Faust focused on the historian’s book, observing the sacrifice rune drawing back and forth, multiple times, trying to follow it with absolute perfection. Orange illumination bathed his body. The wind moved along, transporting grains of snow and wolf-like chants, but its coldness was unable to reach the campfire.

  While following the drawing in the book, he attempted to draw the sacrifice rune on the snow. Unfortunately, its intricate design was too difficult to follow even with a guide, and he ended up failing multiple times. Drawing was much harder than he had thought it would be, but he kept trying. Yet, even after dozens of attempts with different levels of failure, that was still all they were—failures.

  Not a single drawing was even close to the one in the book.

  He thought of giving up multiple times. After some point, he gathered every dead body in a pile and attempted to use their blood to draw the rune, seeing as how the book specifically commented about “rituals using blood.” But changing the medium did not make the drawing easier, and so he kept failing.

  I just need to keep trying… that’s all. I need to keep trying.

  For an unknown amount of time, likely days, his attempts to draw the rune all failed. Every single one of them. He had no talent for drawing... Not only that, but these drawings required both extreme precision to details and speed, since if he took too long, the wind would move the snow and destroy his drawing.

  …

  After many failed attempts, he was drawing once more.

  Carefully, Faust moved his finger on the snow. He held his breath and his eyes were snapped open in concentration. First, he drew the outer lines, a circle and a square inside each other overlapping in a three-dimensional formation.

  It was by far the easiest part of the whole process. The real difficulty was the inner drawing, composed of at least a hundred different symbols and runic letters whose significance Faust did not know.

  Some of these symbols were plain and simple, squares and circles. Others were far more complex, such as hexadecagons with uneven drawings and three-dimensional stars.

  If the whole drawing had a hundred steps, Faust could barely make it to step thirty without failing already. At his current level, he had no choice but to accept it was impossible…

  Accept?

  How could he accept such a thing? He did not. He kept trying, again and again, for dozens and dozens more attempts, he failed repeatedly. He tried changing the order in which he would draw, the motion he would follow, the positioning of his hands, trying to advance further in any possible way.

  That insistence bore fruits!

  On one of the harder steps, he was focused, eyes wide, drawing a star which had sigils in every point and another, smaller and with fewer angles, star within.

  Careful… careful…

  His fingers drew on the snow, they carved it deep with each movement. With utmost attention to detail, he finished the drawing of the outer star. Then, not losing time, he already started to draw the inner details. This one was much easier, and he was quickly done.

  Slowly, he progressed through the steps. His heart pounded heavier in anticipation.

  Alright.

  Breathing deeply and holding it in, Faust continued. He prickled the snow with his numbed fingers and drew the first line.

  Then, it was quickly followed by a second, then another and one more.

  Sweat could not form well in such temperature, but if it could, he would be drenched in it.

  The difficulty of drawing such a symbol was great, but this time Faust had his heart set on overcoming the matter.

  Slowly… slowly…

  Suddenly, an unexpected gust of wind moved his hair forward, breaking his concentration and allowing for a mistake!

  While he drew a straight line, the distraction made him move his finger to the side, creating a gap in the snow and ruining the perfect design so far.

  I… I can’t believe this… shit! Shit!

  “SHIT!”

  Accumulated frustration and anger rose to his heart as Faust mumbled curses like a madman.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Damn it!” he shook his head in disbelief. “How can I be so bad at this?!”

  “Horse shit. Bull shit. Every animal shit together, all shite. Gods, why did you allow such a…”

  Faust kicked the snow, completely destroying the rune now. Taking his hands to his head, he pulled his hair back and looked up at the azure moon.

  “… I do not even know what to say. Although there is no one to hear it anyway.”

  Faust’s eyes were filled with rage, his stomach making loud noises that accompanied his grumbling.

  “You know what,” he said, before grabbing the book from his waist with both hands and quickly opening it to the last page.

  At this point, he had the design of the sacrifice rune inside his mind but could not translate it to reality.

  Bringing the sacrifice rune near his face, he uttered violently, “Damn you, damned book. May you and your author burn forever.”

  Then, he closed the book with strength, trying to hurt it. Of course, it was mere paper and leather; how would it be hurt?

  Without any hesitation, he threw the book towards the wavering campfire. The book spun in the air like a star... In the next moment, it hit the flames and was completely consumed by them in a matter of instants.

  Huffing and puffing like a feral bull, Faust’s eyes kept staring at the fire while the weight of what he had just done settled in his heart.

  “…” he kept still in the same position from which he had thrown the book, his breathing calming down, before he spoke in the next instant. “…damn.”

  In a fit of rage, he had destroyed the only piece of information he had about this place, the only thing that could provide the exit from this place.

  He fell back, glancing at the snow, unable to properly react to the action he had just made.

  Albeit… something changed. The fire, which had been a steady, wavering presence, shivered. A dreadful, impossible hope sparked in Faust's chest, immediately warring with his shame. Had his stupid, violent act... been the key?

  Flames whirled violently, growing a searing heat that instantly made Faust feel hot. Observing the fire, Faust was in a dread shock.

  Was that the answer? To throw the book in the fire? Was that… it?

  But he did not smile; instead, he frowned.

  How is someone supposed to know that? What logic is behind this twisted thing? Is this place that unlogical? Then thinking is useless inside here. Useless!

  Lost in his own thoughts, he was unable to move when the fire suddenly expanded, shooting skyward and creating an orange beacon of heat.

  Behind Faust, the pile of frozen bodies he had organized instantly caught on fire from nowhere. At the same time, all the houses and structures, including the stone temple, were also set ablaze.

  Almost as if observing him, the fire consumed the whole village. Realizing the danger, Faust tried to run away, but it was too late.

  With a quick succession of flickers and twists, the fire extended all over the ablaze village, forming a cocoon of light and heat around everything, including Faust himself.

  What?!

  Nervously, Faust’s eyes darted all around, trying to find an escape.

  Yet, there was none.

  The frozen bodies melted, turning into a gross liquid that fumigated a putrid odor that forcefully assaulted Faust’s nostrils.

  Those same bodies turned from liquid to a heavy and thick dark powder, flying upwards in dozens of small hurricanes and touching the fire. Once they touched, the orange flames died down.

  All of it—the village, the cocoon, the campfire itself—it all died down.

  Faust had no interest in why. Instead, he had his chance to escape! He ran towards the edge of the village, but before being able to reach far from his position, the campfire twitched with a crimson speck.

  This speck instantly grew and set the whole campfire ablaze again, shining with a strong vermillion light. In sequence, both a red beacon shot upwards and was followed by the village being set ablaze once more, this time by dancing scarlet… flames?

  Whatever it was, had dominated the whole area again in a short moment of time. Almost as if it had its own conscience, the fiery particles touched the snow and expanded in a garden of beautiful flames, forming dozens… hundreds of pillars that connected the ground to the cocoon.

  However, what came next made Faust accept his fate.

  Once those pillars connected to the ground, the snow around the campfire melted so fast it was impossible for the eye to see, creating a gaping abyss of pure darkness. How deep was that snow? This gaping abyss gradually expanded from the center, attempting to reach the outer edges of the village.

  Faust lost no time in running away. Everywhere the snow left, the abyss came and consumed every house that fell inside it, and it did not take long to eat the stone temple as well. Dodging the crimson flame pillars and lit houses, Faust was still unable to outrun the maw of darkness.

  Faust’s feet crumbled under the last snow as he fell backwards into the abyss.

  But then, the darkness was exchanged for crimson as colossal pillars of flames shot from the infinity of the abyss at an alarming speed.

  Being mid-air made it impossible to dodge, although even on land it would have been impossible as well. That speed was simply incomparable to anything Faust had ever seen. If he still wanted to die, that would be a great moment to do so. It was truly an amazing view, black and red contrasting in a battle of colors.

  It’s over, Faust thought. My fate was to die, it seems.

  Just as his eyes finished closing, everything turned completely vermillion even from beyond his eyelids. He could only feel a searing heat for half an instant before all his senses were shut down.

  …

  Time flew; how long was impossible to tell.

  Gradually and hesitantly, Faust came to the realization he was still alive. How so? Had he not been engulfed by crimson flames and killed by the heat?

  The acceptance of being alive was easier than to open his eyes, which seemed glued shut by a supernatural force of nature. Maybe they were intended to stay that way, but Faust cared not.

  Forcing his eyes open, his mouth fell open and his heart shot with excitement, for what he saw was unbelievable...

  He found himself in a crimson place which had no ground, no ceiling, no walls. In fact, there was no up, down, or sides; it was all one. As if natural to him, Faust understood this was the inner workings of the Flame.

  But that was not what surprised him, but what was in front of his eyes.

  Created out of the dark powder the burnt bodies had left behind, the sacrifice rune was floating in all its might, detailed to perfection in all its imposance. Seeing it like that made it far more impressive than its counterpart on paper.

  All the runic letters, nexuses of symbols and geometrical figures, perfectly aligned with what would be the ideal rune, it was even better than the one in the book.

  The rune Faust had been trying to draw for so long, and failed in every attempt was merely a copy... Seeing it like that made him realize that trying to draw it was a waste of time; it was impossible to reach such splendor.

  Tears almost flowed from his eyes, but the sheer shock kept them at bay.

  With a blank mind, Faust moved his hands to touch the perfect creation of such a rune. His fingers grasped at the dark powder… but then, an extreme pain assaulted every ounce of his being.

  Blood flowed incessantly from every hole in his body, merging itself with the sacrifice rune. Every capillary in his body was broken, leaving his skin covered in hundreds of ugly and visible bruises. Looking at his own trembling hand, he had just noticed it; he was naked. His clothes had likely been burnt away by the flames without him noticing.

  Before being able to solve the mystery of his clothes' disappearance, the pain stepped up as his organs were eaten by flames, destroyed into ashes before being rebuilt again.

  Faust tried to scream, but his vocal cords were burnt away alongside his skin and muscles, leaving only his nerves and skeleton behind. From this point on, Faust could barely tell what was happening, the pain so severe he passed out and woke up again hundreds of times.

  What he could see was that, gradually, his muscles were reconstructed from the ashes, then his skin, then his hair grew again and fell upon his eyes.

  To top it all, the sacrifice rune floating in the vermilion space ahead of him had been distorted and a part of it moved to his body, entering his pores and surfacing on his forearm with a design that seemed to drink the light around it, a sigil of profound and unsettling purpose.

  With his wavering conscience, Faust could not even take full notice of it as the edges of his vision darkened once more, but this time not from pain, but from something else. Finally, Faust’s conscience completely left his body as it shut down.