Behind the Red Door

Chapter 11: The Phantom and the Forgotten

The Arena: A Fortress of Blood and Steel

The Arena stood tall and unyielding, its colossal structure casting an oppressive shadow over the desolate expanse. A symbol of absolute power, it loomed like a mechanical beast, its walls reinforced with layered steel and bio-engineered plating, ensuring that no slave could escape and no outsider could intrude. Each entrance and exit was heavily guarded. Men clad in exoskeletons, their bodies augmented with cybernetic enhancements, stood like silent sentinels, their presence a testament to the Arena's unyielding grip over its captives.

But security alone wasn't enough. The Arena's master, Lord Valerius, had installed an emergency lockdown mechanism—an absolute sealing system. If a breakout or invasion ever occurred, the entire structure would lock down instantly, creating a cage with no way in or out. The only way to override it? A permit from its master.

South Emergency Gate – The Guards' Watch

At the southern emergency exit, eight men stood watch. Their armor hummed with energy, their augmented limbs twitching with subtle movement. Yet, despite their discipline, the tension of idle duty had loosened their tongues.

"Hey, have you heard about the new kid?" The voice came from one of the guards, a man whose voice was filtered through the helmet of his exosuit.

"People say he's quite the fighter." Another guard grunted in response.

"Oh, you mean the one from the recent batch? Yeah, I heard. They say he did a number on Butcher." A third guard chimed in, shaking his head.

"It's to be expected. The kid was one of the five survivors caught from the outer layers." The first guard stiffened, his mechanical fingers twitching involuntarily.

"Wait—what?! There are survivors from the outer layers? How the hell—how did they even capture them?" A fourth guard, who had been silent until now, let out a long sigh.

"I was there," he said quietly. The others turned to him, their attention now fully drawn in. The soldier hesitated for a moment, his eyes darkening as he recounted the memory.

"We went in with a sixty-man squad, led by Lord Valerius himself." He shook his head. "And we suffered heavy casualties… against a group of just twenty-five."

Silence. The other guards didn't speak, their imaginations painting the blood-soaked battlefield he described.

"The survivors were no joke," the man continued, his voice laced with something close to fear. "Strong enough to even contend with an Anarch… like Lord Valerius."

A few of the guards shifted uncomfortably. To speak of Anarchs—exiled, powerful rulers cast into the Netherlands—was almost taboo.

The soldier continued. "We tried to capture them alive. But they were too strong. The Lord had no choice but to kill most of them. In the end, we only managed to take five."

As his voice faded, the weight of his words settled over the group. A grim silence. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then—

A voice, filled with mock amusement, cut through the air. "And to think there are five such monsters in this very Arena…"

The guards snapped their heads toward the voice.

A young boy stood before them, his posture unbothered, his presence both casual and chilling. His entire face was concealed behind a white, polished bone mask, the smooth surface reflecting the dim glow of the emergency gate's security lights. Behind him, a second boy stood, of the same height, with dull, lifeless brown eyes and disheveled hair. And behind them both—

Four cloaked figures loomed, their voluptuous silhouettes obscured by dark robes.

The air grew tense. The guards instinctively reached for their weapons.

The masked boy tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "Now, now," he mused. "That's no way to greet a guest."

One of the guards stepped forward. "Identify yourself."

The masked boy chuckled, shaking his head. "What, no introductions? And here I thought Arena guards were supposed to be polite."

Another guard, more impatient, raised his plasma rifle. "I won't ask again."

The masked boy sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his chin. Then, in an instant—

He vanished.

The guards froze, their visors struggling to process the movement. Then, a soft whisper brushed against the lead guard's ear—

"Joker."

The man jerked violently, spinning around—

But there was no one behind him. Instead, the masked boy—Joker—stood several steps away, hands casually in his pockets.

The guard's grip tightened on his rifle. "Joker?"

The boy's smile could be felt through his mask. "That's right."

Another guard stiffened.

"The leader of the Joker Gang…" A flicker of recognition passed through the group. The Joker Gang. A name that carried whispers of rebellion, chaos, and destruction. A name that sent a ripple of unease through even the most seasoned enforcers.

Joker's posture never changed, his confidence unshaken. "Now that introductions are out of the way…" His bone-white mask tilted upward slightly, as if gazing toward the massive Arena looming above them. "Shall we talk about what happens next?"

Silence. The guards stood frozen, their weapons still raised, but their fingers hesitant on the triggers. Joker's presence alone had shifted the atmosphere.

Then, one of the cloaked figures behind him stepped forward. A woman's voice, low and velvety, drifted through the night. "We don't have much time, Joker."

Joker exhaled softly. "Right, right." His gaze returned to the guards. "Now listen closely, gentlemen." He lifted a single gloved finger and pointed toward the Arena's towering walls. "Because in just a little while…" A slow, eerie chuckle rumbled from behind his mask. "This whole place is going to burn."

Meanwhile inside a dark cell.

Kael awoke in silence, his body screaming in pain, his breath shallow as he tried to push himself upright.

Something was wrong.

This wasn't the infirmary.

The air here was thicker, heavier, carrying the scent of oil, rust, and something else… something rotting.

His fingers brushed against cold steel.

A cell.

And it wasn't the familiar one he had been in before—no, this one was far more isolated, suffocating. There was a presence in the air, an unnatural weight pressing down on him.

His heart pounded.

Then—he felt them.

-The watchers in the dark, observing him with a

predatory gazes.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

But then…

The shadows moved.

Figures—tall, twisted, motionless—were lurking just beyond his reach.

Watching.

Kael's breath hitched. His body froze, instincts screaming at him not to move.

He couldn't see them clearly, but his dream-walking abilities—even in this state—allowed him to sense them.

And what he sensed was wrong.

These weren't just prisoners.

They felt less like men… and more like things that had been left in the dark too long.

Their presence was heavy, pressing against his mind like a weight he couldn't shake, their malice deep and profound filling the entire cell with an oppressive atmosphere.

Kael had never encountered men with such a nightmarish aura.

Then, one of them stepped forward.

---

A voice, low and guttural, cut through the silence.

"So you are the one who killed Butcher?"

Kael's breath stilled.

The man emerged from the shadows, and Kael used both the dim lighting of the cell and his latent dream-walking abilities to make out the figure's features.

Once the man stepped out of the shadows, a towering figure with a metal-plated jaw, cold steel cybernetic arms, and a gaze full of hatred appeared before Kael.

Upon seeing Kael, the figure snorted, spat on the floor and then said in ditest.

"l am not impressed."

Kael remained silent in apprehension, his eyes fixed on the towering figure.

Although he couldn't judge the figure's strength, he could tell from just one glance that he was in front of a brutal, professional and seasoned warrior, one that was greater than the likes of Butcher.

"You think you're something special?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with **resentment. "You're nothing. You stole his victory."

Kael's pulse spiked, and he tried to talk, trying to come up with something to calm the man down.

It was at this moment that someone from the shadows said in indifference,

"Leave him alone Cobra, you saw the fight, the kid won the fight fair and square- , and besides, you know as well as l that for him to be suddenly placed in here and actually survive as far he has, proves his strength. After all, even Butcher couldn't last here for more than a minute.

The giant man, sneered once again and gave an malicious grin.

"Well you don't say, well if that's the case, let us prove his strength right here and now, if he survive a full blow from me, l will recognize him.

The man from the shadows was silent for a moment, then he said.

"Your own grave, you heard the order, the big shots want him alive, l don't have to tell you what they will do when you break their rules.

The giant man sneered again.

"Well although l can't kill him, it doesn't mean that I can't have fun with him.

Kael barely had time to react before the prisoner lunged forward, his augmented fist rushing toward his face-

Only to stop inches from impact.

A bony hand gripped the attacker's wrist with surprising strength

The cell fell into complete silence.

Kael turned to see the owner of the hand.

The owner of the bony hand was a shrivelled old man, his skin like leather stretched too thin over bone.

Despite his lack of imposing stature, his presence was… unnerving.

The larger prisoner gritted his teeth, but did not resist.

Kael blinked in confusion.

The old man slowly turned his sunken eyes toward him.

"You can see, can't you?"

Kael swallowed. "What?"

The old man let go of the brute's wrist, unconcerned as the prisoner slunk back into the shadows, still seething but unwilling to challenge him further.

Then, the old man crouched in front of Kael, studying him.

"You see in the dark, despite not being augmented with night vision lenses."

"That's impressive."

Kael tensed.

That wasn't normal. Most prisoners here likely had mechanical implants allowing them to navigate the darkness.

But Kael—he could see them because of his dream-walker senses.

"What are you?" Kael whispered.

The old man's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Then he leaned in, inhaling deeply.

Kael recoiled, uneasy.

The old man exhaled, his gaze locking onto Kael with a glint of something dangerous.

"You're not real."

Kael's stomach dropped.

"You smell like an illusion," the old man continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

"A dream woven into existence. Something that shouldn't be here... and yet, here you are."

Kael's chest tightened.

He didn't understand what was happening.

But he knew one thing.

This man—whoever he was—could see through him.

And that was terrifying.