Chapter 3: Into the Abyss
The journey through the winding streets of Arvellis felt longer than it should have. The city’s decaying alleys, once familiar to Arlan, seemed to twist into unrecognizable shapes under the cover of night. Every shadow felt alive, every flicker of torchlight cast strange shapes on the cobblestones. The group moved in silence, with the hooded figures flanking him on all sides like a procession of death.
Arlan’s mind raced. He had no idea where they were taking him, and every step only heightened his sense of dread. His hand remained wrapped around the coin in his pocket, as if holding it might offer some sort of protection. But the metal was cold and unyielding, offering no comfort. If anything, it felt heavier, as though it pulsed with the same dark energy that had infected his dreams.
After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at an ancient-looking building near the city’s edge. Its walls were made of dark stone, covered in creeping vines, and its towering, iron-bound doors loomed ominously. This part of the city was practically abandoned, a place where no one dared to live unless they had no other choice. The sight of it sent a shiver down Arlan’s spine.
The scarred man at the head of the group, who Arlan had come to think of as their leader, motioned for the others to halt.
“This is where we part ways,” he said, his voice devoid of the smug amusement he’d shown earlier. “Beyond those doors, you’ll find answers. Or you’ll find madness. It all depends on how strong you are.”
Arlan swallowed, trying to fight the growing sense of fear gnawing at his gut. “What’s inside?”
The man’s smile returned, this time smaller, almost pitying. “The Abyss doesn’t reveal its secrets easily. But it has chosen you for a reason. Go. And remember, the void is always watching.”
Without another word, the hooded figures began to disperse, melting into the shadows as quickly as they’d appeared. The scarred man lingered for a moment longer, his eyes locked on Arlan’s. Then, with a slight nod, he too disappeared into the night.
Now alone, Arlan turned to face the massive doors. They seemed impossibly tall, carved with strange symbols that looked ancient and unsettling. He didn’t recognize the language, but something deep within him stirred as he stared at the runes. They seemed to pulse faintly, like they were alive, aware of his presence.
With a deep breath, Arlan stepped forward and pushed the doors open.
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Inside, the air was thick and stifling, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint sound of dripping water. The hallway stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering sconces along the walls. As he walked deeper into the building, the sense of being watched intensified. It wasn’t the eyes of another person, but rather something unseen, something ancient that pressed down on him from every direction.
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The walls themselves seemed to close in as he moved forward. The shadows flickered and danced at the edges of his vision, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there. His heart raced, and his instincts screamed at him to turn back, but the pull of the Abyss was stronger. It beckoned him, whispering in the dark corners of his mind.
Finally, the hallway opened into a vast chamber, the ceiling lost in shadow. At the center of the room was a large, circular platform made of smooth, black stone. Surrounding the platform were tall pillars inscribed with more of the same strange symbols from the doors outside.
As Arlan approached the platform, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. His hand tightened around the coin as he stepped onto the cold stone. The moment his foot touched the platform, the entire room seemed to shift. The pillars pulsed with a dark energy, and the shadows in the corners of the room began to stir, slowly creeping toward him.
Before he could react, a voice—low, cold, and ancient—echoed through the chamber.
"Welcome, Chosen."
Arlan froze, his blood turning to ice. The voice was like nothing he had ever heard. It wasn’t just a sound; it felt like a presence, something vast and incomprehensible pressing against his mind.
The shadows continued to move, swirling around the edges of the room like living tendrils. Slowly, they began to take shape, forming into figures—humanoid, but twisted, with elongated limbs and eyeless faces. Their movements were unnatural, jerky, as though they were mere puppets controlled by something unseen.
"Who are you?" Arlan managed to choke out, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The figures stopped, their eyeless faces turning toward him in unison. The air grew colder, and the voice returned, its tone filled with dark amusement.
"We are the Abyss. And you, Arlan Hallow, are bound to us."
The coin in his pocket flared with heat, and Arlan gasped, clutching at it instinctively. The pain was sharp, but it was the images that flooded his mind that nearly drove him to his knees. Visions of endless voids, ancient cities crumbling into darkness, and figures—powerful, monstrous beings—staring down at him from beyond the veil of reality.
"You carry the mark," the voice continued, its words resonating inside his skull. "The coin is a key. A key to power beyond your understanding. But power comes with a price."
Arlan struggled to steady his breathing, the weight of the voice crushing down on him. "What... what do you want from me?"
The figures moved closer, their twisted forms circling the platform like predators waiting to strike. The voice grew softer, almost a whisper.
"The Abyss does not ask for obedience, Arlan Hallow. It asks for acceptance. The void calls to you. It offers you a choice—embrace it, and wield the power to reshape the world. Deny it, and it will consume you."
Arlan’s heart pounded in his chest. The choice laid before him was a nightmare. The Abyss was offering him unimaginable power, but at what cost? He could feel its darkness tugging at the edges of his soul, tempting him with whispers of strength, of control. But there was also something else—an undercurrent of hunger, of madness, waiting to devour him if he strayed too far.
"I don’t want this," he muttered, shaking his head. "I didn’t ask for any of this."
The shadows surged, closing in around him. The voice grew harsh, impatient.
"Want? You were chosen. You cannot escape what has already been set in motion. The Abyss is eternal, and it will have you, one way or another."
Arlan staggered back, his mind reeling. The room seemed to spin, the shadows pressing closer and closer. His body felt like it was being pulled apart, like the void itself was tearing at the very fabric of his being.
"Choose, Arlan Hallow," the voice demanded, its tone now filled with cold fury. "Will you wield the power of the Abyss? Or will you be consumed by it?"
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Arlan stood at the edge of an impossible decision, the weight of the Abyss bearing down on him. He could feel the coin burning in his hand, pulsing with a dark, malevolent energy. The choice was his, but whatever path he chose, he knew there would be no turning back.
With a deep breath, Arlan closed his eyes and whispered:
"I choose..."
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End of Chapter 3