Chapter 23: Whispers of the Abyss

Achem wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the echoes of the battle faded into the night. The remains of the monstrous beast lay sprawled across the rocky terrain, black blood seeping into the earth. The air was thick with the scent of iron and decay, a grotesque reminder of how close they had come to death.

Lysara crouched beside the carcass, her fingers carefully tracing the dark veins that still pulsed faintly beneath its hide. "This isn't just a beast," she murmured. "It was transformed. Warped by the same dark magic we encountered before."

Garron spat to the side, his axe still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "No ordinary sorcery does this. This is something older—something worse."

Achem knelt beside Lysara, examining the twisted form before them. "Whoever did this wanted to test us. They knew we were coming, and they sent this thing to slow us down."

Lysara nodded grimly. "And if this was just a test, then we haven't seen the worst of it."

The night stretched around them, the silence punctuated only by the distant calls of unseen creatures. Achem could feel the weight of unseen eyes upon them, lurking in the shadows just beyond their sight. It was a warning—an omen of the horrors yet to come.

The group pressed on, their weary steps leading them deeper into the heart of the forsaken land. By the time the first light of dawn began to creep over the jagged horizon, they had reached a desolate valley where the ruins of an ancient village lay in eerie silence.

Unlike the previous abandoned settlements they had encountered, this one had an unnatural stillness to it. The skeletal remains of buildings stood like gravestones, their walls scorched and crumbling. Faded banners, tattered and unrecognizable, fluttered weakly in the cold wind. The ground was littered with remnants of a once-thriving community—broken tools, shattered pottery, rusted weapons. And bones. Dozens of bones, picked clean and scattered like they had been tossed carelessly aside.

Lysara shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "This place was purged. Not abandoned."

Garron knelt beside a half-buried skull, brushing away the dust with a heavy hand. "Whoever did this wanted to erase them completely. There are no grave markers, no signs of burials. Just remains left to rot."

Achem's gaze drifted to the heart of the village, where a massive stone slab stood, covered in ancient runes. The markings were deep, etched with purpose, as if meant to seal something away rather than tell a story. A sickening chill crawled down his spine as he ran his fingers over the surface. The stone was warm to the touch.

"This is recent," he muttered. "Whatever happened here, it's still happening."

As if responding to his words, a distant, guttural wail pierced the air. The group tensed, their hands flying to their weapons.

From the shadows of a collapsed temple, something stirred.

A figure emerged, moving with a slow, jerky gait. Its skin was stretched tight over bone, its eyes hollow and sunken. The remnants of what had once been armor clung to its wasted frame, rusted and broken. But what made Achem's blood run cold was the sigil carved into its forehead—the same Abyssal rune they had seen before.

It was not alone.

More figures began to rise from the ruins, crawling from beneath rubble, pulling themselves from shallow graves. Their bodies bore the same grotesque markings, their flesh scarred with the remnants of dark rituals.

Lysara whispered, "They were turned. The villagers... they didn't just die. They were remade."

Garron exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on his axe. "Then we put them to rest."

The first creature lunged with a sudden burst of unnatural speed. Achem barely had time to react, twisting aside as its clawed hands slashed at the air where he had stood. He drove his sword through its chest, but instead of falling, it let out a guttural, inhuman shriek and seized his wrist, forcing the blade deeper into itself as if drawing power from the wound.

Lysara was already moving, her daggers flashing as she severed the creature's arm in a single, precise strike. It staggered, but didn't fall. Instead, its body convulsed, and a sickening crack echoed as its spine twisted unnaturally, realigning its posture for another attack.

"They don't die easily!" Lysara shouted.

Garron's axe cleaved through another one, splitting its skull, but the body still twitched, grasping at him even as it collapsed. More of the creatures were closing in, their numbers growing with each passing moment.

Achem's mind raced. They couldn't fight all of them—not like this.

"The stone!" he yelled. "It's the center of this place—break it!"

Garron wasted no time. He charged toward the massive slab, swinging his axe with all his might. The moment the blade struck, a deep, resonant hum filled the air. The creatures froze, their hollow eyes widening in silent agony. Cracks spread across the stone's surface, and with a final, deafening crack, it shattered.

The creatures let out an ear-piercing wail before collapsing, their bodies crumbling to dust in an instant. The air was suddenly still again, the unnatural presence vanishing as if it had never been.

Achem lowered his sword, his chest heaving. "That was too close."

Lysara wiped the blood from her cheek. "We need to move before whoever did this realizes we're undoing their work."

Garron grunted in agreement. "And next time, we need to be faster. They're not going to stop coming."

Achem glanced back at the remains of the stone, his jaw set. The Abyss Doctrine was growing bolder, and they were running out of time.

As they turned to leave, none of them noticed the figure watching them from the shadows, a satisfied smirk playing on their lips.

The abyss was watching.