Error 66b
James Stone
After an unknown amount of time, my eyes opened to a building in rubble, burnt to a crisp. That sensation on my skin was gone completely. Smoke was still simmering from the charred beams and joists. It rose to an atmospheric void of nothingness, devoid of anything of mass, and pitch black. I had no idea where I was anymore. No idea where that portal had taken me. All that stood before me was a driveway leading to a burnt house.
I found my way to the center of the burned down house after navigating through some rubble. The walls had long since crumbled, and in their place stood thick beams of wood, blackened and charred from where flames had licked at them. The ruins were still smoking, and I could see the faintest glow of embers, indicating the fire must've been somewhat recent. Black dust hung in the air and invaded my lungs as I stood in the former living room of this house. Nothing had escaped the fire. Glass littered the floor where the windows had broken, and the metal base of the grand chandelier lay blackened and twisted on the ground.
I bent down and touched the chars of what had been and watched my skin turn charcoal gray. Being this close to the wood, I got a good whiff, and the smoke and ash filled my mouth, nostrils, and lungs. I quickly stood up and coughed it away.
Hold on. As my eyes were now away from the floor, I noticed someone was now in the living room with me; a man hiding under a ski mask and wearing thick black clothes.
I went toward him. When only a meter away, I asked the unfamiliar person, "Where are we?"
His voice had a hint of mockery. "Wrath's Judgment."
A strange sensation came over me, starting with my right hand. Something was now in my grip, as if materializing from nothing. My fingers wrapped around a smooth handle, and I eased the object into view. It was a blade, longer and thicker than a knife, but shorter than a sword. A sharp eye with a thin amber iris like a viper stared back at me from the center of the hilt. Mostly black in color, the top of the hilt and hand guard pulsed with blood-red veins that grew up part of the black symbolled blade and down the handle.
My entire arm was shaking. Something was alive within this cursed steel, as if the ancient blade had been forged from flesh, blood, and bone. There was a taste in my mouth, like iron, and my inner rage was on the rise.
My vision was so intensely focused on the blade, I missed what happened around me. The house was back intact. And the man in the ski mask was hard at work in the center of the living room. He set down a propane tank among many more, then turned them on.
My eyebrow rose. What was he doing?
He walked past me into the kitchen and turned on the gas-lit flame of the stovetop. That's when the realization hit me. He was going to blow up the whole house!
I heard some creaking on the second floor above me, which startled the arsonist. Soon followed the clatter of steps as someone started down the staircase at one side of the living room. It stopped. No more footsteps.
"Is anyone there?" The woman's voice pumped ice in my blood.
"That voice," I said out loud. I recognized it clear from my past. It belonged to my mother. But that was impossible. I didn't recognize the house. She couldn't be here. She was already dead.
I then remembered she and my grandparents moved while I was still being held by the Order of Aegis. And I never got a chance to see the new house.
All my rationale ran out the door, and my eyes bolted to the stairs. There she was, natural red hair to match mine. Wearing pajamas, her green eyes staring back at me with fear.
No! Not again! I can't have this happen again!
I ran over to the stove to stop the flame. Only the man was now in my way. All the while, my ire was a raging fire. I let it all out, every bit of my wrath. Consumed by my own hate, I blacked out.
I came to without any regard as to how long I was out. Still shaking, I noticed blood all over my arm and hand. The blade was dripping in it.
More was on the carpet. So much was slathered over it, I could feel my stomach turn. I followed the trail with my eyes and instantly regretted it.
Tears overwhelmed my eyes. I fell to the floor on my knees, losing the blade. All the rage in my body was overtaken by grief and pain. The image before me will forever be burnt into my mind. I will never forget the sight of the cold corpses of my grandparents and mother, along with the arsonist, piled over each other. Blood still leaked from the many stab wounds, and there were so many! My gaze fell to the blade, and I knew. I knew that moment what the cause was. It was me.
I lost the will to stay up and fell face first into the blood. I'm a monster! How could I?
Everything started to fade into nothingness. The room, the blood, the blade, the bodies, and even my emotions started to fade to nothing. Soon I was just lying there, floating in a void.
I stood up and met face-to-face with the arsonist from before. It had begun to dawn on me that none of this was real. It didn't feel like a dream, but I knew it wasn't reality. In the moment it hurt, but I forced myself to understand what I saw was never my mother; rather, it was an illusion of some kind - a trick, a shadow on the wall.
"It's you again," I said.
The arsonist spoke. "Wrath judges you unworthy. Subjected to your own rage, you were consumed by it. You destroyed everything in sight. There was no control over your passion. True wrath consumes everything silently, like a deep sea."
I had no time to argue. Before I knew what was happening, I was sent away. No longer could I see anything. Had I really failed the last trial?