Echoes of the Abyss

The music pulsed like the lifeblood of the night at Club Nirvana, its rhythmic beats echoing in every heartbeat. At 11:34 PM in 2019, somewhere deep in India, the club was a carnival of sound and color. Strobe lights danced erratically across bodies glistening with sweat, while the air was heady with the scent of expensive perfume, spilled alcohol, and the unmistakable musk of unbridled desire. The night had promised an escape—a brief, incandescent detour from reality.

Then, as if summoned by fate itself, he entered.

An ancient figure, the old man exuded an aura of mystery and dread. His appearance was anachronistic against the backdrop of modern debauchery—seventy years of life etched into deeply lined features, his eyes burning with a fierce, almost supernatural clarity. Clad in a long, otherworldly robe that shimmered subtly with every measured step, he carried a wooden staff crowned by a pulsating green stone that seemed to breathe with quiet energy. His gaze swept the club, as if penetrating not just the flesh of its inhabitants but the very essence of their souls.

He did not move with the contagious abandon of the dancers. He did not succumb to the hypnotic beat of the bass-heavy music. Instead, he stood as an unyielding sentinel at the threshold of chaos, silently observing the revelry with a knowing intensity.

With a slow, deliberate grace, the old man raised his staff. The green stone at its tip glowed brighter for a heartbeat before he tapped it firmly on the dance floor. A sonorous BOOM reverberated through the club—a sound so deep and primal that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

In an instant, the music was snatched away like a cruel whisper. The lights sputtered out, plunging the club into an oppressive, all-consuming darkness. For a suspended moment, time itself seemed to pause; every heart stopped, every breath caught. Then came the screams—a cacophony of terror that erupted in the darkness, as bodies collided in frantic chaos.

Desperate hands clawed at the invisible void, trying to regain footing, while the once-vibrant space transformed into a nightmarish labyrinth. Phones, usually a lifeline to the outside world, lay inert in trembling hands. A profound, unnatural silence settled in—a silence that was as heavy and suffocating as the darkness itself.

When the lights returned, the revelry had morphed into a macabre spectacle. The familiar sleek dance floor had vanished, replaced by a vast, earthen pit roughly 50 feet in diameter and only 4 feet deep. The smooth veneer of the club was gone, replaced by cold, packed dirt that carried a faint dustiness in the dim, flickering light.

Panic gave way to confusion as the crowd grappled with their surreal new reality. Murmurs of disbelief mingled with frantic exclamations. "What was that?!" someone cried, voice cracking in terror. A shaky, false reassurance came from another corner—"It's just a prank," a young man attempted to joke, his laugh brittle and unconvincing. His words barely reached the ears of those trapped below him, as the room's atmosphere rapidly morphed into something far more sinister.

Some patrons scrambled toward the edge of the pit, straining to climb out, their limbs slipping on the loose, unforgiving earth. Others were pinned by the mass of desperate bodies, their cries for help lost in the overwhelming dread. Amidst this chaos, the young man at the edge attempted to rally hope with a weak chuckle. But his moment of levity was brutally snatched away—BOOM! His head exploded in a grotesque burst of gore, painting the surrounding dirt and trembling faces with a spray of blood that defied comprehension.

The horrific scene escalated in a heartbeat. A girl's piercing shriek rang out as a man, caught in the turmoil, tumbled backward into the pit. The desperate attempts to escape, to reason with the unthinkable, dissolved into primal terror. Then, as if the night itself sought to exact its own twisted justice, the ground trembled beneath them.

Cracks tore through the compacted earth like jagged wounds. From these fissures emerged entities that defied all rational explanation—creatures whose forms shifted and blurred at the edges, as though they were specters summoned from the deepest recesses of a fevered nightmare. Their appearances were ghastly parodies of humanity: limbs unnaturally long and spindly, eyes hollow and echoing an abyssal darkness, mouths gaping wide with rows of jagged, predatory teeth. Some figures pulsated with an eerie, molten quality, their skin alive with a macabre rhythm.

As these aberrations advanced, their movements were disturbingly graceful—a grotesque dance of death choreographed by the night itself. They converged on the trapped crowd, their presence eliciting a symphony of screams that were both bloodcurdling and mind-shattering. Some attempted to flee, only to become entangled in the desperate scramble. Others, paralyzed by terror, stared in horror as the inhuman horde closed in, their souls seemingly devoured by the sheer, unyielding panic.

The assault was relentless. Limbs were torn away with brutal precision; bodies were dismembered in a display of macabre artistry; heads contorted in unnatural angles, as if defying the very laws of nature. Each moment was an eternity of torment, every scream a testament to the surreal horror that had befallen them.

Then, as the terror reached its zenith, a new, inexplicable phenomenon shattered the chaos. High above the carnage, a massive, perfectly spherical rock materialized, suspended in midair nearly 90 feet above the ruined pit. Its surface was unnaturally smooth, its presence silent yet foreboding. For a suspended moment, time seemed to hold its breath. And then—without warning—the rock plummeted from its perch.

CRASH! The impact was cataclysmic. The force of the falling stone unleashed a shockwave that scattered dust and blood in every direction, silencing the unholy chorus of screams for an instant. In the wake of this devastation, there was nothing but a deep, pervasive darkness—a darkness that swallowed every trace of the previous horror, leaving behind only the echo of a nightmare that had all too briefly intersected with reality.

In that overwhelming void, the terror of the night lingered—a final, indelible reminder that sometimes, the boundaries between the world we know and the unfathomable realms of the unknown can shatter in an instant, leaving us trapped in a living nightmare.

scene shift 

"Wake up! Wake up!"

Shlok's eyes snapped open.

Then, he saw them—his classmates. Laughing.

He was sleeping in a classroom. Daylight streamed through the windows. 

A woman stood in front of him, arms crossed. The professor.

"You were sleeping during class," she said, tapping the desk.

Shlok blinked, 

"Sorry, ma'am," he muttered.

The class snickered.

"Go to the principal's office. Right now."

Shlok why its always me 

To be continued .....