Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Seventh Circle: Violence – "Rivers of Wrath"

The shimmering barrier to the Seventh Circle parted, revealing a nightmarish landscape that made the previous circles seem almost tame by comparison. Nycresia, Arriane, and Drave found themselves on the edge of a vast, blood-red river, its surface bubbling with an unholy heat. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of smoke.

"The Phlegethon," Drave murmured, his usual bravado notably subdued. "The river of boiling blood."

Nycresia scanned the hellish panorama before them, her silvery tendrils - manifestations of her power that had appeared in the previous circle - twitching nervously at her fingertips. The river stretched as far as the eye could see, its banks lined with thorny trees and jagged rocks. In the distance, she could make out the silhouettes of centaurs patrolling the shores, bows at the ready.

"This circle is divided into three rings," Drave explained, his voice low and tense. "Violence against others, violence against self, and violence against God, nature, and art."

Arriane snorted, though her usual cheerfulness was strained. The tiny mushrooms that had sprouted from her skin pulsed with an anxious rhythm. "Lovely. Any idea which charming locale we need to visit first?"

Before Drave could respond, an arrow whistled past them, embedding itself in the ground at their feet. A note was attached to the shaft.

Nycresia carefully removed the message and read aloud: "Seekers of the path, your trial awaits. Cross the Phlegethon, traverse the Wood of Suicides, and scale the Plain of Burning Sand. Only then will you find passage to the next circle."

"Well, that sounds delightful," Arriane muttered, eyeing the boiling river with trepidation.

Drave's eyes narrowed as he surveyed their surroundings, his hand unconsciously moving to a hidden scar. "We need to find a way across without touching that blood. Any ideas?"

Nycresia's mind raced, thinking back to the stories and legends she'd heard in Oakwood. "In the myths, there was often a ferryman in the underworld. Perhaps..."

As if summoned by her words, a small boat appeared on the river, guided by a hooded figure. As it drew closer, Nycresia felt a chill run down her spine. The ferryman was nothing more than a skeleton, its empty eye sockets somehow managing to convey an air of ancient weariness.

"Passage requires payment," the skeleton intoned, its jaw clicking with each word. "To cross, you must confront that which haunts you most. Face your deepest regrets, your unresolved guilt. Only by relinquishing these burdens may you pass."

Nycresia felt her breath catch, a cold dread settling in her stomach. She glanced at Drave and Arriane, seeing her own apprehension mirrored in their faces.

Steeling herself, Nycresia stepped forward. "I'll go first," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she approached the boat, the world around her seemed to fade away. Suddenly, she was back in Oakwood, reliving the moment of the sudden tragedy that had claimed everyone except Arriane. The screams echoed in her ears, the heat of the unexpected destruction licking at her skin. She saw herself, paralyzed by shock, as her entire world collapsed around her.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, tears streaming down her face. "I should have done something. Anything. I should have saved them."

As she spoke the words, acknowledging her deepest regret, she felt something lift from her shoulders. The vision faded, and she found herself standing in the boat, feeling oddly lighter yet somehow diminished.

Drave went next, his usual cockiness replaced by a haunted look. As he stepped towards the ferryman, his eyes grew distant. Nycresia couldn't see what he was experiencing, but she watched as his face contorted in anguish, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I never meant to betray you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I was protecting you, but I was just a coward. Can you ever forgive me?"

Whatever burden Drave had been carrying seemed to lift as he joined Nycresia in the boat, though the pain in his eyes spoke of fresh wounds reopened.

Arriane was last, her usual vibrant energy subdued as she approached the ferryman. Her eyes widened in horror at whatever vision assailed her, and she fell to her knees.

"It should have been me," she cried out, her voice breaking. "I was so reckless, so selfish. You died because of me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

As Arriane's sobs subsided, she stumbled into the boat, looking shell-shocked and vulnerable in a way Nycresia had never seen before.

The ferryman, silent and impassive, began to guide the boat across the Phlegethon. The heat from the boiling blood was nearly unbearable, but it paled in comparison to the emotional turmoil they'd just experienced.

As they disembarked on the far shore, Nycresia felt a profound sense of loss and disorientation. The memory she'd relived was still raw, but the edges of it seemed blurred, as if it was slipping away even as she tried to hold onto it.

Their relief at crossing the river was short-lived as they found themselves at the edge of a twisted forest. The trees were gnarled and misshapen, their bark oozing a dark, viscous fluid. As they watched, they realized with horror that the trees were not just moaning, but whispering – haunting regrets and accusations that seemed to target each of them specifically.

"The Wood of Suicides," Drave said grimly, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of despair. "Where those who took their own lives are transformed into trees, denied even the release of death."

As they began to pick their way through the forest, the whispers grew more intense, more personal. Nycresia heard the voice of her old mentor, accusing her of abandoning her responsibilities. Drave flinched as if struck, his eyes darting around wildly as he heard the voices of those he'd failed to protect. Arriane pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sound of loved ones blaming her for her past recklessness.

The path became increasingly treacherous, roots seeming to reach out to trip them while low-hanging branches clawed at their faces and clothes. The psychological assault was relentless, each whisper chipping away at their resolve and sanity.

Suddenly, Arriane stumbled, her hand instinctively reaching out to steady herself against a nearby tree. The moment her fingers touched the bark, the tree let out a blood-curdling shriek. Thorny vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around Arriane's legs and beginning to pull her down.

"Ree!" Nycresia cried out, lunging for her sister. She grabbed Arriane's arm, trying to pull her free, but the vines were too strong.

Drave rushed to help, his knife flashing as he hacked at the thorny tendrils. "It's no use," he grunted, his blade barely making a dent. "We need something else!"

Nycresia's mind raced, fighting against the whispers that told her she would fail, that she always failed when it mattered most. Then it hit her. "Drave, your tome! The ancient secrets – there must be something in there that can help us!"

Drave's eyes widened in understanding. With trembling hands, he pulled out the battered volume and began to scan its pages. His voice, shaky at first, grew stronger as he recited an incantation of protection, the words seeming to push back against the forest's malevolent influence.

To their amazement, the vines began to loosen their grip. The moans of the trees quieted, replaced by an almost reverent silence. As Drave continued to read, a path cleared before them, leading out of the cursed wood.

They emerged onto a vast plain of burning sand, the third ring of the circle. The heat was even more intense here, with flakes of fire raining down from the sky. But these were no ordinary flames – as they touched the travelers, they sparked visions of painful memories and past failures.

Nycresia saw flashes of every moment she'd doubted herself, every time she'd fallen short of her own expectations. Drave winced as the flames brought forth images of battles lost, of comrades he couldn't save. Arriane's eyes filled with tears as she relived moments of utter hopelessness, times when her usual optimism had failed her.

"We need to cross quickly," Drave urged, his voice strained as he fought against the onslaught of painful memories. "These flames... they're not just burning our bodies."

Nycresia nodded, her mind working furiously even as she battled her own inner demons. "Drave, your pendant – you said it was your mother's, that she believed it protected her. Maybe it can shield us now."

Drave hesitated, his hand going to the silver pendant around his neck. For a moment, doubt flickered across his face, brought forth by the tormenting flames. Then, with a determined nod, he pulled it off and held it aloft.

To their amazement, the pendant began to glow with a soft, silvery light. As Drave moved forward, the light spread out around them, creating a dome-like shield that deflected the falling flames and the visions they carried.

They set off across the burning plain, huddled close together beneath the protective barrier of Drave's pendant. The heat was still intense, but they were spared from the direct assault of the fiery rain and its psychological torment.

As they walked, Nycresia noticed Drave's face tightening with concentration, the strain of maintaining the barrier clearly taking its toll.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Drave managed a strained smile, but the doubt in his eyes was clear. "I... I don't know if I can keep this up," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Maybe I'm not strong enough for this after all."

Nycresia felt her heart clench at the vulnerability in Drave's voice. Without hesitation, she placed her hand over his on the pendant. "We're in this together," she said firmly. "Your strength is our strength. We'll make it through this, I promise."

Arriane joined them, adding her hand to theirs. "We've come too far to give up now," she said, her usual cheer tempered by a steely determination. "Whatever Hellbreak throws at us, we face it as one."

As they neared the end of the plain, they could make out a sheer cliff face rising up from the burning sands. At the top, they could just barely see the shimmer of the barrier to the Eighth Circle.

The ascent was grueling, both physically and mentally. The rock was hot to the touch, and with each handhold, they were assaulted by flashes of their greatest fears and insecurities. Nycresia saw herself failing those who depended on her, Drave relived moments of betrayal and loss, and Arriane faced visions of a future without hope or purpose.

Halfway up the cliff, Drave's strength began to fail him. Nycresia looked down to see him struggling, his grip on the rocks weakening as doubt clouded his eyes.

Without hesitation, she reached down, grasping his wrist. "I've got you," she said firmly, meeting his surprised gaze. "We're in this together, remember? Your burdens are our burdens."

A ghost of his usual smirk crossed Drave's face, gratitude shining in his eyes. "My hero," he quipped, though the weight behind the words was unmistakable.

With renewed determination, they pressed on. Each time one of them faltered, the others were there to offer support – a steadying hand, a word of encouragement, a shared look of understanding. They were no longer just allies of convenience, but a team forged in the fires of Hell itself.

Finally, they hauled themselves over the top of the cliff, collapsing in exhaustion before the shimmering barrier to the Eighth Circle. As they caught their breath, they found themselves reflecting on how far they'd come and how much they'd changed.

Nycresia looked at Arriane, her sister's usual cheer now tempered by a hard-won wisdom and resilience. Then at Drave, the enigmatic rogue who had become so much more than just an ally – a true friend and partner in this harrowing journey.

"You know," Nycresia said, breaking the contemplative silence, "when we started this journey, I wasn't sure we'd make it this far. But now... I think we might actually have a chance."

Drave raised an eyebrow, a shadow of his usual smirk returning. "Oh? And what changed your mind, Cress?"

Nycresia smiled, gesturing to the three of them. "Us. We've faced everything Hell has thrown at us – not just the physical trials, but the mental and emotional ones too. And we're still here. Still fighting. Together."

Arriane nodded, her expression serious. "We've all confronted parts of ourselves we'd rather have left buried. But maybe... maybe that's the point. Maybe Hellbreak isn't just about punishment, but about facing our demons and coming out stronger."

Drave's eyes gleamed with an unreadable emotion. "Perhaps," he said softly. "Or perhaps it's about reshaping the very fabric of reality itself."

As they stood up, preparing to face the challenges of the Eighth Circle, Nycresia felt a surge of determination tinged with a new understanding. The Malebolge – the evil ditches – lay ahead, but for the first time since entering Hellbreak, she felt a flicker of hope. Whatever secrets this twisted game still held, whatever truths about themselves they had yet to uncover, they would face it as one.

With a shared look of resolve, they stepped towards the barrier. As it shimmered and began to part, revealing the ominous landscape of the Eighth Circle beyond, Nycresia took a deep breath. Two more circles to go. Two more trials to overcome. And then, perhaps, not just freedom, but a chance to reshape their destiny.

With Arriane on one side, her hand sprouting protective mushrooms, and Drave on the other, his ancient tome pulsing with hidden knowledge, Nycresia stepped forward into the unknown. The silvery tendrils from her fingers reached out, sensing the challenges that lay ahead. They were ready to face whatever came next – be it external horrors, the demons that lurked within their own hearts and minds, or the cosmic game in which they now found themselves unwitting players.

As they crossed the threshold into the Eighth Circle, Nycresia couldn't shake the feeling that their journey through Hellbreak was more than just a test of survival. It was a crucible, forging them into something new, something powerful. Her eyes flickered to the ancient tome in Drave's hands, its pages filled with secrets that could potentially turn the tide of their struggle. And as she glanced at Drave's inscrutable expression, she wondered just what role they were truly meant to play in his grand design to tip the cosmic scales.