Chapter 12: The Outer Mire
The world folded sideways.
One moment, there was solid ground beneath Jethro’s cheap boots, the smell of rusted metal and smoke, and the constant shift and clang of armor all around him.
The next moment— for any one who believed in common sense —everything defied it. There was no land, no air, nothing tangible or real. Only the existence of a quantum presence and shifting space that twisted violently.
His stomach flipped, his ears popped, and dozens of colors spun in his vision, till one remained.
Black.
The color of darkness.
Alongside a chilling silence, it painted the place. Jethro knew undeniably that he was no longer in Nebulon, neither was he back on earth. This place— with its dim light, pungent smell, and crooked structures —far beyond the realm of the living.
The darkness itself was weak, like the sun was struggling behind a thick violet fog. The ground stretched out in cracked stone and black soil, covered with moss and ash. Broken ruins jutted from the swampy terrain like fingers clawing up from the earth.
The structures he had seen before became clearer: They were crooked pillars, shattered obelisks and melted statues with hollow eyes.
It was as if there had once been a civilization in this place, and a darkness had consumed it.
A ’Darcness.’