Belial's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, each breath scraping his throat raw. The venom's fire had finally guttered out, its searing grip loosening as if it had grown bored of tormenting him. His body felt lighter...not healed, not whole, but free of that insidious burn.
His eyes fluttered.
The rough earth of the burrow was gone. The forest, the beast, the blood—all had vanished.
In their place stretched an endless expanse, a realm awash in hues that defied reality.
Above him, ethereal clouds churned and wept, deep violet clouds swirling through the sky, their dim, shimmering lights pulsing with an enigmatic energy that flickered between the nebulae. Below, the surface gleamed like polished glass, mirroring shifting patterns of light that drifted and danced through the air.
Beneath his feet, the ground gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the storm of colors overhead. Yet, when he looked closer, the reflection held no depth, no certainty—only an unsettling emptiness.
A shiver crawled down his spine.
His weapon was gone.
His tunic—torn, bloodstained—gone.
He stood bare, exposed, his skin prickling in the cool, weightless air.
The astral plane.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He'd been here before... in that fleeting near-death experience...but never like this.
His eyes narrowed as they caught a shape ahead. A familiar shadow perched atop nothing, its form indistinct yet heavy with presence. It sat cross-legged, cloaked in darkness that seemed to drink in the faint light of the realm. Belial's boots—or lack thereof—made no sound as he approached, the reflective floor cool against his bare soles.
"You," the figure rasped, its voice cutting through the stillness with an unwelcoming edge.
It lacked the Autophonic echo he remembered from past encounters, sounding flatter, more human—and somehow more menacing for it. "How did you get here?"
Belial smirked, though his chest still ached from the ordeal above. "What? I'm not welcomed in my own home?"
The shadow tilted its head, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a ripple through the air. "You are not dead, correct?"
"No," Belial said, crossing his arms. "Not yet, I'm not...i think"
"Then leave."
He snorted, defiance flaring in his gut. "Why should I?"
The figure fell silent, its stillness unnerving. Belial's gaze drifted upward, drawn by a glint in the swirling clouds. Massive chains, rusted links hung suspended in the heavens, their ends lost in the chromatic haze. Locks dangled from them, some intact, others cracked. One link, near the center, was shattered, its jagged edges glinting faintly. A frown creased his brow.
"Was that always there?" he asked, nodding toward the broken chain.
"Yes," the shadow replied, its tone dry, almost mocking. "They always were. You just never paid much attention."
Belial's lips twitched. Fair point. He had never had the chance to look at the sky...to busy, bleeding, and surviving. He took a step, then another, testing the limits of this place. The ground stretched on endlessly, a mirror reflecting his every move, the clouds shifting lazily above. No walls, no horizon—just infinite space, vast and hollow. It should've felt freeing. Instead, it pressed against him, a subtle feeling that made his skin crawl.
He turned back to the shadow, irritation bubbling up. "So, what's the deal here? You just sit around brooding all day?"
No answer.
"What's with the chains? Some kind of cosmic decoration?"
Silence.
He grinned, leaning forward. "You ever get tired of being so damn mysterious? Or is that just your face's default setting now?"
The shadow didn't stir, didn't flinch. Belial straightened, rolling his eyes. "You're worse than Raven when he's in a mood. At least he grunts on a special occasion."
Still nothing. The figure's silence was a wall, unyielding and cold. Belial's patience frayed, but a spark of mischief lit in his chest. If it wouldn't talk, he'd make it regret that choice.
"You're just as annoying as that Talent of yours," the shadow said suddenly, its voice sharp enough to cut through his thoughts."Always asking too many questions."
Belial froze, ears perking at the word.
Talent? His minds thoughts churned, latching onto the only thing it could mean.
"Oracle?" he blurted, the name slipping out before he could stop it. "Wait—Oracle can come here?"
"Unwelcomely," the shadow replied, a hint of disdain threading through its tone.
His pulse quickened.
Oracle.
His Talent, the strange, intuitive gift that let him glimpse possibilities, Search about the past and even saved his life a couple of times. He hadn't felt it since the moment he entered the Act.
Could it reach him here? He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "Oracle!"
The shout echoed faintly, swallowed by the vastness. No response came—no flicker of intuition, no whisper of insight. Just the endless hum of the astral plane, mocking his effort.
"It cannot hear you," the shadow said, its voice flat. "Whatever you did up there in the waking world also blocked your 'Gate.'"
Belial's brow furrowed. "Gate? What gate?"
The shadow raised a hand—long, blank fingers unfurling and waved it lazily. The air shimmered, and a structure materialized before him. A double-door gate, black as midnight, rose to about his height. Its surface gleamed like iron, but something about it felt off—too smooth, too perfect, as if it were a facsimile of metal rather than the real thing. Chains draped across it, locked tight with a padlock that looked ancient yet untouched by rust. It stood alone in the endless expanse, a solitary sentinel in the void.
Belial's breath caught. He circled it, feet silent on the reflective floor, studying every angle. The gate didn't budge when he pressed a hand against it, didn't creak when he shoved with his shoulder. Solid. unmoving. He stepped back, hands on his hips, and shot the shadow a look. "So, what does it do?"
The figure tilted its head again, a slow, deliberate motion that made the hairs on Belial's neck stand on end. "...You mean you don't know?"
He bristled. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"
The shadow's silence stretched, heavy and deliberate, as if savoring his ignorance. Belial's jaw tightened. He wasn't in the mood for games—not after the beast, the venom, the burrow. He'd clawed his way here, wherever here was, and he deserved answers. "Spit it out," he snapped. "What's this gate? Why's it here?"
"That," the shadow said at last, its voice low and resonant, "Is the source of your ability. Your Hax"
Belial blinked, the words sinking in like stones into still water. "My Hax?" He glanced back at the gate, its dark surface reflecting the swirling clouds above. Oracle...his Talent...came from this? A locked door in the middle of nowhere? He reached out again, fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface. It didn't hum, didn't pulse—nothing. Just cold, inert… whatever-it-was.
"How?" he demanded, turning back to the shadow. "How does it work? Why's it locked?"
"You ask questions you're not ready to understand," the shadow said, its tone edged with something darker—warning, maybe, or amusement. "It's locked because you locked it."
"Me?" Belial's voice rose, incredulous. "I didn't even know this thing existed until five seconds ago!"
"Maybe not," the shadow countered. "But you did something—up there." It gestured vaguely upward, toward the unseen waking world. "Something that Blocked the connection. The Gate is yours, Your Hax comes from it—or it did, until you blocked it."
Belial's fists clenched. "Stop talking in riddles. If this is where Oracle comes from, how do I open it? How do I get it back?"
The shadow leaned forward slightly, its form sharpening for the first time. Eyes—two pinpricks of pale light—gleamed within the darkness of its face. "You don't," it said simply. "Not yet. The Gate opens when you're ready—or when it decides you are."
"That's Vague as hell, but Belial wasn't buying it. He stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the glassy floor, and jabbed a finger at the shadow. "That's bullshit. I need it now. There's a damn monster up there trying to eat me, and you're telling me I'm stuck without my Hax because of some cryptic door?"
The shadow's eyes flickered—a faint amusement in their glow. "You've survived this long without it. Perhaps you don't need it as much as you think."
Belial barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. "Oh, I need it. Trust me. I'm not in the mood to die in a forest."
"Then prove it," the shadow said, its voice a low hiss. "You can open the gate. It's not a tool you wield—it's a part of you. And right now, you're not whole."
He stared at the figure, frustration boiling in his chest. "Whole? What does that even mean? I'm standing right here!"
"Are you?" The shadow's head tilted, its gaze piercing. "Look at yourself. Bleeding. Broken. Lost. You even stumbled here by accident, not by will. You just reek of weakness."
Belial's breath hitched.
Weakness?
After everything—The insanity, the monsters he fought, the sheer stubborn grit that kept him alive—he wasn't weak.
He was a fighter, a survivor.
Yet the shadow's words gnawed at him, burrowing into the cracks of his doubt. He glanced down at his reflection in the floor...scarred, bruised, naked and saw not a warrior, but a naive demon teetering on the edge.
"How do I get whole, then?" he asked, quieter now, the fight leaching from his tone.
The shadow reclined, its form dissolving into the swirling haze. "That is not mine to give. The Gate watches. The sky chains remember. Only when you grasp what shattered them—and why—will the answer reveal itself."
Belial glared at the gate, then up at the shattered chain. Understand? He barely understood where the hell he was, let alone some metaphysical puzzle. But the shadow's words lingered, heavy and unshakable. This wasn't just about survival—it was about something bigger, something he couldn't yet grasp.
"Fine," he muttered, squaring his shoulders. "I'll figure it out. And when I do, I'm coming back for you—and that damn door."
The shadow's eyes glinted. "I'll be waiting."