Darius drew his sword, his heart pounding against his ribs. The steel whispered as it left the scabbard—a small sound for the horror waiting ahead. He slowed his breathing, steadying himself, though fear still crept up his spine. There were too many Ragelers. He could smell them already. Their copper scent of old blood and rot.

  He had no plan beyond staying alive.

  Below him, the echo of boots on stone stopped. The soldiers had halted. Of course they had. They would wait for the screaming to end, for the beasts to finish their work, then come clean up what remained. Darius knew that kind of cruelty well.

  He did not wait.

  To hesitate would only give the Ragelers time. Sword low, steps quick and sure, he slipped from the guardroom into the corridor. The torches flickered as he passed, their flames bending away as if afraid.

  The corridor was lined with iron-barred cells. He did not look inside. He did not need to.

  From the darkness came snarls, scraping claws, and the hungry breathing of things that had learned patience in chains. Metal shrieked as claws dragged along bars. Behind him, a cell door burst open with a thunderous clang.

  Then another.

  He had passed only two cells when the first Ragelers spilled into the corridor. Its grey flesh stretched tight over its twisted bone, and its jaws splitting wide as they lunged. More followed, bursting free one after another, as if his presence had awakened them.

  Darius broke into a run. They were fast. Too fast.

  The beasts’ claws scraped stone behind him, and he could feel their breath hot at his back. Their snarls merged into one roaring sound. Then within moments, pain tore through him.

  A claw ripped through leather and flesh, hurling him to the ground. The air burst from his lungs as he slid across the stone, blood spreading warm beneath him.

  But Darius rolled just in time.

  A Rageler slammed down where his head had been, its jaws snapping shut with a crack like breaking bone. Darius rose to one knee and slashed. His blade sank deep into its shoulder, black blood spraying the wall—but it did not fall. Another beast crashed into him, knocking him flat again.

  Darius fought back.

  His blade sang as he hacked and parried and the corridor erupted into chaos. He drove his sword through one creature’s throat and kicked it away as it twitched and died. Another tore claws across his chest, shredding his leather and skin. Pain flared white-hot, but he stayed on his feet.

  They kept coming.

  For every Rageler he struck down, two more replaced it. His arms burned and his breath grew ragged. The stone walls closed in as he was forced back, the beasts’ jaws snapping inches from his face.

  One leap with its weight crushing Darius, and its claws biting deep into his side.

  Darius screamed and drove his blade up beneath its jaw. The creature went limp and collapsed onto him. He shoved it away and staggered upright.

  His vision swam and blood soaked his tunic. Strength drained from him with every heartbeat.

  Another blow smashed into his ribs and something cracked. He dropped to one knee, sword scraping the floor as he gasped for air.

  There were too many.

  By now the truth struck him hard. This was not a brave stand, it was a slow death.

  The Ragelers circled him now, sensing it. Their snarls softened and eager. One lunged, with its claws reaching for Darius throat—

  And something inside Darius broke.

  His hand moved on its own and reached inward, into past fear and pain. To the place he had once sworn never to touch again.

  The air grew heavy, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Shadows gathered at his feet, twisting unnaturally.

  “[Spirit of Death]” he whispered.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The words were barely sound, yet they echoed.

  And surprisingly, the sword answered.

  Darkness poured from nothing, wrapping his arm as a new blade formed in his grasp—longer, darker, its surface drinking in the torchlight. Runes glimmered along its length, pulsing like a second heart.

  The Ragelers recoiled, their snarls breaking into shrill cries of fear.

  Darius’ breathing slowed and the pain dulled. The corridor blurred at the edges as a cold stillness settled over him. His thoughts drifted, slipping away, as though he were sinking beneath black water.

  The world narrowed and then…

  Nothing.

  Darius opened his eyes, and for a brief, tense moment, he expected to see the torn bodies of beasts strewn across the stone floor before him. He expected blood, shattered limbs, and the aftermath of desperate violence. Instead, there was nothing of the sort.

  As his vision cleared confusion settled in. He was no longer standing in the narrow cell corridor, nor was there any sign of the Ragelers, dead or alive. The stone walls, the iron bars, the flickering torches—all of it was gone.

  Darius lay upon cracked earth beneath an open sky. He pushed himself upright slowly, his muscles aching, and his breath shallow.

  Around him stretched a vast, ruined land of dry plains and scorched soil. In the far distance, great canyons rose from the earth like jagged wounds,with edges rising against the horizon.

  Above them, dark clouds churned and rolled, heavy with unspent storm, casting long shadows across the desolate land.

  He lifted his face toward the sky, and his mouth fell open in disbelief. The air felt ancient, filled with something he could not name, as though this place had existed long before kingdoms rose and fell.

  “What is this place?” he murmured, his voice sounding strangely small in the open expanse.

  Before the thought could settle, the air itself seemed to shift. A deep, thunderous voice rolled out from the canyon ahead, it was commanding, as though the land had found its own tongue. At the same moment, lightning split the clouds above, white and blinding against the dark sky.

  “Kriger. My champion.”

  The words struck Darius like a physical blow. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, and he staggered back a step, with dread and awe.

  The voice was strange and unnatural, in a way no mortal sound could ever be. It carried the same terrible calm spoken of in the elders’ tales, the kind of voice gods were said to have: never raised, yet impossible to ignore.

  Before he could gather his thoughts or summon the courage to speak, the world around him began to break apart.

  The land fractured like shattered glass, splitting into jagged fragments of colour and light. The sky tore open, plains folding and overlapping with flashes of stone walls, iron bars, and torchlit corridors.

  Reality flickered in and out, as though caught between worlds. Darius turned in place, disoriented, as the ruins collapsed around him like a glitch.

  Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

  The corridor snapped back into existence.

  Stone walls closed in around him, torches burned low in their brackets, and the cold, familiar stench of the Keep filled his lungs.

  Darius sucked in a sharp breath and steadied himself, his hand instinctively tightening around his sword.

  He turned, searching for the Ragelers he had fought moments earlier.

  There were none.

  No corpses lay at his feet, nor did wounded beasts drag themselves along the floor. The corridor stood empty and silent, as though nothing had ever escaped its cells.

  “What did you do…?” Darius whispered, though he did not know whom he was speaking to.

  His gaze snapped toward the cells that had burst open during the chaos. Every door was sealed once more. Iron bolts were drawn tight, intact and unbroken.

  Unease crept into his bones. He wondered if he was still trapped in a trance, or if he had crossed into another world entirely.

  Darius approached one of the cells and peered through the bars. The prisoner inside was human—still human—but he was shaking violently, pressed against the wall as though trying to escape something unseen. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered frantic apologies to empty air, his eyes wide and unfocused.

  “I’m sorry,” the man sobbed. “Please… I didn’t mean to…”

  Darius moved to the next cell, his chest tightening. Inside, another prisoner crawled backward across the stone floor, palms scraping desperately as he screamed at something only he could see, begging for mercy.

  Every cell told the same story.

  Men and women trapped in invisible horrors, reliving terrors pulled from the depths of their own minds. Some laughed hysterically, others screamed until their voices broke. A few had gone terrifyingly quiet, rocking back and forth with hollow eyes.

  The corridor echoed with unseen agony.

  Darius stepped back, his pulse racing. This was no simple illusion of sight or sound. This magic reached deep, dragging buried fear and guilt to the surface and turning it into a weapon.

  Then the realisation struck him.

  The others.

  His eyes widened, and without hesitation, Darius turned and ran. He raced down the corridor toward the chamber where the first prisoners had been freed. When he reached it, his heart sank.

  Renn lay on the floor, her hands locked around her own throat as she gasped for breath, fighting an enemy only she could see. Nearby, the others battled empty air, screaming names that meant nothing to Darius but everything to them.

  In that moment, understanding fell into place.

  This was an illusion.

  One that had to be stopped.

  Darius clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe. There would be time to unravel how it had been done later. For now, there was only one thing that mattered.

  He turned toward the deeper passages of the Keep… He had to find Silas.

  Facade: The Girl who will Destroy the System

  Facade: The Girl Who Will Destroy the System

  The world is governed by a hidden System.

  Llyne is not chosen. She gains no powers.

  She is simply aware—and the System was not built for that.

  Comedy first. Psychological collapse later.

  Read before the System notices her. ????