Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8ZEM9KK67X25B1MYC6VM5

Aurora's fingers tightened around the Fae-Forged Blade's hilt, the moonsilver cold as winter frost even through her glove. The Heartstone Pendant burned hot against her skin, its crimson glow pulsing like a heartbeat in sync with her own racing pulse. Richmond Park's fog-shrouded oaks loomed behind them, but ahead, the air split open—a jagged tear in reality, the Veil frayed like rotten silk. Faint whispers slithered from the rift, oily and inviting, carrying scents of roasted meats and spiced wines that clawed at her empty stomach. Isolde stepped forward first, her silver hair swaying like moonlight on water, pale lavender eyes fixed on the shimmer. "The glutton waits with open maw," she murmured, her voice a riddle wrapped in silk. "Feast or be the feast, wanderers of the breach." No footprints marred the dew-kissed grass where she trod; she glided, ethereal as mist. Nyx coalesced beside Aurora, their shadowy form solidifying into a tall silhouette, faintly glowing violet eyes peering from the void of their face. "The shadows here are... thick," they whispered, voice like wind through cracked stone. "They hunger too." A tendril of darkness uncurled from their hand, probing the rift, then recoiled as if stung. Aurora swallowed, her throat dry. Twenty-five years on Earth—Cardiff grit, London drudgery, deliveries for Yu-Fei's greasy takeout—hadn't prepared her for this. But Evan's bruises had, and the pendant's anonymous drop in her flat above Silas' bar had pulled her here. Quick thinking, her friends called it. Desperation, she knew better. "No turning back," she said, voice steadier than she felt. The small crescent scar on her left wrist itched, a ghost of childhood folly. She sheathed the blade and gripped the pendant chain. "Together." They crossed as one. The world inverted in a rush of vertigo—her stomach lurched, ears popped, and the Veil sealed behind them with a wet smack, like lips closing on a morsel. Aurora stumbled forward, boots sinking into loamy soil that smelled of overripe fruit and baking bread. No Richmond chill nipped her skin; warmth enveloped her, heavy and cloying, like stepping into a crowded kitchen. She blinked, bright blue eyes widening. The sky arched above in a dome of warm amber, veined with lazy swirls of gold, as if the heavens simmered in honeyed light. No sun pierced it, yet everything glowed with diffused radiance. Vines heavy with clusters of jewel-toned grapes snaked across the ground, their leaves broad and waxy, rustling without wind. Orchards stretched into hazy distance, trees groaning under fruits the size of her head—pears blushing crimson, apples veined with blue, peaches dripping nectar that sizzled faintly on the earth. "What... is this place?" Aurora breathed, turning in a slow circle. Her shoulder-length black hair stuck to her neck in the humid air. The ground quivered subtly beneath her, alive with hidden movement—worms? Roots? Something burrowing in perpetual feast. Isolde tilted her head, silver strands cascading like a waterfall. "Dymas calls, where bellies bloat and boundaries blur. Prince Belphegor's table is set eternal." Her lavender eyes gleamed with knowing mischief, but she offered no more; the Fae compulsion twisted truths into knots. Nyx's form flickered, shadows rippling across their humanoid frame. They towered over Aurora at six-foot-two, but here their edges frayed, as if the ambient light diluted them. "Hel's gut," they hissed. "Gluttony's realm. I smelled it on the winds between realms—souls contracted, bound to cook their own damnation." Their violet gaze swept the horizon. Laughter echoed distantly, booming and wet, mingled with clinking goblets and the slurp of unseen mouths. Unease coiled in Aurora's chest. The air tasted sweet, too sweet, coating her tongue like syrup. Her stomach growled traitorously, louder than it had any right to. She pressed a hand to it, scar flexing. "Feels wrong. Like it's... watching us." "Indulge," came a voice from the vines, syrupy and deep. A figure lumbered into view—a helbound soul, Aurora guessed, corpulent and grinning, skin stretched taut over endless meals. He wore a chef's whites stained with sauces of every hue, carrying a platter of glistening pastries that steamed with impossible heat. "First taste's free in Dymas, pretties. Prince's hospitality." Aurora's hand drifted to the blade, but Isolde raised a pale palm. "Gifts from the vine bear thorns unseen," she warned, misleading as always. Nyx lunged incorporeal, a blur of shadow engulfing the chef's arm. The man yelped, pastry tumbling—but when Nyx reformed, holding a flaky turnover oozing custard, their whisper held hunger. "It's real. Smells of Earth spices, but twisted." "Don't," Aurora snapped, but her mouth watered despite herself. She batted it away; it splattered on the ground, and the soil drank it greedily, vines twitching toward the spot. A low rumble vibrated up her legs, like the earth belching contentedly. They pressed deeper, weaving through orchards where trees whispered temptations. "One bite," murmured a peach, its flesh parting wetly under invisible pressure. "Heal your scars, fill your voids." Aurora's wrist burned; she yanked her sleeve down, quick-stepping past. The Fae blade hummed faintly in its sheath, cold comfort against the growing heat. A grand archway loomed ahead, carved from petrified fruits—apples for columns, grapevines twining the lintel. Beyond: a sprawling feast hall, open to the amber sky. Tables groaned under roasts crackling with fat, towers of cakes weeping cream, rivers of wine carving channels in the floor. Demons in aprons darted about, horns glinting, while souls—contracted mortals, their eyes hollow with addiction—stirred cauldrons that bubbled with elixirs promising ecstasy. Wonder struck Aurora like a slap. Chefs dueled in a central arena, flames leaping from pans in shapes of beasts, crowds of gluttonous shades cheering with mouths full. One hurled a fireball pie; it exploded in savory shrapnel, eliciting moans of delight. The air thrummed with music—harps strung with gut, flutes carved from bones—pulsing like a feast-goer's heartbeat. "Beautiful," she whispered, hating herself for it. Her delivery routes flashed in mind: rain-slick London streets, Yu-Fei's stern nod for a job well done. This was excess unbound, a dream turned nightmare. Isolde laughed, a chime of silver bells. "Beauty bloats to beast when the sun forgets to set." She knelt by a wildflower bed—impossibly vibrant amid the gluttony—plucking a bloom that unfurled into a tiny fruit. She popped it in her mouth, eyes distant. "Time fattens here. An hour may birth a lifetime... or starve it." Nyx solidified fully, hand on Aurora's shoulder, cool shadow against her flush skin. "Feel it? The pull." Their voice crackled. "Gluttony doesn't just feed the body. It devours will." Aurora nodded, unease sharpening to fear. Her pendant cooled slightly, inner glow dimming as they delved inward. A shadow detached from the hall's edge—not Nyx's—slipping toward them with wet, sucking steps. Demon scout? She drew the blade; it sang free, luminescent despite the amber light, edge keen as Fae spite. The shadow resolved into a hound-thing, bloated belly dragging, jaws unhinging to reveal rows of fruit-pit teeth. Saliva dripped, sizzling vines to ash. It lunged, baying a gurgle of hunger. Nyx dissolved into smoke, reforming behind it, violet eyes blazing as shadows coiled like nooses around its throat. "Back to your master's gut!" Isolde spun, hands weaving riddles into air—illusions? Vines erupted, thorns impaling the beast mid-leap. It shrieked, bursting in a spray of juice and ichor that splashed Aurora's boots. She wiped her face, breath ragged, blade dripping cold nectar. "Discovery number one: everything wants to eat us." Laughter bubbled from the hall, drawing eyes. A distant horn blared—culinary games commencing. Cheers swelled, plates clashing. "We go deeper," Aurora said, sheathing the blade. Her scar throbbed, a reminder of fragility. But the orchards called, paths winding to unseen groves, scents intensifying: chocolate rivers, meat mountains. Wonder warred with dread; this realm seduced as surely as it devoured. Isolde smiled enigmatically. "Deeper, where the prince digests his dreams." Nyx nodded, form wavering. "Shadows thicken ahead. Secrets fester." Aurora led, boots squelching through nectar-puddles, the amber sky pressing down like a full belly. Each step deepened the immersion—vines brushing her legs with feather touches, air humming promises. A cluster of grapes brushed her palm; she snatched her hand back, but not before juice stained her skin, warm and insistent. Her hunger gnawed fiercer. In a clearing, they found a pavilion of living pastry, dough walls breathing yeast-scent. Inside, holographic feasts projected by sorcery: phantom banquets where souls gorged eternally, faces twisting in bliss-pain. One reached out, translucent hand grasping—Aurora jerked away, heart slamming. "Bound by contract," Nyx whispered, violet eyes pitying. "Chefs for eternity, feeding the damned." Unease peaked as a tremor shook the ground—massive jaws grinding below? Aurora gripped the pendant; it warmed again, pointing onward. Toward the heart of excess, where Prince Belphegor's silhouette loomed faint on the horizon, a mountain of reclined flesh amid eternal revels. They moved, the realm unfolding in waves of sensory assault: birds with beaks of candy dropping sugared songs, flowers exhaling intoxicating pollen that blurred vision. Aurora's mind raced—out-of-the-box: the blade cut wards, perhaps portals too. Nyx's shadows could scout unseen. Isolde's riddles hid maps. Wonder resurfaced amid peril—a tree bore lanterns of glowing jam, illuminating murals of gluttonous history etched in caramel. Demons danced, tails whipping steam. For a heartbeat, Aurora imagined surrender: endless plates, no Evan, no flights from abuse. But the pendant burned warning. "Not yet," she muttered. Deeper still, the air thickened to soup, sounds muffling to heartbeats—hers, theirs, the realm's. Vines parted on a chasm: a pit of writhing forms, souls merged in orgy of consumption, moans rising like steam. Isolde halted, lavender eyes prophetic. "The core awaits, where want becomes wound." Aurora steeled herself. First steps in Hel's belly, and already changed. The group plunged on, alien wonders beckoning, unease their only anchor.