Elder Olg didn’t enjoy walking in water. Or sand for that matter. Or gravely stones that made him feel just how thin the soles of his sandals were.

In truth, he wouldn’t have minded any of them. But unfortunately, the Abyss was throwing all that and more at him, one after the other in an unrelenting kaleidoscope of terrain, and that annoyed him. He ought to be allowed some time to get used to them. But no. Every glinting orb he jumped greeted him with a wholly different world.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep going through the little portals either. Once, the idea of channelling Abyss-Aspected Essence would have been too abhorrent for him. And the reason why was all too apparent. Elder Olg only had to look down at himself to see it.

Pulling his sleeve back revealed how his right arm was growing more and more twisted, the skin cracked and peeling, and the flesh appearing as though there were veiny parasites underneath. Black and brown lesions had risen all over the limb. He was having trouble moving his fingers too. They twitched on their own too much. At least the pain was minimal.

Despite all that, he couldn’t stop. Not when channelling corrupted Essence was the only thing that allowed one to interact with things in the Abyss.

For now, Elder Olg readjusted his robe’s sleeve and focused on what lay ahead. The trail of Ashflame was dying. Just before the others had been taken, he had set a pinch of Ashflame on them all, hoping to follow the track left behind.

Even now, the remembrance of the moment of capture—and all that had led up to it—made him grimace.

When he and his team of disciples had entered the dungeon proper, they had been stymied by the sheer press of monsters that called it home. It hadn’t been surprising. Foxwolf’s scouting foray had proved that the Abyssals had originated in the dungeon, and as such, there would be a great many of them within the dungeon’s confines.

It wasn’t even worrying that it proved true when they finally infiltrated the dungeon in person. No, what had worried Elder Olg was just how quickly that pressure had been relieved.

In fact, it had almost felt like the monsters had evacuated the dungeons en masse. That suggested that they had launched yet another assault upon Lionshard Sect, which in and of itself hadn’t been too concerning at first. The Sect Leader and the rest of the Elders would repel that invasion just as they had done with the others.

But then the whole dungeon itself had started shaking periodically. The sounds of fighting had made it deep within the dungeon where Olg and his companions had camped. Ferocious explosions, ear-splitting shrieks, and the occasional quake that had threatened to make the tunnel ceiling collapse on them.

Worst of all, it had gone on for a long while. So much so that they had been forced to continue their journey and eventually come across the Abyss Rent.

Where they had been attacked through the accursed rent.

Grumbling to himself a little, Elder Olg continued onwards. Despite being chilly, the mud in this world was refusing to solidify and let him walk properly. Caking his feet, getting between his toes, crusting beneath the toenails… disgusting. Elder Olg made sure to spit right before he entered the next little orb.

He found himself on grass, in a golden landscape that reminded him of sunsets. Distantly, he recognized that it was strange that the miniature realms the Abyss kept throwing him were not so dissimilar from the very world he had come from. But that recognition remained somewhere in the back of his mind, for he had come across his first target.

“Elder…” the young man said weakly. “You made it…”

Elder Olg slowly walked over to the dying man. He was too late. Of course, he had known that saving any of those who had been pulled in by those threads would have been next to impossible. Nevertheless, remorse battered him like waves of a stormy ocean.

All this sacrifice, letting his own arm decay to this putrid state, and yet, his disciple lay dying before him.

Elder Olg came to a sudden stop. There was something strange about the disciple he had finally found. The grievous wound he had suffered in his gut wasn’t surprising, nor was all the blood he had lost or the way he had grown pale in encroaching death.

No, it was the way he was petrifying all over. Elder Olg was certain he could touch the dying disciple and the poor fellow would crumble to dust.

“I commend you for holding on for this long, Elskaern,” Olg said, overcoming his surprise to kneel next to the young man. A boy, really, if he was being honest. A boy whose life had been stolen far too quickly. “The trail is growing cold. I cannot be certain if I will find the others.”

Elskaern needed a moment to answer. “You should not waste a moment longer then, Elder.”

“True enough. But…” Elder Olg frowned at the cracks all over the disciple’s skin. “What has happened to you?”

“A Beast Core.”

Elder Olg’s frown deepened. At his advanced age, he really ought not to be furrowing his brow so much. He was risking leaving far too many wrinkles. Even his cultivation wouldn’t be able to wipe away all evidence of his journey through the years.

But he couldn’t help himself when he quested into the disciple’s body. Flickers of Ashflame needled into Elskaern, who gasped at the intrusion but made no verbal protest. It didn’t take Elder Olg long to find what the disciple had been talking about. There was indeed a Beast Core embedded within his chest.

Elder Olg tried to fathom what exactly his questing sense was interacting with. The Essence was strange. “This is…”

“Mountain.”

“The Anachron?”

Elskaern’s silence was all the answer Elder Olg needed. He had known about the Anachron aligning itself against the Sect along with its fellow Anachron, Forest, according to Rieren. But he hadn’t interacted with the creature directly. Had only ever seen the Anachron in person a few times, none of which had been recent.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

So what in the world was his Beast Core doing here of all places? Had the Abyssals betrayed the Anachron and taken its Core for themselves? They had come into the Abyss in pursuit of the Gravemark Puppeteer, after all.

Perhaps the Anachron had died in some other manner and the Abyssal had simply taken advantage of its passing to steal its Core. Such a thing was certainly not unheard of.

But…

“Why do you have such a thing, Elskaern?” Elder Olg asked. “I assume you didn’t come across and ingest it of your own volition.”

Elskaern tried to answer but gasped and coughed instead. Elder helped steady him. The poor disciple didn’t have much time longer.

“It came… with the threads,” he finally said, every word taking an obvious effort. “I don’t know… what they intend. Something terrible, though…”

“Then the others might be in similar danger.”

Elskaern grunted low in his throat.

Elder Olg nodded. He looked up. The little trail of Ashflame had finally faded. Among all the little glinting orbs floating on the grassy cliffside, he couldn’t find any that was burning with his peculiar grey flames. It seemed his forward path was going to be more arduous.

A throb worked up his arm, and it was all Elder Olg could do to not clutch his chest. Well, he had been counting on some more time, but it seemed the corrupted Essence was beginning to take its due as well.

Apparently, despite his state, that hadn’t escaped Elskaern’s notice. “Did you truly channel Abyss-Aspected Essence to come find us?”

“Such is the duty of an Elder of the Sect,” Elder Olg said. “I can’t leave my disciples behind, now can I?”

“Even when you know you’ll die in the process. Even if it meant losing all the progress you’ve made?”

Elder Olg understood the concern. After all, he had his own goals. His own dreams to make a reality. He hoped to be where the Sect Leader stood one day, and then, surpass even that. To one who harboured such wishes, diving into the certain doom that the Abyss represented was foolish.

As such, Elder Olg had no wish to die.

He ensured his sleeve was properly covering his arm. “Have some faith in your Elder, will you?”

Elskaern stared for a moment, then laughed, then finally coughed up some blood. “Well, I am glad it’s just one of us doing the dying. But that means you’ve got time to find the others. You should get going, Elder.”

“You presume to order an Elder of the sect around?”

Elskaern was undaunted. Not that Elder Olg had put any real force behind his words. “I’m dying, Elder.”

“Fair enough.”

It took some effort for Elder Olg to rise back to his feet and leave his dying disciple on the ground. They all knew what they were getting into. Death was an all too real possibility. Lingering any longer had no benefit.

“Fare you well, Elskaern,” Elder Olg finally said. “Perhaps we will meet again in the Beyond.”

“Fare you well, Elder. Here, you might need this.”

Elder Olg squinted to see that Elskaern’s hand held a tiny glinting orb. Ah. That was likely the one he needed. “How did you come by this?”

The disciple only coughed up more blood. His voice grew weaker than ever and his eyes finally began closing. “No time… hurry, Elder…”

He didn’t speak any more. Elder Olg stood a few heartbeats longer in silent vigil. Then he channelled corrupted Essence once again, and ignoring the growing pain in his right arm, he dived into the Abyss’s next little realm.

Elder Olg almost fell when he found his feet on solid ground again. That would have been disastrous. He was at the peak of a pure black mountain. Quickly lowering himself to his haunches to steady himself, Elder Olg managed to take a look around.

Above him, the sky was a strange, dirty gold, as though the sun of this universe was made of mud. An uncomfortably warm wind blew in, ruffling his robe and carrying tiny bits of what seemed like ash with it. As always, there were more glittering orbs floating everywhere.

Another body was higher up the peak. This one was even stranger than Elskaern’s. Where he had seemed to be turning to stone as he had died, this corpse had already half turned into a tree. In fact, as Elder Olg climbed his way towards the body, the tree continued growing. Its branches lengthened, its trunk thickened, and its roots dug deeper.

Good thing there was still enough of the disciple that was recognizable. Silamair. Poor girl had only reached Awakened realm a few days before their mission into the dungeon.

And now she was a tree.

Frowning, Elder Olg quested with his Ashflame needles again. He sucked in a sharp breath. There it was. Just as he had feared, there was the Beast Core within Silamair’s body as well.

An Anachron’s Beast Core, no doubt. He knew Mountain had a companion simply called Forest, the one that embodied the swathes of trees that adorned the unpopulated regions of Lionshard mountain. So that Anachron was dead as well?

Yet again, he had no clue what they were doing here. What could ever be the purpose of inserting a Beast Core into a cultivator? He could fathom why cultivators might absorb one of their own volition—Beast Cores could be a great source of power, depending on the Aspect they embodied. But that didn’t explain how it could ever benefit an Abyssal.

He suspected there was some key information about the monsters that he was missing. Some particular piece of knowledge, at least about the Gravemark Puppeteer specifically, that would explain what he was witnessing here.

Elder Olg looked around. There were others of his party he was missing, but with the trail of Ashflame long gone and the state of the most recent disciple he had found, it was unlikely he would find anything but more mysteries. What he needed now was a shift in his goals. Pursuit wasn’t pointless. But his search had to be for answers, not for his disciples.

He grimaced as pain twisted up his arm again. Elder Olg hadn’t been lying when he had said he didn’t intend to die here.

Foxwolf appeared with a white and grey firestorm as he activated his True Summons.

“You called, Fish-Belly-Pallor One?” the Spirit Beast asked.

Elder Olg gazed fondly at his ever-present companion. “I was afraid the Abyss might hold you back.”

Foxwolf looked a little affronted at his concern. “Such an impudent suggestion. Time and space are meaningless to a True Summon.”

“Of course. My apologies.” He held out his right hand, pulling the sleeve up to his shoulder. The sight was more gruesome than the last time. More and more, it was starting to look as though someone had grafted a corpse’s decayed arm to where his should have been. “I wish to sacrifice my arm.”

“And what do you ask for in return?”

“That you defeat the monsters in pursuit.”

“Running from your battles?”

“Well—”

Elder Olg’s rebuttal to the disgraceful accusation by Foxwolf was interrupted by the most surprising of sounds he could have imagined hearing in the Abyss.

A meow.

When he looked around, he found a tiny black kitten coming down from even higher up the peak. He stared for a while, then took an involuntary step back. That cat… he knew that cat.

“What in the gods-forsaken Abyss are you doing here, kitten?” he asked. “Please don’t tell me Rieren is here with you.”

Batcat came to a stop a few paces from Elder Olg. It considered him, then turned to survey Foxwolf with curiosity, who in turn stared at the little winged cat with her own avid curiosity.

“I would have asked how you came to know such a Spirit Beast, Fish-Belly-Pallor One,” Fox wolf slowly said. She straightened, the white flames upon its fur brightening as she turned around. “But I must comply with your request soon. Your visitors will arrive soon.”

Of course. Elder Olg hadn’t heeded how many of the Abyssals he had alerted in his headlong passage through the Abyss.

There would likely be a lot. Thankfully, Foxwolf was more than capable of handling them. Especially after swallowing his right arm, which she proceeded to do. The momentary pain made Elder Olg gasp despite himself, though his Ashflame quickly began replenishing the lost limb.

The Spirit Beast had no qualms that she was eating corrupted Essence. Her flames only grew brighter, now too difficult to look at for long.

Batcat headbutted the hem of his robes as Foxwolf trotted away.

“What is it, cat?” he asked. “Can you not see that I am wounded?”

The kitten butted its head against his leg once more, then flapped its wings as it started scurrying off upslope. When he didn’t immediately follow, it paused to look back. Elder Olg stared. Did that cat just… nod at him to get moving?

Blinking away his surprise, he strode after Batcat. Elder Olg had to admit that the kitten had arrived at a good time. He was a bit directionless at the moment.

Something told him that the cat would lead him to the answers he sought, one way or another.