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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Arielle felt like she'd walked for days and days before Oscar finally pointed at something, recognizing it as the way to go.
"Under that," he said, gesturing at a gloomy, falling-apart bridge over a slither of murky water.
Arielle imagined this body of water was once a river, thriving and gushing, with blooming flowers and high meadow-like hedges and swooping trees with branches dangling into the water. But as they got closer, crouched and creeping along while checking over their shoulders, she saw how this fiery realm had messed it up. The water had a thick, goopy texture to it. Like tomato soup—and the nearer they got, the more she noticed it was the same color, too; orange-red, bumpy, lumpy, even. Were there bodies in there? Bits of bone and charred flesh from the nearby fires?
The red river was striking, stuck between two banks of moldy, mushy mud with footsteps leading to the surface. It flowed under the stony bridge, but where it was headed was anyone's guess.
Arielle didn't want to look at it any longer than she had to. She'd begun to gag, as the stench of it—or whatever lurked in its depths—crept into her nostrils and churned her stomach. A fishy, rotten egg odor, that Oscar, also smelling it, grimaced at as he pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth and urged Arielle to follow him.
They got to the bridge—which was taller than Arielle had initially thought—via a slim slope of dried dirt, which the murky river flowed next to. It led down to a squeaky door, right beneath the bridge, and behind it was a set of slippery, rusty steps going down. Arielle hesitated at the top, pinching her nose to prevent more of the stench from infesting her insides, but Oscar insisted.
"It's safe," he mumbled through his shirt, his eyes so bright they illuminated the dank space like lanterns. Was that normal? Or was such brightness a feature of those who lived in this dimension?
She conceded, and he guided her down the stairs, landing in a sewer-like room with newspaper plastered all over the walls, and puddles of water gathered on the concrete, coming from a leaky ceiling. Down here, the odor lessened, though it wasn't erased, but it was better than the foul fuckery outside.
"What's this?" She released her nose and attempted a breath of this stale, but non-fiery, not too toxic air. "And what's with the bloody river up there? Jeez, this place gets worse and worse, doesn't it?"
Oscar let go of his shirt and unleashed a lengthy exhale. "You have no idea." He walked over to a stool across the room and set his bag down as he stretched. "This is a safe-house. I know, it's shitty," he winced, "but it's all we have, for now. We can't keep going until I give you some basic information to survive. In case we get separated."
Though earlier she'd doubted him, and wasn't sure he'd be an ally, Arielle now knew she'd be lost without Oscar. He had the safe-zone locations, he wielded weapons, and, to be fair, he was a brick of a man, solid and stony and probably hard to tackle. If she were to find anyone in Terror to ally with, he'd be her best bet.
