72 | moonlight; screaming terrors

He was plunged straight into bone-chilling waters, vision dampened by darkness.

The waters surrounded him, a salty taste of blood and decay filling his throat and choking him. Lucas thrashed at the mangled, fleshy shadows that grabbed for his ankles, kicking away.

When his struggling resulted in nothing but exhaustion, he pried open his angered gaze to stare at the murky red that floated around him, raven hair wisping around his face and tangling with the red.

A blood-coloured lake? He sunk at the depths of whatever lake, ocean, body of water it was. Air was escaping his lungs, and fast. He felt it, the tightening constraints of death threatening to steal him away.

Once more, with open, seeing eyes, he moved to tug at the shadows bubbling around his feet, at the ominous darkness that reached farther than the light did.

Then, he froze and coughed out a gasp that sent him choking again.

They weren't just shadows, creatures of flesh, monsters made by the Stories obscene imagination. There were faces, dozens of them clawing at his skin.

Faces he recognized. Pale-white, brown, sun-kissed faces tore through the shadows, peeling away as they became clearer, more familiar. They clamoured with more frenzy, colliding movements as the black melted their skin.

Lucas only stared in blank horror. The Teller he killed—Maleficent's vengeful screech that was muffled by the blood waters. The children, small and worn and weathered away. Even ghosts of his past, from the inevitable deaths in his fights.

His mind wasn't weak—far from it. Logically, realistically, he knew he had to pry away with more strength, and push himself to the surface, if there even was one.

To Maleficent, he would love nothing more than to slam him foot down on her distorted and beautiful expression, a dozen times over. To those who died when fighting with him on an even battleground, he would mercilessly shove them away.

He wasn't foolish enough to drown in the sorrow of his sins.

But staring at the wide-eyed children, who had been slain at his discretion not long ago, he wondered if prying away their seeking hands would be easier the second time.

Steeled by cold logic, Lucas felt the heavy weight of his tight chest, and thrashed once more against the hands.

Finally, he moved to peel their fingers away, indented in his skin.

As he did, he made sure to look them in the eyes, stare into the innocent and once trusting gazes. Because this was what he was, this is what he had to do. He wouldn't hide away from that fact, and he knew that they were dead, carried out by his own hand.

But Lucas couldn't turn away from his sins. He never intended to. He pulled away, with a slight of gentleness as his clothes floated around him.

Of course, he gave Maleficent a solid, and firm kick with the water's resistance.

But what should've been air in his lungs were crowding with water instead, and black spots danced across his vision. A pain and a desperation to breath escaped him.

He swallowed another mouthful of water, prying away the last bony finger away.

He wasn't going to make it. His strength was leaving him, disobedient and full of betrayal as it was. Lucas furrowed his eyebrows, attempting to kick his weakened body up.

Then, as his vision blurred further, a hand wrapped around his waist and forcefully tugged him up, powerful kicks pushing them through the waters, leaving the corpses to waste in the depths.

Lucas felt his body slam against the ground before he could see clearly again. There was still a burning pain in his lungs, and he couldn't breathe—

Searing heat pressed against his mouth, hot with need. It pushed against him, forcing a breath into his lungs before he shuddered, and shoved the person away, violently turning to his side.

He spat out the water, red like his own blood, onto granules of white sand. Then, as his skin brushed against the glitters of white, he had a lingering thought.

Bones, broken and powdered bones.

That was what the sand felt like.

"Darling. Do you hear me, see me?" Elias' voice spoke urgently. Almost as if he were worried—which Lucas doubted. "Cough twice if you do. I don't want to be widowed."

"Shut... the hell up." coughed Lucas, sore all over his body.

Elias seemed to be relieved at the answer, relaxing his tension into the usual languid calm, the pretense of acting like nothing mattered, that he was orderly and knew everything.

The man leaned into the bone sand, watching Lucas deeply. "This is why I held you back in the beginning. This isn't a Story to be taken for granted."

"Another scolding?" sighed Lucas, rolling into a sitting position, raven hair plastered against his smooth forehead as he combed it back, annoyed by the way it poked his eyes. "I'm less interested in listening if it's from you."

"You'd like to be scolded by that proud doctor? I can arrange that for you."

Another cough. "Noisy... you should've let me drown."

Elias had his sleeves rolled up, the white shirt clinging tightly to the outline of his broad body and soaked with water. He listened to Lucas' complaints with a hint of amusement while keeping a careful eye of their surroundings.

Tartarus, Elias knew better than any other, was a place that rejoiced in misery and danced over the bones of the dead.

There was no sudden objective that blared into one's ear, promising of death. There were no abrupt challenges or mysteries. No, abnormality painted the grounds of seemingly normal areas, and slowly twisted people's settled hearts with terror.

Because nobody thought Tartarus was terrifying, at first. Until they did.

Death, death and more death. Pain, suffering, torture. That was all it desired, and it would make that point known.

Another violent cough escaped Lucas, a trickle of the water striking a dark contrast against his lips and skin. The man cursed under his breath.

Elias leaned over so that his face hung in front of Lucas, smiling. "Muttering words of love for me darling?"

"Are profanities love to you?" said Lucas hoarsely, before staring dead in Elias' eyes with a flat look. "Then fuck you. Go to hell. Die."

"I think that's enough love for now."

"I have so much more to give"

"And though I'd happily take all that you give to me, I prefer to be the giver than the receiver."

Lucas shook his head in irritated dismissal, and Elias chuckled as he surveyed the area. Jokes wouldn't change the fact that they'd entered the Story, and he wasn't sure how they'd escape it.

"We entered hastily. Do you have any weapons on you?" asked Elias, glancing sideways, hair plastered to the sharp lines of his face. His rugged blue eyes revealed a hint of caution that wasn't commonly seen.

"My contract with Wren allowed for a spacial compartment of sorts. I have a metal pole, kitchen knives and knuckle rings."

"I can see how you might stumble upon the first two, but where did you find the last—the knuckle rings?"

Lucas shot his a look and said plainly, "My chosen weapon."

As a hardcore delinquent with no other plausible career options, he took his fighting rather seriously. And more than the weight of a gun in his palm, or the flexibility of a knife, he chose his fists.

That way, there was a sort of intimacy in his fighting. A telling that told his victims that he knew exactly what he was doing, and would not shy away from it.

Elias raised his eyebrows in amusement, lips quirking at the corners. "A pity I hadn't come to watch my dear subordinates fighting."

"Too late for that. I quit."

"Quitting now seems to not have the same effect. Since, I suppose, most of them are likely dead already, right?"

Lucas shrugged, pulling himself up. There were still indents on his ankles from the vicious holds of the lake's skeletons. He turned, noticing a path in the distance, between the wired barrier of dead bushes, twigs stretching out.

"Where are the others?"

"They could've arrived in other locations. Tartarus is unpredictable—just because you entered through the same gates does not guarantee the same location."

Lucas trudged over to the path, normal as it would be in any other beach, if not for the rolling red waters behind, or the bones that shone in the fake and dull moonlight. "You know a lot about this place."

Elias smiled bitterly. "I won't hide anything if you wish to ask."

A pause, before Lucas shook his head and simultaneously, the water that clung to his hairs. "It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

"It doesn't." Lucas waited for a second, his voice low and quiet. "Because whatever you tell me right now will be riddled in lies. Lies, or purposeful gaps."

"I won't deny that. But have a little faith in me, darling."

"Should I?"

Lucas had turned back now, staring directly at Elias with the scrutinizing and cold white stare of his. Eyes that tore through a person's secrets, leaving them bare and exposed.

"No," Elias caught up, stopping in front of the other.  "You shouldn't."

Lucas scoffed at the answer and spun around, grabbing a sleek kitchen knife from the air and hacked through the bristles that scratched along his arms.

He reached the clearing, stepping down into... a town? He saw rows of standing houses, carved and sculpted from the whitest bone. Imagine the costs of cleaning and removing stains, thought Lucas as he watched.

Humans, regular at a glance, passed by the silent streets in a methodical fashion. Then, he realized, that most were missing limbs or had their heads tilted to the side—

—broken necks, he realized after watching longer.

There was a person curled up and rocking back and forth by one of the bone houses. At Lucas' approach, they flinched, slamming back into the wall. "No... no, no, no. I won, I succeeded! You—you can't take me now!"

Lucas scowled. "I don't want you."

The man lifted his terror stricken gaze, and Lucas noticed the shadow of unshaven hair around his chin, and a disheveled, wild look that dulled his brown eyes, casting heavy bags underneath.

"You—you... hehehe... I see, I see..."

"Look at that, Lucas." said Elias, stepping beside him. "He can see, but you cannot."

"....."

The curled up man seemed to shy away from Elias in fear and he trembled. "Only take what you seek and nothing more. I'm warning you! Only take what you seek and nothing more!"

His voice rose and Lucas stepped back, frowning. There was no point in talking to a mad man, whose arms exposed from where they were tucked away. Written all over, inscribed into flesh were those words he muttered.

Only take what you seek, and nothing more.

Lucas turned to leave, and the man grasped onto his pants, clawing. "Tartarus... Tartarus chooses sinners and drags them to even worse hells. This is hell, sinner! Hell!"

The other kicked out his leg, and the man curled up, muttering warnings under his torn breath. Lucas walked again, with more hurry in his step. He had to find the others—the only ones that met the requirements were Elias and he, Nora, Kane and Sylvia.

Elliot technically had as well, but the adventure-seeking youth had surprisingly chosen to remain behind. "Because I have a feeling I won't survive, and I'm not quite interested in dying yet." He'd said, waving them off.

To think that something unknown would scare the youth that dived into danger, fighting with the wild abandon of a feral animal.

A tall bodied person turned the corner, bumping into Lucas. Before the man could stumble, warm hands caught him around the shoulders, the stranger in the front stabilizing him. A familiar warmth, thought Lucas in a daze.

One different from the simple company Elias provided—no, a warmth like this was something natural and protective, as if he were secure and safe.

"Lucas?" a bewildered voice spoke, and Lucas turned up his head.

Kane tilted his head, hair sticking out in odd places, a disorderly nest compared to his typical neatness. There were tears in his shirt, and the doctor's coat that he wore out of habit and also because he couldn't find any other jacket, was torn and mangled.

In other words, he looked like an absolute mess, matched with the confused expression. Lucas couldn't help but let out a snort.

Kane, delighted to see his younger brother in one piece despite seeming as if he'd returned from swimming, felt even more confused. "Is something funny?"

"Your appearance. I'm not used to it."

With slight embarrassment, the doctor glanced down and smoothened out his jacket. "I fell into a garden of white roses. Only closer, did I realize that they had sharpened edges, and their petals were anything but soft."

"Any injuries?"

Kane shook his head, and Lucas felt immensely relieved.

He'd realized since he fell into the chilling waters, that the mental block in his mind had eased, refreshing him. He still couldn't remember what he wanted to know.

But, he felt that the longer he remained here, the better chance he would.

Only, staying here also meant a higher chance of death.

Elias popped his head from Lucas, separating the pair of siblings casually, bringing Lucas closer to his own body. "Where's Nora and Sylvia?"

The two women had also met the requirements of Tartarus. Technically, Wren had as well, but chose to remain in her secret space, appearing whenever she wanted to. Before the group passed through the ominous gates, she'd stopped Nora.

With a sly grin and a dramatic bow, she'd taken Nora's wrist in her own hands, pressing fleeting kiss. A black smiley face faded into the spot.

"I'm contracted to that stupid link of mine. But if you need me, Nora, then you need only kiss this mark, and I'll know wherever you are."

Elias had shot her a look, lips curling. "I'm fairly certain that a mark only needs to be touched for it to be activated?"

"Are you the Teller, or am I?" retorted Wren with a glare.

He raised his arms in surrender, backing away as Nora laughed gently, and smiled in appreciation. The woman, when despairing over her younger brother's odd state, had been comforted by Wren's random jokes or remarks.

"Thank you, Wren."

"Of course."

Kane nodded, stepping to the side as the two women passed from behind him, tension lining their every movement. It wasn't as if they were on the verge of being attacked, or had faced some disastrous ordeal like unlike anything they'd seen before.

It was the way the ground felt under their feet, how the air lingered with unease. It was in the way that everything seemed to be made of corpses and misery, hammered and packed so tightly that it couldn't be seen with a stray glance.

Above, endless black stretched beyond eyes reach, a single crimson moon hanging oddly, illuminating nothing but the bone buildings themselves.

A scream and muffled shout called out from the side, as all members spun with a terse alertness. In a house, two spots down from where they stood, an auction was occuring.

The clear doors, and glass instead of walls, pointed to dozen rows of chairs that led to a deep pit in the ground, like an indoor stadium built inside a house.

"Lucas." Nora smiled at the man, relieved that he was safe before glancing sideways. "Should we explore that building? The sounds are muffled, as if they're in a completely separated area, but..."

Then, as she spoke, a man with grotesquely protruding shoulder blades jerked up and tore off his arm, raising it to the air.

Another held a baby, skin withered and clinging tightly to bone, high in the air.

Sylvia remarked coolly, "I hear them. They are trying to sell their bodies, or life."

Nora looked repulsed, clasping a hand over her mouth. "How... why...?"

The cold red light reflected from the moon shone over Sylvia's pale golden hair, and her somber stare glowing with indifference. And as screams continued to bound off the glass walls, and they remained spectators watching outside, she smiled cruelly.

"There is no reason in Tartarus, a land of madness and wickedness where only sinners roam. Beware, Miss Nora, for here might lie your end."