the red crescent's glow

In the suffocating dark of the siphoning egg, Syre felt his consciousness slipping. His body was too heavy, too drained, to resist. As his eyes closed, the world inside him flared to life.

The crimson crescent on his chest burned bright, casting a pulsing red light that seemed to whisper in a language he couldn’t comprehend. Images swirled before him—bloodied battlefields, towering demons with hollow eyes, and a woman’s silhouette.

She stood at the edge of the chaos, unmoving. Her short, staggered hair framed her brown skin, which seemed to glow faintly in the crimson light. Her slender figure looked almost frail, but her eyes held a depth that sent a chill through Syre—a well of power and purpose that felt ancient and immense.

At the center of her forehead shone a gem, not merely set upon her skin but fused with it, radiating an energy he could feel deep in his core. It was strange but Syre recognized it as a part of her as her hands or eyes.

Their gazes met. The world around them blurred, and for a moment, he felt himself being pulled toward her, a tether he couldn’t explain tightening between them.

Then, just as suddenly, the vision shattered, and he was blinded by light.

Syre awoke with a gasp as the egg crumbled around him, spilling him onto the cold, hard ground. The oppressive air was heavier than before, thick with fear and despair. His limbs ached as he tried to stand, and loud thuds echoed around him as others fell from their own eggs.

The chamber was alive with confusion and panic. Dozens of captives lay scattered, some barely conscious, others frantically trying to get their bearings. Overhead, the grotesque glow of pulsating vines and flesh-like walls gave the cavern an otherworldly, organic appearance, as if the entire place were alive and feeding off their suffering.

Syre staggered to his feet, noticing his reflection in a puddle nearby. His pale face and long white hair were marked with grime, and his glowing blue eyes seemed more unnatural than ever. He covered his chest, feeling the faint heat of the crescent that glowed from his chest.

“What the hell is this place…” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the din.

A cold, emotionless voice cut through the chaos. “Move. Form a line.”

Syre turned to see what appeared to be dozens of Domino replicas, their faces identical, their movements eerily synchronized. The clones herded the captives like cattle, their commands sharp and unyielding.

He reluctantly joined the line, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any potential escape. As he moved, his breath caught in his throat—there she was.

The woman from his vision stood among the captives, her presence unmistakable. The gem on her forehead gleamed faintly in the dim light, and the energy emanating from it stirred something in him.

Her gaze swept across the group, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Recognition flared between them, though neither spoke. The connection from his vision thrummed through him like a distant echo.

Before he could approach her, the clones barked another order, forcing them forward into a massive chamber.

The cavern was a place of nightmares. The air was heavy with an ancient dread, and the flickering torchlight revealed walls slick with a dark, oozing substance. The ground was uneven, scarred from countless battles, and the stench of death hung thick in the air.

The group was herded toward a massive archway, beyond which loomed an arena. The cries of demons echoed from within, their grotesque forms twisting in the shadows as they jeered and howled. Syre felt their eyes on him, hungry and expectant.

A horn blared, silencing the chaos. The shadows in the arena coalesced, and a massive figure stepped forward—a demon with crimson skin, horns curling backward, and eyes glowing like embers. Aries.

“Welcome, my glorious contestants!” Aries roared, his voice reverberating through the cavern. “You’ve been chosen to entertain me. Fight, struggle, and prove your worth—or die forgotten.”

The demons in the crowd erupted into cheers, their grotesque forms shaking with anticipation. Aries raised a clawed hand, and the ground trembled. A barrier of darkness rose around Syre and the others, forcing them into a smaller section of the arena.

“This is your first challenge,” Aries announced, his voice dripping with amusement. “The weak have no place here. Fight until only half of you remain standing. Prove you are worth my time.”

The barrier shimmered, locking them inside. Syre’s stomach twisted as the realization set in.

Around him, others were already moving. Some hesitated, paralyzed by fear, while others lunged with reckless desperation. The air crackled with tension, each second bringing them closer to chaos.

Weapons scatterd around but one caught Syre's attention, in the center of the arena laid a sword etched with glowing runes. Syre's sword. He was able to sense it as it stood upright, embedded in the stone like a prize for the taking.

Chaos erupted immediately. The captives turned on one another, desperation overriding reason. Some fought with reckless abandon, others hesitated, only to be attacked by those more aggressive. Syre’s crescent burned again, the pain sharp and sudden. He clutched his chest, feeling the heat pulse against his skin. It was as if the ancient power within him was responding to the chaos, urging him to act.

Syre ducked under a wild swing, shoving a man away as he tried to regain his footing. His eyes darted around the arena, searching for the woman from his vision.

He spotted her moments later, surrounded by three men. Their predatory grins betrayed their intent as they advanced on her. One of them grabbed her arm, and she twisted violently, kicking at him.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, her voice sharp and defiant. She lashed out with surprising strength, her fists connecting with one man’s face, but the others grabbed her, pinning her arms.

Syre didn’t hesitate. He sprinted through the chaos, weaving between fighters, his heart pounding with urgency. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew he had to help her.

“Hey!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the din. The men barely had time to turn before Syre was upon them.

Her kicks and screams echoed in the cavern, but the men only tightened their grip. One of them reached towards her face with a tight grip and a lustful smile. 

"Well look at this guys, maybe we'll let this pretty face live and keep her with us until the end like our little slave..:

Syre’s chest burned, the crescent pulsing violently. Without thinking, he launched himself forward, shoving through the chaos of fighting bodies.

“Let her go!” he roared, slamming into the group of men.

The force of the impact sent the attacker sprawling to the ground. The others turned on him, but Syre was already moving, his fists flying with a ferocity. He fought with a desperate edge, driven by something deeper, like a protective instinct.

One of the men lunged at him, but Syre sidestepped, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it until he fell to the ground and screamed. With a swift kick, Syre sent him staggering into another fighter.

The woman had fallen to her knees, clutching her head as if trying to shield the gem. Syre extended a hand to her.

“Get up,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos.

She looked at him, her eyes wide with shock and something else—recognition. Slowly, she took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

“Stay close,” he said, glancing around for more threats.

The arena was still a maelstrom of violence, but the two stood together, their connection unspoken but undeniable. The gem on her forehead glimmered faintly, and Syre felt its power resonate with the burning crescent on his chest.

The battle wasn’t over, but in that moment, Syre felt one thing for certain: he was to protect this woman's life.