The sound of a thousand voices tore through the air, screaming out in a painful disjointed chorus as Hill plummeted.
He felt like he was being thrown around inside a tornado, being pulled left and right with no solid ground anywhere. He was too terrified to even open his eyes.
Finally, after what had seemed like forever, his body slammed hard against something solid. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Even so, the sudden halt in motion was incredibly disorientating. He coughed violently as the pain mysteriously faded away as quickly as it came.
When he opened his eyes... he saw nothing.
It wasn't like he was blind, though. The ground beneath him was barely visible, thanks to a faint spotlight that seemed to be emitting from his own body. The surface he had fallen onto was black with a rough shiny texture, similar to freshly applied asphalt.
How strange...
Hill wiped his mouth and looked around, but only darkness stared back.
"Wha—" he started, his voice scratchy. "What's going on?"
Kael's words echoed in his mind. He remembered the built man introducing the concept of the soulscape.
This was the soulscape. The falling sensation that started when Jian's staff touched his chest had brought him here. This had to be the place where he'd have to destroy the manifestation.
But there was nothing within the darkness, just himself.
But I need to destroy the manifestation to reach the 'inside of the plague,' right? How can I do that if there isn't one here? he thought, anxiously biting his thumb as he spun in circles, trying to glimpse something in the darkness.
"Hello?" he called again. "Is anybody there?"
His voice didn't even echo. It was like the darkness swallowed it before it could travel through the murky space. Nothing but silence answered him.
Why isn't it showing itself? Is something wrong with me?
Kael had said the manifestation was unique to each person.
What did that mean? Hill sank to his knees on the cool surface. Does it mean it is based off of our soul? If so, then it is personalized.
He thought about his family. His father's image flashed in his mind. His trauma mostly came from them, from the suffocating weight and hopelessness that haunted his family, but the source wasn't physically present in this void.
If it was, he'd see some corrupted version of his family.
Imagine if I had to destroy my own family in order to survive, that would suck. He thought to himself. Maybe the manifestation is something less obvious than that? What could it be?
What about desires? Hill drew a blank. He honestly couldn't think of anything he truly wanted, except maybe to not be here facing this terrifying ordeal. He'd spent so long feeling like a failure, lost and directionless, that ambition felt foreign to him. No, it definitely wasn't desire.
That left fear. His breath caught.
Fear had been his constant companion. Fear of disappointing his father further, fear of his mother's worsening illness, fear of never knowing what happened to his sister... but most of all, fear of the future.
He hated thinking about it. Whenever his thoughts went too far ahead, all he saw was his own demise. His father, beneath the forced cheerfulness, was drowning in depression that Hill felt powerless against; the future showed only the mask finally slipping. He didn't want to think about what followed after that.
His mother, who was frail and sick back home; the future showed her bed empty. She would be dead.
His sister, who ran away with bad influences. His mind recoiled from even thinking about that.
And himself? He would be adrift, talentless, and probably rotting somewhere.
The uncertainty. The crushing weight of loss, failure, and emptiness. That was it. That was the heart of his dread. An uncertain future, painted only in shades of gray and black.
As this realization settled in his mind, the darkness in front of him changed. It seemed to gather, drawing together like smoke collecting against the void. A figure began to emerge, stepping out of the blackness into the edge of Hill's spotlight.
His eyes widened.
It was tall and thin, wrapped in a heavy cloak that seemed woven from the shadows, tattered and smoky. The hood hung low, hiding most of its face, but Hill could make out the figure's hollow cheeks and the hint of a lipless mouth that seemed to be locked in a painful grimace. Skeletal hands poked out from the ragged sleeves. It hovered on the asphalt ground, making no sound at all.
Hill inhaled slowly, his limbs trembling as he took in the sight of the monstrosity before him.
The Ghost of an Uncertain Future had arrived.