Fallen knelt on the cold, unforgiving floor of the shrine, pulling at his hair as doubt twisted through his mind and tears streamed down his face. Suddenly, the ruby eye atop the obsidian altar snapped to life. Its gaze locked onto Fallen with unnerving intensity, its malevolent light piercing through all shadows without him even noticing.

In an instant, the crimson gnarled trees surrounding the shrine at the entrance began to stir. Their skeletal branches, sharp and twisted like the fingers of demons, reached out with sinister grace, moving with predatory intent and closing in on the vulnerable Fallen.

Fallen felt a sharp shiver go down his spine, and as if struck by a jolt of realization, he glanced up just in time to see the menacing branches lunging toward him. He was frozen with shock, the fast-approaching branches mirrored in his eyes before instinct kicked in, allowing him to roll to the side and narrowly dodge the attack. However, one of the branches grazed his face, leaving a thin, stinging cut across his left eye.

The sound of the attack was like a whip crack, echoing through the scarlet and ruby chamber. Fallen winced at the sharp pain, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the wound. Blood trickled down his cheek, mixing with his tears before he slowly lowered his shaking hand and looked at it. It was smeared with his blood, but as he looked closer, his eyes widened. A number, '50', was tattooed in fine, bold black ink on his entire left palm, with his blood smeared all over it.

His mind immediately flashed back to the darkness, to Vulgar… and their deal… So it was all real? The warmth of the blood slowly trickled down his face, the pain from the cut… and the strong scent of blood… his blood. It was… it felt too real to be mere delusions.

The air suddenly filled with the sound of creaking wood and rustling leaves. Fallen immediately looked up to see the branches coming for him again. His eyes widened in fear as they approached with fast, predatory speed, prompting him to jump to the side again.

“Arg!!” he grunted.

The branches slammed into the ground where he had been moments before, sending up a shower of splinters and debris as he instinctively raised his arms to shield himself, gaining a few scratches. The sound of the impact reverberated through the shrine as more wood creaked ominously.

Fallen’s heart pounded as he watched the branches slowly lift from the debris. Panic set in, and he hurriedly looked around. There wasn’t a single place where he could find refuge or hide. The shrine’s oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in on him from all sides. The strange ruby eye atop the altar shone with an unholy light, its intense gaze never wavering, sending chills down his spine.

As Fallen stood there, the gnarled, crimson branches began to move ominously. They slithered along the shrine’s ancient stone walls, their movements accompanied by a chilling, creaking sound that echoed through the chamber. The branches seemed to move methodically, their sharp, skeletal fingers weaving crimson barriers that slowly obscured the dim, scarlet light from the blood-red sun outside. The sound of rustling leaves and scraping wood filled the air.

The creeping branches created an impenetrable curtain, sealing off the outside world. The only remaining source of illumination was the ruby eye, casting a haunting glow that bathed the shrine in a crimson hue.

Fallen’s breath quickened as he realized the severity of his situation. He really was in the Hollow Temple, Vulgar's home and maybe even… his grave. He looked up at the only source of light: the ruby eye, feeling a chilling presence as its intense glare bore into his soul.

He took an instinctive step back and tried to calm himself before he heard a clank at his waist and looked down to find himself wearing loose, plain black pants with a chained-hilt dagger tied around his waist.

‘Huh, what… what the hell is this?’ He looked at the dagger before taking it in his left hand and feeling an unfamiliar surge of power course through him. The dagger was both majestic and mystical, featuring a blade darker than shadows and a hilt intricately carved with the image of a man whose hair flowed down to his feet. He was depicted as if he were lifting the blade with all his might, while an arfvedsonite-like chain coiled around his feet and extended to wrap around Fallen's waist.

Fallen turned the dagger around in amazement; it was beautiful… yet disturbing. The carved man’s body was covered in scars, visibly from a whip, which he could feel. He could sense every intricate detail, beautifully and eerily carved into the hilt as its black hue glistened in the crimson light.

He snapped back to reality as the unsettling sound of creaking wood echoed, looking up to find the entire shrine, except for the altar, encased behind the crimson branches, their leaves rustling ominously. The trees practically barricaded him… he was trapped.