Chapter 37
“Welcome to Aimaxion! Bleed well or bleed to your death.”
The greeting seemingly comes from the vastness of the sky.
I raise my head, my eyes widening in shock. This sky is different.
It stretches endlessly above us, a deep, suffocating crimson that seeps into everything beneath it.
There are no moons, no source of light—just a dull, constant glow, as if the sky itself is bleeding out and has been for a very long time.
It doesn’t flicker. It doesn’t move. It simply exists, exuding a suffocating pressure the longer I look at it.
I force my gaze away.
The ground beneath our feet is no better. What should be solid, feels fractured and unstable. Gone is the mountain from before. Gone are any traces of forest.
Instead, all we see is an endlessness of barren soil.
Veins of black cut through pale surfaces, and in the distance, the terrain shifts into something darker, as if consumed by shadows.
Ruins stretch out in every direction, broken columns and half-collapsed structures rising from the ground like the remains of a destroyed civilization.
Something is off about this place.
No wind brushes against my skin. The air is thick and unmoving. Even our steps feel heavy, as if the gravity itself is pulling us harder toward the ground.
I might not have been able to sense energy for long since I cleansed my meridians, but I can immediately tell the difference. Back in that cave, there were particles of energy everywhere I looked. Here… there’s nothing.
We only walk some fifty steps before sounds reach us, sometimes faint, sometimes louder.
It resembles a far-off clash, something like metal against stone, followed by a dull, hollow reverberation that dies before it fully reaches us. Then silence again, heavier than before.
Moe’s hand tightens around mine.
“What… is this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I wish I could comfort her somehow, but even I am having trouble understanding where we are.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It’s harder to breathe,” she murmurs. She places her hand on her throat as she pointedly inhales and exhales. Her cheeks are flushed, and red veins color the whites of her eyes.
“Yes.” I can feel that the quality of the air is different. My lungs struggle to accommodate with the sudden change.
Another distant sound reaches us, sharper this time, followed by a cry of pain.
Moe flinches.
My jaw tightens as I fix my gaze on the horizon, on the places where the ruins are shielded by the shadows.
Something dangerous is lurking in those shadows. Could it be that we might have been caught by the male from Utopiya and he teleported to this strange place.
I’ve heard of prison realms before. Just like how Utopiya can create a multitude of proto-realms, there are individuals out there who can create larger one, whole worlds onto themselves.
I tighten my grip on her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
This is all my damn fault. I brought her into this mess. And my greatest fear is that I won’t be able to protect her.
“Stop blaming yourself,” she says through ragged breaths. Already, she’s having a hard time speaking. “We’ll…make it.”
Before I can reply, a red beam of light shoots in front of us. As the particles of light dissipate, a semi-transparent being with anthropomorphic features appears before us.
I frown. I’ve seen the likes of him before…
A wraith! They’re not sentient and usually hired to do one’s bidding.
The wraith could be that male’s servant, and this could be where he plans to kill us—and dissect me.
But then the wraith speaks.
“New entrants detected,” he says.
The voice is flat. Not cold, not harsh, just empty. Stripped of anything that might resemble emotion.
Moe grabs onto my arm, molding herself to my body.
The wraith steps forward, each movement measured with unsettling precision, as though he’s following a predetermined script.
“Type: Immortal. Level Unassigned,” he says as he scans me from head to toe. Then his gaze moves to Moe. “Type: Mortal. Level Advanced. Unauthorized.”
Both Moe and I look at each other in shock. It seems that the mythical beast parts helped her become an advanced mortal. But what does he mean by unauthorized?
“Mortals cannot survive in this realm,” he states simply. “You will die in three hours and forty-five minutes.”
“What?” We both burst out at the same time.
“What are you talking about?”
“How do we get out of here?”
We ask question after question, but the wraith ignores our emotional outburst—in his mind we must be primitive beings for being so influenced by our emotions. He waits until we’re both out of breath before continuing.
“Mortals can survive in this realm.”
“You just said they can’t!” I say, annoyed.
He gives it no mind. “Requirement for survival: Register under an authorized species.”
“What’s that?”
“You are an authorized species. You may register the mortal under you or let her to die. However, before death, any other authorized species can claim her.”
“What?” Moe stares at him.
“This is insane,” I mutter under my breath. “Where in the Seven are we?”
“Aimaxion. Only authorized species may exist in this realm. Unauthorized species will die. In three hours and forty—”
“All right, all right. How do I register her under me?”
“If you agree to register the mortal officially under you, she will be considered your property. The following benefits will apply: she will survive, she will be protected as long as she is in this realm and no other being may touch her without your permission. The following disadvantages will apply: her life is bound to yours. Should you die, she will die too.”
Moe and I turn to stare at each other.
“Where th-e h-ell are w-e, Nykander?” she whispers, her words slurred.
“I don’t know but I’m not too optimistic. Whatever this is… It’s dangerous. And he might be weird.” I point to the wraith. “But I think he is right. You’re breathing is becoming much worse. This world… I think there’s something wrong with the gravity. It’s not fit for mortals.”
“But…” She gasps for breath. “F-fine. D-do it.”
“I’m sorry, Moe. I promise I will get us out of here and I won’t take advantage of this ‘property’ situation.”
“I…trust.” She squeezes her eyes shut.
“I wish to register her under me.”
“Very well. Put your right wrists forward.”
Both Moe and I do as he says. A dark tattoo appears on our wrists: it’s a circular symbol with a straight line cutting through it. On each side of the line is a pattern made out of dots.
“This mark is unique to the two of you. Congratulations. The mortal is now your property. You may lend her to others or you may keep her to yourself.”
“Yeah, that won’t happen,” I mutter drily.
“I am only stating the rules. Should anyone touch her without permission, the penalty is ten points and you will have the chance to challenge them to an exclusive duel.”
Moe lets out a long breath. Her face regains its usual color. The whites of her eyes are no longer stained with red.
She presses her hand to her chest, taking a moment to recover.
“Wow,” she whispers.
“You’re good now?”
She nods. “Whatever he did, I can breathe normally now. But that still doesn’t mean I like the situation we’re in,” she grumbles.
“I gave you my promise,” I mumble, equally as annoyed at our current quandary. “We’ll get out of here somehow. And I will not let anything happen to you.”
She raises a brow at me, her eyes narrowed.
“You don’t believe me?”
“You’re not the problem. Everything else is. I don’t know… I don’t like this. There are no moons. The entire atmosphere is toxic to mortals. We’re not in Tartareia anymore are we?”
I shake my head. “I think we must have stumbled into another realm… Aima something…”
“Aimaxion,” the wraith confirms.
“Right, and what is this Aimaxion thing?”
The wraith ignores this question. Instead, in the same dead voice as before, he continues.
“Both beings are now authorized. Orientation will commence.” He spares us a glance. “Follow.”
He turns immediately, without waiting for acknowledgment, and begins walking.
With no other recourse, we follow.
It’s clear this world has some odd rules, and if we want to survive we must glean as much information as possible. So far, the wraith seems willing to give us information, even if it’s under the guise of an orientation whatever that might be.
We follow him through the vastness of this barren land. The ground shifts beneath our feet as we move—cracked marble giving way to darker stone. The landscape is slightly shifting.
The sky above remains unchanged, a muted crimson expanse that offers no sense of time passing.
It makes me wonder where this faintly red light is coming from.
It’s a strange hue, its luminosity a mix between night and dawn in Tartareia.
It allows us to see everything clearly, but it also hides a lot.
The ruins ahead stretch endlessly, broken columns and collapsed structures rising and sinking into the haze.
Was this a civilization before? Are these ruins the result of a war?
Everyone knows there are realms outside of Tartareia, though it is very hard to reach them.
There is a limited number of portals throughout Tartareia that can send you to a designated realm.
Due to that, not everyone can afford to travel between realms. And even if it were more accessible, from what I’ve read, it wouldn’t be advisable.
Most outside realms are hostile to Tartareians.
It doesn’t seem this one is, though.
The wraith’s voice stops me from my wandering thoughts.
“Realm: Aimaxion,” the guide says as he walks. “Classification: extrajudicial combat realm. Primary function: advancement through lethal engagement.”
His tone never alters. Each word lands with the same weight, as if it has been spoken a thousand times before.
Moe and I falter in our steps.
Combat realm? Lethal Engagement?
Our wide eyes meet as she mouths what at me. I shake my head, equally as confused.
The wraith continue.