Ren opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the ruins of Blackspire. No streets, no buildings, no sky. Only a darkness that was wet and cold—like a breathing swamp. The air tasted of decay and stagnant water.
His body hit the thick mud. Black moss clung to his clothes, slippery and cold as the skin of a dead creature. The dry canopy of skeletal trees loomed above, like the backbone of some decaying giant. The silence of the trees was oppressive.
The air here was stagnant.
No wind.
No insects.
No sound.
A silence that felt profoundly wrong.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Not through his ears—but stabbing directly into his mind, like a cold needle forcing its way through bone.
"You are alone…"
"No one will come for you…"
"End it here…"
Ren closed his eyes, feeling a throbbing pain at the back of his skull. The pain registered as simple interference. Yet his mind remained clear; he refused to let the mental mechanics of this place penetrate deeper. He filtered the noise, seeking the source.
It was not a human voice.
It was the structure of the rift.
Alien information forced its way into his consciousness, injected without consent. Not his memory—but knowledge from this place. A name appeared unbidden:
The Siphon Mire.
A swamp that devours sanity.
It does not kill the body—but dissolves the soul. Turning victims into empty shells that move. Ren analyzed the concept: an energy transfer system focused on consciousness.
Ren began to walk, resisting the instinct to look at the relentless whisper that followed. Each step sank into the mud with a wet pluk, the sound echoing in the unnatural quiet, disgusting and final.
After a few minutes, he saw her.
A small figure curled under a tree, trembling violently. Hair matted, face pale as wet paper stretched taut, nearly tearing.
As Ren approached, the girl screamed.
"Don't! Don't come near! The voice… it's coming again! It tells me to break myself!"
She clutched her head so tightly her nails dug into her skin, drawing blood.
Ren stopped a few meters away. He ignored the moans that spilled from the girl's mind.
"I hear it too," he said.
The girl looked at him, her mud-streaked face, eyes red and watering.
"Y-you… still sane? The voice hasn't… made you… do something to yourself? It's unbearable."
Ren shook his head, cold.
"It's just interference from this rift. A frequency attack on the unstable mind. I'm Ren."
She tried to steady her breath, body still trembling.
"I-I'm Mira," she stammered. "I was dragged in when the Rift appeared near campus. My friends… they started hitting their heads… one by one… They didn't stop until they shattered."
Ren did not react. He processed Mira's information as data on damage.
"That's what happens when you lose," he said flatly. "The whispers don't kill them. They do it themselves. They choose the easiest path."
Mira swallowed hard.
"We have to get out… if we die here… we'll become Tormented Husks."
"Husk," Ren repeated slowly. "A shell without a soul."
He stared into the darkness. His internal logic accepted the terminology. "I know."
Mira froze.
"Y-you… a Diver?"
"Not yet."
Her eyes widened.
"N-not yet? But you… you can survive? How can you be so calm?"
Ren did not answer.
The whispers returned.
Louder.
Closer.
More threatening. A malicious chorus directed at their connection.
"Kill him…"
"He is a liar…"
"He will leave you…"
Mira covered her ears, crying.
"Stop… stop…!"
Ren did not turn. His black eyes scanned the dead forest that seemed to shift, though no wind stirred.
The trunks leaned slowly, forming arches like creatures newly awakened. Their shadows stretched… crawling. Everything here was distorted, predatory.
"This place… is strange," Mira sobbed. "As if… alive."
"Not the place," Ren said softly. "The inhabitants. The Mire is their territory."
He gripped his dull dagger—almost meaningless against the sheer scale of the horror, yet he held it calmly.
"And if it's an entity…" his eyes narrowed,
"it can be killed. It is a solvable problem."
Mira stared, disbelief in her eyes.
"Y-you're insane…?"
"No. Just realistic."
His voice was flat, as if discussing trivial matters.
"If they want to make us Husks, I won't give them the time."
He stared into the darkness ahead, cold and sharp.
As the words left his lips, the ground trembled slightly—not an earthquake, but like the heartbeat of something newly awakened.
Mud rippled.
A stretching sound, like a long breath, rose from the depths of the mire.
Mira pressed against Ren, shivering violently.
"R-Ren… something's moving below…"
"I know."
Ren did not retreat. He stepped forward, facing the mud that began to open, forming a wide circle as if an invisible mouth emerged.
Then he saw what should not exist.
A human hand.
Skinless. Bruised. The fingers were unnaturally long.
Emerging from the mud like a corpse pulled up by force.
Then a face.
Mira screamed hysterically.
"It-i-it's… my friend! Darrin!"
The young man's face emerged intact—eyes vacant, mouth open, body standing but not breathing.
Not alive.
Not dead.
A Husk.
A human body without a soul, inhabited by something else.
Ren observed calmly.
"He is no longer your friend. He is an infected construct."
The Husk moved stiffly, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Each step splashed mud, yet the face remained expressionless—only empty eyes reflecting the mire.
Mira stepped back, crying.
"Darrin… forgive me…"
Ren raised his dagger.
"Don't approach him," he said quietly,
"or you're next. Maintain optimal distance."
The Husk froze.
Its head snapped toward Ren, movements jagged like broken bones.
Its mouth opened—wider… and wider… until the jaw seemed torn apart.
From within came the same whispering voice…
But now clearer.
Sharper.
"Your body…"
"You… EMPTY VESSEL…"
Ren's eyes narrowed.
The Husk moved. Four more shadows emerged from behind the trees like shattered pillars.
The swamp quaked again. The whispers fused into one sentence, scraping their claws across his mind:
"YOU… HAVE RETURNED…"
Mira paled.
"Ren… why are they saying that? What do they mean—"
"Quiet," Ren cut her off sharply.
His eyes never left the approaching Husks.
He raised his dagger.
Left hand ready to brace, breathing steady, pupils narrowing like someone confronting a threat long anticipated.
"I knew they would come for me," Ren whispered.
"But not this fast."
The mud beneath their feet sank, as if the swamp were taking a long breath.
Ren advanced his stance.
"Get ready, Mira."
The Husks charged as one, their hollow screams shattering like glass in a nightmare.
Ren smiled faintly—cold, sharp, fearless.
Because The Siphon Mire finally knew who had entered its domain.
And now, it was no longer whispering. It was watching him, measuring him, probing the very edges of his mind.
A voice—older than the Mire itself, jagged and hollow—spoke directly into his consciousness:
"Ren Vallis… you belong to this place… and it will not let you leave."
The swamp pulsed beneath his feet, hungry, patient, aware.
Somewhere deep inside, Ren felt the first true tremor of fear—not for his body, but for what he might become.