The Abyss Beckons

Liang Wenyan's pulse hammered in his ears as the shadows surged forward, creeping toward him with a silent, almost predatory grace. His instincts screamed for him to run, but his legs felt frozen, weighed down by the oppressive atmosphere of the warehouse. The markings on the walls pulsed and shifted, as if the entire place were alive, reacting to the creature that now stood before him.

The figure—Heng, or something that resembled him—remained motionless, his hand still outstretched, pointing directly at Wenyan. The darkness around him seemed to grow thicker, more solid, as though the air itself were becoming saturated with malice.

"You shouldn't have come back," the voice—unmistakably not Heng's—echoed through the room. The words were distorted, as though they were being pulled from the deepest part of a vast, empty void.

Wenyan's chest tightened. His breath caught in his throat. The voice that had once been familiar, comforting even, was now unrecognizable. It was as though the essence of Heng had been replaced with something much darker, something that had crawled into the skin of his friend and made itself at home.

"No…" Wenyan whispered, his voice cracking. "Heng… It's me, it's Wenyan. You're still in there, right?"

For a moment, the figure seemed to hesitate. The markings across its body shimmered, shifting like liquid under the dim light. But then the figure took a slow, deliberate step forward, its movements jerky, as though it was still adjusting to its own body. The shadows around it seemed to writhe, clinging to its form like a cloak.

"Wenyan," the voice hissed again, this time lower, almost guttural. "It's too late. You can't help me now."

The words felt like a weight pressing down on Wenyan's chest, suffocating him. His hands trembled at his sides, and he instinctively took a step back, only to feel his heel scrape against the broken cement floor. The markings on the walls seemed to close in on him, shifting toward him with a mind of their own.

Suddenly, a deafening crack filled the air, and the ground beneath Wenyan's feet trembled. A chill ran through him as the entire warehouse seemed to groan under some unseen pressure. The markings on the floor began to move, spiraling outward like tendrils of dark energy.

Wenyan's heart raced. There was no escaping this.

He turned toward the exit, desperate for a way out, but the door he had come through was gone. The once open metal frame was now sealed shut, replaced by an impenetrable wall of shadows. Panic clawed at his throat.

He spun back to Heng—the figure who was no longer his friend—and saw the faintest flicker of recognition in its eyes. For the briefest moment, the creature that had replaced Heng seemed to struggle with something deep within. The markings on its skin shimmered and pulsed with increasing intensity, as if in response to its internal conflict.

"Leave, Wenyan," it said, its voice now strained, pleading. "You don't know what you're dealing with. I didn't want this. I didn't choose this…"

Wenyan's chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of dread. The creature—Heng—was still in there, trapped, fighting against something far more powerful. But there was nothing he could do to help.

Before he could respond, the whispers came again—louder now, like a chorus of voices crashing into his skull. The markings on the walls seemed to pulse in time with the whispers, as though they were feeding off his fear, growing stronger with every passing second.

The creature—Heng—moved again, faster this time. It lunged at Wenyan, its elongated limbs stretching toward him with terrifying speed. Wenyan's heart skipped a beat as the figure's outstretched hand seemed to close in on his throat.

Instinct took over. Wenyan ducked, barely avoiding the creature's grasp. He stumbled backward, his legs weak from the adrenaline coursing through him. The creature's fingers scraped against his jacket, leaving deep gouges in the fabric as it passed.

"Wenyan, please!" The creature's voice broke through the cacophony of whispers, desperate and raw. "You can't stop it… You have to leave. You have to forget about this. It's already inside of you."

Wenyan's blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat.

Inside of him?

"No!" Wenyan gasped. He backed away further, his mind racing. "No… I haven't—"

The creature tilted its head again, the shadows twisting around it like a living cloak. "You're already marked, Wenyan," it said, its voice both sorrowful and accusatory. "It's inside you. It's watching you."

In that moment, Wenyan's stomach dropped. He could feel it—an eerie pressure, like a thousand eyes were upon him, observing his every move. His breath quickened as he realized the truth: the markings, the creature, the whispers—they weren't just something that had happened to Heng. They were coming for him too.

Suddenly, the creature lunged once more. But this time, it wasn't just the figure of Heng moving toward him—it was the shadows, the markings, the very essence of the curse that had taken over the warehouse. The entire place seemed to close in on him, the walls pressing inward like the jaws of a great beast.

Wenyan turned, stumbling over debris, and ran toward the only exit left: a small vent in the corner of the room. He didn't care how he'd get through it—he just needed to escape. With every step, the darkness seemed to chase him, drawing closer.

His heart was a drum in his chest, and the whispers were deafening. They were everywhere now, seeping into his mind, drowning out everything else. He reached the vent and tried to force it open, but it wouldn't budge. His fingers scrambled, his body slick with sweat, and just as the darkness closed in on him, he heard the voice one last time.

"You can't escape."

With a final, desperate push, the vent cover gave way. Wenyan crawled through, barely squeezing his body through the opening, the shadows reaching for him just as he made it through.

He stumbled into the alleyway outside, gasping for air, his heart still racing. The rain beat down on him, but it felt distant now. The markings, the creature, and the whispers—they were still inside his mind, an unrelenting presence that wouldn't let go.

And somewhere deep within, Wenyan knew that this was only the beginning.