STORY: "Going Down?"

  Jordan's hand trembled as he gripped the tarnished brass railing inside the elevator, his knuckles white with the effort. The metal was cold and slick, worn smooth by countless hands that had gripped it before him. A gnawing sense of dread coiled in his gut, tightening with every groan and creak of the old lift. The steel frame, once gleaming, was now corroded and pitted, its surface marred by years of neglect. The air inside the cramped cabin was thick with a musty, metallic odor that mingled with the faint scent of mildew. Above him, the overhead light flickered erratically, casting jagged, shifting shadows that seemed to dance malevolently on the walls, adding an extra layer of menace to the already oppressive atmosphere.

The rusted panel beside the door was a grim testament to the elevator’s age. Four names were etched into the metal with a cruel finality: Lust, Greed, Wrath, and Despair. Each label was inscribed in a script that seemed to shift as if the words themselves were alive and imbued with malevolent intent.

Jordan’s instincts screamed at him to retreat, to flee from the presence that seemed to seep from the walls and floor. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Yet, an inexplicable and compelling force seemed to pull him inward, a dark allure that whispered promises of an uncertain fate. The elevator doors clanged shut with a resonant metallic finality, sealing him within the claustrophobic cabin. The sound of the doors closing sent a shiver down his spine.

His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, the cold air of the elevator feeling strangely oppressive against his skin. As the lift began its slow, groaning descent, the gears inside the walls ground together with a grating, agonized noise, each turn of the mechanism echoing like a monstrous beast struggling against its chains. The elevator jolted with a lurch, and Jordan's stomach lurched with it, a nauseating sensation that made him clutch the railing even tighter. The uneven rhythm of the descent seemed to stretch time, each creak and shudder a prelude to the horrors that lay below.

As the elevator shuddered to a halt, the doors creaked open, revealing the first level: Lust.

  Jordan stepped out into a dimly lit corridor, the walls were draped in decadent layers of crimson velvet, their texture disturbingly reminiscent of blood-soaked flesh. The fabric's deep, rich hues seemed to pulse and shift, adding an eerie, almost visceral quality to the space. The air was thick with an intoxicating blend of exotic perfumes that clung to his senses like a heady fog. Beneath this olfactory assault was a darker, more unsettling undertone - an almost metallic musk that made Jordan’s stomach churn, as if the very essence of the place was tainted with something profoundly sinister.

His heart hammered with a primal fear as he ventured deeper, the echo of his footsteps resounding on the cold, polished marble floor. The corridor stretched before him like an endless serpent, its path curving and winding in an almost hypnotic fashion. The floor seemed to shift and undulate beneath his feet, adding to the disorienting effect. The shadows along the walls appeared to move with a life of their own, creating a labyrinthine effect that beckoned him further into its seductive embrace.

The temperature in the corridor rose sharply, the air growing heavy and stifling. A low, rhythmic hum began to reverberate through the space, a pulsating vibration that seemed to sync with Jordan's own heartbeat. This hypnotic resonance filled the corridor, vibrating through his bones and intensifying the disquiet that gnawed at him. His vision swam as naked ethereal figures began to materialize from the shadows - beings of almost unearthly beauty whose presence seemed to defy the natural laws of existence. Their eyes glowed with an unnerving predatory allure, reflecting a light that seemed to come from within them, casting an almost liquid sheen over their sweaty skin.

They moved with an unnervingly languid grace, their motions fluid and mesmerizing, each step a dance of seduction. Their voices, soft and velvet-like, wove a tapestry of promises, whispering of untold pleasures and forbidden delights that seemed to hang in the air like a tangible mist. The whispers grew in intensity, a chorus of enticements that created a palpable sense of allure and danger.

Jordan's instincts screamed at him to flee, yet he was ensnared by a nauseating mixture of fear and desire. As the figures drew closer, their hands reached out with an almost predatory curiosity. They brushed against his skin with a coldness that was starkly at odds with their seductive warmth. Their touch was a disturbing paradox - he could feel the soft chilling caress of a tongue licking at the nape of his neck. He could feel hands rubbing across his skin and pulling at his groin. The coolness seemed to seep through, chilling his very bones, yet the sensation was laced with pleasure and a maddening allure.

The figures' whispers grew more insistent, their promises more lurid, each word a silken shackle that tightened around his resolve. Their cold hands continued to roam over him with a probing touch, each caress a wicked temptation igniting his skin with desire. Their lips, impossibly soft and wet, brushed against his body, their breath like icy frost as they whispered dark promises of ecstasy and indulgence into his ears. Jordan felt himself being drawn in, his resistance fading with every sensuous whisper and soft touch.

The figures' hollow eyes seemed to devour his resolve, their gaze a relentless and insatiable void that threatened to consume him entirely. The coldness that had once been a mere discomfort now felt like a full-blown assault, the icy touch clawing at his skin like sharp knives, threatening to drag him into the abyss of his own desires. Desperation surged within him as Lust now turned into fear. Every breath became a struggle, each heartbeat a battle against the seductive darkness that sought to pull him under.

With a strength born of desperation and fear, Jordan staggered backwards, his movements clumsy and frantic. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the beautiful nakedness that was before him changed into something grotesque. The creature’s skin was moist and rubbery, with the putrid odor of decay and death. The figures' hands reached out for him once more, but the façade had already been broken. His skin tingled with a mix of fear and horror as he stumbled towards the elevator. The doors slammed shut behind him with a jarring clang, and he gasped for breath, his chest heaving as the lift jolted downward once more. The oppressive weight of the seductive nightmare he had just escaped clung to him as the elevator plunged toward the next level: Greed.

 The elevator doors opened with a haunting creak that reverberated like the mournful wail of a tortured soul. The chamber beyond was the embodiment of avarice, an infernal maw of greed stretching into an unimaginable void. The sheer expanse was a maddening panorama of splendor - towering heaps of glittering gold, blazing jewels, and priceless artifacts formed an oppressive, chaotic mosaic. The wealth, piled in disarray, seemed to pulse and writhe with a malignant vitality, as though each glittering piece yearned to escape the suffocating mass.

The air in the chamber was a nauseating assault on the senses. It was thick with the acrid tang of precious metals and polished gems, their metallic sharpness mingled with a repulsive stench of decay. The putrid odor of rot and rancor clawed at Jordan’s nostrils, filling his lungs with a foulness that made his stomach churn and his throat constricted in revulsion. It was as if the very essence of greed had seeped into the atmosphere, creating a vile, suffocating fog of corruption and avarice.

The floor, obscured by layers of glittering detritus, felt disturbingly alive. Gold coins cascaded and shifted beneath Jordan’s feet like a living, writhing tide. Jewels spun in mocking, serpentine patterns, their distorted light casting an eerie, pulsating glow that seemed to mock the very concept of stability. The ground undulated with a serpentine rhythm, the treasure appearing to move with a sinister sentience that seemed almost to breathe and move with its own will.

At the center stood a monstrous figure. The man’s immense, bloated form was a revolting sight - his skin stretched tight over a gelatinous mass of fat and flesh. Veins pulsed and pooled beneath the surface, creating a landscape of sickening, jiggling lumps. His eyes were bulbous and glazed with a feverish, fanatical light, reflecting an insatiable hunger.

His distorted, claw-like hands scraped and clawed frantically at the heaps of treasure, each movement driven by a desperate, ravenous urgency. The man’s actions were a frantic dance of greed, as though he were trying to devour the very wealth that perpetually eluded him. His guttural voice filled the chamber with a sinister rasp, a continuous, anguished stream of curses and growls that reverberated with the maddening rage of eternal, unfulfilled hunger. Each breath he took was a tortured, rasping gasp, a physical manifestation of his insatiable desire.

Jordan’s gaze was inexorably drawn to a golden chest partially buried beneath the mountain of riches. The chest’s surface was intricately carved with ancient, arcane symbols, their dark and forbidden meanings hinting at unspeakable power. Driven by a combination of dread and morbid curiosity, Jordan reached out with trembling fingers, feeling the cold, unyielding metal beneath his touch.

The moment his fingers made contact, a violent, cataclysmic explosion erupted from within the chest. The eruption was a maelstrom of molten gold and blazing jewels, cascading through the air in a torrential tempest of heat and shrapnel. The light was so searingly intense it burned into Jordan’s eyes, while the blistering heat scorched his skin, turning the air into a blistering haze of fiery gold.

Amidst the violent tempest, Jordan fought desperately to shield himself from the storm of wealth. The treasures whirled in a frenetic, chaotic vortex, their sharp, cutting shards slicing through the air with lethal precision. The blinding light and suffocating heat threatening to engulf him entirely.

An unseen force, imbued with the very essence of evil, seized Jordan and yanked him backward into the elevator. The doors slammed shut with a final, resounding clang that echoed like a death knell. The lift plunged downward with a jarring, gut-wrenching lurch, carrying Jordan into the next realm: Wrath.

The elevator doors screeched open with a sound that seemed to rip through the very fabric of reality, unveiling a landscape of apocalyptic devastation. The air was a dense, suffocating concoction of smoke and sulfur, intertwined with the tang of coagulated blood. The ground was a charred wasteland, littered with the shattered remains of weapons and armor, twisted into sculptures of ruin. A blood-red sky hung oppressively overhead, crackling with lightning that slashed through the air like jagged knives. The earth itself seemed to shiver with a deep, menacing fury.

Blocking Jordan's path was a towering figure encased in blackened, spiked armor, an imposing sentinel of unrestrained wrath. The figure’s helmet was a spiked monstrosity, its dark surface reflecting the lightning with a sinister, warped glow. The spiked ridges of the helmet seemed to pulse with an eerie, sickly light, as if the very metal were alive with intent. The figure wielded a massive axe, its blade smeared with blood and streaked with fiery residue. Each swing of the axe was a cataclysmic event, sending torrents of molten lava and debris erupting into the air. The weapon itself seemed to be a conduit of pure rage, its impact causing the very ground to quake and burst into fiery gouts and jagged rock formations.

Jordan stumbled through this hellish landscape, each step a perilous endeavor as the ground buckled and cracked beneath him. The oppressive heat was almost tangible, a relentless wave of blistering intensity that radiated from the earth like a living furnace. Around him, the air was filled with the nightmarish vision of creatures twisted beyond recognition by unbridled rage. Their eyes blazed with a maddened, fiery light, their bodies wreathed in molten lava that hissed and splashed with every violent movement. They fought one another with a savage, primal fury, their roars a cacophony of anguish and fury that echoed through the chaos. Their wounds spewed molten lava, their contorted bodies flailing in brutal, savage clashes, each roar a reminder of the madness that consumed them.

As Jordan fled toward the relative safety of the elevator, a sense of raw, unfiltered terror filled him. Just as he reached the elevator, the towering figure appeared in the lift’s dim light, its presence a sudden, visceral jolt of terror. The figure’s spiked helmet glowed with an ominous light, casting a cruel, predatory shadow over its features. With terrifying speed, the figure’s massive, armored hand shot out, seizing Jordan by the neck with a grip that was both icy and crushing. The pressure was suffocating, a brutal force that cut off Jordan’s breath and left him gasping in a cold, constricted panic.

In this nightmarish grip, Jordan’s vision was forced into the figure’s mind, an invasion of sick, demented thoughts. He was thrust into a maelstrom of unfiltered horror, a relentless barrage of visions that unfolded before him. He saw the figure’s eternal, sadistic reign over this realm—scenes of unending cruelty and suffering that spanned eons of infernal existence. The figure’s consciousness was a twisted labyrinth of torment, where every moment was filled with the screams and agonies of its victims. Jordan witnessed the figure’s cruel inventions, infernal devices of torture designed to stretch agony into an eternal torment. He saw countless souls writhing in excruciating pain, their screams a symphony of despair that echoed through the realm. The figure reveled in its monstrous orchestration of suffering, a force that thrived on the endless misery it inflicted.

It's thoughts were a testament to its sadistic pleasure, a sickening revelry in the anguish and despair it perpetuated. Jordan’s sanity was assaulted by the flood of harrowing images, each one a brutal reminder of the figure’s unending reign of terror.

With a final, contemptuous sneer, the towering figure released its iron grip and, with a violent, disdainful heave, hurled Jordan back into the elevator. The force of the throw was brutal, slamming Jordan into the confines of the lift with a bone-jarring impact. The figure’s mocking, laughter echoed ominously as the elevator doors slammed shut with a resounding clang, sealing Jordan within.

As the elevator descended, the echoes of the figure’s tortured screams and the lingering heat of the realm clung to Jordan, a haunting prelude to the abyss that awaited him in the next level: Despair.

  When the elevator doors finally screeched open, they revealed an oppressive, all-consuming darkness that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The air was frigid and damp, laden with an unsettling chill that wrapped around Jordan like an embrace. The floor beneath him felt spongy - an unstable, rotting fabric that squished and writhed with each hesitant step, as if it were a vast, pulsating mass of decayed flesh. Each step was a nauseating descent into an abyss of putrid decay, the ground beneath him giving way as if trying to pull him down into its festering depths.

The silence was a living entity, thick and suffocating, broken only by the hauntingly distant, ghostly wails that drifted through the air like a mournful choir of damned souls. The wails mingled with the echo of Jordan’s own unsteady footsteps, created an eerie symphony of despair that seemed to claw at the edges of his sanity.

A dim, flickering light from an unseen source cast erratic, ghastly shadows across the space, illuminating a solitary figure hunched over in a pitiful, almost fetal position. The figure’s shoulders shook violently with deep, wracking sobs that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the darkness around them. As Jordan approached, the figure’s distorted reflection became painfully clear it was an abominable mirror of himself, an accumulation of his deepest fears and regrets.

The reflection’s eyes were hollow, black voids that seemed to devour any glimmer of hope. Its skin was pallid and translucent, stretched taut over a skeletal frame that seemed to writhe with every anguished sob. The voice of the reflection was a hollow, echoing whisper, its tone dripping with an unearthly cruelty. It recounted every failure, every loss, and every unfulfilled dream Jordan had ever known. The words were like icy daggers, each one cutting into his psyche with relentless precision, carving out the remnants of his sanity. Each whispered memory was a brutal reminder of missed opportunities, lost loves, and dreams that had turned to dust. The crushing weight of these reminders pressed down on him, an invisible force that sought to drag him into an abyss of eternal despair.

Jordan fell to his knees, his face contorted in raw, visceral anguish. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the dark, viscous sludge that seemed to ooze from the rotting floor. The darkness around him closed in, an all-encompassing void that seemed to swallow everything whole, pressing against him with a suffocating intensity. The overwhelming sense of hopelessness and futility was like a physical force, crushing his very essence. His cries for relief were swallowed by the darkness, his pleas for escape fading into the suffocating silence.

In the midst of this engulfing despair, Jordan's final thoughts were a desperate, incoherent plea for escape from the relentless torment. Just as he felt himself slipping into the chasm of eternal darkness, the elevator’s doors creaked open once more, offering a faint glimmer of salvation amid the relentless void.   

Jordan staggered into the elevator, his body trembling uncontrollably, every muscle twitching with the remnants of sheer terror. His mind was shattered beyond recognition, a fractured labyrinth of hallucinations and fragmented memories. The elevator ascended with a mournful, grinding noise, each floor passed a harrowing reminder of the depths of torment he had endured. 

  When the elevator doors finally screeched open, Jordan was met with a stark, disorienting contrast to the nightmare he had just escaped. The oppressive darkness of his infernal descent was replaced by the harsh, sterile lighting of a clinical environment. However, this transition was anything but comforting.

The air was cold and sterile, carrying the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic that mingled with an undercurrent of something far more sinister fear. The floor beneath him was polished and immaculate, an artificial smoothness that felt alien and unforgiving. Jordan's senses were overwhelmed, each sight and sound feeling both foreign and deeply disturbing.

As the doors opened, Jordan stumbled out into a brightly lit, sterile hallway lined with white walls and metal fixtures. His ragged breaths were harsh and uneven, echoing through the empty corridor like the cries of a wounded animal. The fluorescent lights above flickered intermittently, casting unsettling, erratic shadows that seemed to dance in the periphery of his vision.

Before Jordan could fully comprehend his surroundings, he was immediately accosted by two burly psychiatric orderlies who emerged from the shadows with unsettling precision. Their eyes were cold and devoid of empathy, their expressions set in grim determination. They moved with an almost predatory efficiency, their grip on Jordan’s arms unyielding and invasive. The orderlies' uniforms were stark white, but the stiffness of their movements and the clinical detachment in their eyes rendered them anything but comforting.

Without hesitation, one of the orderlies barked an order, his voice sharp and devoid of warmth. “Let the Doctor know that we found him.”

Jordan’s mind was a fractured mess, teetering on the edge of delusion and paranoia. His body trembled uncontrollably, his eyes darting around the hallway as if seeking escape from an unseen terror. The harsh lighting seemed to intensify the horror in his eyes, casting long, distorted shadows that made the walls appear to close in on him.

A nurse appeared from around a corner, her demeanor as clinical and impersonal as the surroundings. She carried a long, gleaming syringe, its needle glinting ominously under the harsh lights. Jordan's panic escalated into frantic desperation as the nurse approached.

“No, no, please!” Jordan pleaded, his voice a mix of hysteria and confusion. “I don’t understand! What’s happening? Where am I?!”

Ignoring his pleas, the nurse’s movements were methodical and precise. “Everything’s going to be alright Sweetie.” She said as she jabbed the needle into Jordan’s arm with a swift, practiced motion. The needle pierced his skin with a sharp, invasive sting that sent a cold shiver through his body. As the syringe’s contents were emptied, the nurse’s voice rang out with a chilling urgency, “Someone get Dr. Mortis!”

Jordan’s screams filled the sterile hallway, a raw, visceral cry of fear and confusion. His mind was unraveling further with each passing second, his sense of reality distorted by the traumatic memories of his descent and the oppressive new reality that now surrounded him. His cries were a desperate plea for understanding and escape, but the clinical efficiency of the staff and the sterile environment offered no solace.

The orderlies and nurse moved with a disconcerting calmness, their actions efficient but devoid of compassion. The reality of Jordan’s predicament seemed to mock him with its cold, impersonal nature. He felt like a specimen on display, his suffering reduced to clinical observation and detached procedures.

As the drug took effect, Jordan's vision blurred, his thoughts slipping further into chaotic disarray. The shadows on the walls grew more disfigured, morphing into nightmarish shapes that taunted him with the horrors he had witnessed.

In his fading state, Jordan's last coherent thought was a desperate, disjointed plea for escape from the relentless terror that had consumed him. But as the drug took hold and his perception twisted into delusions, the harsh, clinical environment became a new, incomprehensible layer of his endless nightmare.

The reality of the world he had returned to seemed just as alien and terrifying as the infernal realm he had escaped from, leaving him trapped in a continuous cycle of fear and confusion, his mind forever scarred by the horrors it had endured.