"C-Cait, what are you doing?" Cyrus broke the silence first, placing a shaking hand on the alley wall into a stand. The two stood frozen, locked in what felt like an eternity. He glanced upwards, watching Bird flying above. Could it call for help?

Meanwhile, Caitríona remained silent. Her ocean-blue gaze held a tinge of obsidian as she lifted her hand wreathed in darkness. In it was a glass orb carrying dozens of runes as black as night. And then she crushed it. Sanguine-covered glass splattered on the floor as the runes escaped their prison, swirling around the alleyway. Then, unending darkness swallowed his vision.

"Cait?!"

There was no response. Quickly, Cyrus scrambled to his feet, looking for a source of light. But there was none. No walls. No Bird. No Avalorn. No light. Only darkness. Heart racing, Cyrus channeled his mana to his eyes, hoping to illuminate his surroundings. But there was no light. Only darkness.

And then the show began. Soft and intimate, Caitríona's familiar whisper reached him from behind. "You're a terrible liar, Cyrus."

Shaken by the sudden voice, he subconsciously turned around, searching for her. However, only complete, utter darkn—a sharp pain tore Cyrus back as a claw of darkness slashed, tearing through the fabric of his shirt. He sucked in a cold breath, stumbling forward. Did she really attack him? Why? Was that warm feeling crawling down his back, blood? His blood?

"That's for lying to your date," Caitríona said within the void, voice turning venomous.

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus turned around, meeting the unending expense with mana channeling through his fire runes.

"Why the hell are you doing this?!" He was angry that she was forcing him to attack. To defend himself. Why? What did she want from him?

"Why?" Caitríona's voice mocked in front of him. "Why?" She mimicked behind. "Why?" It came from his left. "Why? Why? Why?" More and more voices, dozens of them similar to Caitríona's, came from the void. They kept repeating the same question over and over again. "Why?"

They screeched in Cyrus' mind. He clutched at his head, trying to stop the splitting headache from tearing his skull apart. Pain blaring, Cyrus then fell to his knees, barely registering that a spotlight illuminated him.

"Devotion, Cyrus. That's why," Caitríona's leading disembodied voice said among the others, holding a tint of zeal. "And you said it yourself; someone must be sincere in their faith and prove their devotion to one's god." —A momentary silence, followed by words spilled out by a zealot stricken with fervor— "And what better way to prove your faith than by sacrifice?"

The hairs on the back of Cyrus' neck stood on end. Sacrifice? He clutched his fist, ready to launch flames at a moment's notice.

"Are you sure about this? I doubt Vicar Ithral nor Lord Úrán would appreciate your devotion," he spoke out loud in hopes of buying time, head-turning, searching for Caitríona. "Nor would Avalorn like it if one of their Wayfarers disappeared. Just... back off."

A chorus of devilish laughter erupted in the void as if they were witnessing a clown.

"You really don't know, don't you?" Caitríona's teasingly intimate voice whispered behind his ear as if telling him a delicious secret. "I know where you came from, Cyrus." —her following words were painfully slow— "From. Beyond. The. Tunnel."

A shrill of primal terror shivered up Cyrus' spine. He remained there frozen, unable to talk.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Cyrus flinched at the phantom caress on his cheek. "Oh, and don't worry about what I said about joining The Shard. I made it all up."

She lied? But why? There was only one possible answer that Cyrus could think of... He involuntarily stepped back.

"Oh? You've seemed to realize it." The audience laughed harder. "Yes, I lied because I knew you'd be willing to follow me. And I've had a lot of time to think of a plan. Two years, actually." —the leading voice saddened, as if heartbroken— "And it was so hard to get you to this point, despite hundreds of performances." She sighed wistfully. "You'd think a pretty girl's face would be enough."

What? Cyrus stepped back. "I don't know what you're talking about." He swiveled his sights, searching for her. "We've never met until today."

The laughter turned into scoffs, with a leading voice speaking out. "Oh, we've met alright. I've dreamt about you every day for the past two years!" Another claw to Cyrus' back, nearly forcing him to fall over. "And to think, you're such a heartless, paranoid asshole! One time, you ditched me the moment I gave you all the information you needed. Another, you tricked me by calling The Steward over." A pause. "Do you know how it feels to spend every sleeping moment reliving the same day over and over again?" Another pause. "Well, the bird is new—" An invisible, intimate hand traced along the bone of his chest. "—but that doesn't matter. It will be all over soon."

Cyrus unconsciously lurched his hand forward, launching a small burst of flames into the empty void. Nothing. From it was born a mocking chorus of laughter. They grew louder and louder, to the point he could hear himself think.

Despair rose within Cyrus. He forced himself to breathe deeply as he channeled his mana again. There had to be a way out of this place. Should he start running until he finds something? Should he just keep attacking?

There were no answers. The air grew heavy around him. While Cyrus stood there, unable to act, the choir of voices stopped laughing and began to whisper, undecipherable and incoherent words brushing against his ears. Meanwhile, the darkness outside the spotlight seemed alive. It shifted and churned, slithering, searching.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Is my brave Cyrus going to fight?" Caitríona teased within the shadows. "A big ol' puff ball like you couldn't even hurt a fly." —Her voice lowered, voice hungry for the final scene— "I've been dreaming of this for so long, Cyrus. So, just lie down and let me do all the work."

The instant Caitríona finished speaking, dark matter from the gloam clumped on the dark floor. It molded and shifted, stretching upwards, forming into the young woman. Her beautiful face bloomed into a smile as her slender, pallid hands transformed into dark, serrated claws.

The next moment, she struck. Caitríona moved with the fineness of a predator who's found her prey cornered, malice shining from her wide-open eyes.

Gritting his teeth, Cyrus assumed a boxer's stance. There was no other option. Meanwhile, he channeled as much of his slow mana as possible through his arm, waiting for the right moment.

"Left," She teased, slightly moving her head to the right, effortlessly evading Cyrus' fist flying past it.

Caitríona retaliated by twisting her hips into a kick from the side into his stomach. Despite her small stature and thin legs, that kick had enough power to leave Cyrus stumbling backward, gasping for air. And was she toying with him? No, he couldn't let her have control of the situation, so he punched forward again.

"Fire," Caitríona casually said, melding into the darkness as flames struck where she once stood.

Another claw sliced Cyrus' back; the pain felt akin to touching a searing stove. Meanwhile, the choir continued its chants. They were in front of him, behind him, and in his thoughts. They left Cyrus suffocated. And it made him wish to blast flames around him to vent his emotions. But he couldn't lose hope. Not here. Not now.

Instead, Cyrus channeled his mana to his life runes, hoping his focus ability would give him an edge.

"Life," Caitríona uttered, stepping out of the darkness from behind with outstretched claws.

Cyrus shivered in response. How was she always right? It mattered not as he stepped back, barely evading the lingering darkness. Now—Cyrus twisted his torso, opening his palm forward as fire plummeted forward. Yet all he struck was the empty void.

"You missed."

The tease compelled Cyrus to face forward, where a smiling Caitríona, a single step away, greeted him. She then struck. Her fist moved like lightning, jabbing at his undefended neck, which forced him to hunch over, gasping for air. But all that did was leave his head open for another one of her kicks that struck Cyrus with enough strength to send him crashing to the ground.

Then, there was a pause. And Caitríona took the time to saunter to his fallen face. There was a look of derision on the girl's face as she looked down at him.

"Poor Cyrus," She mocked, stomping on his face. "So little time spent on training yourself. But who knew something like this would happen to you? Didn't you want to explore the world?"

Cyrus raged with impotent fury. Oh, how he wished to change the situation. But reality began to close its walls around him. And Cyrus was out of his depth in both form and mind.

This 'fight,' or rather, beatdown, barely lasted a few seconds, after which he was left sprawled on the floor. And Caitríona even toyed with him, predicting his attacks like some prophet. But Cyrus struggled to get up. There had to be a way to survive. It couldn't end like this, could it? And reality answered with another swift kick to his face.

He was frail. He was weak.

Down on the ground, he was again. Cyrus needed to buy time in some vain hope that someone could rescue him. So, he spoke in a raspy voice, hoping she would fly into another tangent. "Why?"

"Why?" Caitríona repeated, tilting her head upwards into the void.

She then looked downwards to meet his gaze, and with it returned that insane fervor she had when speaking of devotion: "For my Lord. He sent me to you."

Her lord? Úrán? No, that's not right. The battered Cyrus nearly forgot that her worship was all a ploy to earn his attention.

Caitríona remained silent, and the choir of mimicking voices soon followed. Then, she closed her eyes and began the ritual he had seen her perform throughout the day. She began to thump her chest.

Once. Twice.

But then Caitríona paused midway through the third. In a single, fluid motion, she opened her fist into a grasp, bringing it to her face as if dramatically removing an invisible mask. Simultaneously, her other hand reached into the void above, her posture evoking the image of an actress waiting for the final spotlight to dim.

Despite her insanity, Caitríona remains reverent in her pose as if she were in prayer. She hadn't even deigned to consider the idea of Cyrus provoking her with an attack.

"He who brings life and joy to our gray lives," she began, voice reverent. "The one who performs for everyone's enjoyment." The spotlight covering the two began to brighten with blinding intensity. "I beseech you, my Lord, Hypokrites. Watch your servant's final act!"

The spotlight flickered and weakened. Cyrus broke into a cold sweat, feeling pressure draped over him, similar to when he was in the fog. Something was watching him from the void beyond. It left Cyrus breathless and frozen. He had to run to escape from certain death.

Meanwhile, Caitríona remained in her pose throughout his ordeal. There was no reason to pay him any mind... Yet. One second. Two. Then, she opened her eyes.

"Get up, Cyrus." She slowly recovered from her pose, solemn gaze falling upon him like a guillotine. "The show has just begun."

As if her words heralded the end, a dark mist or aura wreathed around her person. Yet she had not attacked him with a fist or magic. No, she silently waited for him to rise.

This was it. Cyrus gritted his teeth and got on all fours, trying to recover from the jab to his neck. And Caitríona allowed him to. His thoughts flowed like a river as Cyrus looked around, desperately searching for an answer that would never come. And Caitríona waited patiently.

Cyrus was going to die. His mind and nerves screamed: Bide time; someone will come. As if knowing his thoughts, a serpentine smile tugged on the corners of Caitríona's lips.

The cage closed in on itself. It brought Cyrus back to that same suffocation he had suffered nearly every day in his past life. And he began to hyperventilate. And yet, she still waited.

Three minutes passed. There was no response between the two stars of the show. But the show had to go on. And a weak Cyrus stumbled up onto his footing.

Only then did Caitríona begin to move.

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