The path ahead is a lonely one, marred with red light and a loose pink mist in the air. You can feel it, the halfhearted thrumming of the very earth beneath you. You walk, not because you choose to, but because you have to. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue. It's unclear if it's yours, or theirs. None of this is real, anyways. It doesn't have to be. You just have to figure out a way to leave.

You have killed 1 'person'. You can feel the blood slither up your legs, this place refusing to leave you.