Chapter 22: The Abyss Stares Back

Achem wiped his blade clean, but the blood refused to come off entirely. It clung to the steel like a curse, a reminder that this world was far crueler than any nightmare he had ever faced. He looked down at the mangled body of the woman, her unnatural form still twitching despite the fatal wounds they had inflicted. A sick feeling curled in his stomach.

Lysara sheathed her sword, her expression unreadable. "We need to move. If she wasn't alone, more will come."

Garron knelt beside the body, his fingers tracing the crude marks carved into her skin. His face darkened. "This wasn't random. Someone did this to her. This is magic—dark, twisted magic."

Achem clenched his fists. "Then we need to find out who's behind it. Because if they're turning people into... whatever she was, we're already running out of time."

The group moved swiftly, their footsteps muffled against the damp forest floor. The encounter had left them shaken but more determined than ever. Answers were within reach, but so was danger.

They reached an abandoned village by dusk. The air was thick with decay, the scent of rotting wood and something far worse lingering in the air. Half-collapsed huts stood as silent graves of whatever life had once thrived here. Blackened scorch marks stained the walls, as if fire had tried to cleanse the horrors that once lurked within. Shattered pottery, torn fabric, and bones—some human, some unrecognizable—were scattered across the ground. It was not just a place that had been left behind; it had been erased.

Lysara frowned. "Something's not right. This place wasn't abandoned long ago."

Achem ran a hand along the side of a hut, noticing fresh scratches in the wood, like claw marks. "We're not alone."

As if in response, a low, wet gurgle echoed from within one of the huts. The group snapped into position, weapons drawn. Achem took point, stepping carefully toward the sound.

Inside, the room was dark, save for the dim light filtering through the broken ceiling. And in the center of the floor sat a man—his body twisted, his face gaunt and drained of color. His eyes flicked up, meeting Achem's, and a horrible smile stretched across his face.

"You came... just in time," the man rasped.

Achem barely had time to react before the man's body convulsed violently. His flesh blackened, veins pulsing with an unnatural energy. Then, with an ear-piercing shriek, his body exploded in a wave of black mist, sending Achem staggering backward.

"What the hell—?" he choked, waving his hand through the lingering darkness.

Garron swore under his breath. "A warning. Or a curse."

Lysara covered her nose. "Either way, we need to get out of here."

As they stumbled back outside, Achem's mind reeled. This wasn't just an attack—it was a message. Someone knew they were coming. Someone wanted them afraid.

And it was working.

They didn't stop moving until they were miles away, taking shelter beneath a jagged rock formation that shielded them from the cold wind. They sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Garron spoke. "Whoever did this is getting bolder. If they can create creatures like that, they're preparing for something."

Lysara nodded. "And they know about us. That means we're a threat to them."

Achem exhaled sharply. "Then we stop running. We find them before they find us."

A beat of silence passed before Garron smirked. "For someone who was new to this world not long ago, you've certainly learned how to sound like a warlord."

Achem chuckled dryly. "Survival does that to you."

Lysara shifted, her gaze distant. "I think I know what we're dealing with."

Both men turned to her. "You do?"

She nodded grimly. "This dark magic—it's not new. It's ancient, forbidden. There was once a kingdom that sought to control it, to wield power beyond mortal means. They called it 'The Abyss Doctrine.' The kingdom fell, destroyed by its own creations, but some remnants survived. Cultists, warlocks, those who still seek to finish what was started."

Achem narrowed his eyes. "And you think they're behind this?"

Lysara hesitated. "I know they are. The symbols carved into that woman... they were Abyssal runes. They're trying to recreate the horrors of the past."

Garron exhaled. "Then we're dealing with something far worse than just a warlord or a rogue mage. We're facing an entire ideology."

Achem's grip on his sword tightened. "Then we end it before it spreads."

But before any of them could relax, a sound broke the stillness of the night.

A deep, guttural growl.

The three of them turned as one, eyes widening at the massive shadow emerging from the trees. A hulking beast, its eyes glowing red, stood at the edge of their camp, its breath fogging the air. Its hide was thick with jagged scars, its maw filled with serrated teeth dripping with saliva. Its claws, long as daggers, dug into the earth as it sniffed the air, searching for prey.

Then, stepping out beside it, was a figure clad in black armor, their face hidden beneath a hood. The presence was unnatural, a void of warmth, as if the night itself had manifested into human form.

Achem's stomach dropped as the figure's voice rang out, smooth and knowing.

"You're too late. It has already begun."

Then, the beast lunged.

Achem barely had time to roll aside before its claws tore through the ground where he had been standing. The impact sent shards of rock flying. Garron met the creature's charge with his axe, slamming the blade into its side, but the beast barely flinched. Instead, it turned on him with terrifying speed, snapping its jaws inches from his face.

Lysara moved like a shadow, her twin daggers slicing across its tendons, forcing it to stagger. But even wounded, it fought like a creature possessed, its unnatural resilience making it nearly unstoppable. Blood, black and steaming, oozed from its wounds, yet it showed no signs of pain.

Achem gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter. He would not die here. Not like this.

With a roar, he launched himself forward, driving his blade deep into the beast's throat. It howled, thrashing violently, but he twisted the blade, severing its windpipe. The beast convulsed, then collapsed with a final, gurgling breath.

Achem panted, stepping back, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned his gaze to the hooded figure, ready to face whatever came next.

But the figure was already gone, leaving only a whisper in the wind.

"We will meet again."

The abyss had stared back.