Chapter 26: The Abyss Beckons

The staircase descended infinitely, carved from a stone that bled shadows. Every step whispered secrets he couldn’t quite hear, syllables just out of reach. Caelum gripped the rail, though its surface was icy, slick with some unknowable film. Each step groaned underfoot, as if protesting his passage.

Above him, the ceiling twisted into forms—gargoyles, angels, something in between—each shape frozen in anguish or rapture. Below, the void pulsed like a monstrous heart, its rhythm syncopated with Caelum’s own. The air grew heavier with every step, pressing against his chest until breathing became an effort.

He paused, glancing behind him. The door he’d entered through was gone. The spiral stretched infinitely upward and downward, an eternal ouroboros. The mansion was playing tricks again, or perhaps this was its truest form.

“Coward,” a voice sneered from the depths. Dante’s voice, unmistakable in its cruel precision. “Are you going to keep walking, or are you finally ready to face yourself?”

The final step dissolved beneath Caelum’s feet, plunging him into freefall. Wind roared past his ears, though the descent lacked any sensation of time or gravity. His body twisted in slow motion, his mind churning with half-formed thoughts.

When he landed, it wasn’t with a crash but a ripple, as though he’d plunged into liquid light. He stood on a platform suspended in nothingness, its edges dissolving into mist. Surrounding him were fragments of rooms—floating remnants of the mansion. A torn curtain here, a shattered mirror there, a chair missing two legs. Each fragment glowed faintly, and within each one was an echo of his past.

Caelum approached the nearest fragment. It shimmered at his touch, revealing a memory he recognized but couldn’t place. A younger version of himself sat on the edge of a hospital bed, his eyes hollow. Beside him stood a woman, her face obscured by shadow but her voice painfully clear.

“You’re stronger than this,” she said softly. “You have to be.”

The boy didn’t respond. He stared at his hands, at the tremors he couldn’t control.

The memory shattered before Caelum could reach for it. A second fragment floated closer, this one showing a hallway he remembered vividly—his childhood home, though the walls bled black ichor. At the far end stood a figure wearing his face, though its eyes glowed a furious crimson.

“Who are you?” Caelum whispered.

The figure smirked, mirroring Dante’s signature expression. “Isn’t it obvious?”

A jagged platform formed beneath Caelum’s feet, leading to a throne that rose from the abyss. The throne was constructed from shattered mirrors, their surfaces reflecting infinite versions of Caelum. Some were twisted and monstrous, others serene, but all were undeniably him.

Seated upon the throne was Dante, draped in shadows that shifted like smoke. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light, and his smile was a blade honed to perfection.

“You’ve been busy,” Dante drawled, gesturing lazily to the fragments around them. “Chasing pieces of yourself like a child chasing fireflies.”

Caelum bristled. “What do you want?”

Dante leaned forward, his expression sharpening. “What I want is irrelevant. The question is, what do you want, Caelum? To understand? To escape? Or are you just here to wallow in your own misery?”

“I’m here to end this,” Caelum snapped.

Dante laughed, a sound that resonated like breaking glass. “End it? Oh, Caelum, you still don’t get it. There is no ‘end.’ Not for you. This mansion isn’t just a prison—it’s a reflection. Every wall, every door, every shadow—it’s you.”

Caelum clenched his fists. “You’re lying. You’re just another trick of this place.”

Dante stood, his movements fluid and predatory. “Am I? Or am I the only thing in here that’s real?”

He circled Caelum, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ve spent your life running—from your past, from your illness, from yourself. But no matter how far you run, Caelum, you always end up here.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Caelum said, though his voice faltered.

Dante’s smirk widened. “Fear? Oh, Caelum, this isn’t about fear. It’s about truth. And the truth is…” He leaned in, his breath cold against Caelum’s ear. “…without me, you’re nothing.”

The platform trembled violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. The fragments of the mansion began to fall, drawn into the abyss. The air filled with the sound of shattering glass and distant screams.

Dante stepped back, his expression unreadable. “This is it, Caelum. Your mind can’t hold itself together any longer. You have two choices: let it collapse, or face what you’ve buried.”

The ground beneath them crumbled, leaving only a narrow bridge stretching toward a pulsating orb of golden light in the distance. Dante gestured toward it. “That’s your heart, your core. Everything you’ve tried to suppress. If you want to survive, you’ll have to reach it.”

Caelum hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Then he stepped onto the bridge.

The bridge swayed with every step, its surface translucent and fragile. Below, the abyss churned with shadowy forms—memories, fears, and fragments of his identity, all writhing like serpents.

When he reached the orb, its warmth enveloped him, chasing away the cold. He knelt before it, tears streaming down his face. For the first time, he felt whole and broken all at once.

Dante appeared beside him, his expression softer. “This is it, Caelum. The part of you you’ve been running from. Are you ready to face it?”

Caelum nodded, his voice steady. “I am.”

He reached out and touched the orb. It pulsed once, then shattered into a cascade of light. The fragments pierced his chest, flooding him with memories, emotions, and truths he had long buried.

The woman’s voice echoed in his mind: “You’re stronger than this.”

When the light faded, Caelum stood taller, his gaze clear. The mansion’s chaos had quieted, its walls solidifying into something new—something whole.

Dante watched him, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “You’ve taken the first step. But the journey isn’t over.”

Caelum turned to him, a small smile breaking through the exhaustion. “I know. But I’m ready.”