionless but deep in thought. Finally, he extended his hand and gave it a slow, uncertain shake. Vale blinked, caught off guard.

"So… neither?" he guessed aloud.

"Something in between a dream and reality?" At that, the chained man tilted his head, almost surprised by Vale's interpretation, then gave a small, deliberate nod. Vale's expression tightened. The answer, if it could even be called one, only opened more questions than before. If this isn't a dream… and not reality either… then what is it? Thoughts crashed through his head like waves in a storm, one question birthing another until his mind felt like a whirlpool.

"Wait, no—stop," he muttered, slapping his cheeks lightly as if to bring himself back.

"Focus. One thing at a time." He took a deep breath and looked back at the chained man.

"Alright then. Are you… trying to kill me?" For the first time, the masked figure made a sound, a low, rasping noise that almost resembled a chuckle. He shook his head slowly, as if amused by the question. Vale let out a small breath of relief.

"Didn't think so," he said, managing a faint smile.

"Guess if you really wanted me dead, we wouldn't be talking right now." He adjusted his stance and continued.

"Alright, next one. Are you trying t-" He stopped. The man's attention had drifted away, his mask no longer facing Vale. Instead, it was turned toward the distant horizon, toward the endless crimson ocean and the jagged obsidian mountains that pierced the sky far in the distance.

"What are you looking at?" Vale murmured, following his gaze. He squinted, trying to make out whatever had drawn the man's focus. At first, he saw nothing, just the glimmering black stone and the strange, mist-like air that hung around it. Then, he noticed it. A stain. A deep red mark against the darkness of the mountain. But as he looked closer, Vale's heart began to race. The stain wasn't still, it moved. Slowly and deliberately, as if climbing. It didn't take long for realization to set in.

Whatever that thing was, it wasn't trying to escape, it was coming toward them.

"... That's no stain," Vale whispered, eyes widening. The shape grew clearer the longer he stared, and the word massive felt like an insult to its size. The mountain itself seemed to tremble beneath its ascent. Whatever was coming, whatever was alive in that red mass, was far beyond any creature or monster Vale had ever known. And it was coming straight for the chained man.