Chapter 8: The Abyss Beckons

The darkness hung heavy, oppressive, and suffocating. Adrian gasped for air, his chest rising and falling erratically as his mind struggled to understand what had just happened. The voice, the flame—none of it made sense, yet it felt so real. The hum of energy still lingered in the air, like an echo of something ancient, something unstoppable.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind. The clearing was empty now—no flame, no presence. Just the same oppressive silence. But he felt it, deep within his bones. The knowledge that the world around him was changing, warping in ways he couldn't control. And worse yet, something told him it wasn't just happening to him—it was happening to everyone.

Adrian stumbled backward, his legs weak. His fingers trembled as he touched his forehead, the sweat still clinging to his skin. Was it possible that his mind had finally cracked under the weight of the loops? Perhaps the cycle had driven him mad, made him see things that weren't there. But no—he knew better. What he had seen, what he had heard, wasn't just a figment of his imagination.

It was real.

And it was only a taste of what was to come.

With great effort, he forced himself to stand. The path back to the camp seemed longer, more foreboding than before. Each step was a battle against his own paranoia, against the creeping dread that gnawed at him from within. He had always prided himself on being calm, collected—a master strategist. But now, in this new and warped world, he couldn't even trust his own mind.

As he neared the camp, the flickering light of the fire in the distance seemed to mock him. The men who once looked to him for guidance now appeared insignificant, like pawns in a game he no longer understood. But the weight of their dependence on him was not lost on Adrian. He had to remain strong. He had to keep up the façade of the leader, even when his own thoughts were slipping into the abyss.

He entered the camp without a word, avoiding the eyes of his men. Their murmurs of greeting went unheard, fading into the background of his troubled thoughts. They couldn't see it—what he had seen. They couldn't hear the whispers that still echoed in his mind, or feel the strange presence that seemed to be drawing closer with each passing moment.

Kael was there, as expected, his tall form standing by the war table, speaking with some of the other officers. His brow furrowed when he saw Adrian approach, his sharp gaze filled with concern. The general had always been perceptive, perhaps too perceptive for Adrian's comfort.

"Lord Voss," Kael said softly, his voice low but steady. "You've been gone for a long while. Is everything—"

"I'm fine," Adrian interrupted, perhaps a little too quickly. His voice sounded strange to his own ears—strained, desperate. "We move out tomorrow, just as planned. Prepare the troops for battle."

Kael didn't immediately respond. He stared at Adrian for a moment, his expression unreadable. "As you wish, my lord. But if you need to speak, you know where to find me."

Adrian nodded curtly, his mind already elsewhere. He had no intention of speaking with anyone—not yet. Not until he understood what was happening, what force was manipulating him, and how he could stop it. If he could stop it.

The next day passed in a blur. Adrian's mind was consumed by the events of the night, and his every decision felt like it was made in a haze. The troops followed his orders without question, but he knew—he could feel it—that something was wrong. The world was off-balance, like the thread of fate was fraying faster than he could repair it.

As the sun set and the camp settled for the night, Adrian found himself once again alone at the war table. He studied the maps, but the lines and markers seemed to twist and writhe before his eyes, like snakes coiling in the dim light. No matter how many times he rearranged them, no matter how many strategies he devised, they all felt futile.

He was running out of time.

Adrian closed his eyes, focusing on the cold silence. That's when he felt it again—the whisper. It wasn't a voice this time, but a sensation, a pressure that filled his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

You are running out of time, Adrian Voss.

His eyes snapped open, and his pulse quickened. The words were clear this time, as if the voice had been inside his head, speaking directly to him. His hand trembled as he reached for the map, but before he could touch it, the room around him seemed to shift.

The walls of the war tent darkened, the edges becoming indistinct, like the shadows were bleeding into reality itself. The firelight flickered and sputtered, casting grotesque, wavering shapes that danced along the edges of his vision. Adrian's breath quickened as the sensation of being watched, of being trapped, grew overwhelming.

You cannot escape. Not this time.

The voice was no longer a whisper—it was a command. A proclamation.

Adrian stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair behind him. His mind raced as he scanned the room, desperate to find the source of this unnatural force. But the more he searched, the more the room seemed to close in on him.

With sudden clarity, the truth hit him like a sledgehammer.

The world was collapsing. Not just the battle, not just the army—everything. The very fabric of reality was fraying, unraveling, and Adrian was at the center of it.

He had no control. Not anymore.