Chapter 002: Madness as a consequence.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with a soft, orange glow that peeked through wispy clouds. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of impending rain. Fat, dark clouds began to bulge ominously overhead, their bellies pregnant with water.

Fairfax perched on a thick branch, a small twig clenched between his teeth. He chewed thoughtfully, his exhale escaping in a white puff against the darkening sky. His gaze flickered nervously between the gathering storm and the dense forest that stretched before him.

"What kind of trouble awaits in that terrifying world?" he pondered, his brow furrowing in concern. "Will I even get some magical power out of this whole mess?"

A sudden, earsplitting crack of thunder ripped across the sky, followed by a blinding flash of lightning. The remaining daylight vanished instantly, replaced by an inky blackness. Fat raindrops began to pelt the earth, drumming a steady rhythm on the leaves above.

Fairfax winced as the first few drops hit his exposed skin. He knew it was time to seek shelter. With a nimble leap, he descended the tree, his bare feet sinking slightly into the now-soggy grass.

Brushing dirt from his palms, he prepared to sprint through the downpour. But just as he was about to break into a run, a muffled cry pierced the night. The sound was followed by the flickering glow of approaching torches and the unmistakable thump-thump-thump of heavy boots pounding the muddy ground.

Instinct taking over, Fairfax darted behind the thick trunk of the nearest tree, pressing himself flat against the rough bark. His heart hammered in his chest.

A small figure, a boy no older than Fairfax himself, came hurtling past, his naked body slick with rain. Three figures, cloaked in an eerie blue that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, chased close behind, their faces obscured by the hoods that shadowed their eyes.

There was a raw desperation in the boy's movements, a primal fear that sent shivers down Fairfax's spine. He yearned to help, to understand what had driven the boy to such a frantic flight. But the sight of the robed figures, their purpose unknown, filled him with a cold dread.

Curiosity, however, warred with his fear. As silently as a shadow, Fairfax began to weave his way through the undergrowth, following the direction the chase had taken. The rain lashed down mercilessly, soaking him to the bone, but he pressed on, fueled by a growing unease.

The path led uphill, the ground becoming slick and treacherous underfoot. He reached the crest, his lungs burning, just in time to see the figures disappear over the other side, the flickering torches their only guide.

Squinting through the rain, Fairfax scrambled up a nearby tree, its branches offering a precarious perch. From his vantage point, he could see the torches bobbing erratically down the slope. A sudden cry, raw and desperate, echoed up the hill, followed by an unsettling silence.

Straining his eyes, Fairfax finally saw them again, the robed figures emerging at the bottom of the hill. Two of them were dragging something – the boy.

Panic surged through him as he saw the boy's face for the first time. His eyes were wide and vacant, his lips moving soundlessly. He writhed and struggled against his captors, a chilling, almost manic grin splitting his face.

The third figure stepped forward, holding a vial filled with a pale blue liquid. With practiced ease, he uncorked the vial and a tiny serpent, no bigger than a finger, emerged, its beady eyes gleaming with malice. It struck with lightning speed, sinking its fangs into the boy's exposed neck before slithering back into the vial.

The boy's body convulsed, then went limp. But a horrifying transformation began to take place. His limbs stretched impossibly long, his skin rippling and changing color under the relentless rain.

"Wrap him up," a voice boomed, cold and emotionless. It sent a shiver down Fairfax's spine. The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but the rain and the darkness made it impossible to be sure.

He focused on the figures, desperately trying to recognize any of them. Just then, a bolt of lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the leader's face. But the flash was fleeting, leaving Fairfax with only a fleeting impression of sharp features and cold, calculating eyes.

The boy, now a grotesque parody of his former self, was bundled into a rough canvas sack and hoisted onto one of the figure's shoulders. The three figures then disappeared back into the storm, leaving Fairfax alone in the rain-soaked silence.

He remained huddled in the tree, his body chilled to the bone, until the last flicker of torch disappeared before running home.

The darkness under the storm clouds was nearly complete. Fairfax, relying on memory more than sight, fumbled with the latch on his aunt's back gate, the familiar creak a welcome sound.

Inside, a wave of warmth washed over him as he slipped through the back door. He squeezed the excess water from his clothes, resigned to the fact that dinner was probably off the table. Thankfully, he'd snagged some fruit from a nearby tree earlier – enough to hold him over for the night.

He made a beeline for his room, peeling off his soaked clothes in a hurry. The cold water of the shower was a shock, but it washed away the grime and the chill of the storm. He emerged, toweling himself off hastily, and collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the lamp that cast a soft glow on the ceiling.

'Madness,' he thought, the word echoing in his mind. 'A missing dream, they say, leads to madness.'

A rap at the door startled him. "Come in," he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

The door creaked open, revealing a feminine silhouette. "Can't sleep?" a gentle voice inquired.

Fairfax propped himself up on his elbows, shaking his head slowly. He recognized the figure as his older cousin, Sarah. "Not really," he admitted.

Sarah entered the room and closed the door softly. "Hungry?" she asked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

He shook his head again. "Just thinking."

Sarah gave him a knowing look. "I know there are scary stories about the Terror World," she began. "Some say people disappear forever, others say it changes you for the worse. But I don't believe all that."

"Why not?"

"Think of it like the Dream World, only harder. The Dream World gives you nine lives, but the Terror World doesn't. It forces you to adapt, to overcome challenges head-on."

Fairfax mulled this over, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. "Challenges... how are they different from the Dream World?"

"Fighting monsters and leveling up – that's the Dream World's game. The Terror World... well, nobody knows for sure what it throws at you."

He swallowed hard, a knot of fear forming in his stomach. This could very well mean death.

"But hey," Sarah said, a light chuckle escaping her lips, "tomorrow might be a lucky day. You might get your dream back. Chin up, okay?"

Her attempt to lighten the mood was appreciated, but the fear remained a heavy weight in his chest.