Page 32 of Insanium
“Oh, don’t talk like that; you might scare our new friends,” the first clown chided, clapping his hands together. “Now, form a single file line so we can give the viewers, and you, what we’ve all been waiting for.”
The instruction to line up single file because we were being sent through the door one by one made sense—it was about proving our worth individually, not as a group. Still, it wasn’t a comforting thought.
“We got this,” Aisha encouraged, her voice steady. “Whatever happens, just make sure we find each other at the end.”
“I’ll find you both no matter where you are,” Hael said to me, his voice low and resolute.
Aisha flashed a confident grin. “Damn straight.”
The light turned red after one person stepped through, and the clown knocked on the door twice, waiting a solid two minutes before allowing the next person to proceed.
As I waited for my turn, I tightened my grip on the axe and prepared myself mentally for what was to come.
“Good luck, little jester,” one of the clowns said with a sly smile as I walked by.
“I don’t need luck, Mr. Clown.”
Stepping into the corridor was like diving headfirst into a Gothic carnival nightmare—my kind of aesthetic. The walls were draped in deep crimson curtains, consuming the weak light and spitting back shadows that seemed to twist and dance with a life of their own. The checkered floor stretched out before me like a chessboard, waiting for players to make their moves—a challenge I was more than ready to accept.
Overhead, dim lighting barely fought off the darkness, casting a sinister glow that made the reds deeper and the black abyss-like. The air was crisply cool, courtesy of an AC probably cranked to its max.
Somewhere, hidden speakers blared peppy circus music. It was loud, designed to cover the sound of movement, adding an extra layer of unpredictability to the mix. Navigating the turnstile at the corridor’s end, I veered around a tight corner andfound myself smack dab in a maze of mirrors. Each reflection warped and skewed, with some cracked and others smeared with something that definitely wasn’t lipstick. Echoes of distant screams and cheers bounced off the glass. People were enjoying this—not that I could blame them.
Everything before had been child’s play.
As I maneuvered through the mirrored labyrinth, my reflection continued to catch my eye—it as if the costume were tailored for me specifically. The fabric hugged in all the right places, the accents sharp and as deadly in appearance as the blade I held. I couldn’t help but admire how the getup transformed me into something formidable, almost otherworldly. The axe in my hand felt surprisingly light, as if it were an extension of my own arm.
I took another turn, pushing through rubber flaps, and found myself in a hallway that looked identical to the one I had started at, but clearly wasn’t.
The narrow corridor twisted deeper into the maze, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance and morph with each step I took. The walls were lined with mirrors of all shapes and sizes, creating a disorienting effect that made it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion. In this confusing array of reflections, a larger guy emerged from one of the pathways. Long hair obscured most of his face, but his sneer was unmistakable as he locked eyes with me.
“Vetis,” he spat venomously, his voice carrying over the music.
I raised an eyebrow in response, unimpressed by his theatrics. “Do we know each other? Or are you just another fan?” My words dripped with mock sincerity, even as my grip tightened on the axe at my side.
Without warning, he lunged forward with an odd, spear-looking tool, driven by some unseen grudge. His movementswere sloppy but determined, fueled by rage rather than strategy. It was less a dance and more a brawl—raw and chaotic. We danced around each other, our reflections multiplying in the maze of mirrors. The sound of shattering glass echoed as we slammed into the walls, dodging and taunting each other.
Sweat dripped down my face, mixing with the stinging sensation of tiny shards that brushed against my skin. As we fought, I couldn’t help but wonder who this guy was and why he was so determined to take me down. Did he know my brothers? Or was he just another insecure man trying to prove himself against someone from a powerful family?
Our battle reached its climax when he lunged forward in a fit of rage, leaving himself vulnerable. I seized the opportunity and swung my axe with a practiced arc, the weight of it connecting with the side of his head in a deeply satisfying thud. The unmistakable sound of bone cracking under the force of the blow filled the air as I embedded the blade even farther, my arms burning from the effort. He crumpled to the ground like a broken marionette, while I stood over him, panting heavily from exertion and victory.
“Not even close to a match,” I muttered dismissively, stepping over his still form.
I pushed forward, adrenaline kept my focus sharp. After another few turns, I found myself stepping over the nearly decapitated body of the girl who had pointed this place out.
As the overhead lights flickered, casting an erratic strobe across the maze, my nerves tightened. The thumping, relentless beat of the music isolated me further into a realm of heightened awareness. Pushing through a set of rubber flaps, I nearly stumbled as the floor dipped unexpectedly beneath me.
“Fucking fantastic,” I muttered, catching myself and scanning the new challenge—a vortex tunnel. The swirling colors of the walls disoriented me, the exit of a dark void at the farend. I cautiously made my way forward, the psychedelic lights warping my sense of space. Halfway through, a sudden flicker of light caught my attention—an LED mask, not unlike Hael’s but tainted in a different hue. I froze, analyzing the figure as it tilted its head in an unmistakable sign of confrontation.
A chill ran down my spine, and without fully turning around, I threw a glance over my shoulder. A clown loomed just beyond the flaps I’d passed through, clutching a knife slick with blood.
“Well, isn’t this delightful,” I quipped under my breath, sarcasm masking the surge of adrenaline. Trapped between a masked stalker and a clown with an obvious penchant for stabbing, the situation was not in my favor, but panic was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Gripping my axe tighter, I squared my shoulders and readied myself for the worst. The clown’s oversized shoes scraped softly against the damp, dimly lit tunnel floor as he inched closer. Suddenly, the scraping transformed into a heavy thud as he broke into a full sprint. The entire bridge trembled beneath his weight.
With no time to think, I reacted on instinct. As the clown came barreling towards me, I ducked and lurched to the side, barely keeping myself from falling off the damn bridge. I felt the rush of air above me as his knife sliced through it. The sharp blade grazed the back of my costume and left a searing pain across my shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I swung my axe low to the ground and felt it connect with his leg, causing him to howl in agony but not fall.
Before either of us could recover, there was a blur of motion beside me. A man wearing a suit and clad in a white and blue joker mask appeared, wielding a machete. Without hesitation, they slammed the weapon into the clown’s gut, lifting him off his feet and tossing him into the side of the spinning vortex.
