Amidst the deafening echoes of grunts, thuds, and crashing sounds, we were imprisoned in an abyss—a well deep enough to swallow all hope. The walls felt like a fortress of despair, encasing a peculiar ensemble of mythical creatures: a Lamia, Kelpie, Hydra, and myself, the Phoenix. The weight of the silence, once oppressive, was now replaced by chaotic cacophony—a comfort, albeit ironic. Yet, the idea of escape felt distant, almost a myth in itself.

Time no longer moved in a linear fashion; minutes dissolved into hours, and the moonlight above seemed to mock us, flickering with false promises of freedom. None of us could remember how or why we had ended up in this cryptic purgatory.

Suddenly, the Kelpie's voice pierced through the battle raging between the Lamia and the Hydra, its melodic notes impossibly beautiful yet deadly, cutting through the madness. Their tone wasn’t soothing, but demanding attention.

Then, I saw it—a child, crouched at the far end of the well, trembling, barely a silhouette against the harsh moonlight. His wide eyes flickered with fear as if realizing the depth of the danger he had stumbled into. His every movement screamed panic.

“A child!” hissed the Lamia, her forked tongue flicking in excitement. Her hunger for children was infamous, a fact not lost on any of us. The Kelpie too, fixated, eyes alight with predatory lust. There was no doubt—they were preparing to feast.

And yet, something stirred in me. Not pity, nor duty, but a raw instinct to act. Before my mind could rationalize, my body had moved. My hands gripped the boy’s arm, pulling him toward me in an almost protective reflex. Then, in a horrifying instant, the boy turned to ash, crumbling in my grasp like sand slipping through an hourglass.

“Damn it!” I whispered in shock, realizing the consequence of my touch too late. In my haste, I had forgotten—humans cannot survive when they come in touch with my human form.

The Lamia and Kelpie were upon the pile of ashes within seconds, their predatory instincts faster than their rationale. Yet, even as I stood, stunned by my own failure, I felt no immediate remorse—just a sense of futility.

The Lamia rose, livid, her serpentine body coiled in anger. “Curse you, Phoenix!” she screeched, her fists trembling with fury.

My lips curled into a smirk, hiding the growing unease within. “Cursed already, aren’t you?” I shot back, though the venom in her glare was almost tangible.

Her response was instantaneous—a vicious hiss, her fangs bared. “Give me one reason not to tear you apart!”

My patience was wearing thin. “Relax, bald head. You’re not exactly winning any beauty contests right now.”

Before she could retort, the Kelpie released an ear-splitting scream, a noise so shrill it tore through my senses like razors. I crumpled to the ground, hands pressed to my ears in futile protection. Through blurred vision, I could see the Lamia and Hydra writhing in equal agony.

Then, the impossible happened. Before my very eyes, their bodies began to disintegrate—slowly, terrifyingly, turning into golden specks of dust. Panic flared in the Lamia’s eyes as she fought against the inevitable, but nothing could stop it. The Hydra followed, and soon, even my own form began to falter.

“What in the hell is this?” I gasped, though there was no one left to answer.

For the first time in eons, I felt fear—real, palpable fear—as my body turned to dust. It wasn’t pain, but an overwhelming, primal terror. I fought against the darkness threatening to consume me, but the struggle was futile. Piece by piece, I vanished into nothingness.

And just before the world went black, I heard it—a faint whisper in the void. A promise of something worse waiting on the other side.