The Crimson Sands Desert stretched before them, an endless canvas of red-gold dunes sculpted by relentless winds.
The sun beat down mercilessly, shimmering off the heat-hazed horizon. Ryel and Miel, now accustomed to the arduous journeys, walked in comfortable silence, their black and white robes providing some respite from the scorching rays. The silence was broken only by the soft crunch of their boots on the fine sand.
After hours of walking, the sun high overhead, Ryel called for a break. He found a small, rocky outcrop that offered a sliver of shade. As they settled down, Miel conjuring a small amount of water from the ambient Aetherweave for them to drink, Ryel's senses, honed by the Abyss, suddenly prickled.
A distinct vibration in the sand, too heavy for a mere lizard, too purposeful for a natural tremor. From beneath the undulating dunes, the sand erupted. A monstrous creature, its segmented body covered in chitinous plates, its multiple eyes glowing with predatory green light, burst forth. It was a Dune Lurker, a colossal centipede-like beast known for its ambush tactics, its mandibles dripping with corrosive venom.
"Looks like we have company," Ryel stated calmly, standing up. "Miel, stand back. I'll handle this. No time to waste with a prolonged fight." His time limit for the quest was firm, and prolonged combat, even for Miel, was an unnecessary expenditure of energy.
The Dune Lurker lunged, its massive body rippling through the sand, its venomous mandibles snapping shut with a force that could crush stone. Ryel didn't bother with elaborate dodges or skilled swordplay. He simply extended his hand, palm open, towards the rapidly approaching monster. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, seemed to deepen, becoming pools of infinite darkness.
"Abyss," he whispered, the single word a chilling command that reverberated not through the air, but directly into the very essence of the Dune Lurker.
The world around the beast seemed to distort, to shimmer. Its multiple green eyes widened in primal terror, its immense body freezing mid-lunge as if caught in an unseen current. Its snarl died in its throat. With a soundless implosion, as if it had never existed, the entire Dune Lurker, all twenty tons of chitin and venom, simply vanished. Not a speck of sand displaced, not a trace of its passage remained. It was utterly consumed, drawn into Ryel's private void, its essence and all its properties becoming one with the ever-expanding Abyss. Ryel's hand dropped, his expression as nonchalant as if he'd merely brushed a fly away. The speed and absolute finality of the act were chilling.
"Efficient," Miel commented, his innocent voice breaking the sudden silence of the desert. He'd seen Ryel use the Abyss before, but the absolute swiftness of this eradication still held a strange fascination for him.
"Indeed," Ryel replied, already resuming their trek. "Now, let's keep moving."
They continued their walk, the sun beginning its slow descent towards the western horizon. Miel, ever vigilant, his enhanced senses detecting something in the shimmering distance, suddenly pointed. "Ryel! Look!"
On the horizon, barely visible through the heat haze, was a faint, jagged outline. The Whispering Tomb. Its ancient, weather-beaten stones seemed to rise directly from the heart of the desert, a dark, ominous silhouette against the fading light.
As they approached, navigating the treacherous, shifting dunes, Ryel's keen eyes spotted movement near the Tomb's entrance. A figure. Slumped against a colossal, sand-blasted pillar. It was a man, clad in the tattered remnants, his body a gruesome tapestry of deep gashes and raw, festering wounds. Blood, dark and viscous, seeped into the sand around him.
He was clearly one of the previous adventurers Limbalt had spoken of.
As Ryel and Miel drew closer, the dying Hunter, his eyes wide with desperate terror, managed to lift a trembling hand. His voice was a raw, gurgling whisper, choked with blood. "Don't… don't go in there… she… she's still… inside…" His hand dropped, his eyes rolling back as his life force finally flickered out. He died from blood loss, his warning a chilling prophecy.
Ryel stared at the dead Hunter for a moment, his face impassive. The desperation in the man's eyes, the sheer terror he had endured, painted a grim picture of what awaited them. But Ryel had a job to do. And a growing curiosity about the identity of "she."
He pushed the massive, ancient stone door of the Tomb. It groaned, a deep, grinding sound that seemed to echo from the bowels of the earth, then slowly, reluctantly, swung inwards, revealing a maw of oppressive darkness. They stepped inside.
And with a resounding, ancient thud, the door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into absolute blackness.
Then, with an almost theatrical flair, faint, ethereal torches flared to life along the walls, casting flickering, ghostly illumination across a vast, circular chamber. The air was thick with the scent of dust, decay, and something else… something cold and metallic, like dried blood. Ryel's gaze swept across the chamber, and a grim reality solidified.
Corpses. Two of them. The other two Hunters' Guild members Limbalt had mentioned. They lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, their bodies twisted into grotesque, unnatural angles, their armor ripped and torn as if by immensely powerful claws. Their faces were frozen in expressions of absolute horror. Whatever had killed them, it had done so with brutal efficiency.
And then, he saw her.
Standing in the very center of the chamber, her back to them, was the female in the black Paladin armor. Her short, dark green hair seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight, and the faint lines of stitches were visible on her neck even from this distance. She held her massive battle axe casually, as if it weighed nothing. As the last torch flared, she slowly turned, her head tilting slightly. Her eyes, those terrifyingly empty, obsidian orbs, fixed on Ryel. They held no malice, no recognition, no emotion at all. Just a blank, terrifying void.
Ryel's gut clenched. A bad feeling. A cold, creeping sensation of something profoundly wrong. He turned to Miel, his voice low and firm. "Miel, just wait here. Look for anything that resembles a small book, perhaps with a crystalline cover. And you'll cover me. If any other monsters appear from the darkness, you deal with them. I'll handle… her." He could sense Miel's readiness for combat, his internal energy already beginning to hum.
Ryel began to approach her, his movements slow, deliberate, his senses acutely tuned to her every subtle shift. He had a bad feeling about this. Something was off, deeply disturbing, beyond just her empty eyes. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the Aetherweave around her, a disharmony that prickled at his skin.
Suddenly, without a sound, the female vanished. Ryel's eyes widened, his instincts screaming. She didn't just move; she dematerialized, reappearing an instant later directly above him, her battle axe arcing downwards in a devastating overhead chop. She was incredibly fast, impossibly so.
Ryel, already reacting, threw himself sideways, a blur of motion. The heavy axe, missing him by mere inches, slammed into the stone floor with explosive force. The ground beneath them cracked, fragments of rock exploding outwards. There was no sound of effort from her, no grunt, no strained breath. Just the clean, devastating impact. She was a silent, lethal machine.
The female didn't pause. She flowed into her next attack, a series of blindingly fast, powerful axe swings, each strike designed to cleave him in two. Ryel, his Diov ability fully engaged, met her with a dance of evasion. He dodged, weaved, and deflected, Valernar materializing in his hand, its black blade a shimmering barrier against her brutal attacks. The clang of metal on metal echoed deafeningly in the enclosed chamber as Valernar met her axe, sending sparks flying. He moved with a precision born of years of simulated combat, her attacks relentless, his defense absolute. He was pushed back, but never truly hit.
She is much stronger than she appears, Ryel thought, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts. But something feels off about this girl. It's not just the empty eyes. He felt a subtle dissonance, a lack of connection between the sheer power she wielded and the vacant presence within her. He found a momentary opening, a split second of exposure. How about this then?
He launched himself forward, feigning a direct attack. As she braced, he unleashed a pulse of Yinity, not outwards, but inwards, focused on his own body, amplifying his already immense strength to a catastrophic degree. His muscles screamed with the sudden surge of power.
But as he looked, she vanished again. He felt a chilling presence directly behind him, a whisper of disturbed air. She had reappeared, her axe swinging in a wide, decapitating arc. She thinks she got me! But Ryel was ready. He deflected her strike with a powerful, almost casual backhand, sending her axe ringing harmlessly away.
Without wasting a moment, he spun, twisting his body into a powerful kick that connected squarely with her chest, propelling her backwards with bone-shattering force. She slammed into the ancient stone wall with a sickening crunch, the impact shaking the very foundation of the Tomb, creating a spiderweb of cracks.
Dust and rubble rained down.
"Not enough, huh?" Ryel muttered, watching her. He knew the force of that kick should have shattered every bone in a normal human body, even one in powerful armor. But she slowly, inexorably, began to rise from the rubble, her body seeming to knit itself back together with unsettling speed. As she stood, a chilling transformation occurred. A dark, reddish aura began to emanate from her, swirling around her like a malevolent storm. And beneath her pale skin, dark, pulsating veins became visible, throbbing with an unnatural, shadowy energy. Her empty eyes, though still void of emotion, now glowed with a faint, crimson light.
Ryel's eyes narrowed. Is that it? He knew the answer now, the pieces clicking into place, horrifyingly, precisely. The dissonance, the unsettling feeling, the lack of true presence within her. This girl has something controlling and trapping her soul! I'm not sure, but I read some contexts before coming here. I only learned Yinity after reading it – the power to manipulate the spirit. In other words, there's a high-rank evil spirit inside her! His mind raced, recalling fragmented lore he had absorbed through the Abyss.
Possessing spirits, parasitic entities that sought powerful vessels.
The possessed Paladin roared, a guttural, inhuman sound that ripped through the chamber, a stark contrast to her previous silence. She charged, her dark aura expanding, her attacks now imbued with a brutal, unrestrained fury. His soul pulse had clearly angered the entity within. Her axe strikes were no longer precise; they were wild, devastating blows, each meant to crush, to obliterate. The air crackled with raw, malevolent energy.
Meanwhile, deep within the Paladin's true soul, her consciousness was trapped. She lay on a cold, desolate ground, surrounded by an oppressive, endless nothingness.
Her true body, a mere echo of her physical form, felt tethered, imprisoned. Her only companions were the faint, distant screams that echoed from the physical world, the echoes of the entity's wrath.
How long has it been? she wondered, her mind numb from centuries of silent captivity. A profound weariness, a deep, abiding despair, settled over her. She was a prisoner in her own being, a silent witness to her desecrated form.
Ryel met the onslaught, his movements becoming a blur of defense and counter-attack. The possessed Paladin was faster, stronger, more relentless, but Ryel was calculating. He spun, delivering a powerful spin kick that caught her squarely, pushing her back, creating a momentary distance.
Before she could recover, he simultaneously appeared behind her, a ghost of motion.
His hand lashed out, not to strike, but to grasp. He focused the raw energy of Yinity, not for physical force, but for its true purpose: soul control. He thrust his hand, not into her physical body, but through her and directly into the core of her being, reaching for the parasitic entity. He felt it – a writhing, malevolent presence, deeply embedded, like a cancerous growth on her true soul. With a surge of pure will, Ryel forcefully grabbed the entity, tearing it from her.
The Paladin's body went limp, collapsing to the stone floor in a heap, the dark, reddish aura instantly dissipating. The entity, a formless mass of shadowy tendrils and malevolent eyes, was ripped free. It let out a loud, ear-splitting screech, a sound that was pure agony and rage, making the very air ripple and crack, sending vibrations through the stone of the Tomb. It was a cry of profound violation. The entity, now exposed, free from its vessel, its power raw and unbound, instantly targeted Ryel. With the speed of thought, it launched itself at him, attempting to burrow back into the nearest powerful host. It plunged directly into his body.
Inside Ryel's soul, a realm of cosmic vastness and absolute control, the entity materialized. It was a swirling mass of dark, malicious energy, its form twisting as it tried to grapple with Ryel's consciousness. It saw Ryel, standing before it, a calm, unassuming figure in the midst of his infinite soul-scape. It lunged, its shadowy tendrils reaching, attempting to seize control.
But Ryel simply vanished.
The entity snarled, its shadowy form flickering, confused. It turned its gaze, searching frantically. And then it saw them. Not one Ryel, but multiple Ryels, thousands of them, coalescing from the very fabric of his soul-scape. They stood in an endless circle, each with the same calm, unnerving smile. And from their eyes and mouths, black, viscous liquid, like pure shadow, began to pour out, a terrifying, silent display of power. The entity shrieked, a sound of pure terror, utterly bewildered by this impossible sight. It launched desperate attacks, its tendrils lashing out, striking at the countless Ryels. Each one vanished upon contact, dissolving like smoke, only to reappear elsewhere, the circle unbroken, the creepy smiles unwavering.
Finally, as the entity thrashed in desperate confusion, the illusions dissolved. Before it, immense and all-encompassing, stood the Abyss entity itself. Not an illusion, but the true manifestation of Ryel's inherent power. It was a colossal, shadowy presence, its form shifting like a cosmic vortex, its single, glowing eye a terrifying vortex of pure void. A knowing, predatory smirk stretched across its formless face.
"Know your place, little one," the Abyss entity rumbled, its voice resonating through the very fabric of the entity's being, echoing the command Ryel had whispered earlier to the Dragon. And then, it simply consumed it. The malevolent entity, a high-rank evil spirit that had tormented a soul for centuries, was devoured whole, its essence dissolving into the infinite, ever-hungry void. It was no more.
Back in the real world, Ryel swayed slightly, a faint ripple of energy flowing through him as the Abyss concluded its absorption. He looked down at the unconscious Paladin, her face now pale and peaceful, the stitches on her body seeming less ominous without the dark aura. He carefully lifted her, placing her over his shoulder.
"Miel!" Ryel called out, his voice slightly hoarse. "Did you find it?"
Miel emerged from a shadowy alcove, holding a small, intricately bound book with a crystalline cover. It pulsed with a faint, internal light. "I found it, Ryel! Just like you described!" His face was beaming, utterly oblivious to the recent, terrifying display of soul-combat.
Ryel gave him a rare, genuine pat on the head, the first time he'd shown such overt affection. "Excellent work, Miel. Let's get out of here."
Within her soul-scape, the female Paladin, her true consciousness, felt a sudden, profound shift. The oppressive darkness, the suffocating nothingness, began to recede. The screams, the echoes of her torment, faded into silence. She stood up, her phantom form trembling. The sense of imprisonment was gone. She was free.
Before her, not in a void, but in a space of gentle, shimmering light, stood Ryel. He extended a hand towards her, his expression calm, offering solace in this strange, ethereal realm.
"Let's walk," he said, his voice soft, resonating with a peculiar warmth she hadn't felt in centuries. She looked at his outstretched hand, then at the boundless, formless light around them. She took his hand.
They walked, through nothing, through everything, a silent journey through the landscape of her newly liberated soul. And then, in the shimmering distance, a door appeared. Not a door of stone or wood, but a gateway of pure, inviting light.
"I'm waiting," Ryel's voice resonated, beckoning her forward. She looked at him, a flicker of something akin to hope, a sensation long forgotten, stirring within her. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and opened the door.
A blinding light enveloped her.
She opened her eyes. The scent of pine and earth filled her nostrils. She was no longer in the Whispering Tomb, nor in a void. She was in a simple tent, the morning sun filtering through its canvas. Ryel sat opposite her, a familiar, slightly mischievous grin on his face. Miel was beside him, observing her with wide, innocent amethyst eyes.
"Well, hello," Ryel said, his voice casual, as if they were old friends meeting for breakfast. "From now on, you work for me." He waited, a silent challenge in his gaze. She was free. But freedom, sometimes, came with a new set of chains, albeit ones of her own choosing. Her empty eyes, no longer blank, began to shimmer with a faint, returning spark of life, of awareness.
"Eh?"