Chapter 9: Illusion

The cold of the stone seeped into his back, waking Aerax from his exhausted sleep. The chill was sharp, crawling up his spine like an unwelcome memory. He groaned, sitting up slowly. His bare chest was still heaving, the remnants of panic clinging to his breath. One hand reached to his forehead, touching the dried sweat crusted there.

Silence greeted him.

The snake-like creatures were gone. Not even a scale remained. Only the hallway stretched before him—quiet, damp, and lifeless. A fishy odor lingered in the air, mixed with the sickly tang of old blood. Here and there, dried trails of slime marked where something had slithered or bled.

"I have to keep going..." Aerax muttered. His voice was hoarse, but his eyes were still sharp despite the weight dragging at his limbs. Every muscle ached. His legs felt like rusted iron.

With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He stepped carefully over the broken flesh of what might once have been an enemy or a brother. The hallway led forward to another stone door, its surface marked with strange circular carvings, like the concentric rings of some ancient shell.

He placed his hand on the door.

It opened without resistance. No lock. No mechanism. No magic he could feel. The stone simply melted backward, revealing the chamber beyond.

A cold wind blew out from the darkness, carrying with it a strange scent—mist, earth, and something subtly sweet. Like rotting fruit or overripe nectar.

Aerax stepped inside.

The chamber before him was round and high-ceilinged, like the belly of a buried temple. A thin layer of water covered the floor, cool and still, reaching his ankles. It spread outward like a mirror, reflecting his naked figure in ripples of pale distortion. The walls, though vast, were mostly hidden by a thick, silver mist that clung low, like it was resting instead of rising.

The light in the room had no clear source. It shimmered—soft, diffuse, not quite warm. It coated the air itself, turning every surface ghostly and dreamlike.

Each of Aerax's footsteps whispered against the water. The sound echoed strangely in his ears, like breathing that wasn't his own.

Then he saw them.

Figures began to form in the mist—first shadows, then shapes, then faces. They moved with the fluid ease of memory, blurring the line between hallucination and haunting.

Some looked like his dead cellmates—faces he had watched beaten, broken, and dragged away. Others resembled the cruel trainers from the arena—those who had struck him, starved him, laughed when he bled.

But their faces now bore no anger. They smiled gently. Their eyes were soft. Their voices like honey in the wind.

"Aerax... you are strong... come here... rest with us..."

He froze.

More forms appeared—beautiful creatures, male and female, wrapped in mist like silk. Their bodies were flawless, naked, their skin glowing softly in the strange light. They approached him slowly, swaying hips and half-lidded eyes, arms outstretched.

They beckoned with kisses on the air, with soft moans that stirred something primal in his blood.

Aerax's throat went dry. His heart pounded. His cock stirred in response to the illusion's intimate promise. His breath hitched, and he could feel the pull—sensual, inviting, dangerous.

Soft laughter echoed, like bells underwater.

One figure stepped forward from the others—a perfect version of Aerax himself. Taller. More powerful. More beautiful. His skin gleamed like polished bronze. His eyes burned with pleasure.

"You can stay here," the vision said, smiling. "You will be satisfied, forever. No pain. No fear. No escape needed."

Aerax took a hesitant step back. His instincts screamed.

"No… this isn't real."

But the visions moved closer. A pair of delicate hands touched his chest, warm and smooth. Another wrapped around his waist, fingers pressing into his skin. One brushed his lips. Another trailed lower. Lips touched his ear.

He shuddered. The sensations felt real.

Pleasure began to rise—thick and cloying. His thoughts turned slow, syrupy.

Then he heard it. A whisper. Faint. Not from the figures.

"They eat souls…"

Aerax blinked. He turned his head, trying to locate the sound.

Up above, almost invisible against the dim ceiling, a glowing creature hovered. It resembled a jellyfish—translucent, elegant, trailing long ribbons of light. Its body pulsed with eerie color, shifting hues like a wound slowly bruising.

More of them floated above. Dozens. Silent. Watching.

Their tentacles dropped low, slithering through the mist. Where the illusions touched Aerax, the jellyfish hovered close, and the tendrils began to probe.

Where the vision lingered—on his skin, his lips, his groin—the tentacles hovered, drinking. Faint pulses of light left his body, drawn upward.

"They're not real… just bait… to drain me."

Aerax's jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides.

One vision leaned close, hand in his hair, lips parting for a kiss.

Bang!

He punched it square in the chest. The body exploded into smoke, dissolving in an instant.

He turned, roaring, and struck another. And another. Then two more, shattering the illusions one by one. Their soft seduction turned to formless vapor under his fists.

The jellyfish above began to flicker. Angry. Their tentacles lashed down, seeking his body, whipping through the mist.

Aerax dodged, sliding through the water. He grabbed a sharp tile fragment from the floor and stabbed upward. A tentacle screamed without sound, recoiling like fire on skin.

"I am not prey!"

He surged forward, grabbing a heavy stone. With all his strength, he hurled it at one of the lower jellyfish.

The impact was thunderous.

It exploded into fragments of light that scattered across the water like dying stars.

The mist began to fade. One by one, the illusions vanished. The glow from the jellyfish dimmed as Aerax struck again, kicking, punching, tearing through anything that reached for him.

His body ached. His hands bled. But his mind was clear.

With a final shout, he smashed a last figure into mist, then stood alone—chest rising, body soaked.

The room was still.

The water, calm. The mist, gone.

High above, the last jellyfish shrank into a dark crevice and vanished.

A door at the far end of the chamber creaked open.

Behind it: a spiral staircase, descending.

Aerax stood still, breath heavy. Sweat dripped down his back. His fists trembled—not from fear, but fury.

"Fuck!" he spat, voice echoing off the stone.

He turned and walked toward the stairs. Each step was slow but deliberate, his body battered, his resolve steel. No illusion would hold him. No dream would bind him.

He descended, leaving behind the room of false desire—and everything in it.