He received no answer, once again left alone with the darkness as his only companion.
Duncan remained standing still, his boots resting in the puddle of blood where he had woken up. Despite the lingering haze of disorientation, he tried to look around for anything that could help him find his bearings. A light would have been ideal. However, the darkness surrounding him was so thick that he could barely see his own hands, let alone the rest of his body, most of it engulfed in the dense black smoke that covered and surrounded him. The absence of sound and smell made everything feel even more unnatural, and he could barely perceive the space around him, as if he were floating in a void he couldn't comprehend.
He tried to move one leg forward, tapping the floor with the tip of his boot to test it and find solid ground. He continued like that for several steps, moving cautiously ahead, trying not to make too much noise, even though he didn't know if he was truly alone or not. He was crouched, slightly bent at the knees, likely out of fear of feeling too exposed in case something—or someone—was nearby. Still, it was almost pointless, considering he couldn't even hear or properly perceive his own breathing.
Where am I even going? Duncan thought, having already walked for several minutes with no idea of the direction he was heading. At some point, he raised his hands slightly in front of him, arms loosely extended and bent, as a precaution—either to avoid crashing into a wall or simply to understand whether that place had any defined boundaries at all.
Yet with every step he took, it felt as though his field of vision was being pulled deeper into the darkness. Within it, he began to perceive a darker, deeper spiral. It looked like a void ahead of him, almost moving with him—a massive black hole blending seamlessly into the environment, expanding and shrinking without any clear logic. Not only did he feel confused and disoriented, even more so after walking for what felt like hundreds of meters without encountering any obstacle, but he suddenly began to feel a strong, undeniable sensation that something was walking with him.
For several minutes, Duncan kept glancing behind him, turning his head slightly every so often—just enough not to strain his eyes—but he saw nothing. Still, that chilling sensation persisted. It felt like the cold of an incoming storm, like the damp chill left behind after heavy rain. It seeped into his body, soaking through his clothes and sliding along his skin, sending faint, crawling sensations down his back—especially beneath his shoulder blades and along his lower spine.
The only thing he could hear, faint and distant, was a brief melody—a soft violin. It dispersed into the darkness like an echo, yet it felt directed straight at him. It almost struck him fully. He perceived it as a call. An invitation. The kind given by close friends, a loving relative, or a gentle companion. It also felt like an order—imperative, authoritative. A command that, if disobeyed, would bring severe consequences. It was also a threat.
Duncan froze, staring toward its direction. His thoughts began to spiral, overwhelming him completely. In that moment, he wanted to run—far away, as far as possible. His face twisted into an expression of disgust and fear at that terrifying sound. And yet, he couldn't run. It wasn't because he couldn't physically escape. Whatever was in that darkness, Duncan immediately understood that it was in full control of it.
Then the music returned. Louder now. More present. It wasn't a familiar melody. It felt forced, almost artificially created for that exact moment. It blended perfectly with the darkness—no, it was part of it.
He understood that he himself was its prey.
It was what was guiding him, smoothly and naturally, toward that direction. Outwardly, he appeared calm, almost carefree. He had stopped being cautious or alert. He walked through the darkness as if he were casually strolling, his arms swinging loosely, his steps heavy and careless.
Inside, he was screaming.
Stop, you idiot! he shouted in his mind. You're going to get us killed! What the hell are you doing?!
As he approached his destination, his expression became dull and drowsy. His eyelids drooped, half-closed over lifeless eyes. His lips parted slightly, revealing the damp tips of his front teeth. Then came the glow—a red light cutting through the black smoke, illuminating the spores and particles drifting within it, almost like snow falling gently on a December night.
His mind was so clouded that he couldn't even react to the intensity of the light. It felt warm, burning—almost like sunlight—focused almost entirely on him, growing stronger the closer he got.
Then he stopped.
At first, Duncan remained still, staring into the light. Gradually, he became aware of the sound it produced. A low-frequency vibration—so low he didn't hear it with his ears, but felt it through his body. It shook him violently, the vibrations running through him, almost soothing him—like an electric massage chair. But instead of stimulating his nerves, it weakened them, shutting them down completely, disconnecting them from his brain and taking control like a radio signal.
Suddenly, the light vanished.
It dissolved into the darkness, along with the piercing sound, the vibrations, and the burning warmth, leaving him once again in total darkness—accompanied only by an oppressive silence.
"Uom."
Three beats echoed behind him.
"Oh my God..."
Duncan felt the presence drawing closer. Unable to control his own body, he could do nothing but scream inside his mind.
Move! Fucking move!
Second by second, the infernal presence made his body tremble more and more, overtaken by spasms and guttural sounds, like he was suffocating. Duncan wasn't just trapped in his mind—he could feel it gripping him from behind, crushing him in its grasp.
Please... David, move... he begged, staring at his friend's motionless body, trapped inside the armor for who knew how long. He couldn't do anything. The most he could manage was to scream as loud as he could, tearing his throat apart in desperate pleas for help.
He couldn't be heard.
He couldn't even hear himself.
None of this was actually happening.
It was all inside his mind—locked by Mishap's will.
Behind him, Mishap slowly approached, watching him with satisfaction, cutting through the darkness, bathed in a red glow emanating from his chest. Beneath the grotesque rhythm of three beating hearts, he observed him with twisted, contorted smiles—malicious, sadistic.
The monster was laughing.
This time, it was a sadistic, insane laughter. It didn't feel entirely intentional. It felt instinctive—as if being evil was simply part of its nature. Innocently wicked. Guilty without guilt. Yet proud of it, eager to show it.
That laughter—those distorted, high-pitched, grotesque sounds—became the only thing accompanying the once gentle and soothing music, which now slowly twisted and warped as Mishap kept laughing.
"Uom."
A powerful scream shattered everything—
cracking the darkness itself.