Jason's heart hammered against his ribs, every beat reminding him how raw his body felt after being yanked around like a ragdoll. His muscles screamed at him to stop moving, but he forced himself upright anyway.
That's when he heard it—soft laughter.
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mocking. Just… amused. And for some reason, that made it ten times worse.
Great. I'm in a void with a lunatic who thinks this is funny.
"Tap. Tap."
Jason's eyes snapped toward the sound—polished shoes striking the white floor. The man he'd glimpsed earlier, tall and annoyingly calm, was now sitting comfortably in a chair. A chair that hadn't been there a second ago.
Jason's glare sharpened. Where the hell did that come from?
The man raised his hands like a comedian caught heckling the crowd. "Sorry, sorry—but you should've seen your face. Absolutely priceless."
Jason blinked once, and the guy was holding a mirror out to him.
Jason froze. Mirror? Where the hell—
This place was nothing but endless white, with one blood-red crystal floating above like some ominous chandelier. No walls. No doors. And yet… now there was a chair. Now there was a mirror. What next, a damn coffee table?
Jason wasn't stupid. Reckless sometimes, sure. But suicidal? Not a chance. If this guy could just pull reality out of his ass, Jason wasn't about to pretend he had the upper hand.
Still, his pride wouldn't let him sit there silently.
"…Who are you?" Jason asked, voice low but steady.
The man leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other with that same irritating calm. "Ah. Straight to the point. Good. My name is Amon." His smile widened like they were old friends. "And you are…?"
Jason's mind screamed: That's it? No explanation? No 'welcome to the void,' no 'sorry for the kidnapping'? Just a name?
"…Jason."
"A fine name," Amon repeated, tasting the syllables like wine. "Simple. Strong. Now tell me…" His eyes narrowed with mock curiosity. "How exactly did you stumble into my humble house?"
Jason stiffened. House? This place is emptier than my fridge back home.
He opened his mouth to fire back, but Amon spoke first. "And more importantly—what can I do for you?"
Jason nearly choked. What I should ask is what the hell are YOU doing, dragging me into your freakshow void!
But then he caught Amon's eyes. Sharp. Amused. Waiting. Like he already knew exactly what Jason was about to say.
Jason's jaw locked. He hated this. Hated being at a disadvantage. Hated how this guy swatted away questions like a swordsman batting arrows.
Instead, he forced out through gritted teeth: "You tell me."
Amon chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the emptiness. "Mm. Sharp. Careful with that, though—curiosity cuts both ways."
He tilted his head lazily, as if this was nothing more than a boring sales pitch.
"Now, about this place. Getting here isn't random. There are… criteria. You either come holding a key, an amulet, a ring—something like that. And," his smile stretched wider, "…you arrive weighed down by something heavier. Strong emotions. Anger. Emptiness. Love. Hate. Loathing. Doesn't matter which, as long as it's strong."
The key Jason had found earlier trembled, lifting from his pocket, floating toward Amon's gaze.
"Ahh. Interesting." Amon tapped his chin. "This one's special. It only responds to rage and hatred. But you… what are you, sixteen? Seventeen? What could a kid your age have seen to hold that much hate? Don't tell me you come from one of those… nice, peaceful little worlds."
Jason's jaw tightened. "What does it do, exactly?" His voice came out strained, irritation leaking through despite his effort to stay calm.
Amon spread his arms wide, grin flashing. "Simple. That key grants you access… to me. And me?" His tone dipped into mock drama before sliding back into a smirk.
"I'm your friendly neighborhood eldritch entity. Call it customer service with a cosmic twist."
Jason blinked. That doesn't explain a damn thing.
Amon leaned forward, plucking the key from the air and turning it between his fingers like a toy.
"Hm. Is this broken somehow? How did a little brat end up with this?" He shook the key with a smirk, like it was nothing more than a pawn shop trinket.
Something inside Jason snapped. His voice rose, raw and edged.
"What the hell do you know about me? You don't get to stand there and judge like you've figured me out! You think this is funny? Fine. But you're gonna tell me what this thing does. Now. Either explain it or get me the hell out of here, because I'm not wasting another second on your pointless games!"
The words tore out louder than he intended, leaving his chest tight and his breath ragged. He shut his eyes, forcing himself to steady, ashamed that his control slipped.
Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.
Jason opened his eyes to see Amon lowering himself beside him, the key still twirling lazily in his hand. He sat with all the ease of someone dropping into their favorite chair, then angled his head toward Jason.
"So." His tone softened, but the smile stayed, thin and knowing. "Tell me. What happened to you?"
He held Jason's gaze, almost gentle, though the curl of his mouth betrayed the satisfaction of a trap well laid.
"I might even be able to help."
Jason's stomach turned. He knew exactly what this was—cheap manipulation, a salesman's trick dressed in sympathy. But after days of carrying nothing but silence, loss, and the endless weight in his chest, the words broke loose before he could stop them.
And he told him.