Chapter 52 –First area: the abyss
Morpheus stepped through the Crimson Gate, finding himself before a massive, blackened gate, warped as if forged from burnt iron. A foul stench of decay and blood filled the air, accompanied by distant screams, as if the city itself was in agony. Above, the sky was choked with toxic gray fumes, blocking out the sun. Tartarus did not welcome the light.
He stood still for a moment, taking in the chaotic scene before him. Tartarus was unlike any place he had ever seen—streets teeming with humans and beasts alike, brawls breaking out in the open, lifeless bodies hanging from makeshift gallows as a grim reminder of the city's brutal lawlessness. The atmosphere was a discordant symphony of maniacal laughter, pained screams, and the crude music of a street band playing in a shadowy alley.
But Morpheus was no fool. He already knew what Tartarus was—one of the largest cities on the continent, and perhaps the most dangerous. The city was divided into three main districts, separated by colossal walls to contain the chaos within:
1. The Abyss
This was the worst part of the city—a pit where the vilest criminals, outlaws, and runaway slaves were cast away. Poverty and crime ruled here, and blood flowed as freely as water. There were no laws, only gangs and the strong who dictated the rules.
2. The Market of Blood
A more stable area, yet still fraught with danger. Here, the middle class resided—merchants, traders, and gladiators who fought in the colosseum. This district was infamous for its black markets, where anything could be bought—for the right price. Slaves, poisons, rare weapons—nothing was off-limits.
3. The City Above the Water
The strangest part of Tartarus—an enormous fortress-like structure built at the heart of a vast lake within the city. This was where the wealthy and influential resided, where clandestine deals shaped the fate of Tartarus. And within this fortress stood the Grand Colosseum, a massive arena boasting 100 floors of blood-soaked battles, where warriors fought for glory, power… and perhaps where the Crimson Heart was kept.
A guard stepped forward, gripping his spear tightly as he eyed Morpheus with suspicion.
"You're a stranger. Why have you come to Tartarus?"
Morpheus reached into his cloak and pulled out a pouch of gold coins—the payment given to him by Cassandra. He shook it slightly, letting the sound of clinking metal fill the air before speaking in a calm, confident tone.
"To do what everyone else does here—money, battle, and pleasure."
The second guard chuckled, spitting onto the ground.
"Now that's the right answer! But money alone won't keep you alive here. Only the strong survive."
With that, the heavy gates creaked open, and Morpheus stepped inside.
A voice echoed in his mind as he crossed the threshold:
"Should I have really accepted this mission?"
But deep down, he knew he had no choice. He needed to retrieve the Crimson Heart from Galeric… and he needed to survive long enough to do so.
---
Morpheus entered The Abyss, the district where chaos reigned supreme, where the weak were trampled beneath the boots of the ruthless. He pulled up his black scarf, concealing most of his face, leaving only his cold, emotionless eyes visible.
He knew his first priority—gathering information. How could he enter the colosseum? Who controlled the underworld of Tartarus? He needed answers, and there was no better place to find them than a tavern. Taverns were always the center of secrets, where gold spoke louder than words.
As he walked through the narrow streets, he observed the miserable state of those around him. The stench of rot and blood was overwhelming, distant screams echoed in the air—perhaps another mugging, or something far worse. He saw children, their skeletal frames barely covered in tattered rags, their hollow eyes void of hope. Men and women sat on the filthy ground, their gazes filled with nothing but despair.
But what struck him as odd was his own reaction—he felt nothing.
No pity, no sorrow, no sympathy. Just an endless void inside him.
Then, he spotted it—a tavern on the other side of the street. It was old and crumbling, its wooden walls barely holding together, dim candlelight flickering through its stained windows.
But before he could reach it, a familiar sensation crept over him—he was being watched.
His instincts flared. Casually, he glanced at the reflection in the grimy window of an abandoned shop.
Five men.
Their clothes were ragged, their belts adorned with rusty knives, wicked grins stretched across their scarred faces.
"Bandits."
It wasn't surprising. In a place like this, anyone who looked remotely out of place—or carried gold—was a target. Morpheus was no exception.
He kept walking, pretending not to notice, while mentally measuring the distance to the tavern. If they attacked, he would need to deal with them quickly—without drawing too much attention.
But then, a thought crossed his mind…
Would it be wiser to avoid a fight?
Or should he send a clear message right from the start?
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips beneath his scarf.
Perhaps a little violence wouldn't be such a bad idea.
---
Morpheus changed direction, turning into a narrow alleyway. He moved as if unconcerned, but his ears caught the sound of footsteps trailing after him.
The moment he entered the alley, he vanished into the shadows, leaping onto a nearby balcony without a sound.
The five bandits arrived seconds later, stopping abruptly.
"Where the hell did he go?!" one of them muttered.
They exchanged confused glances, glancing around the alley. There was no exit, no place to hide—yet he was gone.
Then, a calm voice spoke behind them.
"Looking for me?"
They spun around—only to find Morpheus leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
For a brief moment, fear flickered in their eyes. This man was no ordinary traveler—he was a predator disguised as prey.
Yet, numbers were on their side. There were five of them and only one of him.
One of them sneered, gripping his knife.
"Let's kill him."
Morpheus sighed.
"Wrong choice."
Then—he moved.
In an instant, he closed the distance, appearing in front of the first bandit in the blink of an eye.
Before the man could react—Morpheus drove his foot into his stomach, launching him like a ragdoll into the brick wall behind him.
The impact was brutal—the bandit collapsed, unconscious.
The others barely had time to register what happened before Morpheus was already upon them.
— A straight punch to the jaw sent the second man spinning through the air before he crashed onto the ground.
— A swift sidestep dodged a knife strike, followed by an elbow to the third man's ribs—bones cracked as he staggered back, coughing blood.
— The last one barely had time to react before Morpheus grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The man groaned before his body went limp.
In less than ten seconds… the fight was over.
Morpheus stood amidst the fallen bodies, his expression unreadable. Then, he muttered to himself:
"When did I become this violent? At least I didn't kill them."
With that, he turned and continued towards the tavern.
But then—he felt it.
A sharp, chilling presence watching him from above.
He looked up, and there—perched atop a nearby wall—stood a figure.
A girl, completely draped in a black cloak, her presence almost blending into the darkness. Only her crimson eyes were visible, glowing coldly like twin embers.
A silent warning rang through Morpheus's instincts.
He gripped his sword, ready for anything. But in the blink of an eye—
She was gone.
Morpheus narrowed his eyes.
"This city really is dangerous."
He exhaled, releasing his grip on his sword, and stepped forward.
The tavern awaited.