The Abyssal Wastes had never felt more alive—and more dead at the same time. As Kenrith stepped deeper into the void-infused temple, the air grew heavier, saturated with despair so thick it felt as if the walls themselves were breathing it out. The faint glow from the runic carvings illuminated his path, but only just enough to make him wish they didn’t. Each step felt like venturing further into the belly of something ancient and alive, and something about this place—it wasn’t just darkness. It was suffering, raw and eternal, buried deep into the stones.

Kenrith moved in silence, the hilt of Void’s Kiss steady in his grip. The sword hummed faintly, a vibration that resonated in his bones. It had always reacted to the void in ways Kenrith couldn’t fully explain, as though it had a will of its own. Now, the blade felt almost restless, like it too sensed the weight of what was coming.

The temple’s corridors were narrow, twisting. It wasn’t long before they opened into another chamber, larger and more ornate than the last. The air here was thicker, colder. Runes spiraled along the walls, each one carved with an otherworldly precision that made Kenrith pause. The carvings told a story—a story of agony.

Figures, etched in sharp, jagged lines, writhed and twisted across the stone. Some were bound by chains, others consumed by swirling tendrils of void energy. Their faces were etched in exquisite torment. Yet there was one figure larger than the rest, central to the scene. It loomed over the others, its form barely humanoid, wreathed in shadows and depicted with an overwhelming aura of dominance. This was not just a void creature. This was something far worse.

Kenrith raised his mask slightly, letting out a slow, quiet breath. “So it’s true,” he murmured, his voice low.

Suffering.

The name whispered through his mind, like a voice carried on a cold wind. He had heard the stories, of course. Who hadn’t? An ancient void entity said to embody torment itself, its very presence driving men to madness. But the Sanctuary’s records dismissed it as a myth, an exaggeration from an era where hunters faced threats they couldn’t comprehend. Kenrith wasn’t so sure now.

He stepped closer to the mural, his gloved hand brushing lightly against the cold stone. As he did, something shifted. A whisper—no, several whispers—slipped into his ears. Faint, fragmented, unintelligible. They weren’t coming from the walls. They were coming from the air itself, creeping around him like unseen tendrils.

Kenrith’s grip tightened on Void’s Kiss. “Show yourself,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

The whispers stopped.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, so absolute that Kenrith could hear the soft hum of his sword. Then, without warning, a deafening screech tore through the air, so loud and shrill that even Kenrith staggered back. Shadows surged from the corners of the chamber, swirling together into a chaotic mass.

From that darkness, they came. Dozens of void creatures, smaller than the ones Kenrith had encountered before but no less dangerous. They moved with an unnatural speed, their forms flickering in and out of existence like they were struggling to stay tethered to this reality.

Kenrith didn’t hesitate. Void’s Kiss was in his hands in an instant, the blade glowing with an intense, radiant light. He lunged forward, his movements precise and unyielding, each swing cutting through the creatures as if they were made of paper.

“Void Breaker!” he called, slashing downward with a strike that sent a shockwave rippling through the chamber. Several creatures dissolved instantly, their forms shattering into motes of energy that faded into the air.

Stolen story; please report.

But for every creature he cut down, two more seemed to take its place. The shadows were unrelenting, converging on him like a living tide. Kenrith’s movements became faster, more deliberate. Each strike was calculated, aimed not just to kill but to control the flow of the battle.

One creature leapt at him from above, its claws aimed for his throat. Kenrith sidestepped effortlessly, spinning Void’s Kiss in his hand before driving it upward in a powerful arc. The creature disintegrated with a shriek, its remains scattering like ash.

The battle dragged on, longer than Kenrith anticipated. His breathing grew heavier, but his focus never wavered. This was what he did. This was what he was made for.

Finally, the tide began to subside. The creatures’ numbers dwindled until, at last, the chamber was still again. Kenrith lowered his sword, its glow dimming but not fading entirely. The remains of the creatures had already dissolved, leaving behind no trace of the chaos they had wrought.

And yet, the air still felt wrong.

Kenrith turned his gaze back to the mural. The central figure—the one wreathed in shadows—seemed different now. Its form was no longer static. It seemed to pulse faintly, as though the stone itself was alive.

The whispers returned, louder this time. Clearer.

“Kenrith…”

His name. Spoken not as a question, but as a statement. A declaration.

Kenrith tightened his grip on Void’s Kiss. He scanned the chamber, his instincts screaming at him that he was no longer alone. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed darker now, deeper.

“Come out,” he said.

And it did.

From the far side of the chamber, the shadows began to move. Slowly at first, then faster, swirling together like a storm. The temperature plummeted, frost forming on the stone floor beneath Kenrith’s feet.

The figure that emerged was unlike anything Kenrith had seen before. It was tall—impossibly tall—its form wreathed in darkness that seemed to devour the light around it. Its face, if it could be called that, was a void. A black hole in the shape of a head, surrounded by faint tendrils of energy that shifted and writhed like living things.

Kenrith felt it immediately. The despair. The anguish. It washed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its intensity.

This was Suffering.

The void entity didn’t speak, but it didn’t need to. Its presence was overwhelming, its power suffocating. Kenrith could feel it pressing against his mind, testing the edges of his resolve.

Void’s Kiss hummed in his hand, brighter now than ever before. The sword seemed to recognize the threat, its glow pulsing in rhythm with Kenrith’s heartbeat.

“So it’s true,” Kenrith said softly, his voice steady despite the weight of what he faced. “You’re real.”

The figure didn’t respond. Instead, it moved, its form shifting in ways that defied logic or reason. It didn’t walk. It flowed, gliding across the chamber with an eerie, unnatural grace.

Kenrith raised his sword. “Let’s see if you can bleed.”

The shadows around Suffering surged forward, coalescing into tendrils that lashed out like whips. Kenrith dodged the first strike, his movements quick and precise. He countered with a slash from Void’s Kiss, the blade cutting through the tendrils with ease.

But for every tendril he severed, two more took its place.

Suffering pressed the attack, its movements relentless and unpredictable. Kenrith was forced onto the defensive, his sword moving in a blur as he deflected strike after strike. The entity was faster than anything he had faced before, its attacks driven by an unrelenting ferocity that bordered on madness.

Yet Kenrith didn’t falter. He couldn’t.

With a sharp cry, he lunged forward, Void’s Kiss glowing brighter than ever. The blade met Suffering’s form, cutting through the shadows with a burst of light and energy. The entity recoiled, its form flickering as though it were struggling to maintain its shape.

Kenrith pressed the advantage, striking again and again. Each swing of Void’s Kiss tore through the darkness, its glow pushing back the oppressive weight of Suffering’s presence.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the entity stopped.

The shadows surrounding it began to dissipate, fading into the air like smoke. For a moment, Suffering’s form wavered, its void-like face turning to Kenrith.

“This… is only the beginning,” it whispered, its voice like the echo of a thousand screams.

And then it was gone.

Kenrith stood alone in the chamber, his breathing heavy, his sword still glowing faintly. The weight in the air was gone, but the memory of it lingered, etched into his mind like a scar.

He lowered Void’s Kiss, his gaze drifting back to the mural. The figure at its center was still now, its form once again etched in stone. But Kenrith knew better.

Suffering was not defeated. Not yet.

And whatever it had planned, this was only the start.