[I have never feared.]

  [Not the stories about demons my mother would tell me.]

  [Not the unease that arose whenever I asked what was after death.]

  [Not myself.]

  [Though, there's one thing...]

  The sun gleams faintly as it sinks below the horizon.

  Stairs block the sky, aswell as the never-ending buildings ahead.

  Each step up the stairs only takes them lower.

  Each step down only raises them higher.

  [And what would that be?]

  [Living in the past. Do you understand that, great prince?]

  [I am unsure.]

  A man's corpse is dragged along the stairs.

  A girl's corpse is cradled between small arms.

  A mantle of clouds is thrown over the sky, light brown in color.

  Cold wriggles free from the sun's grasp.

  Water flows down from the staircase's end, feeding a massive flower.

  Ilma: [Jump.]

  Ilmagh: [Are you sure?]

  Ilma: [I am.]

  Ilmagh leans forward.

  A hand presses on his back before he plummets down.

  The wind stings his eyes and stretches his skin.

  At this rate, he might reach Asha's bottom.

  Soon enough, petals cradle him from the fall.

  The boy brushes dust off his clothes, waiting for Ilma's arrival.

  Ilma crashes harshly onto the flower's pistil.

  [Ouch...]

  With difficulty, he manages to stand.

  [Shall we stop for a while?]

  [Not at all, I'm fine.]

  The teen drapes the man's corpse over his back, handling it with care.

  [Plus, we can't afford to.]

  [Their souls are waiting.]

  Ilma walks in a stride, not hurried nor drowsy.

  Followed by the prince.

  With the tragic fate of the girl on his hands.

  A wide river cuts through Asha's infrastructure.

  Providing a shallow breath against the maze-like nature of the kingdom.

  Static swimmers flow along its current, clad in heavy miasma.

  Can't anything provide shelter from evil?

  Ilmagh: [What are they covered in?]

  Ilma: [I don't know.]

  [Some kind of magic. It appeared a hundred years ago, I've heard. A thousand years had passed since the Kavrie of Asha was dissolved, then.]

  [The outer parts are completely drenched in it. You should try living in one of those places, great prince.]

  Ilmagh shakes his head, nudging Ilma to advance.

  [I would rather not. Even as it would deepen my understanding of this kingdom.]

  [Of course. Couldn't risk yourself to understand.]

  Ilmagh's back presses against a wall as he side-steps just above the river.

  His hands tremble, holding on to the corpse he carries for dear life.

  [... Wha-what was the Kavrie?]

  He says, diverting his attention.

  [I don't know much. Some kind of... The Zenith's apprentice's apprentices.]

  The teen jumps off the wall, landing on a roof connected to a downward ramp. Ilmagh closes his eyes, replicating the movement.

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  A sigh of relief escapes him as his knees scrape against the roof's tiles.

  [They were the foundation for Asha six thousand years ago. The king exiled them from the kingdom after he took the crown. Now, they say, the descendants are trying to get revenge.]

  [I understand.]

  Ilmagh's arms are numb from carrying dead weight. With difficulty, he stands.

  [I surely would have preferred a carriage. Why take ourselves by foot, Ilma?]

  [You don't understand.]

  Ilma slides down the ramp, watching as the prince follows closely.

  The callouses on his hand scrape against the stone, peeling them off.

  [And, because of that, I want you to.]

  [We aren't just reaching for my destination.]

  [We're going to the bottom of Asha.]

  Confusion, followed by determination, spreads through Ilmagh's face.

  The sky darkens as the ramp reaches its end, shooting both towards a giant stem. Ilma rakes his nails through it, sliding down.

  Ilmagh attempts the same, failing as he shoots downwards.

  Ilma: [Prince!]

  His heart thrums faster and faster, desperation pulling blood towards his head.

  The tendons in his hand threaten to snap, holding the girl's corpse as tightly as possible.

  The nails of the other hand try to grasp the plant, only to be detached of their nails.

  Ilmagh's eyes redden before bleeding red.

  Skin and ligaments on his hand twist before bone bursts out, taking the shape of claws.

  Piercing the stem successfully.

  Snapping his head up, he sees Ilma sliding towards him.

  [Are you alright, great prince?!]

  Ilmagh waits for him to approach before responding, trying to slide down as Ilma does.

  [I... am.]

  The teen's eyes lock on the prince's hands. He shudders slightly.

  [You can use magic?]

  Ilma's face spells bewilderment. The prince stays silent, ignoring the teen's barely hidden wince.

  The sun's light barely reaches below, obstructed by logically challenging structures. Vertical seems to merge with horizontal, all combining perpendicularly to seem both precise and labyrinthic.

  Black flesh oozes out of canals and sticks to walls.

  Not a single person is to be seen except sickly, humanoid creatures decaying from the outside.

  Their gray skin cracks and drops off to reveal minced, pinkish flesh within.

  Or maybe, they are human. Cursed with something far above their understanding.

  Ilmagh: [Are we close? To the bottom?]

  Ilma: [Not at all.]

  Ilma slides further down, partially letting go.

  A slab hits the teen's ankle. Quickly, he pushes away from the stem to step below an archway.

  Putting the man's body down, he grasps Ilmagh's just in time to throw the boy beside him.

  The prince's back hits hard against the ground.

  [You could've told me.]

  Ilmagh retches, rolling on the floor.

  [Wh-what thing...?]

  [You're able to use magic.]

  Ilma clicks his tongue, helping Ilmagh stand. Regret glints in his eyes as he sees the further crippled state of the girl's corpse.

  [Fuck. Nevermind, let's just go.]

  Their descent continues. Each step slowly sheds its purpose, lost within the parts of Asha the sun's light dares not to touch.

  People coexist with their own disease, ignoring its toll on their lives.

  Homes provide the illusion of safety from their own insanity.

  All the while, sandstone cracks to reveal smoother, more durable material.

  Buildings organize themselves.

  Thick black water flows from canals, rather than walls and doors.

  Staircases straighten, leading clearly downward.

  Petrified remains of past humans glint under floating spores glowing dark purple.

  Decaying creatures cursed by miasma wander around, hiding from the living.

  And each step is worse than the last.

  It forces the prince to see further and further into his kingdom.

  His ever-great kingdom.

  Ilmagh's knees give out.

  His burning eyes fix themselves on the ground, unwilling to see any more.

  A humanoid creature brushes against him, coating his immaculate white robes with putrid, melted flesh.

  Ilma glances back over his shoulder, halting his steps. A flicker of uncertainty passes through his features, reflected by the loosening grip on the corpse's ankle.

  Ilma: [What's the matter? Don't like it?]

  Ilmagh: [I... do not know. I thought I had seen all evil Asha had to offer.]

  [Though I have been shown much worse. Not only is the surface far from redeemable, but the inside is far from recoverable.]

  [I cannot possibly stand this.]

  Ilma exhales and steps further from the boy. Ilmagh rushes to catch up, hurting fingers clenched tightly around the corpse he carries.

  A few steps down a street, and the air becomes heavy.

  Miasma burns the sinuses, horripilation spreads on the skin.

  [What is... Happening?]

  Ilmagh blinks several times. His hand reaches for Ilma through his blurred surroundings.

  [You'll get used to it. Just blink a few more times.]

  Anxiously, he blinks.

  Once, twice, thrice... many times in rapid succession.

  His vision slowly clarifies to stone-cutting, mining, and carrying.

  Flesh-made saws protruding from long arms saw through sandstone blocks.

  Long, curved teeth thrash on gems wrapped around stone.

  Intestinal ropes sprouting from open abdomens pull intricate pillars.

  The prince shuts his eyes and drops the body on the ground.

  Ilma: [Hey!]

  Ilmagh: [I give up.]

  Ilma's breath hitches. His face contorts in rage, stepping heavily towards Ilmagh before gripping his wrist.

  Ilma: [Don't say stupid things.]

  Ilmagh: [I...]

  [... I truly mean my words.]

  Silence hangs in the air, almost mingling with the thick, dark dust around.

  [What do you feel, Ilma, when taking all of this in?]

  [What is it that you would manage to do?]

  [What would you fix?]

  [If even... If fixing was even an option?]

  Ilma steps back, almost stumbling.

  [How would I know?]

  [I'm not a prince like you.]

  [All I can do is try to fix whatever you don't.]

  [There's too little I can work with on my plate, great prince.]

  [All because there's too little you're willing to take onto yours.]

  The teen turns around abruptly. With weighty steps, he continues further down into the depths.

  Ilmagh hesitates.

  Not for too long, before he takes the girl's carcass back into his arms.

  His eyes meet its deteriorating state with pity.

  [Is it really better?]

  He says to nobody.

  Spotting Ilma in the distance, he runs towards him.

  Somehow, his eyes shut on their own.

  Eyelids almost rip as they try to open up.

  Winds, as strong as five hurricanes, wash Ilmagh away.

  Though his feet stand firmly on the ground, upside-down.

  Above, or rather, beneath...

  Countless, countless, countless living corpses circle a blinding red glare.

  Their color, the darkest of purples.

  Their form, the most melted and grotesque.

  Their expressions, the most blurred.

  Their feet, dragging.

  Their arms, reaching towards nothing at all.

  Death, which he holds, threatens to rip his arms, pulling itself towards the others.

  Tears flow from his eyes and even from every pore on his skin.

  Darting to the side, his vision sets on Ilma.

  He struggles with the man's corpse, gripping its ankle with both hands.

  The teen's shouts fail to reach Ilmagh's ringing ears.

  An ankle rips.

  Hands let go.

  Widened eyes stare at hands.

  Ilma's feet sprint towards the prince.

  Ilmagh's breaths hitch, hands reaching for the teen.

  Knuckles pound into his skull, rattling his jaw.

  His back hits the ground.

  A knee presses harshly on his stomach.

  Unintelligible shouts buzz into Ilmagh's ears.

  Followed by the same succession.

  Knuckles on face, again, again, and again.

  Slowly, the pain fades everything else away.

  [... Damn you, why?!]

  [Why did you let go, Ilmagh?!]

  [Why?!]

  Ilma cries, burning tears falling onto the prince's face.

  [Because...]

  Vocal cords strain, slowly piecing themselves back.

  [I am the damned son of an usurper, the one who has poisoned this kingdom.]

  [I am the false prince of these lands. These lands, which are nothing but a lie built on the corpses of the truthful.]

  [I am the clueless magician, having in my hands the very thing that has damned my people.]

  And...

  [And...]

  Ilmagh struggles to breathe, feeling his abdomen constrict. Slowly, he reaches for Ilma's arm.

  [Ilma... Take my place.]

  [Be the prince.]

  [As I am not worthy.]

  Two deafening cries, lost across the grotesque landscape.

  Ilma's head slams against the prince's.

  Bash.

  Bash.

  Bash.

  Bash.

  Blood sprays out.

  Pained, hopeless screams echo.

  [S... Stop...]

  Ilmagh's consciousness starts to fade.

  And, through half-closed lids, all he sees is bone.

  Piercing pikes of bone.

  ——

  [Do not fret.]

  [We will cure you.]

  Pain subsides as flesh sews itself together.

  Scarification develops on the face.

  Wood rebinds its pieces.

  Bone shatters all around.

  The figure, burst into a thousand spears made of white, writhes rhythmically.

  [It is nearly our end.]

  Corpses, once alive, hang limp over the ceiling.

  [Do not heed my advice, and take care of your soul from now on...]

  On the ground, at his feet, rests a girl with a gushing wound.

  Issa.

  [Alfred.]

  Dazed, the young man backs off.

  Nothing much can be seen. Something sharp presses against his back.

  Jagged bone, jagged bone, jagged bone all around.

  His heart drops.

  Relinquished, he falls to the ground.

  His eyes see one thing.

  His lens sees another.

  [I cannot possibly follow your words.]

  [This... I will not let it be.]

  [This life, I will not even graze with the tips of my fingers.]

  [Throw me away from chaos.]

  [If that is within your ability.]

  The figure squirms, not long before its presence envelops the boy.

  [We know the future that awaits.]

  [Be aware.]

  [For fright is not the only thing this world will experience.]

  [As the light grazes closer to this world...]

  [As destruction's heart throbs in pain...]

  [As creation moves its threads over reality...]

  [We will not act.]

  [So the world will hope for nothing but one thing.]

  [One who will kneel to my daughter.]

  The unseen wrings Alfred's soul.

  [We tell you now.]

  [That is not you.]

  The threads of reality pull free from their knot.

  A careful existence caresses them.

  Rekindling one with the other.

  Alfred is falling beneath Asha.

  A continent-spanning kingdom, supported by a single pillar standing proud in the middle of endless dunes.

  Now, covered in nothing but sprouting bones of death.

  [Show me my fate, you who has the power to.]

  [Once again.]

  Freezing wind seeps inside his skin.

  Roughened feet plant onto the ground.

  [I am.]

  Stones pierce his back.

  [I am, the one who stands firm against demons.]

  [I am, the one who crushes doubt whenever it threatens to be born.]

  Teeth rip away flesh.

  [And surely...]

  [I have always feared.]

  ...

  An eaten corpse lies.

  Looking ahead.

  Onto the mountains.