The Descent into the Obyss

With trepidation, the adventurers retraced their steps, their fingers running along the worn stone walls, seeking something—anything—that might reveal a path below. The whisper of an ancient presence lingered in the air, a weight upon their shoulders, urging them forward.

It was Asher who found it.

A series of worn symbols, etched into the base of the pulpit's wall, hidden by time's embrace. Symbols that did not belong to the temple above but to something older, something buried beneath. She traced them lightly, her fingers trembling as she recognized their significance—not just decoration, but instruction. With a pulse of unseen force, the wall groaned, and with a slow, grinding shudder, it yielded to her touch.

A hidden passage lay before them, leading into the depths below.

And so, they descended.

The stairway wound downward, its walls pressing in, its shadows whispering at their backs. The air grew colder, the very atmosphere thickening with each step. The torches flickered, fighting against the encroaching void, their flames dimming as though fearful of what lay ahead.

Then, at last, they reached the chamber.

It was vast, a cavern of endless dark, its ceiling unseen, its edges devoured by shadow. And in its center, towering and unmoving, stood a black obelisk. A single circle of pale light, descending from an unseen source above, illuminated the ground before it. The moment their feet crossed into the circle, a shudder ran through the walls.

A voice without a voice echoed in their bones:

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You have entered the Dungeon of the Obyss

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Behind them, the passage sealed shut, stone grinding against stone with an ominous finality. There was no turning back. No retreat.

Only descent.

The darkness watched. And then, it moved.

From the cracks and corners of the chamber, from the very walls themselves, shadows stirred, creeping forward like a tide of living night. Clawed fingers and sharp fangs formed out of the void—but no eyes, no features to betray malice or reason. Only hunger.

The horde leapt.

Silence was their war cry. Death was their intent.

Steel flashed, fists struck, and magic crackled through the air. Urchin met the onslaught head-on, his claws rending the creatures apart, tearing into them as though they were nothing more than fabric to be shredded. Cuttle moved with precision, catching the very light in his hands, wielding it like a blade to carve through the dark. Asher stood her ground, sweat pouring down her face, sigils of power forming at her fingertips—desperate walls against the tide of oblivion.

But the shadows were relentless. They did not retreat, did not falter. The light above them wavered, shrinking under the force of their assault.

And in the midst of the chaos, Hapa watched. He searched. He understood.

His gaze snapped to the obelisk, its ancient surface covered in unreadable runes. The truth of the dungeon was clear: this was the key.

But he could not decipher it.

Desperation mounting, Hapa reached for the book. The worn tome he had carried through the ruins above, the one that had spoken to him, guided him. He flipped through the pages, seeking—hoping.

Then, the chamber shivered.

Tendrils of red and black light uncoiled from the obelisk, slithering through the air like living ink. They stretched toward the adventurers—reaching, grasping—until they touched the book's surface.

A screech split the void. Words cracked themselves across the pages, violent and unbidden. And suddenly, Hapa understood.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With pain in his eyes, he looked to his companions.

Urchin tore through the horde, his movements savage and unyielding. Cuttle struck with holy fire, dispelling the creatures with each devastating blow. Asher—young, untested, but fierce—stood her ground, magic forming and reforming in her hands as she held the darkness at bay.

And then, Hapa began to chant.

The first syllable was like a strike of lightning in the void.

The darkness screamed.

It raged.

The horde's attack redoubled, as though the words themselves were a provocation. Their circle of light shrank further, barely clinging to existence.

Heeding the signs, the trio closed ranks around Hapa, guarding him as he spoke. His voice rang clear in the abyss, syllables of power filling the chamber, vibrating through the walls, through their bones, through the very air.

The light above flickered.

The darkness clawed its way upward, seeking to devour the last vestiges of illumination.

The light wavered. It dimmed.

It was almost gone.

But Hapa's chant reached its crescendo.

The obelisk answered.

A surge of crimson radiance exploded outward, swallowing the chamber in a tide of burning light.

The darkness recoiled. It shuddered. It screamed.

The shadowed figures dissolved, unraveling like mist caught in the morning sun. The chamber trembled, the runes upon the obelisk erased in a final, blinding pulse of power.

Silence fell.

The adventurers stood, breathing heavily, victorious.

Then—light, pure and untainted, flared around them.

A single, powerful pulse.

It enveloped them in its embrace, and for an instant, the world ceased to exist.

When sight returned, each of them lay upon the soft, damp earth, the sound of water trickling nearby.

A small pool, fed by a gentle waterfall.

And beside them, scattered upon the ground, lay a hoard of treasure.

A reward, earned in blood and light.

The Dungeon of the Obyss had tested them.

And they had prevailed.

…

Something had… happened.

But what?

A dull ache pulsed through my void, an unsettling, lingering sensation I couldn't quite place. And for a moment—a single, terrifying moment—I was alone.

The rhythms were gone.

The silence stretched, suffocating and vast, pressing in like an ocean with no shore. It was—

Then, suddenly, they returned.

Relief surged through me as familiar rhythms trickled back into my void, chasing away the hollow emptiness that had filled it. The ache didn't fade completely, but it softened, soothed by their presence.

'Khalasna ba'a! It is so nice to see you guys again! Oh, and we have some guests?'

I relished the presence of my friends—Wildlife and Wanderer's, Ironwood and Beasts—the steady, familiar patterns weaving through my center. But alongside them, new rhythms curled inward, blending and twisting into the space about me.

The moments ticked by, and with each passing second, the dread slunk away, shrinking into a memory that didn't quite feel real.

I was back. I was fine.

I took a moment to steady myself, focusing on what I could feel.

A flat, solid surface. 'Alright, not being carried.' Not what I recalled. .

I was closed. 'Also not what I remember.'

Had I… 'fallen asleep? Wait. I thought I didn't do that.'

The last thing I remembered was Hapa telling me about Boulder Spiders. Where even were they now? 'Did we leave the dungeon?'

And—oh!—those mushroom things! 'I would love to know more about those. I wonder if anyone recognized them.'

"Helloooo! Anyone there? I want to know what happened!"