Kalem didn't move.
He couldn't.
He was half-buried beneath a collapsed stretch of tunnel—rubble pressing into his ribs, heat stifling against his battered skin, limbs too heavy to lift. His blade rested dim beside him, only the faintest shimmer of fire still licking along its edge. His breath came slow and shallow, a soft rasp against the silence.
The Abyss had finally quieted. No growls. No shifting earth. No whispers.
Just Kalem, and the silence.
Then—softly, like it had leaned close to his ear—
"This is boring."
The voice.
Still there. Always there.
Kalem blinked, but didn't lift his head.
"I thought you'd be different."
It sounded disappointed. No taunt this time. Just done.
"You screamed. You ran. You tried. But now? Just this."
Kalem clenched his jaw. He wanted to reply, but even his defiance was fading into the dust around him.
"You can't even hate me properly anymore." The voice sighed. "Maybe I got the wrong one after all."
There was a pause. A long, dreadful pause.
And then the world broke.
The ground beneath Kalem lurched violently, shifting like a living thing. The flesh-like walls convulsed. Something beneath the stone howled—not with voice, but with pressure—a pulse of wrongness so complete it made his vision smear.
Then came the crack.
The tunnel floor split in two with a deep, guttural groan, and Kalem was thrown sideways, rolling over bone, stone, and filth. The crate, his loyal burden, clattered violently down the incline after him, scattering its contents like silver blood.
The shrieks started next.
Not one. Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
Shapes poured from the fissure like ink from a broken seal—impossible things. Long-limbed, multi-jawed, slick with a kind of oil-slick sheen, their movements jerking and unnatural. Some had too many eyes. Others had none, but moved as though guided by scent or heat.
They didn't pause. They didn't hiss or roar like beasts.
They just came.
Kalem bolted upright. Pain lanced down his spine, across his ribs. He limped for the crate out of instinct—but before he could reach it, one of the things landed on it and snapped the lock with a sound like a breaking neck.
He stopped.
Staring at the open crate, the exposed weapons. His life.
Then he turned away and ran.
The choice gutted him—but survival was no longer about pride. It was instinct.
He fled through the twisting corridors, vision tunneling as shapes darted alongside him, some crawling on walls, others leaping from outcroppings in coordinated lunges. He threw himself into a narrow crevice, scraping his shoulders bloody, then kept running, ducking beneath hanging roots that felt like veins.
The voice returned, this time speaking casually through his gasping breaths.
"Now this is better."
He didn't respond.
He couldn't.
A burst of heat rolled through the tunnel—a beast behind him had exploded, or ignited, or triggered some Abyssal reaction. Kalem was thrown against a jagged outcrop, armor shearing at the side, leaving his arm exposed. He scrambled forward, only to feel jaws snap closed just behind his heel.
He dropped a flare crystal behind him, and it detonated in a burst of light.
The shrieking paused—just for a breath.
He used it.
Kalem darted across a rotting stone bridge, nearly slipping as pieces of it crumbled behind him. One of the creatures lunged and caught his shoulder—teeth sunk through the leather strap and into flesh. He screamed and slammed the hilt of his fire blade against its skull until it let go.
His blood hit the stone and sizzled. Even the ground tasted him.
His legs were shaking. One arm hung limp now. He was down to the chestplate—his boots torn, gauntlets missing, belt barely clinging to his hip. Blood mixed with grime across his face.
He turned a corner into a vast chamber of gnarled roots and collapsed relics—like a temple swallowed whole. There were corpses impaled on spears of bone jutting from the floor. Some fresh. Others… older than anything human.
Kalem ducked behind a shattered column, breath ragged. The creatures skittered into the room behind him—then stopped.
Watching.
Not advancing. Not retreating.
They waited.
Kalem's breath caught.
Then, in the silence, the voice again. Calm. Distant. Almost wistful.
"How is it?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
"A broken illusion. Just like your will."
Still, Kalem said nothing.
He pressed his forehead against the stone. He wanted to speak—wanted to scream. But the truth was he had no breath left for anger.
"You know what's next," the voice said. "You'll run. Then crawl. Then beg. And finally…" It trailed off.
"You'll forget why you started."
Kalem swallowed hard. Closed his eyes.
Tried to breathe.
It took minutes for the adrenaline to leave his limbs.
When it did, he pushed himself up.
He limped toward the only remaining passage—the others blocked by collapse or death—and walked into the dark, dragging his fire blade behind him, the sparks marking his slow descent.