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I reached out, tracing the runes with my fingers. The magic woven into them was complex, designed to keep out all but the most powerful intruders. But I was not just any intruder. I was Samael Ashwood, and I had faced worse than enchanted doors.

"Stand back," I instructed the warden, who immediately complied, retreating several paces. I took a deep breath, summoning my magical energy, and letting it flow through me like a current. The raw destruction affinity within me pulsed with power, eager to be unleashed.

I allowed it to merge with the starlight affinity, the dual energies intertwining and harmonizing, creating a potent force that radiated from my hand.

With a focused effort, I pressed my palm against the iron door. The runes flared in response, attempting to resist my intrusion, but their defenses were no match for the destructive power I commanded. The runes began to crack, the light within them flickering and fading as I poured more energy into the door.

The air hummed with the intensity of the magic, and the temperature around us dropped as my power fought against the ancient enchantments.

Finally, with a resounding crack, the door's defenses shattered, and the massive structure groaned as it swung open, revealing a dark, foreboding passage beyond. Cold air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and metallic blood. The atmosphere beyond the door felt thick, almost oppressive as if the very air was weighed down by the dark secrets concealed within.

I glanced back at the warden, whose face had turned ashen. "Stay here," I commanded. "If anyone asks, you were never involved."

The warden nodded vigorously, retreating even further as I stepped into the passageway. The walls were rough-hewn stone, lit only by faint, flickering torches that cast long, eerie shadows. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing through the tunnel.

ARRRGGGGGG!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

AUUUUUUUUU!!!

Swish! Swish!

BOOOOM! BOOOOOM!

The sudden cacophony of sounds echoed through the passage, sending chills down my spine. The eerie laughter, pained screams, and distant explosions seemed to come from all directions, making it impossible to determine their source. My grip tightened around the hilt of my sword as I pressed forward, the oppressive atmosphere growing thicker with each step.

The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever, winding deeper into the bowels of Garrick's fortress. The torches flickered more violently now as if the very air was rebelling against the intrusion of light. Shadows danced along the walls, taking on shapes that twisted and contorted, resembling grotesque forms that defied explanation.

I paused for a moment, extending my senses to detect any signs of life. The energies here were dense, and suffocating, but I could still pick up faint traces of life essence—twisted and corrupted, yet unmistakably human. Whatever awaited me at the end of this tunnel was no ordinary prisoner.

A faint, distant rumble reverberated through the walls, shaking loose dust and small stones from the ceiling. I quickened my pace, the anticipation building as I neared the source of the disturbance. My mind raced, considering the possibilities. Could this be one of Garrick's forbidden experiments? Or perhaps an ancient entity sealed away for centuries?

The passage finally opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in the shadows above. The walls were lined with iron chains and manacles, some still occupied by what looked like desiccated corpses. In the center of the chamber, a massive circular platform rose from the floor, surrounded by a swirling vortex of dark energy.

The source of the earlier noises became clear—several figures, barely human in appearance, were thrashing against their restraints, their bodies grotesquely mutated and contorted.

Swish~ Swish~ Swish~

Clang! Boom!

Clang! Boom!

And in the middle of all this a group of... people if we can even call those things that, were fighting among themselves, laughing and taunting each other with a crazed intensity that bordered on madness. Their forms were twisted and grotesque, bearing only a vague resemblance to humans.

Their eyes gleamed with a malevolent light, and their bodies were covered in pulsating veins as if the very essence of darkness itself had merged with their flesh.

The air was thick with the scent of decay and blood, and the swirling vortex of dark energy seemed to pulse in time with the twisted beings' movements. As I stepped closer, I noticed that the platform they fought upon was inscribed with ancient runes, similar to those on the door, but far more intricate and powerful.

These runes were feeding the vortex, drawing power from the twisted beings and whatever dark magic had been used to create them.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of the chaotic scene before me. These creatures were clearly the result of some horrific experiment—Garrick's handiwork, no doubt. But what was their purpose? Why keep them alive in this chamber, and why let them fight amongst themselves?

As I looked carefully they had one thing in common— A runic collar around their necks. These collars, adorned with pulsating runes, were linked to the platform's intricate network of symbols. It was clear that the collars were not just restraining these creatures, but also draining their life force, feeding the vortex at the center of the chamber.

The twisted beings were not just prisoners—they were living batteries, fueling some dark, unspeakable ritual.

I cautiously approached the edge of the platform, my senses on high alert. The closer I got, the more I could feel the oppressive weight of the dark magic that permeated the chamber. It was ancient and malevolent, and it resonated with a power that sent shivers down my spine. Whatever Garrick had planned here, it was far beyond simple experimentation.

As I cautiously approached, my eyes locked onto the two more humanoid figures at the table. The one who was awake looked up, noticing me with a sharp, calculating gaze. His eyes, though more human than the others, held a disturbing intensity, glowing faintly with an unnatural light. His features were sharp and gaunt, his skin pale and almost translucent, with veins visible just beneath the surface.

He was drumming his fingers on the table, the rhythm irregular, yet somehow unsettling in its precision.

The other figure, slumped over the table, was more difficult to discern. From the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, it was clear he was breathing, but there was an eerie stillness to him, as if he was not just asleep, but in some sort of trance or deep stasis. His hair, a matted mess of dark strands, obscured most of his face, but what little I could see suggested a similarly gaunt appearance.

The awake one finally spoke, his voice low and rasping, "You're not one of Garrick's usual lackeys. Interesting..." His gaze flicked over me, assessing, as if trying to determine whether I was a threat or merely an annoyance.

I kept my hand near my sword, not trusting the calm demeanor he was displaying. "Who are you, and what is this place?" I demanded, keeping my tone steady and authoritative.

The figure smirked, his lips curling into a twisted grin that didn't reach his eyes. "This place? It's a playground, a pit of entertainment for Garrick's twisted mind." He gestured lazily at the fighting creatures. "These poor souls are his toys, each one a masterpiece of pain and suffering. And we..." He paused, placing a hand on his chest in mock grandeur, "We are his favorites."

I felt a surge of anger and disgust at his words. The casual way he spoke of these tortured beings was sickening. But there was something else in his tone—resignation, perhaps? Or maybe he was just as twisted as the situation he found himself in.

"And what do you get out of this?" I asked, probing further, trying to gauge his intentions.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Survival, for one. A twisted form of immortality, if you can call it that." He glanced at the sleeping figure beside him. "We weren't always like this, you know. Once, we were men. But now...

well, let's just say that Garrick's experiments have a way of changing you."

He continued, "And before you start thinking of playing, saving us and all that. Knowing this we chose this life, So don't even bother."

I narrowed my eyes, trying to understand the full scope of what he was saying. Choose this life? It didn't add up. Who in their right mind would willingly submit to such twisted torment, to become little more than a plaything for Garrick's demented experiments?

But as I stared at the man before me, I could see a flicker of something deeper behind his words—a truth that ran darker and more twisted than I could have imagined.

"You chose this?" I asked, my voice low, skepticism clear.

The man let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Chose is perhaps too strong a word. Let's just say... there are fates worse than what you see here. Garrick offers a kind of protection. Those who submit, those who give themselves to his 'craft,' gain a twisted form of sanctuary.

The world beyond these walls... it's not as it seems."

My grip tightened around my sword. There was a hidden layer to this, something that made even these horrors seem preferable to whatever lay outside. Garrick's influence clearly extended far beyond simple cruelty—there was a calculated method to his madness, a grander scheme at play.

"So, you traded your humanity for... what? Power? Protection?" I pressed, trying to keep my emotions in check.

The man sighed, his gaze dropping to the table. "Humanity is a fragile thing, easily stripped away when survival is on the line. Garrick promised us life, twisted as it may be. He promised safety from the forces that would tear us apart out there. In here, we're his... favorites.

Out there, we would be nothing but prey."

A chill ran down my spine. There was something more terrifying than Garrick's dungeon, something that made even these horrors seem like a refuge. "What are you talking about? What's out there that you fear so much?"

He looked up at me, eyes gleaming with a mix of despair and resignation. "The shadows that move in the darkness, the things that hunt in the night... Garrick didn't create them. He's just harnessed their power, bent it to his will. But out there, in the wilds, those forces are unbound. They feast on souls, devour them whole.

There's no mercy, no reprieve. At least here, we know our place in the chain."

I took a step back, trying to digest this revelation. The world beyond Garrick's domain was more dangerous than I'd realized—infested with malevolent forces that even Garrick, for all his power, could only control within these walls. The twisted beings in the chamber, the dark magic, the cruel experiments—they were all part of a larger, darker truth.

"Why tell me this?" I asked, keeping my tone cautious. "If you truly are his 'favorites,' why warn me of what's outside?"

The man's smile faded, replaced by a grim expression. "Because you're not like us. You still have your humanity, your will. And that makes you dangerous—not just to Garrick, but to the things that lurk beyond these walls. Whatever brought you here, it's something bigger than him, bigger than us. You need to be ready for what comes next."

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. The chamber around us seemed to grow colder, the oppressive energy tightening its grip. I had come here seeking answers, seeking to uncover Garrick's secrets, but what I'd found was a glimpse into a much darker reality.

"If I were you, I would leave this place right about... now."

As he finished speaking, the figures fighting on the altar simultaneously turned toward me.

"Shit..."

.

..

...

[To Be Continued]

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The Vol.1 is going to end soon enough...

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