Terror. A dimension mirroring the living one--but morphed to reflect the imagination of its Overseer. And the current Overseer... has refused to relinquish her power for centuries, tormenting her souls--"terrors"--into becoming... zombies.
Arielle f...
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"Terror?" Benny's voice caught in his throat as he said the word. Every letter scraped down his esophagus, worsening the pain already caused from inhaling the thick smoke still swirling from the corpse at the young woman's feet.
Corpse. Fire. Terror.
Fuck—am I in hell?
"Whoa, whoa," said the woman, her timbre low but non-threatening, as she waved her hands, drawing Benny's attention away from the burned body on the ground. "I see the fear in your eyes, man. It's okay. Relax."
Benny did a double-take and blinked at her. "R-relax?" He jabbed a thumb to his chest and continued to blink at her in absolute confusion. "You're asking me to relax?" He gawked at the corpse's now extinguished head, bashed in, slayed by the girl's sword. "Y-you... but you... you sweep in here fighting this... this thing that had a fucking flaming head, all unbothered and shit? And you're—" he broke off, glancing at her muddy, combat-style boots, at her stained and ripped leather-like leggings, at her silky shirt soaked with blood. He didn't know her, and wasn't sure he wanted to, though she'd likely saved his life. That creepy, zombie-like creature probably would have come for him were she not there. "Who are you? What the fuck is terror?"
The woman whipped her thick, slightly curly hair out of her face and sighed. "Oh, boy. This isn't going to be easy to explain." Her skin, darker than Benny had initially thought, glowed like gold from the fires still raging nearby. Her eyes were big, in a bold, beautiful hazel shade, glimmering with sparks, like fireworks in a dark night's sky.
Damn, she was pretty. Too pretty to be stuck in such a hellish place, fighting flame-haired zombies, and saving his hide. Not that pretty girls couldn't fight; but he hadn't expected to find one down here. He hadn't expected to find anyone.
"Try me."
He folded his arms and backed away from her; in part because he didn't want her to see how screwed up he was, and assume he was some freak—if she suspected him, would she pierce him with her sword? Would she behead him? But he didn't want her to see how he'd been hacked into, how blood had seeped through his shirt. He'd appear frail in front of her, and that, he couldn't stand.
"I was a paranormal investigator in... in life." He swallowed; was this his way of accepting that he was dead? He had to be. A place like this only existed in nightmares, and he'd already established he wasn't dreaming. "I can handle shit."
"Right." The young woman cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "You sure don't seem like you can handle the truth. Who are you, hm? Where'd you come from?" She squinted at him, then wiped the edge of her small sword on her pants, clearing away the recent victim's brains. "Ah," she nodded, answering her own question, "the Void, I bet. By the looks of you, you have no idea how you landed here or what Terror is. No one had the talk with you?"
"The talk?" Benny's arms loosened, then dropped to his sides. His muscles were so tense they made his entire upper body tremble, and he sensed his cheeks flare up as he imagined this woman judging him. "The Void? What the fuck is that?"
