2.1 — Dungeon of the Possessed

Why are they chasing me…?
Lyttia cannot understand what has just happened — she didn’t do anything suspicious, she wasn’t acting aggressively, and yet suddenly two grown men are chasing after her, armed with spears and filled with hostility, as if their goal were to eliminate a threat.
She has no advantage whatsoever — they know this city like the back of their hand, they know which streets are dead ends, where the passages are, which routes will shorten the distance — while she barely knows the layout of the nearest buildings, because not even a few minutes have passed since she arrived here.
She darts into the first side street on her right without thinking, simply following her instincts, passing several beggars and skinny cats huddled together beneath a wall, nearly tripping over them — everything is happening too quickly.
Ahead, she notices three wooden crates leaning against a wall of raw stone — without hesitation, she strikes one of them with her hand, knocking all three over and creating a makeshift barrier, which, as it turns out, poses not the slightest problem for the guards — they easily leap over the obstacle without slowing down for even a fraction of a second.
— Stop! — one of them shouts. — We do not tolerate the possessed from Ephzental! The laws of the city forbid them from entering the capital!
The possessed…? From Ephzental…?
The thought slips into her mind too late — her hesitation lasts barely a moment, but it is enough for her not to notice the railing in time. She crashes into it, falls, and lands on her back. In panic, she turns over, raising her elbows in a defensive reflex. The guards reach her and point their spears at her.
— I’m not from Ephzental! And I’m not possessed! — she cries, raising her voice, though her heart is beating too fast for her to gather her thoughts.
She receives no answer. Neither of them shows the slightest interest in her words — as if she were talking to a wall. As if her voice were irrelevant.
The world suddenly begins to blur before her eyes.
What’s happening…?
Her vision grows hazy, the colors fade, and her body loses its strength. She collapses onto her side. Consciousness slips away before she can understand why.
Above her, from the rooftop, a patrolling guard has just lowered his bow — a small arrow soaked in a sedative has struck the side of her neck. She never felt it.
— I’m sorry… — the younger of the knights says quietly, apparently an apprentice who has not yet grown accustomed to such brutality. — Is… is it normal for the possessed to be able to speak? And she looked completely normal… she wasn’t even disgusting or… rotten…
— Silence. — the older one cuts him off, brooking no objection. — We found another one just like her recently. He had silver hair too, could speak, and looked human. We eliminate such specimens immediately. They must not be allowed into the city.
The apprentice merely nods, though a shadow of doubt appears in his eyes. He does not protest. But something inside him breaks.

Lyttia awakens with a heaviness that prevents her from breathing freely — her body hangs limp, restrained by cold chains fastened to the wall.
And as always… Where… am I…?
She looks around the cell, which resembles a death chamber more than a prison — walls made of cracked red brick, no windows, no bars, no ventilation — nothing that could offer even the slightest hope that she might escape this place.
The only thing that stands out in this dead space is a massive metal door with thick hinges, looking as though it had been designed to contain something far more dangerous than a human being.
She tries to think about escaping, to analyze possible ways out, but quickly realizes there isn’t even the slightest chance — not here, not now.
Don’t panic. Not now. You have to think, Lyttia.
The room is plunged into darkness, not even streaks of light visible — as if the world itself has forgotten this place.
She struggles. The chains creak, the sound echoing off the walls and carrying dully through the cell.
And then she hears… something else. Another metallic scrape. Another breath. Wheezing, animal-like.
She turns her head. To her right — seven figures. Not human. Not entirely.
Their bodies are distorted — missing limbs, deformed faces, green skin, rough, uneven flesh, as though someone had tried to mold them out of clay and left them in a kiln for too long.
— W-who are you…? — she whispers, though she doesn’t know if she should. Her voice disappears into the echo reverberating through the bricks.
The only answer is a hiss. Then a moan. Then the whistle of breath resembling the sound of shattered glass.
She struggles again.
The sword is in my hair.
But there is no way for her to reach it.
— Hello…? Does no one really know where we are…? — desperation rises, her voice beginning to tremble.
She turns her head to the left and sees not seven creatures, but a single figure. Alone.
Completely covered in bandages. Even her eyes are covered. From her back protrude the remains of wings — broken, twisted, as though something had torn them apart from within. They resemble the skeleton of a dead bird.
Her hair… silver, long, and roughly cut. And her body… small and girlish. Completely motionless. As though she had given up on movement forever.
— What did they… do to you…? — Lyttia whispers, her voice so quiet that it sounds as though she is afraid the answer itself might kill her.
Suddenly, there is a hiss.
Green mist fills the room. It pours from a ventilation grate and spreads with incredible speed.
Gas?!
The monsters begin thrashing about. Their moans turn into howls. Lyttia starts struggling too. Metal grinds against metal. She nearly breaks her wrists.
— I’m so happy… — a voice says. Quiet, shrill, and inhuman, yet somehow girlish.
Lyttia asks no questions. Not anymore. Time is running out.
— Don’t wait for death! Do something! Anything! We’re all going to suffocate in here if you don’t do something! — she screams, her voice hoarse with fear.
The girl raises her head. So slowly that the sound of her vertebrae cracking one after another can be heard.
— Do something! — Lyttia screams. — Magic, anything, I don’t care what! I want to live! I’ve only just been given a second chance at life, and I’m already going to waste it?!
The gas reaches her neck. Every breath burns.