Bullshit!
This is completely wrong.
How did this occur?
Nothing was visible because of the darkness. The sound of something dripping caused his ears to twitch. He could feel discomfort in his chest. Ethan Cole gradually opened his eyes and looked around.
His chest and trousers were ripped off, leaving him only with his pants. Ropes bit his wrists, pinning him spread-eagle on a stone table like the Vitruvian Man in a nightmare. He attempted to free himself from the robe, where six black-robed figures loomed, candles flickering, and their ritual knife splattered with blood. The altar was scarred with Greek and Italian runes, echoing the Order of the Veiled Dawn's texts, which he had been searching for three months.
This wasn't a dream. It was real, raw, and deadly.
"W-what happened?" he asked himself. "How did I end up here?"
A symbol was tattooed across his chest, which provided no clues.
"Who the hell are you guys?"
Ethan Cole screamed as he stared down at the six figures holding candles. They said nothing, just chanted some incantations while staring down at his face.
The symbol on his chest suddenly glowed a deep crimson. One of the hooded figures approached him, holding a ritual knife in his left hand and a candle in the other. Without saying anything, the knife slashed across his chest, carving out the symbol.
"Squelch."
After lowering their candles, blood pooled across the table, and their hands were raised to the sky. Ethan screamed in agony, his tears covered in blood, blood oozing from his nose, and he let out a heavy pant, gasping for breath. Before he could think of anything, the leader removed the hood that covered his head.
His face was hidden behind a mask, and his bald head was covered in blood. He uttered it with an eerie smile hidden behind his mask.
"Zorathys will be satisfied. This demonstrates that anyone attempting to capture us will have a difficult time."
Who was Zorathys? What was Zorathys?
Ethan was unable to fully comprehend what the cult leader meant. Ethan's pulse roared as he struggled to free himself from the ropes, hoping to escape the brutality. The ritual knife was then thrust into his chest, peeling out the symbol engraved on his chest, while the six hooded figures echoed.
"Zorathys! Zorathys! Zorathys! Zorathys!"
Ethan let out a painful scream, and his vision blurred. He remembered his job.
"Why did I take up this job?"
"Was this intended by an undercover investigator?"
Before anything else happened, he had a thought about his younger sister.
Blood-like tears streamed down his cheeks, the sound of "Zorathys" echoing in his ears, and blood splattered across his face.
"I apologize, Sarah. It was my wish to get this job so that we could have a normal life. Unfortunately, I will be unable to fulfill my promise to you. I hope you'll forgive me."
His heart began to pound slowly, his vision blurred, and his eyes closed completely. His hands stopped moving, and blood splattered across his body and the table.
Just as all hope had vanished, violet light flashed through the room, as if an earthquake had struck. The sight blinded the six hooded figures before disappearing from their view.
Ethan gasped, his lungs raw, as if he had just been dragged from death. He experienced excruciating pain in his head. His breath became trapped in his throat. He could feel the liquid against his hands, which were very uncomfortable. His fingers, slick with something gooey, scampered against an ancient stone, attempting to make sense of the situation.
"Blood?"
The scent of metallic tang, ozone, and something obscene burned in the atmosphere. Ethan used his hand to cover his nose. He blinked, attempting to focus on what had just occurred, but the violet light pulsed, flashing across a cavernous chamber.
Ethan stumbled to his feet, his body feeling lighter than usual. He took a step forward, the sound of metal boots crunching bones beneath him. Looking around, he noticed that the area was in ruins, with towering arches of white stones cracked and toppled and veined with starlight.
Looking down was something he did not want to see…
Bodies and bones dressed in silver-threaded robes lay sprawled across the floor, their faces bemused and twisted in silent cries, their chests ripped and wrenched by large claws. Ethan looked to his left and saw a head severed and heaved off from its body, eldritch ichor pooled beneath it, and a creature that was vaguely humanoid but wrong—skin like oil, tendrils only 2 meters long, glowing void-light eyes—lay dead nearby.
The stench and scene made Ethan puke.
It wasn't a hallucination. This was a massacre.
"What the hell is this place?"
Ethan continued to walk, stepping on more bones. A mirror crunched beneath his metallic boots, causing an audible crack. Kneeling down to pick up the broken piece of mirror, he noticed himself—his current self—in the mirror.
Blue eyes, black hair, silver-threaded robes, metallic boots, a rune down the left side of his arm that reached slightly towards his shoulders, and a normal-looking body.
"W-who am I?"
For a brief moment, the rune on his shoulder burned blue. He suddenly heard a voice in his head before disappearing.
"Locate the tenth gate."
"What—?" Ethan gasped, perplexed by the deluge of ideas he was processing.
What is this tenth gate?
There were two things that Ethan understood. First and foremost, this place was unlike Earth. Furthermore, he appeared to be more rugged than before. Is it possible that he transmigrated into this world?
Ethan removed his silver-threaded robe and rubbed his fingers across his chest, confirming his suspicion.
Not a thing. Not a single blemish or scratch. Was this all just a dream?
Ethan inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself from freaking out.
Before he could comprehend his surroundings, the chamber stone shook and dust rained down from the ceiling. The flagstone floor had cracks that spread and widened at an alarming rate. The low thrum became increasingly intense, reaching a deafening crescendo.
Ethan stumbled upon a shattered altar in the center of the room, where he discovered a leather-bound diary. Its pages were dust-covered but undamaged. Curious, he opened the journal and saw multiple lines written, with each page marked with a date.
Ethan found the diary more understandable because it was written in English. Before he could begin reading, a gust of wind blew the diary, flipping through its pages until it reached the last page.
Ethan moved his face closer to the page, which was written in dark ink:
"The Council conceals the truth."
Ethan moved further away from the diary, his hands trembling with fear.
"What was the meaning behind that sentence? What was the Council? Was there any connection to this body?"
He shook his head, attempting to dismiss that thought. With his heart racing, Ethan crawled over to the diary and picked it up, tucking it under his robe.
A high-pitched shriek echoed throughout the room, surprising him. Tiny whirlpools formed as something started moving, sucking the surrounding debris.
Suddenly, an unidentified voice uttered the word 'void-tremor,' which echoed throughout the room.
When Ethan heard the word "void-tremor," he whirled around, his heart racing. His rune burned while he was hiding behind the debris. A silhouette emerged from the whirling dust, moving at an unfathomable pace. The figure, dressed in a silver-thread robe, appeared tall and slender, its green eyes narrowed, and her silver hair was pulled back into a harsh braid while wielding a staff glimmering with starlight. Her appearance was feminine. Her expression hardened with suspicion as her gaze shifted to Ethan's rune.
"Hey! Who are you, and how did you get here?" she inquired, her gaze flickering suspiciously between bodies and the Void-spawn corpse before returning to him.
"How come you are the only person still alive?"
Before Ethan could say anything, the chamber shook again. The girl's expression became stern, and she grabbed Ethan's hand.
"It is not safe here, stranger. We should leave right now."