Page 18 of Insanium (Devil’s Playground)

Standing before the garishly decorated entrance to what was actually a fun house, I couldn’t help but feel a tingle of anticipation.

“Well, isn’t this just inviting?” I quipped, my gaze tracing the eerie, exaggerated features of the clown painted on the entrance. The mouth, a gaping maw framed by a row of sharp, carnivorous teeth, seemed to mock us with a sinister welcome.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” Aisha murmured.

“Yep, straight into the belly of the beast,” I replied with a smirk, leading the way up the ramp. The tunnel beyond the clown’s mouth was short and led us into a cramped vestibule, another ominous door waiting to challenge our resolve.

Without hesitation, we pushed through and found ourselves facing rubber flaps that slapped quietly against each other as we passed through them, adding a touch of surrealism to the already bizarre setting. Beyond lay a door marked “Costume Room.”

I pushed it open, and we stepped into a room that felt like a twisted tailor’s dream.

Mannequins were dressed in freakish carnival attire, each ensemble more disturbing than the last, accompanied by an array of weaponry that could belong in a slasher film. “Looks like they’re expecting us to play dress-up.”

I approached a mannequin clad in what looked like a ringmaster’s outfit gone horribly wrong.

“Or arm up,” Aisha added, eyeing a wicked-looking scythe propped against a nearby stand.

“Either way, it’s showtime,” I concluded, feeling the adrenaline begin to pump through my veins as we contemplated our next move in this bizarre game of survival and spectacle.

As we were sizing up the room, the sudden swoosh of a round door at the other end creaked open, and two clowns pranced in.

One waved maniacally while the other, with a more sinister demeanor, welcomed us to the Maze of Misery.

“It’s time for you all to judge those across the bay,” the first clown announced with a disturbingly cheerful tone. “Pick your costume, grab your weapons, and get ready to prove your worthy of a place in the Devil’s Playground.”

The second clown chimed in, his voice a grave contrast to his companion’s merriment, “You’ve got six minutes—choose wisely.” With a dramatic flourish, they both spun around and exited through the door they had come in, leaving us in eerie silence.

“Great, a timed fashion show with a side of carnage,” I muttered, half amused, half annoyed, as I glanced at the others.

Their expressions ranged from bewildered to determined.

I picked up a particularly menacing-looking axe and weighed it in my hand, eyeing the assortment of costumes.

“Well, let’s get started,” I said, stepping toward a mannequin dressed in a demented jester outfit that seemed fittingly twisted for whatever lay ahead.

Hael and Aisha stood guard while I quickly slipped into my chosen costume, an elaborate jester outfit that felt unnervingly appropriate. After I was dressed, I turned to help them. Aisha picked something sleek and deadly looking, while Hael opted for an outfit that was both grim and dashing.

The others were varying in their enthusiasm; one outright refused to don any costume, standing defiantly in their everyday clothes.

Once we were all more or less dressed, Hael gave me an approving nod. “You look good in that.”

I twirled, axe in hand, the costume’s layers fluttering slightly. “It makes me feel real fancy,” I joked, then caught sight of the LED mask Hael had chosen. “And you look hot. I think I might have a mask kink.”

Aisha chuckled, but her eyes were scanning the room. She was clearly thinking ahead.

Conversation bubbled up among us, uncertainty mingling with resolve until someone finally voiced the question on all our minds. “What did they mean by ‘judge across the bay’?”

Liam, ever the straightforward one, didn’t sugarcoat his response. “They want us to kill. I’m assuming they told the other side— whoever that is—to get ready for the same thing.”

I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the prospect, despite the danger. “ Battle Royale —fun house–style,” I announced with a twisted smile. “I’m a little excited.”

The group’s reactions were mixed, but there was an undeniable buzz of adrenaline among us.

Maya’s frustration was palpable. “Where the hell are Eryx and Rafe?”

I glanced back at the way we’d come, only to find it now sealed off. “Who knows, but they aren’t getting in here from that way.”

“Maybe they got taken out,” someone else muttered under their breath.

Juno scoffed. “Highly unlikely.”

Just then, the light above the rounded door flipped from red to green, signaling the return of the two clowns.

The first beamed at us. “How lovely you all look.”

The second clown’s tone was less cheerful. “Such a shame that won’t help you much on the other side.”

“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 and found 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 movements were 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.