Lord Of The Abyss

Chapter One: The Warning

The dream came again.

It began as a whisper—low, distant, and carried on a wind that did not belong to this world. Father Elias stood in a field of blackened earth, the sky above him bruised and shifting like a storm trapped within itself. He tried to move, but his feet were buried in something thick and cold, something that seemed to breathe beneath him.

Then, the whisper grew.

At first, it was only one voice, rasping and hollow, calling his name. But then, others joined. A chorus of voices, overlapping, speaking in a language he did not understand—yet somehow, he knew their meaning.

"The seal is breaking."

"The abyss stirs."

"They will rise again."

Elias turned, his heart pounding. In the distance, an ancient church loomed, half-buried in mist, its great stone doors cracked and broken. The air smelled of decay, of old wood and damp stone. A slow, rhythmic sound echoed from the darkness within—the sound of something vast, something breathing.

Then, the doors burst open.

From within, shadows spilled out, twisting like smoke, writhing like living things. Faces flickered within them—distorted, hollow-eyed, screaming without sound. The ground beneath Elias trembled, and the air turned heavy, pressing against his skin. The whisper became a deafening roar.

"We are coming."

Something moved in the abyss. A towering figure, its form obscured by the swirling darkness, turned its head toward him.

And then—

Elias woke up.

His body jolted upright, drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling as if he had just run for miles. The wooden walls of his small chamber pressed around him, familiar yet suffocating. The candle by his bedside flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows that made his pulse race.

For a moment, he just sat there, frozen.

His fingers gripped the woolen blanket, his heart hammering against his ribs. The whispers still clung to his mind, distant but persistent, like echoes of something waiting just beyond the veil of reality. He turned his head toward the small window beside his bed.

Morning had come.

A soft golden light filtered through the fog outside. The distant chirping of birds and the faint sounds of the village waking up should have been comforting, but they weren't. Elias could not shake the feeling that something had changed—that something had shifted in the world while he slept.

Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his bare feet onto the cold wooden floor. He ran a trembling hand over his face, feeling the dampness of sweat on his forehead.

"It was just a dream," he told himself. But deep down, he knew it wasn't.

Not this time.

---

The Church Service

Elias dressed in silence, slipping into his simple robes, but his mind was still trapped in the nightmare. He left his chamber and made his way to Saint Harland's Chapel, the small stone church where he had served as a priest for nearly a decade. The morning air was cool, the streets still damp from the night's mist. Villagers greeted him as he passed, their voices warm, but he barely registered them.

His thoughts were elsewhere.

"They will rise again."

"The seal is breaking."

"We are coming."

The words echoed in his head, refusing to fade.

By the time he stepped into the church, the pews were already filling. Farmers, merchants, children, elderly—all gathered, awaiting his sermon. The great stained-glass windows bathed the altar in hues of blue and gold, but to Elias, the light felt too dim today.

He took his place at the pulpit, but as he began the opening prayers, his voice wavered. He was sweating beneath his robes. The whispers from his dream lingered like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He scanned the faces of the congregation, but they were all peaceful, unaware.

"Only I have seen it."

For the first time in his life, Elias felt afraid while standing at the altar.

The service passed in a blur. The scriptures, the hymns, the offerings—he went through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere. Every flicker of candlelight, every gust of wind rattling the church doors, sent a shiver through him. He had the horrible feeling that something was watching.

When the service finally ended, he left the chapel in a hurry, barely acknowledging the goodbyes of the villagers. He needed to be alone. He needed to think.

---

The Night Falls Again

Back in his chambers, Elias locked the door. The room felt smaller than before, the walls pressing in. He sat at the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly together, his pendant of the Divine Order warm against his chest.

"Was this a test?" he wondered.

He had faced trials of faith before. But this—this was different. This was a warning.

Night fell quickly. The village streets outside grew quiet, the sounds of laughter and conversation fading into the distant howl of the wind. Elias lit a single candle, its glow barely chasing away the shadows. He refused to sleep.

But exhaustion crept in.

Despite his fear, despite his racing mind, his body gave in. His eyelids g

rew heavy, his breathing slowed.

And as he drifted into sleep—

The dream came again.

—