Gunmage-Chapter 23: The knight Descends

"Arrghhh—"

Lugh collapsed, his body convulsing as if struck by an unseen force. The others stared in wide-eyed shock but wisely kept their distance.

His thrashing became violent, his limbs twisting unnaturally, like a puppet with its strings in the hands of a madman.

Lyra, who had been standing nearest, stiffened as a deep unease settled in her gut.

"Lugh?" she called hesitantly. "Lugh, are you—"

Her words were caught in her throat

A thick drip echoed in the silent clearing. Then another.

Blood ran down his face like rivulets of ink, thick and dark, spilling from his right eye. At first, it was just a few stray drops, but soon it cascaded like a broken dam.

Then came the change—his eye, bled its color away. The iris shrank into nothingness, the sclera darkened, and what remained was a void.

Not black. Empty.

The light did not reflect off it. It did not shine. It devoured. Like a gateway to the abyss

Lyra recoiled instinctively, every primal instinct in her screaming that she was staring into something wrong, something that should not exist. Even the air felt different.

Then, a soft glow. His pupils were being restored, their red a stark contrast to the black of his eyes

He had stopped moving now, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. The unnatural stillness was even more unsettling than his earlier thrashing.

He spoke.

"Who the hell are you?"

The voice was his own, but something about it felt... detached. Foreign. His gaze swept over them, assessing, analysing, before settling on his surroundings.

His brow furrowed.

"Where are we?"

The words struck like a whip.

"You—you don't know?"

Emil asked cautiously, his face paler than usual.

"Of course not."

"Is this a dream?"

His tone was devoid of panic—just cold calculation. But then he pointed, first at Ozan, then at the lieutenant.

"Weren't those two fighting just a moment ago?"And who–what the hell is this?"

He took half a step back, his posture wary as he scanned the sergeant.

Lyra's lips parted slightly, an almost offended look flashing across her face.

"Boy, am I glad to have you back"

She muttered.

That voice—Lugh's gaze sharpened. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

"Sergeant?"

His expression darkened.

"What happened to you?"

Emil, still shaking, let out a breath and slumped to the ground. "It's over," he whispered, sounding almost delirious.

Ozan let out a shallow breath, then, turning to Aldric, he gave the lanky youth a hard punch to the gut. Aldric doubled over in pain.

"What was that for!?"

"You almost got us all killed!"

Ozan snapped.

Despite his usual smugness, Aldric could not argue against that. He wheezed.

Meanwhile, Lugh's gaze flickered between them, his expression unreadable.

"What happened?"

His voice was sharper now.

"More importantly—" He inhaled deeply. "Where are we?"

Ozan exhaled.

"Oh, you know, just... in the middle of the forest."

Lugh stared.

"Huh?"

"Specifically, 721 meters in."

A second passed. Then another.

"...We're in the forest?!"

The reality hit them all at the same time. A cold silence settled over the group.

Then the forest breathed.

The foliage shifted, the canopy above swaying despite the absence of wind. Leaves rustled—not with the sound of the breeze, but of something moving within them.

The ground pulsed, the earth exhaling as twisted roots coiled like serpents. A wet, organic chittering filled the air, followed by a low, hungry groan.

They weren't alone.

A sense of deep, unshakable dread pressed upon them like an invisible weight. Unseen gazes locked onto their bodies, dissecting them.

Watching, Judging.

The greenery parted. A plant uncurled, its gaping maw lined with tendrils that glistened with acidic saliva.

Around them, poisonous critters crawled from the shadows, their too-many legs clicking against bark and stone.

Then a presence.

A slow-moving, suffocating presence.

It was coming for them.

"...We have to get out of here, now!"

"How? Where do we go?!"

Then they simultaneously turned their heads to the lightless doorway—the unnatural, yawning hole in space that had been ignored until now.

No light. No shadow. Just an absence of anything.

"You can't be serious"

Someone breathed.

"Prove thyselves or be devoured," Ozan murmured, his voice grim.

A choice. Stay and be hunted, or walk into the void.

Lyra grabbed Lugh.

"Damn it. Kid, we're going."

She didn't wait for approval—she dragged him forward and leapt through the black doorway without hesitation.

"F***!"

Someone cursed, and one by one, they all followed.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

Once Lugh was inside, he felt a sense of weightlessness as he floated, or rather, 'fell' upwards.

"Goddammit"

He exclaimed as his hand was separated from Lyra.

They kept falling through the void until their surroundings slowly transitioned from impenetrable darkness to blinding light.

Lugh lost consciousness.

When he awoke, the world was white. Not just the floor. Not just the sky.

Everything.

It was a room with no walls, no edges, no sense of beginning or end—an infinite blank canvas.

The sheer absence of color made his head spin. His right eye throbbed. Pain shot through his skull, splitting his consciousness in two.

Black. White. Black. White. It was unbearable.

With a grimace, he tore a strip from his already-ruined shirt and tied it over his right eye. The pain dulled slightly.

Beside him, the others stirred. Groans filled the space as they sat up, one by one.

"Where the devil is this?"

Aldric's voice was hoarse.

Lugh exhaled.

"Alright. Someone explain what the hell is going on."

Oh, that—"

Lyra began, but she was quickly cut off by Dain

"You really don't remember?"

Lugh ignored him.

"You were saying?"

"I think you were possessed"

Lyra stated simply.

Lugh stared, again.

"Huh?"

A thousand questions flooded his mind, but none left his lips—because at that moment, the room changed.

A wave of pressure rolled over them, thick and crushing. The air grew heavy. Footsteps echoed in the emptiness—slow, deliberate steps that carried the weight of ages.

Then, it emerged.

A knight.

Nine feet tall. Armor the color of tarnished silver, ancient yet imposing. The plates were battered and worn, yet the aura it radiated made it seem untouched by time.

Its helmet bore no visor, no opening for a face. A gaping void rested beneath it, as if its entire being was an empty husk.

But the sword—

A double-edged blade, immaculate despite its owner's decay.

Its surface gleamed with an unnatural, ethereal violet glow, humming with restrained power. A thought settled in their minds.

Enchanted.

The knight did not move. It did not breathe.

And then—

It vanished.

No movement. No blur. No warning. One moment, it was meters away.

The next—

It was right in front of Ozan.

Its sword fell.