What He Saw {part 1}

For hours she ran, then jogged, then simply walked.

Her body showed no signs of exhaustion really, except one of spirits, what was she? Why even walk at this point?

Laying down in the pitch black sewer spaghetti she's already lost in did not sound half-bad. Further losing herself in her own brain for once.

The ground felt moist and unwelcoming as Dumya stumbled down onto her back, her usual rigid limbs softening her fall.

Her eyes came to a close, the rusty cogs in her skull beginning to chirp and heat up on a desperate demand for oil, feedback, and most importantly; context. Surprisingly, the friction within her mind brought a new sensation upon her blank slate.

Pain. somewhat intense, for a thing that can’t feel.

Her brain, on a quest for nuance, had caused her great pain. She couldn't help but shake and harden her brows as said pain grew more and more intense. Laying there in no man's land.

She is experiencing what it is to remember, flashes of faded horrid screams on a beautiful flower field, encircling an even more fascinating village, a pure paradise.

The screams were out of place. Yet, not as much so as the reminiscence of joy she experienced at the time.

Memories of that same evening, how she tore the villagers limb to limb. How an old man robed in intense yellow greeted her claws as she pounced on him, mere seconds from ripping his throat out, and chanted a curse which solidified into a terrible scar on her neck.

How she dug herself into the soil and ran through miles and miles of dark never ending tunnels. Overwhelmed by the urge to sleep, and vanish.

Oh? It seems this ain't her first time in these peculiar circumstances.

Surely she'll find a way out this time.

Chapter 2: What He Saw {part 1}

For hours Dumya ran, then jogged, then simply walked.

She wandered. Mirroring a lost kid, except for how unshaken she’s been.

Any kid would tremble down at the shower of darkness she’s in, blinder than blindness.

At the end of the tunnel, a peculiar ladder she reached. its rungs painted with who-knows-what and smeared with grease.

The loose handle broke under her influence, and her hand now stinks.

So a stance lacking to be impressed she took, looking up at what could've been her way out.

But what wasn't her way out.

But what isn't a way out?

You can use offensive magic, can’t you, Dumya?

Feeling the pressure of mana gathering at her finger tips, her right hand rose to a perfect 180 degrees.

Warm water pulsing in and out of those same fingers, burst at the aluminium manhole standing between her and a freedom she didn't seem awfully enthusiastic about.

A blue haze pulsed to a similar rhythm, indicating the mana she’d just consumed.

But the water did nothing really. Except, perhaps, wash away a layer of the crust coating the metal. And fill the already unbreathable atmosphere with foul, warm mist.

As the last drops dripped away. Dumya began to ponder the decision to turn back, and she almost did. If not for the ice-cold chill suddenly jolting down her very being.

There. Between the thinning threads of spent smoke. Two emerald-green crystals stared back at her from above. causing her a surge of instinctive prey-like fear.

Dumya’s hand fell slack, flapping back to her waist. But her gaze locked on even harder. Intense yet desperate. Like a cornered animal scratching at their frozen mind for a plan out.

The crystals pulsed a bright, startled flare of light. A pulse that mirrored the frantic beat of her own heart. A fact dumya had noticed herself.

This was a rare thing, the first time she's noticed the beating artifact between her ribs. The motion felt nice and its simple melody had distracted her from fear for a few moments.

But understanding dawned eventually. And so did her usual calm. The warm water's spray and smoke had seeped through a small gap. Revealing no monster worth mentioning.

Just a makeshift mirror.

The manhole cover. Now polished to a dark sheen by her failed spell, was showing Dumya what the man in the alleyway saw. And was startled by.

Her very own monster. One undeserving of her precious fear.

The emerald crystals were eyes. Her eyes. Their light fading to a stable pale-placid green, devoid of the panic she felt churning inside. Framing them was a mess of hair the colour of old wine, a deep maroon seemingly drinking the faint light, yet was shot through with strange, dusty streaks of pale grey. It was a girl’s young face, smooth and unsettlingly empty like porcelain. A sealed mouth offering no emotion. Two doll-like stripes were painted high on each cheekbone.

Dumya’s eyes drifted down to the doll-like joints at her wrists and the place where her fingers met her palms, now stinking of grease and dripping with water. Her yellow dress was soaked, clinging to her like a damp shroud.

She took to raising her hand towards the reflection, studying every detail, nook and cranny, especially mesmerized by the green eyes that studied her back.

The way out was sealed. And the thing standing between her and the warm sun was her own reflection. And perhaps a manhole asking for a beating.

Dumya, propelled by a strange urge to sleep, closed her eyes once more. And saw an unbeknownst fragmented vision. A pale looking man running through dark continuous caves and tunnels, disoriented, searching for something. 

He then recoiled at the sight of her, his long white hair covering his eyes. He walked closer but as if giving up he crouched down on a wooden box, his gaze now fixed to the ground below.

The vision began to fade into simple, black void, deleting the entire environment and leaving only dumya and the pale man. A one on one wordless conversation.

Suddenly, The man raised his left hand, throwing her mind through space and stars And countless visions. And back to where she originally stood. Something within her was alien. And was desperate to leave this place.

Outsourced emotions. Maybe even the fear wasn't hers.

Her closed eyes flickered and twitched.

Before finally breaking back open like glass. Now sparking with a bright concentrated yellow.