The voice echoed in his mind again; he had encountered similar sounds several times on his journey and was already mentally prepared for them.
He had found a way to cope and was increasingly less affected by them. The voice's penetrative power was strong, but it seemed to lack autonomy, merely repeating itself mechanically.
It was like a program.
The atmosphere grew more and more oppressive. As he continued to advance, the voice became louder, and beyond the insistent urging, the undertone seemed to contain some other meaning.
It was an unknown language, the true sound.
Indeed, what Roger had been hearing was a transmission through spiritual power, but as it intensified with depth, he finally heard some real sounds.
Drip-drop!
A liquid fell onto his shoulder, red with blood.
The sensation underfoot was almost unbearable—slimy, sticky.
Finally, after passing through a lengthy corridor and emerging from the cramped space, a blood-red hall came into view.