The Door’s Deception

The wooden door loomed before Julius, its dark, timeworn surface exuding an air of quiet menace. The twin lanterns on either side flickered with an eerie blue hue, casting wavering shadows along the stone staircase behind him. Cold sweat clung to his back beneath his finely tailored coat as the chilling voice echoed once more from beyond the threshold.

"Truth or Dare? Kihihihi..."

The laughter was sickly sweet, like honey dripping from a cadaver's lips. Julius' fingers twitched instinctively, tempted to reach for the silver dagger concealed within his coat. But he hesitated. This was the Cathedral's domain, and the one behind the door—that thing—was part of the ritual process.

With a deep breath, he exhaled his doubts and pressed his gloved fingers against the door, knocking twice once again.

Knock. Knock.

The laughter ceased. Silence stretched unbearably, coiling around him like an unseen serpent. Then, the door groaned open, revealing a corridor drenched in crimson candlelight. The air was thick—almost syrupy—with the scent of burning incense, aged parchment, and something else… something metallic.

Blood?

Julius stepped forward cautiously, his polished boots clicking against the cold marble floor. The corridor led to a vast chamber, its domed ceiling obscured by an inky black mist that slithered like living tendrils. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, brimming with tomes bound in cracked leather and stitched human hide. In the center of the chamber, beneath an intricate web of glowing sigils, stood a man.

Sheath.

Dressed in layered black robes embroidered with cryptic golden patterns, the elder ritualist barely acknowledged Julius' arrival. His skeletal fingers traced the rim of a silver goblet, the dark liquid within shimmering ominously under the candlelight.

"You reek of hesitation, young one," Sheath murmured, his voice as smooth as velvet yet sharp as a dagger's edge. "Did you not come seeking knowledge?"

Julius forced his unease down and stepped closer. "I was told you are the one to approach when it comes to understanding magical breakthroughs and ascension rituals."

Sheath's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Oh? And what makes you think knowledge comes without a price?"

Julius expected as much. He straightened his posture, slipping into the poised elegance befitting a Silver Knight of the Cathedral. "Name your price."

The ritualist tilted his head, regarding Julius with an expression of faint amusement. Then, with an effortless flick of his wrist, the goblet in his hand vanished, replaced by a parchment that seemed to pulse with something alive.

"Drink from the goblet, and you may enter the rite."

A chill ran down Julius' spine. His gaze flickered toward the empty silver chalice on the table—hadn't it been full just moments ago?

His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but there was no turning back now.

The moment his fingers closed around the goblet, the chamber's temperature plummeted. Shadows deepened, stretching unnaturally along the walls. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tolled—not from within the Cathedral, but from somewhere else.

Sheath's eyes gleamed.

"Welcome, young knight… to the precipice of the unknown."

Julius gripped the silver goblet, his fingers cold against the intricate engravings of coiling serpents and celestial symbols. The liquid within shimmered—dark, viscous, and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own.

He hesitated.

This was not the breakthrough ritual itself—merely the preparation—yet his instincts screamed at him. The scent of old blood, the way the candle flames flickered as if whispering secrets, and most of all, the unshakable feeling that something had gone wrong here before his arrival.

Sheath watched him intently, the ritualist's smile stretching too wide, his fingers tracing unseen patterns in the air.

"Drink."

Julius exhaled sharply, tilted the goblet, and let the liquid pass his lips.

Cold.

It was far colder than anything natural, like swallowing liquid moonlight infused with winter's bite. A sharp jolt ran through his body, and for a brief moment, his vision split—he saw the chamber overlaid with something else. Figures in the shadows. Eyes blinking open along the walls.

And then—

The taste of iron.

The world snapped back into focus as he staggered, gripping the edge of a nearby wooden table to steady himself. A dull throbbing settled in his chest, spreading outward in slow, rhythmic pulses.

Sheath chuckled, a sound as dry as rustling parchment.

"Good. Now you are marked for ascension. The real trial comes later, of course. But first…"

He gestured toward the far end of the chamber, where another ritual circle was drawn upon the marble floor. The sigils there burned with a deep violet glow, far more intense than the golden symbols beneath Julius' feet.

And within the circle—

A man knelt, his head bowed. His body trembled, muscles straining as if resisting unseen forces. Ribbons of violet mist curled around him, sinking into his flesh, causing it to pulse and shift unnaturally beneath his skin.

Julius narrowed his eyes. A fellow knight undergoing the actual breakthrough ritual.

So that was the lingering sense of wrongness he had felt.

Something had already begun before his arrival.

Sheath followed his gaze and sighed theatrically. "Ah, yes. That would be our dear Sir Renault. A Golden Knight seeking ascension to the next tier." His tone was amused, but his expression… was unreadable.

Julius watched as Renault let out a strangled groan. His fingers clawed at the marble, veins bulging along his arms as the violet energy burned through him.

Was this… normal?

Julius knew of ascension rituals. He had studied them briefly. The process was never pleasant, but this…

This looked like a man being devoured from the inside.

Sheath's voice was casual, almost lazy.

"Sometimes the body resists. The weak do not survive."

Julius clenched his jaw. He could feel the cold pulse of the preparation potion still lingering within him, coiling around his own energy like a parasite waiting to be fed.

He suddenly had the sinking realization that when his turn came…

It might be worse.

Julius staggered, his breath shallow, his vision swimming. The flickering candlelight, the sigils glowing beneath Renault's trembling form, Sheath's unsettling smile—none of it felt real anymore.

A sensation gnawed at the edges of his mind.

An inconsistency.

A flaw in the pattern.

He focused.

Renault's groans, the violet mist coiling around his body, the arcane symbols… the details were too precise, yet they lacked weight. It was as if his senses expected them to be there rather than experiencing them.

And then—

The goblet in his hand.

It was still cold.

Even after minutes had passed, the liquid's unnatural chill had not faded. The same exact sensation, untouched by time.

Julius' grip tightened.

This isn't real.

His heartbeat quickened as fragmented memories surged forward.

—The wooden door.

—The voice that had asked him.

—"Truth or Dare?"

He had never answered.

And now, he was trapped.

Julius inhaled sharply, forcing himself to ignore the distorted reality around him. Sheath's grin widened unnaturally, Renault's body twitched in ways that defied human anatomy, and the candle flames bent toward him as if watching.

This was all the door's illusion.

And there was only one way out.

With determination surging through him, Julius turned away from the ritual and strode toward the exit. The chamber stretched oddly, resisting his movement, the walls warping as if trying to hold him in.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sheath's voice slithered around him, distorting, shifting tones.

Julius ignored him.

The wooden door loomed before him, its ancient carvings seemingly deeper, darker. He reached for the handle, but the moment his fingers brushed the wood—

The entire room convulsed.

Pain lanced through his skull.

Voices screamed in his mind—wailing, whispering, laughing.

And then—

The chamber shattered.

Julius gasped, stumbling backward, his body drenched in cold sweat.

He was standing outside the door.

The ritual chamber was gone. The suffocating energy, the arcane symbols, Sheath's unnatural smile—all of it had vanished like a fever dream.

Julius exhaled, his chest rising and falling heavily. His gaze locked onto the door once more, its surface plain yet deeply unsettling.

Then—

A knock.

The wood trembled beneath his fingers.

And from the other side—

That same, sickly sweet voice.

"Truth or Dare? Hahahahaha."

A shiver crawled up Julius' spine.

Now he understood.

The cursed relic demanded an answer.

And he had no choice but to play.

Julius steadied himself, inhaling deeply. His mind raced. If he chose truth, would the door force him to confront something he wasn't ready for? If he chose dare, would it push him into some twisted challenge?

There was no time to hesitate.

"…Truth."

The laughter from the other side stopped.

A moment of pure silence.

Then, with a slow, deliberate creak—

The door swung open on its own.

A chilling sight awaited him inside.

A man lay sprawled across the cold stone floor, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Dark, glistening blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the stone.

Coiled around his body—

An enormous silver serpent.

Its fangs were buried deep into his neck, its muscular coils tightening even in death.

Around them, black candles flickered with an unnatural glow, casting long, shifting shadows against the walls. The scent of burnt herbs and decaying flesh filled the air.

A ritual had taken place here.

And Julius had just stepped into the aftermath.