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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Out of breath, knees aching, Benny pressed a hand to the wall of the dark, dank basement they'd arrived in. They'd hurdled down the stairs—and he'd almost tripped twice—and landed in the wretched smelling, humidity riddled space that his mystery companion claimed was safe. For now.
She'd spotted this warehouse, remembering its underground dwelling—a renowned secure spot for rebels, she'd said, without explaining much else. Once certain of the location, she'd gestured at Benny to follow her there. To run there, as it happened—this chick didn't walk anywhere, from what Benny had noticed. She let those long, limber legs lure her out of her danger, jogging with an elegance that had mesmerized him, and nearly caused him to bump into flaming objects in his path.
Even without speaking—they didn't have time to exchange any pleasantries—he could tell he'd like being around her. Despite her initial impression of bad humor and her intimidating demeanor, she was smart, quick, aware of her surroundings, and knowledgeable about which turns to take and which to avoid. She seemed so skilled with her sword that Benny had cowered when she'd whipped it out in case they bumped into any more flaming-haired zombies.
Luckily, they didn't encounter any fiery foes, though several times she grabbed Benny's wrist to accelerate his pace, upon hearing groans and sensing the ground tremble beneath their feet.
Benny hadn't heard or sensed anything, but he assumed such hunches and abilities to detect peril would come with time.
With time... fuck, how long am I going to be down here?
"You can relax," she said, fumbling around in the dark, her voice coming from the opposite end of the room. After a zipping sound, he realized she'd lit a match; a faint glow came from where she stood, holding a thin, white candle. "We'll be okay in here for a bit."
She meandered about the room, extracting more candles from her bag, propping them in candle holders on rickety tables and in rusted sconces hanging from the chipped walls.
The air inside was stale, but at least it wasn't smoky. Benny had choked out there, struggling to find a slither of oxygen in the fumes. Fire was everywhere, and rare were the areas that weren't infested by flames, falling branches, torched cars, or burning buildings. It was a horror scene, straight out of an apocalyptic movie. Benny never imagined hell would be so eerily like its bookish descriptions.
But this wasn't hell, was it? No, it was Terror. That was what his new friend had called this realm.
Was she his friend? Could he trust her? Sure, she'd gotten him that far, had saved his hide many times since she'd found him, a lost wandered stumbling about in a dimension of fire. But what if she'd lured him into a trap? What if she was that other one in disguise? The one who'd murdered him?
"Whoa." The girl caught sight of his panicked features and scurried over, lifting one of the candles up to her face. "Don't freak out. Don't scream. Relax. Your panic—they'll smell it. Chill." She lowered the candle, but the luminosity shimmered over her expression, turning her big eyes to bold balls of gold.
