Chapter 5 - Misty World

Xxxxx shot up, heart pounding.

He stared at the door, half‑imagining it creaking open to reveal something sinister.

He sat up straighter, waiting.

Nothing…

He rose, crossed to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water.

“The Folds call. All will fall.” What a nightmare!

He tried to recall the dream’s details, using the go‑to technique he’d mastered for lucid dreaming.

Of course I’d dream about that. Out of everything that happened why that in particular. A lot happened…

He took another sip, then walked to the cracked kitchen counter, eyeing the night‑old leftovers.

Theon’s rain‑check was set. Earlier, I’d walked to the woodlands to process everything.

He scowled, holding his head, trying to remember.

Uncle Ben is having the apartment fixed; they’ll be here at 10 a.m., he thought, glancing at the clock - 5:22 a.m.

He moved across his trashed living room to the window.

I remembered becoming lucid - flying, strange abilities, an intense sense of… He thought, clutching his head.

He pushed the curtains aside, spotting the crown of the woodlands on the horizon.

A knot tightened in his stomach.

After my talk with Uncle Ben, the place felt unnervingly quiet. I didn’t like it, so I left, grabbed food, and returned home.

He scanned the apartment and winced.

Hendrix must have told Uncle Ben what happened. Did he know about the coins all along? Who else?

He went over to the couch and sank into it.

So much had happened in the last 24 hours.

He knew that if Hendrix could speak freely, he’d say the three days was for preparation more than anything else.

Preparation? There’s so much I don’t know, he thought with a chuckle.

He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling’s cracks.

What do I know?

He rushed to his bedroom, then back to the couch with notebook and pen in hand.

He began organising his thoughts:

[•The coin I dropped, later picked up, triggered the trials.]

A sliver of guilt prickled as he wrote.

[•Hendrix said the Entity selects people for a process; the trials would happen regardless.]

The scope could range from a handful of people to the entire city.

His brow furrowed.

I could drag Theon into this just by mentioning it.

His pen tapped his chin.

If anyone can help, it’s a fellow escapee, he thought, grinning.

He stared at the box on the counter, remembering.

[•Health potions and talismans - magical items to watch for.]

He glanced at his phone on the couch, sensing something was missing.

[•The Folds call. All will fall…]

He stared out the window, visualizing the woodlands.

He examined his hand; it felt vacant.

His eyes widened in realization.

He lunged for the box on the counter.

He opened it.

Only one coin remained.

He stumbled over the couch toward the window, then glanced again at the woodlands, trying to recall.

Sam!

He sprinted to his bedroom, sliding past the door, then returned to the living room, setting his laptop on the counter.

That wasn’t just a dream!

His laptop screen filled with tabs; he clicked and typed furiously.

My coin was claimed in exchange for…

He shuffled back to the couch for his notebook.

[Sensory Gating and Sense Steal purchased with the coin.

• Sam called it cheating.]

It’s beginning to look like there’s a world beyond the trials. Sam warned that something wrong with this reality.

He alternated between loading news videos and writing.

[Utility = increased survival.

• Gods and deities.]

A video grabbed his attention:

“Authorities are investigating multiple overnight disappearances…”

His mouth fell open; it was all starting to feel real.

He opened social media, searching #trials, #supernatural, #coins.

He swiped through videos, stopping on one.

A teenager, head matted with blood, spoke deliberately, though the video was choppy:

“This is… candidates. The mist… shelter as… as possible.”

He opened the profile; the last post was dated last night.

He returned to the search results.

“To anyone listening: the first trial is timed. Don’t be fooled by -“

He fell silent, looking away from the camera.

The video cut to black.

Xxxxx downloaded the videos.

Phone rang.

“Hey, Xxxxx. Are you seeing this?”

He still couldn’t get used to his name being omitted.

“Theon! Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Jesus, man. Don’t tell me you did it.”

“Did what, exactly?”

“There’s been a murder in the woodlands!”

Xxxxx’s throat tightened.

“Last night?”

“Yeah, around the same time you said you’d walk to the woodlands…”

Before he could answer, a sting pricked his palm, then another.

He slapped the area.

“Hello? Xxxxx?”

A pulse from his chest made him stumble back, dropping his phone.

He gasped as his forehead burned.

“Xxxxx, you okay?”

He winced, spun around, and pressed his hands to his scalp as the burn spread. A full-blown migraine taking hold.

“If you don’t answer, I’m sending someone!”

He straightened, as if nothing had happened, and grabbed the phone.

“Sorry about that. Looks like I’ve got an infestation problem,” he said, glancing at the red bite marks on his hand.

“Al-right?” Theon asked.

“We’re still on for later today?” Xxxxx asked.

“Yeah.”

“Listen can I crash instead. I’ll explain when we meet.”

“Um, sure man. I’ll have the spare ready for you.”

“Thanks man. Later”

He ended the call, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

The drawn‑out inhale summoned faint shapes and shadows of the whole apartment.

He exhaled, then inhaled again.

The contrast sharpened and the shapes deepened.

He paced the apartment, inhaling, then opening his eyes, then closing them again with each breath.

He dropped onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed, eyes shut.

A faint, mental 3D map of the apartment formed in his mind.

“Holy Shit!”

He got up and navigated the apartment with his eyes closed; arms stretched out instinctively.

“No fucking way!” he shouted, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

He glanced at his hand, then the kitchen counter - his food covered with ants.

Putting two and to together he searched on his laptop:

“Ants have chemoreceptors. They pick up fresh scent trails within a short range, recognize each other by their scent signature and store scent patterns for later use.”

Except I can follow the scents and have a mental 3D Map of my surroundings?

It’s 06:47. If I leave now, I should be back before 10:00, he thought excitedly

He grabbed his phone and keys; opened the box and pocketed the last coin in his possession.

Before leaving, a thought struck him; he typed a text:

[Hey man, can you do me another favor?]

Xxxx adjusted his hoodie to cover his face and pushed through the crowd, trying to glimpse beyond the police barricade.

Phones flashed as police vans blocked every road into the woodlands; tents erected in the park formed a temporary command centre for the murder investigation.

Isn’t this a little too much for a single murder investigation?

Reporters, photographers, and curious onlookers surged forward, each vying for the best line of sight.

The crowd closed in on Xxxxx and for moments at a time his vision was obstructed.

He fought his way out, his senses flickering between the backs of heads, shuffling feet, glowing screens, and the open sky.

He craned upward and saw faint wisps drifting from the crowd’s heads.

His chest tightened; breath fled him.

Panic surged as he forced his way forward.

Multicolored wisps flickered across his vision

His eyes watered.

Every breath sent a sharp jab of pain into his forehead.

He closed his eyes, hoping that cutting off one sense would alleviate the building pain.

Instead, his vision tunneled into a hazy, warm field of light that gave way to a grey wall of mist.

The mist whirled and deepened into forming the reporter’s van Xxxxx hid behind. The crowd, police department, various response teams and the woodlands coalesced in succession.

His perspective lifted, sweeping over the crowd, tents, and the tangled woodlands below.

Xxxx dropped to all fours.

The misty holographic world developed an overlay of colorful wisps.

Each person in the crowd emitted a steady, colored glow.

He zeroed in on a photographer’s camera; a steady, lifeless glow pulsed from its lens.

He focused on the photographer.

A brown string of wisp rose from his brown form and trailed off into the direction of the city.

His focus snapped back.

Streams of light crossed above him, sliding in and out of sight. They wove over and under each other like a shifting interchange, thin wisps of colour forming and fading in constant motion.

A loud horn yanked Xxxxx out of his reverie; he sprang up, then crouched defensively.

“Hey kid, can you get out of the way?”

Xxxxx darted across the road and slipped beneath a bus‑stop shelter.

After ensuring he was alone, he looked around before diving back into the olfactory world.

He accessed it faster than before and pushed his point of view past the crowd.

He wanted to investigate the tent but something else caught his attention; a faint pink wisp hovered toward the woodlands.

He approached and examined it:

Feels like the steady glows belong to living things.

He instinctively focused on it, but the wisp evaded his attention, fluttering then recoiling.

So there’s more to these scent trails than being gaseous tracks.

It slipped deeper into the forest and Xxxx followed.

It lead him to a biome he wasn’t familiar with. The trees were packed tightly together and the mist grew darker.

The wisp coiled in on itself at the edge of the dark misted trees.

He approached the pink wisp, trying to appear non‑threatening.

The closer he got the more details about the wisp filled his mind.

His mind and nose filled with scents of flora and cinnamon.

A faint tremor pulsed through the pink wisp.

He pushed toward the dark trees.

As soon as he considered entering, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.

He swallowed, clenching the bench until his hands trembled.

Why hadn’t his olfactory sense flagged it sooner?

With great difficulty he tilted his point of view upward.

He saw thick black-tendrils threading through the area above the dark trees.

A sickly cold mist rolled out from the trees, consuming the grey mist as it moved toward Xxxxx.

Flashing images of animals and insects being devoured across his mind, the vision intensified the horror.

A thin black-tendril coiled around the wisp and pulled it back into the forest.

The tendrils elicited a strange pull of desire and curiosity; the closer they came, the stronger the lure. The reel of dying animals fed him a romanticized notion of death and release.

The sickly mist rolled closer to his pov and a glimpse of a maw and teeth flashed.

He snorted, flung his eyes open, and jerked backward, crashing into the shelter and tumbling onto the bench.

He froze. Looked side to side with his eyes and then his head.

An old lady beside him watched the whole scene.

Their eyes met.

He blinked.

She didn’t.

He got up and walked away.

Xxxxx entered the rest rooms. He cleared every cubicle and made sure he was alone. He opened every tap and locked himself inside the last cubicle.

He retrieved a tube, set it aside, and stripped quickly. The gel poured into his hand; he spread it over his skin

After the gel dried, he dressed and opened the final box. He filled his pockets with carbon‑fiber tabs, slipping two into his shoes.

He perched on the toilet seat, closed his eyes, and tuned into his olfactory sense.

Holding his breath, he projected his mind over the city’s layout.

The farther he drifted, the hazier the construct grew, threatening to dissolve.

He exhaled and took another breath and dove into the city, racing toward his apartment.

Across the street, he glanced at his apartment window and saw dark tendrils spilling outward.

I’m being followed, the thought sharpened his focus; black wisps hung around him…

I’d been watched since leaving the woodlands.
The murder Theon mentioned.

The ominous presence Sam warned me about.

He exhaled and let the olfactory world dissolve.

A muffled thud echoed.

“Hello. If you’re alright in there, please open the door or I’ll have to call management.”

Xxxxx took a few breaths and strained.

His vision shifted to a detailed grey; he observed himself.

The chalky gel on his skin muted his violet‑tinged scent. Where it couldn’t reach, carbon‑fiber tabs attached to clothing seems absorbed stray odors.

He exited the cubicle, opened the bathroom door, and found the hallway empty.

He adjusted his hoodie, the cowl obscuring his face, and slipped into the mall crowd, the faint scent of restroom gel still clinging to his skin.

He walked steadily, shoulders relaxed, eyes on the moving crowd instead of the displays; wondering if he was being watched at that very moment.

He turned toward the service corridor, the distant hum of escalators fading behind him.

He made it to the mall’s underground pickup zone, crouching behind the parking‑lot pay‑point.

He occupied his mind by sharpening his olfactory sense while shoppers streamed through the entrance.

Every being or object leaves a distinct scent. At a glance it can indicate if it’s alive, inanimate, or dangerous.

Knowing an unknown hostile entity had him on its radar made him uneasy; he craved a passive early‑warning system to ease his mind.

Curious how much he could push his limits, he followed a stray scent back to the food court.

My range has improved.

He relaxed, letting the ambient scents flood his senses. A secondary goal was to stress‑test his mind, hoping to sharpen sensory gating as well.

In the crowded food court his focus lingered.

A unique aroma piqued his attention - a faint, metallic tang that hummed like a low‑frequency tone, warmed the air, emanating from the mall’s upper levels.

The moment he recognized it, it vanished from his grey‑misted world.

“What the-!”

He reached again, straining to catch at least the hint of the scent it emitted.

So focused, he missed the black SUV parked two lanes away.

A window rolled down; a young man shouted:

“What the heck are you doing, Soren?”