More spawn erupted from the flesh floor, their bodies stitched together into larger more hideous forms. Two fused abominations slammed into Aelric, their bloated fists smashing into the stone with pulverizing force.
He sidestepped the first, feeling the impact tremor through the ground, then countered with a brutal hook that carved into the creature's chest cavity. The second spawn clamped a maw lined with human and beast teeth around his shoulder.
Pain blossomed. Aelric roared, predator activated for an instant as his body surged with primal rage. He seized the creature's head and wrenched it free with a sickening crunch, black ichor fountaining across his armor.
The corruption in the air thickened. Every breath tasted like spoiled meat. Veyra screamed a warning, the Broodmother was almost upon them. Its massive hand swung in a deadly arc, sending spawn flying like broken dolls. The impact cratered the ground where Aelric had stood seconds before.
They ran, not out of fear, but ruthless pragmatism. Survival first, they can take vengeance later.
The Throned Arch looked ahead, a natural formation of blood-red stone, curved like a fanged maw. Beyond it, the tunnel sloped sharply upward and escaped.
"Veyra!!" Aelric screamed. She was already moving. With a guttural chant, she unleashed a wave of distortion magic glyphs ablaze. Runes long burned by time flared to life, the stones groaning as the very earth prepared to collapse.
Aelric crossed under the arch in three bounding strides. Veyra followed closely, her wings flaring open for balance, and her face was serious with some kind of determination.
Behind them, the cavern imploded. Stone and flesh and screaming spawn were swallowed whole as the Thorned Arch collapsed in a thunderous avalanche, sealing the Broodmother and her wretched progeny inside.
Silence returned, broken only by their ragged breathing. Aelric leaned against the wall, bloodied and battered but still alive and kicking. Veyra on the other hand, slumped beside him, her illusions were pretty useful. Her illusions finally dropped, revealing the true extent of her exhaustion.
After a long moment of rest, they simply breathed. Finally, Aelric broke the silence, his voice was low and iron-edged. "You his your strength well."
Veyra chuckled, a hollow, broken sound. "A girl must have secrets," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Especially in a place like this."
The voice of the Abyss spoke.
[Analysis: Veyra's power output during engagement exceeded initial estimations by 34%. Behavioral patterns suggest concealing capabilities. Riske factor: High. Caution advised.]
Aelric flexed his bloodied hands. He knew Veyra was an ally now, but only because circumstances demanded it. The chains that bound her soul were not a guarantee of loyalty. But a leash and leashes could snap anytime.
For now, survival is a top priority. He would watch and study her in mean meantime. And when the time comes, if necessary he would end her quickly.
The Abyss demanded nothingness. Aelric pushed off the wall, surveying the new tunnel ahead. It sloped into deeper darkness, the stones glistening with unknown moisture, the air vibrating faintly with a low, continuous him. The horrors of the Best were behind them. And greater terrors awaiting us. Without a word, he set off into the darkness. Veyra followed, silently as his shadow. The darkness swallowed them whole once again.
The new passage wound downwards like the huller of some vast beast, narrow and oppressive. Aelric moved very silently, each footstep silent despite the loose, damp stones underfoot. Behind him, Veyra followed at a wary distance, her violet gave flickering constantly across the tunnel walls as if expecting something to snap closer to them any moment.
The silence in Abyss is never natural. It has been doing of a being, a predatory. Even the Voice of the Abyss spoke only in murmurs.
[Warning: Biome shift detected. Organic anomalies are present. Threat probability: escalating.]
The passage widened after what felt like an hour of cautious descent, and the two emerged into a cavern so vast that even Aelric's enhanced sight could not find its end.
It was unlike anything he had seen before. The cavern's ceiling pulsed with a soft, sickly red glow, casting everything below in shifting hues of crimson and black. The ground was no longer stone. It was like a massive flesh moss that quivered with each step, exuding a faint, nauseating warmth.
Twisted trees suddenly started to grow from the flesh, their trunks sinewy and malformed. Their barm looks more like muscle than wood. Their branches were covered in hanging growth sacs of translucent skin filled with something black things, with different shapes.
Aelric inhaled and immediately regretted it. The air was thick with the scent of rot and blood which is normal. But hidden in that sent was a sweeter and more insidious aroma, something almost floral, meant to dull the sense and lure prey deeper inside.
The voice immediately warned him
[Environment Analysis: Manifested Hunger. Caution: The Grove is semi-sentient. Objective: Absorption of foreign entities.]
Veyra coughed and drew her ragged cloak tighter around herself. "This is the Vile Grove," she said, voice strained. "A living trap. A wound in the Abyss itself.
Aelric surveyed the landscape closely. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. But there was no going back now. The tunnel had already begun sealing itself behind them, the flesh walls knitting closed like a wound clotting with blood.
Forward, always forward. They moved cautiously through the grove, each step eliciting soft, wet sounds from the flesh beneath their boots. The trees seemed to lean towards them as they passed, their limbs twitching subtly, their hanging scars ripping in anticipation.
Occasionally, something unseen would pass through the underground, too fast to catch sight of it. Low Whispers drifted through the air, faint, half-formed words that made the hair on the back of Aelric's next stand on end.
He ignored them. He had faced Illusions, Psychic traps and even worse than them, or so he told himself to ignore, what he was seeing.
After some time, they reached what could barely be called a path, a meandering trail where the fleshy ground was thinner, the muscle stretched taut like a scar.