Level “ ? ” : Love

  The swirling darkness was absolute. Not merely visual, but sensorial. Dense. Almost physical. As if the very air were saturated with a silence that weighed.

  Dante stood before it.

  Once again…

  Love.

  A hooded silhouette, motionless, barely visible in the middle of the void. It seemed more like a presence than a tangible figure.

  — I can’t see anything — whispered May, bewildered, glancing around from a bright red pedestal —. Not even with my Night Vision rune. What kind of darkness is this? — she murmured, still resisting the pain from the slash Bebe had left on her back with his rune of Claw.

  Standing upon her own crimson pedestal, a little lower than May’s, Bealuna slowly turned on herself, tense and uneasy. Her expression hardened.

  — The last time I was here… I only escaped by sheer luck — she said, her voice barely steady —. According to Eden Camp’s records, this Terror doesn’t reveal itself to everyone. Only to those who catch its attention. I suppose I should feel… honoured once more.

  Virellian stared at her, confused, standing on a lower pillar of red light, and asked whether she had truly faced this Terror before and survived. Bealuna nodded, explaining that her memories had been among the first shared through the Heart of Nullaria with the other survivors.

  — I remember it well — said May. — Bealuna was trapped inside an illusion… and the purpose of this trial is to somehow survive it.

  Bealuna kept her eyes fixed on Love as a drop of sweat slid down her forehead, silently begging to find the exit once more — and not fall again into that dreadful illusion.

  Dante closed his eyes for a moment, connecting with the images that his regressions had revealed to him. He had lived this before. He had breathed this same heavy air. And he knew what was about to happen.

  — According to my memories… Horacio and his group will try to attack her — he murmured, eyes fixed on Love —. And that will awaken her wrath. A collective punishment. We’ll lose the sense of touch — fittingly so — because the wretch had none.

  This level was not measured in strength or cunning. Here, the heart would be put to the test.

  This Terror judged the capacity of souls to love without possession, without dependence, without destruction. Its trial was not to survive physically, but to abandon the corrupted kind of love — the one that binds, that devours, that prevents you from moving on.

  And that made it all the more lethal.

  — One of the hardest trials of them all… — muttered Dante, glancing at Bealuna with quiet concern.

  Standing on his own pillar of reddish light, slightly higher than hers, Dante looked down at her with resolve. There was a knot in his stomach — not only for the trial ahead… but for her.

  For the slight tremble of her fingers. For the way her eyes, brave as they seemed, still carried an old wound she didn’t want to relive.

  Love would confront them with what they loved most.

  He felt the impulse to speak — to calm her, to tell her everything would be right.

  He opened his mouth slowly, almost without thinking, and said softly:

  — Whatever happens — he said with sincerity, forcing his voice to stay steady —, trust in your rune of Good Fortune. And in your heart. Nothing else matters here.

  Bealuna looked at him, startled. Something in those words made her blush instantly. She lowered her gaze, hesitated… then crossed her arms, uncomfortable.

  — Don’t say things like that — she murmured, unable to meet his eyes —. You distract me… I need to stay focused on finding a way out that helps us all.

  Dante lowered his head with a faint, embarrassed smile. He knew Bealuna would pass the trial without fail.

  But for the first time in a long while, he felt something beyond fear.

  He feared the variables that might appear in this new regression — and he didn’t want Bealuna to die here because of one.

  Then hurried footsteps broke the silence.

  — Now! — shouted Horacio, charging at the hooded figure —. This time I’ll be the one to take down a Terror… I’ll take all the credit!

  The rune of Intimidation flared upon his skin. His presence expanded like an invisible wave, provoking the gaze of the entity.

  Love turned slowly, as if only now deeming him worthy of notice.

  Beside him, Jonathan vanished in a flash — his rune of Speed propelling him straight into the attack, knife in hand. The blade whistled through the air… but stopped abruptly, rebounding against something unseen.

  — What the hell...?! — he cried, falling backwards.

  Chichila raised her arms, and as his Poison rune activated, a greenish cloud spread out like a toxic pulse around the entity. The air glimmered with venomous light — yet the mist was instantly absorbed, swallowed by the darkness as though it had never existed.

  Bebe roared and lunged with his rune of Claw. The spectral strike dissolved mid-air, deflected effortlessly. He dropped to his knees, clutching his leg — still bleeding from Bealuna’s arrow.

  Horacio lifted his sword, ready to strike, but the world shifted before he could.

  Love spoke.

  — Enough.

  The darkness came alive. A vortex of shadows swirled around them, and reality itself seemed to bend.

  They were dragged apart in different directions, as if the dimension itself shredded them without touch.

  Then her voice filled the void — sweet, seductive, unbearable.

  — How terribly discourteous… — she murmured, a faint smile visible beneath the hood —. Such a lack of touch.

  From the gloom, a crimson throne emerged, solidifying slowly and glowing with a soft radiance. She sat with languid grace, crossed her legs, and rested her chin upon her hand.

  — You were to be judged gently — she continued, with an almost maternal calm —. But if you choose to behave like beasts… then I shall treat you as such.

  She raised two fingers.

  And in that instant, they all felt it.

  Or rather… they ceased to feel.

  An invisible surge ran through their bodies. The contact with the ground vanished. There was no texture, no temperature, no pressure.

  May stumbled, seeking her balance. Jonathan shouted in confusion. Bealuna stared at her hands, opening and closing her fingers — unable to feel a thing.

  Dante felt it too. His breathing continued, yet the brush of air in his throat was gone. He tried to clench his fists… but there was no sense of flesh. Not even the tremor of fear remained.

  The sense of touch had vanished.

  Love watched them with a cold, almost curious delight.

  — Now your true trial begins — she said, with voice deep and beautiful. — Honestly… I care little for your physical strength, or for how many times you can rise after falling.

  Her tone deepened, enveloping them.

  — What I seek is something else. I want to see what binds you. What breaks you. Which part of you still confuses love with need… devotion with fear… surrender with control.

  She paused, as if savouring the silence around them.

  — We shall see who among you can love without clinging. Without owning. Without destroying. We shall see how pure your souls are… and how many are ready to shatter.

  Love snapped her fingers, her red nails glinting in the flash that followed.

  The darkness dissolved, and a searing light invaded the entire space.

  From the shadows emerged luminous veins spreading across the ground, like arteries of a colossal heart beating beneath their feet. The crimson substance flowing through them seemed alive.

  The cracked marble floor began to exhale red sparks; every fissure leaked a liquid glow, resembling lava. In the distance, translucent pillars emerged one after another — towers of red energy rising until they vanished within an infinite dome of light.

  They were not mere columns. They were pulses.

  Each vibration affected their thoughts, distorting time, altering gravity. At times they felt weightless; at others, crushed by an unseen force.

  Above, reddish clouds drifted slowly — broken auroras suspended in the heavens.

  A cloying, almost hypnotic scent filled their senses, dulling their minds like a potent narcotic.

  Then, everything fragmented.

  The light grew unbearable.

  Countless red rays rained from the sky upon each of them.

  And before they could scream, they were completely engulfed.

  The trial of Love had begun.

  May was the first to be touched by it.

  The darkness melted away, and suddenly she was standing before a small rural house. The air smelled of old wood and dried flowers. Everything felt strangely familiar.

  Bewildered, she took a few hesitant steps. Her heart pounded faster.

  She opened the door clumsily… and froze.

  Inside, an elderly woman rocked gently in a chair, knitting a scarf in shades of blue.

  — Oh, you’ve finally arrived — she said without looking up. — How was the trip, my dear?

  May’s voice broke.

  — Grandma…? This… this can’t be real. I… I let you die…

  — Shh — whispered the woman tenderly. — Don’t say such things, sweetheart. Go on, make me a cup of tea. It’s a chilly morning.

  May stepped back, trembling. Everything felt so real — the colour of the tablecloth, the cups lined neatly in the cupboard, even a slightly crooked clay mug — the same one she had shaped as a child and given to her grandmother as a gift.

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  Her throat tightened as she moved towards the kitchen.

  She touched the metal kettle carelessly. It was hot — yet it didn’t burn. She stared at her hand, confused. For a fleeting instant she remembered the loss of touch and Bealuna’s warning: they would be attacked through illusions.

  For a moment, doubt surfaced. She almost understood.

  But the illusion claimed her once again.

  Still, she looked at her hand in confusion… her mind insisting it was real.

  She picked up an oven glove, poured the water carefully, and smiled. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe.

  This… this is what I always wanted to feel again, she thought.

  This peace… this warmth… it’s so comforting.

  — You can stay — said her grandmother, with the same serene voice. — There is no pain here. Only us, as before.

  May looked up. Her grandmother’s tender smile glowed with a depth that felt real.

  Unnoticed, small scarlet cracks began to spread beneath her feet. From them emerged translucent insects, sliding slowly towards her — almost invisible, almost silent.

  May knelt before her grandmother and offered the cup.

  — Be careful, it’s hot.

  The old woman took it in her hands and smiled.

  — Thank you, dear. It will rain soon. I don’t want you to get wet. You’ll stay with me… won’t you?

  The insects were already crawling up her legs, reaching her neck.

  They shimmered with a faint red light, slipping beneath her skin, into her eyes, into her breath.

  May barely noticed.

  — Yes… I’ll stay with you — she whispered, her smile trembling.

  Then she heard another voice. It did not come from her grandmother.

  It came from within her mind — soft, maternal, impossible to ignore.

  — This isn’t real, May. It’s a prison. A projection of your desire.

  May shook her head, tears spilling uncontrollably.

  — No! This is what I loved most. I won’t lose it again!

  The voice replied gently:

  — And that is why you fall. Because you confuse love with need. Because you cling to it… even when it’s long dead. Your grandmother has ceased to exist.

  — Shut up! — May cried, hugging her grandmother desperately. — She’s alive! I can feel her!

  — No, May. What you feel is your fear of being alone — whispered the voice. — True love does not demand that you stay. True love lets go.

  The insects now covered her entirely, her skin glowing red.

  May closed her eyes, smiling through tears.

  — I’m happy… and that’s all that matters now.

  Her grandmother embraced her tightly.

  — You know what, darling? — she said suddenly, cheerfully. — I have a brilliant idea: I’ll cook your favourite dish today… chicken with rice. What do you think?

  May looked up with a childlike smile.

  — Yes… yes, I’d love that!

  And at that instant, the illusion shone with an intense crimson light.

  From outside that dream, Love watched the scarlet tube containing May.

  The glass began to crack slowly, then burst into a shower of glittering dust.

  The illusion faded.

  May had failed.

  Love sighed, resting her chin upon her hand.

  — So fragile… and so human — she murmured, turning her gaze to another tube.

  Inside, another figure slowly opened his eyes.

  Chichila.

  The world around him had already changed.

  He was home.

  On the old bed of his childhood room.

  He recognised, in disbelief, the unplastered brick walls of the shabby hut he had once lived in.

  Soon, the smell of freshly baked bread enveloped him.

  And from the kitchen came a cheerful voice humming a melody he knew by heart.

  He shot up and ran to the kitchen, his hands trembling.

  And when he saw her, he could barely whisper, his voice breaking to a thread:

  — M… Mum…

  She was there. Alive. Young. Radiant.

  She looked at him in surprise, wiping her hands on her apron.

  — It’s seven in the morning… You’re up early today, my little sleepy bear.

  She had always called him that — long before she left.

  Before the world had turned grey.

  Before he could reply, a sound broke through the silence:

  — Lobito…? — he whispered, his voice trembling.

  His old Golden Retriever came bounding towards him, just as he remembered, tail wagging in pure delight.

  The dog jumped up, licked him, circled him with joy.

  Chichila broke.

  He wept like a child. He tried to hug him, but could barely feel the contact. His body no longer responded the way it once did — the price of losing his sense of touch.

  And yet, though he couldn’t feel the warmth of the fur or the wetness of those licks, it was as if his body remembered them.

  None of that mattered. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the moment.

  He straightened up, stroking the dog’s head affectionately.

  — I thought you were gone for good, Mum…

  She turned, puzzled, smiling faintly.

  — What are you talking about, love? Don’t be silly — she said sweetly, placing freshly baked bread on the table.

  Chichila watched her in silence.

  The scent of warm bread surrounded him, just like in his childhood.

  This… this was what he had missed most.

  — You can stay with me — his mother said, smiling tenderly. — I don’t think your father would mind. We could be happy here… just like before.

  She waited for his answer.

  Chichila smiled broadly, took a buttered piece of bread, and sat on the floor beside Lobito, who wagged his tail calmly.

  Then reality began to distort.

  The ground cracked open, glowing with blood-red light.

  From the fissures emerged tiny Quantum Larvae — undetectable, shimmering like red motes, slowly climbing up his body.

  Their vibration was far beyond his level of perception.

  He couldn’t see them.

  His mother sat beside him, keeping him company while he ate.

  Chichila glanced down at her worn shoes.

  — I’ll buy you new ones, Mum — he promised with a trembling smile. — I won’t let you go hungry again. This time… this time it’ll be different.

  She gazed at him tenderly.

  She said nothing.

  Only smiled.

  Then a voice echoed in his mind.

  It wasn’t his mother’s.

  It was Love’s.

  — This is a trap… an illusion. You know that, don’t you?

  Chichila shook his head fiercely.

  — No! I just… I just want to stay a little longer…

  — You’ve already overcome this pain — whispered the voice. — This moment no longer exists.

  — It exists here! — he cried, desperate.

  — You deny the passing of time. You deny change.

  This love was real… but it is no longer. You must let it go, or it will consume you.

  He trembled, clinging to his dog.

  — What’s wrong with it? I’m happy again! Why would you take that from me?

  — At what cost? — the voice replied. — Would you surrender your soul for an illusion? Would you rather feel loved, even if it’s a lie?

  The Quantum Larvae had already covered him completely.

  They slipped beneath his skin, into his eyes, his mouth, his lungs. There was no blood, no pain. Only a soft warmth… and a drowsy calm.

  Lobito watched him silently now. He no longer jumped.

  His mother watched too, smiling — though her eyes… were hollow.

  Chichila understood. But he refused to accept it.

  — I choose to stay — he said, his voice breaking.

  His mother took a piece of warm bread from her hand and offered it with a sweet smile.

  — Here, my little sleepy bear.

  But before Chichila could take it, Lobito suddenly leapt forward, snatching the bread with a playful bark. The dog dashed across the kitchen, tail wagging in wild delight.

  — Hey, come back here, you little thief! — Chichila laughed, running after him, tripping over chairs, circling the table, joy filling his voice in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

  His laughter filled the air like an old melody — one he hadn’t heard since childhood. For a fleeting moment, the world was perfect. His mother laughed too, covering her mouth with her hands, and the smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the warm light of dawn.

  Then, the scene began to distort, and a crimson glow devoured everything.

  From outside the illusion, Love watched silently the scarlet tube containing Chichila. Her gaze — serene yet heavy with disappointment — reflected an absent compassion.

  The glass began to crack slowly, emitting a dull sound. Then it shattered, disintegrating into a shower of glittering dust that faded into the air.

  Chichila had failed.

  In the distance, three other tubes began to fracture as well.

  She sighed again, rose to her feet, and walked among the luminous fragments drifting around her.

  — Love… always so beautiful, and so fragile — she murmured.

  She inhaled deeply and lifted her gaze to the broken shiny auroras over her.

  — I only ask for three — she whispered. — Three people capable of letting go of what they love without destroying themselves inside. To survive this trial, no matter how… Is that really so difficult?

  She remained silent for a few seconds, contemplating the tubes stretching out before her.

  — If they succeed — she added in a low voice — I promise I will release them all.

  At that moment, seven more tubes shattered. The air was filled with a red glow that dispersed into dust.

  Love smiled with sadness.

  — But they’d better hurry… at this rate, there will be no one left.

  Her tone was sweet. Her concern, feigned.

  Suddenly, something disturbed her. A shiver ran through her body, and her eyes opened with a mixture of surprise and alarm.

  One of the tubes… was empty.

  — How is this possible…?

  Her fingers trembled. She stretched her hand towards the empty space and invoked the memory of the container.

  A reddish trail formed in the air, revealing the figure of Virellian, standing not far from the tube.

  He was pale, terrified, eyes fixed on her. He said nothing. There was no need.

  — You…? — Love whispered, her voice breaking.

  Virellian took a step back and instinctively tried to run.

  Before he could react, Love raised a finger. Not in anger, but in bewilderment.

  Virellian’s body froze, suspended in the air, as if time itself had halted his breath.

  She approached slowly, placed two fingers on his forehead, and his mind opened to her.

  She saw his trial. His strategy. His escape.

  And then she understood.

  — The rune… — she whispered in disappointment.

  She took a step back, observing the multicoloured tattoo running along Virellian’s arm.

  — The Compass rune… — she said almost in lament. — The one that shows the true path.

  The one that indicates, with precision, what its bearer desires… even within the sweetest lie.

  She fell silent, her shoulders relaxing, her eyes filled with deep sadness.

  — For a moment… I thought someone had managed to overcome my trial.

  Her words faltered in the air.

  She looked at Virellian with a mixture of tenderness and disillusionment.

  — But it wasn’t so, was it? You didn’t stay. You didn’t fight with your soul. You just followed a direction. You didn’t resist the illusion… you just avoided it.

  She walked back to her throne, slow and absorbed in thought.

  Her fingers intertwined in front of her, as if trying to hold something crumbling inside.

  — Even so, you passed. I will consider you one of the three. You’ve advanced, clever boy — she whispered. — Runes exist for a reason, after all.

  She paused, and a bitter confession slipped into her voice.

  — But you didn’t do it fairly. You didn’t face what bound you… you only avoided it. You didn’t give me what I sought. That’s why I remain here. That’s why… I am still alive.

  Love sighed, staring into the void. For a moment, she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

  — There is still no one who loves purely. No one capable of letting go without fear. No one capable… of freeing me.

  She decided to leave Virellian suspended, frozen in a moment that belonged neither to time nor space. It was just a pause: a safeguard within the trial, waiting for its outcome.

  Then she returned to her throne, watching the tubes glowing before her.

  Some slowly dissolved into dust, the result of souls that had failed their trial.

  Many others still contained motionless bodies, trapped in a dream they did not wish to awaken from.

  Love: Sixth Terror of Nullaria

  And among all those tubes… in one of them was Dante, trapped within his own illusion.

  The young man’s closed eyelids seemed to tremble slightly at what he was seeing.

  His breathing quickened.

  When he opened his eyes, he found himself on a rooftop under a reddish, grimy sky.

  Around him, an unfamiliar city roared with the sound of old engines and the dense smell of gasoline mixed with freshly printed bills.

  In his hands, a half-open backpack revealed bundles of money and sparkling jewels.

  Judging by its weight, it seemed a valuable loot.

  And that weight… made him feel full.

  Complete.

  Satisfied.

  For the first time in a long while… he felt happy.

  Then, the world shook.

  Outside the illusion, the silence of the dimension shattered with a single, sharp crack.

  One of the tubes burst from within, releasing a torrent of multicoloured energy.

  Bealuna emerged from her prison, panting, eyes wide open, confused, looking in all directions.

  Love leapt from her throne in surprise. For an instant, a spark of hope lit her face… but it died as quickly as it appeared.

  With a swift gesture, she extended her arm, and Bealuna froze in the air, motionless.

  She descended, floating towards her.

  With unsettling softness, she placed two fingers on her forehead.

  A torrent of memories flooded Bealuna’s senses.

  She saw fleeting images, fragments that did not belong to her. A man. A paternal figure. A farewell.

  The face of the Sixth Terror hardened.

  There was no compassion anymore. Only fury.

  — The… rune of Good Fortune — she whispered with disdain.

  She understood immediately.

  Bealuna, like Virellian, had not faced her illusion. She had not destroyed it. She had only evaded it. The rune had guided her away from the pain, robbing her of the opportunity to elevate her perception.

  The air vibrated with an internal roar.

  The entire dimension trembled.

  A scarlet energy exploded around Love. Her robe disintegrated, revealing her true form.

  She was no longer a hunched figure on a throne. She was something older. Purer. More feared.

  Her skin took on a pale reddish hue, and from the centre of her chest, a glow emerged: the Divine Stone, burning with intense red.

  Her hair poured down like molten lava, illuminating the surroundings. From her forehead sprouted two curved horns, and from her temples emerged pointed ears like those of a wild being.

  Where her legs should have been, a grey vortex spun endlessly, suspending her above the void.

  Her body was a manifestation of origin: naked, without shame or desire, only power.

  Her eyes, two burning embers, reflected hatred.

  And then, from her back, colossal wings of pure light erupted, made of vibrant energy, expanding with a dry roar. Each luminous filament fluttered like a living flame, creating an almost divine reddish glow.

  Love raised her hand, gathering lethal energy in her palm.

  Her gaze, now icy, held no compassion.

  For a moment, the power threatened to unleash…

  But something stopped her.

  She took a deep breath and lowered her hand.

  — Trap or not… you have overcome my illusion — she said in a low, bitter voice.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. There was a rule she had imposed, one she could not break.

  — Two have passed my trial… but neither faced it — she murmured bitterly. — They escaped the pain they were meant to see. Without pain, there is no transcendence. Escaping… saves no one, and doing it in that way will not elevate perception either.

  The ground cracked beneath her ethereal feet. Cracks spread throughout the dimension, releasing crimson radiation. The tubes began to tremble, the energy became denser, almost suffocating.

  In the distance, another tube slowly began to dissolve. Someone else had failed.

  Love diverted her gaze.

  Something caught her attention.

  A different vibration.

  She floated silently towards the origin of that sensation.

  And when she arrived, she saw him: Dante Montenegro.

  His eyelids still trembled. His mind remained trapped. But what emanated from him was not an illusion. It was raw, pure, unbreakable will.

  Love watched him for a long time, with a mixture of astonishment and recognition.

  — You… — she whispered, almost reverently — You are the one who defeated Respect… the Seventh Terror of Nullaria.

  She descended slowly to stand before his sleeping face. She looked at him through the barrier.

  And without thinking further, she passed through the tube.

  She entered his illusion.

  Determined to witness his trial from within…

  Caring about nothing and no one else.

  End of Chapter Ten.

  Nullaria so far.

  Love’s domain, comfort becomes a trap, and happiness a lie told so sweetly that even the soul wants to believe it.

  May’s surrender, Chichila’s illusion, Bealuna’s escape — each reveals a different face of love’s fragility.

  Some cling, some run, some forget.

  Nullaria can also destroy you with tenderness. It is up to your perception to see through it — or not.

  Love truly wanted from them?

  — Alberto Báez