The silence that followed was unlike anything Bob had ever experienced. It was as though the entire world had been swallowed by a void so absolute that even his own breath seemed to have ceased. He couldn’t hear his heartbeat, couldn’t hear the soft shuffling of his Zombie Shriekers, nor the occasional scurrying of Captain Nutmeg and his Squirrel Soldiers. The oppressive stillness pressed in on him from every direction, making him feel as though he had been suspended in time and space, a moment stretched out into eternity.

It was unsettling, more so than any of the horrors he had faced so far in The Abyss. For all the death and carnage, for all the monstrosities he had cut down, the silence unnerved him the most. It was a stark reminder that this place, this dark and malevolent pit he had been fighting through, was far more than a mere dungeon. It was alive, aware, and watching him closely.

Then, as abruptly as it had come, the silence shattered.

A voice, deep and resonant, boomed from every corner of the room, flooding the space with a power that made Bob’s bones vibrate. The very air seemed to hum with its presence, and the walls of the chamber quivered under its weight.

"Congratulations, Bob of the Abyssal Depths, on completing the Trial by Combat."

The words echoed endlessly, as though they were being spoken from the core of the earth itself. Bob's grip tightened around the hilt of Peace Bringer, his muscles tensing instinctively at the voice’s sheer power. Yet, there was no malice in its tone, no threat of violence. It was calm, authoritative—an overseer of sorts.

"You have fought with valor," the voice continued, "and your enemies have fallen before your might. The Abyss acknowledges your strength and your endurance. You have earned admittance into the final floor—the deepest level of the Abyssal Depths."

Bob exhaled, a long, steadying breath that felt like the first sound he had made in ages. The final floor. After everything he had faced, everything he had endured, he was close now. So close. But what lay at the bottom of the Abyss? What great and terrible challenge awaited him there?

He glanced around at his companions. The Zombie Shriekers stood still, their grotesque forms hunched and twisted, but obedient and ready. The Squirrel Soldiers, led by Captain Nutmeg, were equally silent, their small but valiant figures awaiting his next command. There was a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, thick and suffocating.

But then, as if in response to his growing tension, the Rolodex made its presence known as it prepared to feast.

The essence that had been floating in the room—the dark, swirling energies of the slain drakes and summoners—began to coalesce. Tendrils of mist and shadow pooled around the bodies of the fallen, their very life forces rising up and spiraling toward a point above Bob's head. The air hummed with an otherworldly hunger, the Rolodex slurping wildly as it fed on the essence. Bob could feel the raw power surging into the Rolodex, the spirits of the dead absorbed into its insatiable maw.

The voice seemed to notice this as well, its tone shifting to something more... amused.

"The Rolodex feasts upon the essence of those who have perished in your path," it said. "Such an artifact is rare, even in the Abyss. It draws strength from death itself, and with every soul it consumes, it becomes more powerful. You have chosen your tools well."

Bob said nothing. He lacked any real indepth understanding of what the Rolodex was or how it worked. He only knew that it had saved his life on more than one occasion, its power manifesting in ways that often felt beyond his control. But he had grown to trust it even with it being a cursed artifact, and now, with the final floor looming before him, he was grateful for its power.

"You may rest now," the voice intoned, softer but no less commanding. "Take this brief moment to tend to your affairs, to heal your wounds, and prepare yourself. The bottom of the Abyssal Depths is not a place for the unprepared. You will need all of your strength, all of your cunning, if you are to survive what awaits you."

The light that had blinded him before began to fade, the room slowly returning to its familiar gloom. But the oppressive darkness of the Abyss was lessened somehow, as if the shadows themselves had receded, granting him a moment of reprieve.

Bob sheathed Peace Bringer, the blade still humming with residual power from the battle. He glanced around, noting the state of his forces. The Zombie Shriekers, though relentless in their assault, had suffered damage during the fight. Several were missing limbs, their twisted bodies broken in places where the drakes had struck. But the undead didn’t feel pain, and they still moved with the same eerie grace as before.

The Squirrel Soldiers, on the other hand, were a different matter. Captain Nutmeg stood at attention, his acorn helm dented and scratched, his once-pristine leaf armor tattered and stained with blood. The other squirrels bore similar injuries, though they remained steadfast and ready to continue the fight. Bob couldn’t help but feel a pang of admiration for them. For all their size, they were fearless.

“Captain Nutmeg,” Bob said, his voice breaking the silence. “You and your troops have done well. Take a moment to rest. We’ll need you at full strength for what’s ahead.”

The tiny captain saluted with his sword, his expression as determined as ever. “Thank you, sir. We’ll make sure we’re ready for whatever comes next.”

Bob nodded, though the weight of the upcoming challenge pressed heavily on his mind. What could be waiting for him at the bottom of the Abyss? He had faced drakes, monsters, and dark magic of all kinds, but something told him the final floor would be unlike anything he had encountered so far.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He sat down on a broken piece of stone near the edge of the room, feeling the ache in his muscles and the weariness in his bones. He hadn’t realized just how much the constant fighting had drained him until now. Every battle had taken its toll, and though his will was as strong as ever, his body needed time to recover.

As he rested, the Rolodex continued to hum softly, its hunger momentarily sated. Bob could feel the essence it had absorbed swirling inside it, waiting to be unleashed. There was power there—great power—but also danger. The Rolodex had a mind of its own, and while it had served him well, he knew that he had relied on it heavily. Perhaps too heavily, Bob thought to himself.

Bob allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, breathing deeply and focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The silence of the room, now no longer oppressive, felt almost peaceful. His mind drifted back to his journey through the Abyss, to the countless enemies he had faced, to the comrades he had lost. This place had tested him in ways he hadn’t imagined, pushing him to his limits and beyond.

But there was no turning back. He had come too far to stop now.

After what felt like an eternity, but in reality was only a brief respite, Bob opened his eyes again. He rose to his feet, his body still aching but his mind sharper than before. The final floor awaited him, and with it, the answers he sought.

He glanced at his forces, his Zombie Shriekers, his Squirrel Soldiers, all standing ready, awaiting his command. They had fought beside him through the worst the Abyss had to offer, and they would follow him to the very end.

“Time’s up,” Bob said quietly, more to himself than to his allies. He felt the weight of his next steps pressing down on him like a physical force, but it wasn’t fear that drove him. It was purpose. The Abyss had challenged him, pushed him, and he had risen to meet every trial.

Now, he would face the final one.

As he turned toward the entrance to the next floor, the voice boomed out once more, echoing through the chamber.

"Prepare yourself, Bob! The time for rest is over. The final challenge awaits you below. Will you ascend to the Heavens, or will you fall into the darkness forever?"

Bob took one last look at his companions. The Rolodex hummed ominously in his ear, and Peace Bringer seemed to grow heavier in his hand. The path ahead was uncertain, but Bob had no intention of turning back.

He stepped forward, toward the edge of the abyss.

And the voice fell silent.

Bob stood at the edge of the abyss, his eyes peering down into the impenetrable darkness that yawned below. The voice’s final proclamation still echoed in his ears, but no path presented itself. He and his companions had searched every inch of the chamber, tapping walls, inspecting cracks, and even trying to use the Rolodex’s dark energies to reveal hidden passages. Yet, there was nothing—no stairs, no doors, no portals. Only the vast, hungry void.

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint scraping of Captain Nutmeg’s tiny blade against his dented armor as he polished it nervously. The Zombie Shriekers stood motionless, awaiting orders, their vacant eyes reflecting the darkness. Bob exhaled sharply and gripped Peace Bringer, its familiar weight grounding him.

“There’s no other way,” he said aloud, his voice steady despite the anxiety clawing at his chest. “We jump.”

Captain Nutmeg turned to him, his beady eyes widening slightly. “Sir, are you sure? That’s... a long way down.”

Bob nodded. “I’m sure. The voice said the final challenge awaits below, and there’s no other path. If this is a test, then we face it head-on.”

The squirrel saluted, though his paws trembled slightly. “Understood, sir. We follow you.”

Bob looked over the rest of his forces, their silent forms offering no objections. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to the edge. His pulse quickened, his palms slick against the hilt of his blade. He had fought drakes, demons, and abominations, but this—the unknown—was somehow more terrifying.

“On my mark,” Bob said, his voice firm. “Three... two... one.”

He leaped.

The world fell away as gravity seized him. The Zombie Shriekers followed silently, their twisted forms plummeting like grotesque meteors. Captain Nutmeg and his squirrel soldiers, secured in their gliders made from scavenged leaves and cloth, dove alongside them, their tiny forms flitting through the void like falling stars.

The air rushed past Bob, howling in his ears. The darkness swallowed everything, leaving no sense of direction, no point of reference. Minutes passed—or was it seconds? He couldn’t tell. The sensation of endless falling gnawed at him, and fear began to creep in. Was this it? Had he made a terrible mistake?

Sweat beaded on his forehead and flew off into the void. His breaths came faster, shorter. The Rolodex, usually a source of ominous hums and whispers, was eerily silent. Even Peace Bringer seemed dull and inert. Bob’s fingers tightened around the hilt until his knuckles turned white.

“This can’t be it,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rushing wind. “This can’t—”

The scream that had been building in his throat began to rise, raw and panicked. But before it could escape, everything changed.

A soft glow surrounded him, faint at first but growing brighter. The momentum of his fall slowed, the wind’s roar dying down to a gentle breeze. He looked around wildly as his feet found solid ground—or something like it. It felt firm yet ethereal, like standing on woven strands of light.

His companions drifted down beside him, the Zombie Shriekers landing in a loose formation while Captain Nutmeg and his soldiers glided to graceful stops. They all stared at him, as bewildered as he felt.

Then came the whisper.

“Fear not, my Champion, I have not abandoned you and I will not.”

Bob froze. The voice wasn’t the same as the one that had spoken before. This one was softer, almost tender, yet it resonated deep in his soul. He couldn’t tell if it came from outside or within, but it filled him with warmth and reassurance.

He exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his body. Whatever force governed this place, it wasn’t done with him yet. He glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The faint glow emanated from intricate symbols carved into the floor, pulsating with a rhythm like a heartbeat.

The abyss was no longer empty. Columns of jagged obsidian rose around them, their surfaces slick and reflective, capturing slivers of light from the glowing runes. Shadows danced along the walls, shifting and writhing as if alive.

Bob took a cautious step forward, testing the ground. It held firm. “Looks like we made it,” he said, his voice echoing faintly. “For now.”

Captain Nutmeg adjusted his helm and puffed out his chest. “Where to, sir?”

Bob stared ahead. A massive set of doors loomed at the far end of the chamber, carved with images of battles, sacrifices, and rituals too ancient to decipher. The symbols seemed to writhe under his gaze, alive with dark energy.

“Forward,” he said. “We see this through to the end.”

The Rolodex began to hum again, its hunger reignited by the energies that pulsed in the chamber. Bob could feel it stirring, eager to feed. Whatever awaited them beyond those doors would test them all—but he was ready.

He stepped forward, his companions falling in line behind him, and the doors began to creak open, revealing the true heart of the Abyss.