The Bitter King

[Rayse Valentino]

Closed to Revenant.

Two giant, glowing red orbs cast down a blinding light down upon Rayse, their sharpness turning the rest of his surroundings into black mush. He stood in front of the crimson radiance, unable to breathe or even think. Pure fear washed over him, sapping his will and putting him into a catatonic state. He could hear his own heartbeat, beating louder and louder until suddenly it went quiet completely. In that moment of silence that seemed to last forever, everything turned to black.

The next thing he knew, his eyes opened. He was lying down on something hard, and the stone ceiling was illuminated only by candlelight. After sitting up, he noticed his surroundings: He was in a little room. What was he was lying on could only be described as a stone slab, and to his sides were long stone shelves attached to the walls with various tools and liquids in jars. A flickering candle stood on its waxy mount on one of the shelves, and around it he could make out the deeper details of the items: A jar of green liquid, surgical equipment such as scalpals, a needle next to a ball of thread, and... bones. Not just any bones, but bones that were kept together with metal cylinders bolted into the joints.

He felt groggy, the kind of sensation associated with a long night of binge drinking, but without the hangover. There was also a strange coldness in his chest. What did I do this time? Putting his feet on the ground, the feeling of the stone floor shocked him as he realized most of his clothes were gone. The only thing left on him was his pants, which were ripped along the sides and completely gone past his knees. His first thought was that he was mugged and then dumped here, but the surgical tools gave him some pause. Then there was the fact that this place smelled sort of like cigarette smoke. He actually wasn't sure of the precise nature of the odor, but it was much stronger than his cigarettes. Oddly enough, he didn't feel too concerned about his situation. There was a strange calmness inside of him, and while the nightmare gave him a bit of a shock, he couldn't really make a big deal out of it. Even if he was completely drunk out of his mind, there was no way a mugger could kill him. Ever since he merged with the element of fire, many who sought to end his life found it very difficult to inflict injury. In fact, they usually burned themselves just trying. Also, there was nothing on his person of too much value, or so he thought. He had so much money stored away from his illicit activities that no mugger could injure his financial solvency. This type of disinterest was not typical of him, although maybe it was since as of late he had been rather listless about his dangerous life. Nonetheless, his immediate concern was getting out of here. He stepped off the slab, cracked his neck, and looked around for the door.

The fuck? There was no door.

Now he was starting to show interest in his situation. While it was difficult to injure him, trapping him in some airtight prison was a good way to kill him through suffocation. He felt around for anything that resembled an exit with a heightened sense of urgency, not really able to see more than two feet in front of his face with the dim light of the candle. It had to be the worst candle ever too, because its light was a dim red that could barely be seen. While searching for the door, he kept thinking how much he wanted to leave, and as if listening to his request, one of the walls he was feeling suddenly started rising. Not all of it, but a small rectangular section wide enough for his body to pass through without much trouble. As the 'door' lifted up, more yellow-ish red light filled the room and as it hit his eyes, he had to squint from the brightness. Before he could look outside however, he saw himself.

His skin was grayish-black, his nails orange-red and his chest covered in stitches. The bangs that were falling over his eyes were completely white, and grabbing a handful of his hair and bringing it into sight revealed that the rest of it was the same. He backed up into the room, swallowing hard with his eyes darting back and forth across his hands. With the light in the room, he noticed that there was a mirror as well, and in the reflection he saw his milky white eyes. Even his pupils and irises were white. His skin was hard to the touch, some parts of it cracking to reveal his muscles.

Now panic was starting to set in. He knew better, or at least he thought he did. He suppressed the thought that emerged, doubting and denying and trying to calm himself with the assurance that his imagination was simply running wild. After all, at first glance he looked like a corpse.