Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Fifth Circle: Anger - "Ripples in the Styx"

The transition from the glittering wealth of the Fourth Circle to the Fifth was as abrupt as it was jarring. One moment Nycresia, Arriane, and Drave were standing on solid ground, the next they were plunged into a vast, murky swamp. The air was thick with choking fumes, and the water bubbled ominously around them.

"The River Styx," Drave coughed, struggling to keep his head above the foul liquid. His eyes darted around, taking in every detail with barely concealed fascination. "Home to the wrathful and the sullen. Charming place, isn't it?"

All around them, they could see souls fighting, tearing at each other with savage fury. Beneath the surface, barely visible, other souls lay in the mud, gurgling in misery. The very air seemed to pulse with anger, each breath filling their lungs with rage.

Arriane's nose wrinkled in disgust, but her voice remained upbeat, though strained. "Well, this is certainly a change of scenery. At least we're getting a workout!"

They began to swim, fighting against the current and the grasping hands of the damned. The water seemed to grow thicker with each stroke, as if actively resisting their progress. Nycresia could feel the anger of the place seeping into her, making her movements more aggressive, her thoughts darker. She noticed red veins creeping across her skin, pulsing in time with her growing irritation.

"We need to be careful," she warned, her voice strained. "This place... it's affecting us. Try to stay calm."

Drave chuckled, though there was an edge to his laughter. "Calm? In the circle of Anger? My dear Cress, you do ask for the impossible." As he spoke, his eyes flashed with an unnatural fire, reflecting the infernal rage surrounding them.

As they struggled through the murky waters, Nycresia noticed changes in her companions. Arriane's usual cheerfulness was replaced by a scowl, her movements becoming more erratic. Her sister's skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and her eyes darted about suspiciously, as if expecting betrayal at any moment.

Drave's eyes had taken on a dangerous glint, his smirk twisting into something more sinister. His hand kept straying to his chest, clutching at a silver pendant hidden beneath his shirt. Each time he touched it, a look of both pain and calculation crossed his face.

Suddenly, a massive form rose from the depths before them. A hulking figure, twisted with rage, its eyes blazing with infernal fire. Its body seemed to be made of the very essence of wrath, constantly shifting and roiling with barely contained fury.

"Intruders," it growled, its voice like grinding stones. "You do not belong here. Your anger is too... controlled."

Nycresia felt a chill run down her spine, but forced herself to stay calm. "We seek only to pass through," she said, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. As she spoke, she saw flashes of memories - moments of anger from her past, amplified and distorted by the Circle's influence.

The creature laughed, a horrifying sound that seemed to reverberate through their very souls. "Pass through? There is no passing through anger. There is only surrender to its embrace."

With shocking speed, it lashed out, grabbing Arriane and dragging her beneath the surface.

"Ree!" Nycresia screamed, diving after her sister without hesitation. As she plunged into the depths, she felt the anger of the Styx closing in around her, threatening to consume her entirely.

The world beneath the Styx was a nightmare of thrashing limbs and bubbling rage. Nycresia could barely see, the murk stinging her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Arriane struggling against the monster's grip and swam towards them with all her might. In the murky depths, she saw visions of her darkest moments, times when anger had nearly overtaken her. The images taunted her, urging her to give in to the rage.

Just as she reached them, a hand grabbed her ankle. She turned to see Drave, his eyes wide with an emotion she couldn't quite place - fear, desperation, or perhaps something darker. He gestured urgently towards the surface, then made a motion as if he was singing or humming.

Understanding dawned. Fighting against the crushing pressure, Nycresia opened her mouth and began to hum a melody she didn't even know she knew. As she did, she felt a surge of power unlike anything she had experienced before. It was as if she was channeling not just her voice, but the very essence of her being.

No audible sound emerged, but the effect was immediate and profound. The water around them began to calm, the rage-filled souls retreating from the peaceful vibrations. The monster's grip on Arriane loosened, allowing Drave to pull her free. As the music's influence spread, Nycresia saw the anger in the souls around them transform - not disappearing, but changing into something more complex. Sorrow, regret, and even flickers of hope danced across their tortured faces.

Drave watched this display with keen interest, his hand still clutching the pendant. His expression was a mixture of awe and calculation, as if he was mentally filing away this information for future use.

Together, they swam for the surface, breaking through with gasping breaths. The creature surfaced near them, but its demeanor had changed. The fire in its eyes had dimmed, replaced by something almost like longing.

"Your music," it rumbled. "It... soothes. I had forgotten such peace was possible." There was a note of wonder in its voice, as if it was experiencing clarity for the first time in eons.

Nycresia nodded, still catching her breath. "Anger isn't the only way. There's always another path." As she spoke, she felt the weight of her own words, realizing how often she had forgotten this truth in her own life.

The creature considered this for a long moment, then slowly sank beneath the waves. As it disappeared, the waters of the Styx began to part, revealing a path to the far shore. But the parting of the waters revealed something else - the tortured faces of the sullen, trapped in the mud below, their eyes filled with a silent, seething rage that was somehow more terrifying than the violence above.

But their trials were far from over. As they swam towards the newly revealed path, other souls began to take notice. The wrathful, enraged by the peace that had momentarily touched them, surged towards the trio with renewed fury. Their faces were contorted masks of hate, each one a mirror of the darkness that lurked in the hearts of the living.

"Swim!" Drave shouted, his usual composure cracking. "Swim like your lives depend on it – because they do!" There was a wild look in his eyes, a mixture of fear and exhilaration that hinted at a complex relationship with danger.

They pushed through the water with desperate strokes, the angry souls closing in behind them. Nycresia could feel hands grasping at her legs, trying to drag her back into the depths of the Styx. Each touch sent jolts of rage through her body, tempting her to turn and fight.

Arriane, always quick-thinking even in the midst of danger, had an idea. "Cress! The flute! Play it again!" Her voice was hoarse, the trauma of her near-drowning evident in every word.

Nycresia nodded, bringing the instrument to her lips once more. This time, a haunting melody emerged, barely audible over the splashing and snarling of their pursuers. But as the notes spread across the water, a change came over the wrathful souls.

Their movements slowed, the fury in their eyes dimming. Some began to weep, as if remembering long-forgotten sorrows. Others simply stopped, floating silently in the murky water, lost in reflection. The music seemed to cut through the haze of anger, forcing each soul to confront the root of their rage.

Taking advantage of the lull, the trio redoubled their efforts, finally reaching the shore. As they dragged themselves onto dry land, Arriane turned to Nycresia with a bright smile, though her eyes were haunted by their recent ordeal.

"Thanks for the save back there, sis. You really came through for us!" Despite her words, there was a new wariness in Arriane's gaze, as if the trust between them had been subtly shaken by their experience in the Styx.

Nycresia shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "We're in this together. No thanks necessary between family." Even as she spoke, she felt a twinge of doubt. The anger they had experienced had brought long-buried resentments to the surface, and she wondered if things could ever truly be the same between them.

Drave, wringing out his soaked shirt, gave Nycresia an appraising look. A familiar glint of mischief danced in his eyes, though there was something else there too – a newfound respect, perhaps, mixed with a hint of fear. "You continue to surprise me, Cress. Who knew a simple tune could calm the fires of Hell itself?"

"Maybe you should pay more attention," Nycresia replied, arching an eyebrow. She noticed that Drave's hand once again strayed to his chest, clutching at the hidden object beneath his shirt. Whatever it was, it seemed to pulse with an inner light, visible even through the fabric.

As they caught their breath, Nycresia's curiosity got the better of her. "Drave," she said, her voice low, "what is that you're holding? It seems... important."

Drave's eyes widened for a moment before he composed himself. "Just a trinket," he said lightly, though something in his tone suggested there was more to it. "A gift from my mother. Let's leave it at that, shall we?" His attempt at nonchalance was betrayed by the tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers tightened protectively around the silver pendant.

Nycresia couldn't shake the feeling that Drave was constantly assessing them, weighing their abilities against some unknown standard. His role as their guide seemed to be at odds with deeper, more personal motivations that he kept carefully hidden.

Before Nycresia could press him further, the ground beneath them began to tremble. The shore of the Styx started to crumble away, forcing them to scramble further inland. As they moved, Nycresia noticed angry red marks on her skin where the waters of the Styx had touched her. They pulsed with residual rage, a constant reminder of the anger that now simmered just below the surface of her thoughts.

"I don't think this circle is quite done with us yet," Arriane said, her usual cheer strained but present. There was a new edge to her voice, a hardness that hadn't been there before their ordeal in the river.

She was right. As they moved away from the river, the landscape changed. The air grew hotter, filled with the sounds of shouting and clashing weapons. Before them stretched a vast battlefield, souls locked in eternal combat, their faces twisted with rage and hatred.

"The wrathful above, the sullen below," Drave muttered, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene before them. "Clever design, really. A place for every shade of anger." There was a hint of admiration in his voice that sent a chill down Nycresia's spine.

Nycresia gripped her flute tightly, feeling its power thrumming through her fingers. "We need to find a way across. There must be a checkpoint on the other side." Even as she spoke, she felt a surge of frustration. How many more trials would they have to endure?

As they picked their way across the battlefield, dodging stray blows and leaping over fallen combatants, Nycresia couldn't help but feel the anger of the place seeping into her again. Every near miss, every obstacle, fueled a growing rage within her. The red marks on her skin seemed to spread, pulsing in time with her quickening heartbeat.

She glanced at her companions and saw the same struggle reflected in their faces. Arriane's jaw was clenched tight, her usual smile replaced by a grimace. Her movements were sharp and aggressive, a far cry from her usual grace. Drave's eyes darted about wildly, his hands twitching as if longing to join the fray. The hidden object beneath his shirt glowed brighter, seeming to feed off the surrounding chaos.

"We need to stay focused," Nycresia said, her voice strained. "Remember who we are, why we're here." Even as she spoke, she struggled to recall their purpose, the anger of the circle clouding her thoughts.

Drave laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "And who are we, exactly? Pawns in a game we don't understand, risking our lives for a prize we can't even name?" There was a dangerous edge to his words, a hint of long-suppressed resentment bubbling to the surface.

"We're survivors," Arriane shot back, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. "And we're going to make it through this, together." Despite her words, she kept a wary distance from both Nycresia and Drave, as if no longer certain of who she could trust.

Their bickering was cut short as a group of combatants noticed them, turning from their eternal battle to focus on the intruders. With wordless cries of rage, they charged towards the trio. Their faces were mirrors of the group's inner turmoil, each reflecting a different aspect of anger - hot fury, cold hatred, festering resentment.

Nycresia raised her flute, ready to play, but Drave stopped her. "Not yet," he said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "We need to conserve your strength. Sometimes, the only way out is through." As he spoke, the hidden object pulsed brightly, and for a moment, Nycresia thought she saw a flicker of red in Drave's eyes.

With that, he launched himself at the oncoming attackers, his movements a blur of calculated violence. Arriane joined him, her usual grace transformed into lethal efficiency. Nycresia hesitated for a moment, then jumped into the fray. She fought with a fury she didn't know she possessed, each blow fueled by the anger of the circle and her own pent-up frustrations.

As they fought, Nycresia found herself assailed not just by physical attacks, but by visions of her past. Every angry word she'd ever spoken, every moment of fury she'd experienced, played out before her eyes. She saw herself arguing with Arriane, lashing out at Drave, even moments of rage directed at her parents. Each memory stoked the fire within her, making her strikes more vicious, her thoughts more clouded.

For what felt like hours, they battled their way across the field. Each victory was short-lived, as new opponents constantly rose to replace the fallen. Nycresia could feel herself tiring, her movements becoming sloppy, driven more by rage than skill. She noticed Arriane and Drave were similarly affected, their faces contorted with a mixture of exhaustion and uncontrolled anger.

Just when it seemed they would be overwhelmed, Nycresia spotted something in the distance – a glowing sigil, hovering above the chaos of the battlefield. It pulsed with an otherworldly light, seeming to promise escape from the endless cycle of violence.

"There!" she shouted, pointing. "The checkpoint!"

With renewed determination, they fought their way towards the sigil. As they neared it, the attacks became more frenzied, as if the circle itself was trying to prevent their escape. The very air seemed to thicken with rage, making each step a monumental effort.

Nycresia felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Drave, his face streaked with sweat and grime. There was a wild look in his eyes, a mixture of desperation and something darker. "Your flute," he gasped. "Use it now. It's our only chance." As he spoke, the hidden object beneath his shirt flared brightly, its light visible even through the chaos of battle.

Nodding, Nycresia brought the instrument to her lips. The melody that emerged was unlike anything she had played before – a complex interweaving of sorrow and hope, rage and peace. It spread across the battlefield like a wave, causing the combatants to pause in their eternal struggle.

As she played, Nycresia felt the music flowing through her, not just from her lips but from her very soul. The red marks on her skin began to fade, and she saw similar changes in her companions. The wild look in Drave's eyes softened, and Arriane's tense posture relaxed slightly.

Taking advantage of the momentary calm, the trio made a final sprint for the checkpoint. As Nycresia's hand touched the glowing sigil, she felt the familiar surge of energy, tinged this time with a residual anger that made her skin prickle.

The world shimmered around them, the sounds of battle fading away. As the Fifth Circle dissolved, Nycresia felt the anger that had gripped her start to recede, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and lingering sense of shame at the depths of rage she had experienced.

They found themselves in a small, quiet space – a moment of respite before the challenges of the Sixth Circle. The silence was almost deafening after the chaos of the battlefield, broken only by their ragged breathing.

Arriane slumped to the ground, her usual energy depleted. "Well," she said with a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes, "that was certainly an experience."