Prologue: A Stranger in the Bottom of Abyss

Many say running away is the act of cowardice—a choice for the fragile and powerless. But what if you have lost everything and you've gone astray? What if you can't see the other way? What if escape is the only chance to survive another day?

How many days have passed?

Or was it years...?

I don't even remember.

And why do I keep walking like this?

When hatred and rage consumes man, blinding their vision and corroding their will, fleeing from their own darkness becomes not an act of weakness, but a strong defiance. To survive.

Lost in the darkest depths of Alas Tumangkar—Forest of Propagation, a worn out, disheveled, raggedy young man keeps on drifting aimlessly. His feet dragging heavily, his breath barely.

The darkness will end, and the storm will pass.

A false hope he clings to. An imaginary beacon at the end of a bleak, endless road. A promise of rest, of peace, of something that could heal the gaping hole in his heart.

But he knows, deep inside, what he's desperately trying to reach is all but an illusion. He is doomed to an endless and meaningless search.

Even so, the man walks forward, as a shell of who he once was. Clutching hard at the shred of his remaining sanity. His heart burns with a fierce hatred—so fierce that it has begun to consume him inside out. The right half of his body bears the mark of his anguish: charred flesh and skin meld with ashen bone, twisting and warping into something grotesque, something inhuman. Malforming into a manifestation of his inner torment.

Yet, he walks. Each step is agony, each movement sears pain that radiates from his distorted body. Hatred mingles with guilt, sadness with despair—a raging storm within his hollow heart, boiling over like a leaking cauldron, spilling its burning torment into every fiber of his being. The intense burning dries his throat; he wants to scream, but the sound dies before it can escape his lips.

The depths of pitch-black forest swallows him whole. Trapping him in an endless maze of twisted roots and shadowy branches. Suffocated in the dense darkness, he walks with no direction, stumbling blindly in his faltering steps.

Winds of malice reverberate through the air, whispering faint voices of the man's nightmare.

"Please come home... Please..."

A familiar voice. Tender but strained, echoes faintly from somewhere behind him.

Mom...

He falters, almost turning back, but something stops him. Her tone carries a weight he cannot bear—a tone that blames, that beckons him into a past he can never reclaim.

"But you've failed." Another voice hisses from the darkness, sharper. Cutting deep into the man's psyche. The word Failure burrows into his thoughts a thousand times, poisoning him with venomous guilt. More voices join in—a cacophony of condemnation. Strangers, faceless figures, and even echoes of people he once knew.

"You couldn't save them."

"How could you hurt your own friend?"

"You made them cry."

"You're worthless."

"You deserved this."

Their accusations mixing with his own doubts, each one strikes like a hammer. His head feels heavy; his vision blurs.

And yet, he keeps walking.

His fear starts manifesting into something real. Something faint at first, but growing clearer with each step he takes.

The first is a girl, her face hauntingly familiar. But the closer he approaches, the figure becomes more distorted. Her eyes hollowed out, her lips agape, mouthing unintelligible silent words.

She reaches out to him, her stretched hands trembling. His heart clenches as he remembers her soft laughs—but here she is, ice cold and lifeless. Her mere presence pierces him with bone-chilling cold, further agonizing him.

Behind her is a tall young man, a figure he cannot bear to look at. The apparition's features twist and contort, a mockery of what was once a friendly face. He sees the young man's hand gripping his chest, as if clutching at an unseen wound.

The malformed man falls to his knees, his shallow breaths turning into a silent cry.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."

He whispers hoarsely, his voice cracking. The words fell into nothingness, swallowed by the forest.

The specters start multiplying. Twisted and contorted shapes—barely resembling humans, emerge from the corners of his vision, flickering like dying embers. Some crawl on snapped limbs, others tower over him with elongated shadows. Their faces are visceral, incomplete. And yet, all those figures feel awfully familiar.

Echoes of the lives he failed to save, the embodiment of promises he couldn't keep.

The Ones that have lost their way.

The suffocating air thickens, heavy with the stench of decay and ash. The ground beneath his feet seems to shift, the roots writhing like serpents. His legs grow weaker, the burning pain intensifying, the coldness of the air numbing his remaining feeling.

And he stumbles again, collapsing to his knees.

Why do you keep going?

One of the voices sneers, its tone mocking. The lurking gaze of faceless voices burden him. But he resists them forcefully, standing up with his trembling feet beneath him. He heeds none of the calling voices.

He keeps on walking forward, towards the faint light in the distance—a glimmer of something beyond the suffocating darkness. It is small and flickering, but it is enough.

With the last of his remaining energy, he screams out his dying breath, pushing forward with all his might, dragging his body. Step by step. Excruciating pain.

Suddenly, the forest breaks. The dense shadows give way to a rushing sound, a roar that grows louder with each passing moment. He stumbles out into the open, but before he can comprehend where he is, the ground beneath him gives way.

A torrent of water surges forward, sweeping him off his feet. The current is cold and unrelenting, pulling him deeper and deeper into its embrace. He thrashes, his malformed limbs struggling against the force, but it is futile. The light he chased disappears, swallowed by the rushing waters.

And then, silence.

He is swallowed by the Abyss.

💧💧💧

Time slips by, passing like both an eternity and a fleeting moment.

As the man regains his consciousness, his eyelids start to twitch, heavy as iron. He slowly peels them open, only to reveal nothing but endless darkness. His mind is adrift, untethered. As if his existence floats in the boundary between life and death.

He found his body submerged in an icy void. The wetness of chilling water and weight of crushing air presses down on his entire being.

Is this death?

The thought echoes, unanswered.

He tries to move, but his fading will barely animates his body. His right side, the monstrous amalgam of charred flesh and exposed bone, feels heavier than before, as though the corruption has spread. But even in his state, his will refuses to yield.

Get up. Keep walking.

The words ring in his mind, faint but unrelenting.

His legs move almost on instinct, and he rises unsteadily amidst the wet ground beneath his feet. Slick and slippery. The sound of trickling water grows louder, guiding him like a faint pulse in the void. He follows it, each step a battle against his frail body and the weight of despair.

The river stretches endlessly ahead, its surface faintly shimmering with unnatural bluish light. The flow beckons him, leading to a point his vision unable to reach.

As he walks, the air around him feels alive, shifting with faint murmurs and whispers. At first, they are unintelligible, like distant voices in a crowd, but soon they sharpen into words that gnaw on his mind. Chewing him inside out.

"You belong here."

"There is no escape."

"This is your fate."

Cold, hollow, and familiar voices. Something he's been listening to, over and over.

He grits his teeth, refusing to acknowledge their existence. But their presence surrounds him, pushing his resolve to the edge.

Ahead, the faint outline of a figure materializes in the distance, distorted but indistinct. The man squints, his steps faltering as fear and despair prickles at his skin. The figure seems to ripple like a reflection on disturbed water, its form both solid and shifting. As he approaches, the sight of it makes his breath hitch.

It is himself.

Or rather, a reflection of what he's fighting against. The shadowy figure mirrors his every movement, but its features devoid of any traces of humanity. His head is adorned with a crown of horns. Spiky bones growing out from his charred body, forming a layer of shell that covers his whole being—a cindered remnant of himself.

The doppelganger's eyes burn with a dull, crimson light, its mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile, ear-to-ear, baring its rows of crooked fangs.

"Why do you keep defying?" the shadow hisses, its voice slithering into his ears like venom.

The man freezes, his fists clenching. He wants to look away, but he cannot tear his eyes from his own reflection

"Why can't you accept what you are?" it continues, stepping forward. The water beneath its feet ripples unnaturally, as though recoiling from its presence.

"You will be here with me... forever."

The words strike deep, unearthing the doubts he's buried beneath layers of defiance. He feels the weight of their truth, the futility of his endless struggle. His knees tremble, but his heart burns. Hatred flares within him, igniting his fractured will.

"No," he growls, his voice hoarse but firm. "I won't."

The reflection tilts its head, its smile widening. "You always say that. And yet, you always return here. Weak. Broken. Helpless."

"Shut up!" The man's voice cracks as his anger erupts. He charges forward, each step sending splashes of water into the air. Pain radiates through his body, his malformed right arm searing as it crackles with heat. But he doesn't care. His hatred consumes him, driving him forward.

"I refuse!" he roars, his voice echoing through the void.

The reflection doesn't flinch. It stands still, its smile unwavering as the man closes the distance.

"YOU BASTARD!"

The man swings his monstrous fist, every ounce of his remaining strength poured into the strike. The air seems to tremble as his attack hurtles toward the shadowy figure.

But just before the blow connects, he loses his strength. His arm, heavy and unwieldy, feels as if it has been drained of life. The crimson eyes of his reflection flare brighter, and the figure reaches out, its cold, shadowy hand stopping his fist with ease.

The man roars as the strength leaves his legs, and he collapses into the shallow water. His vision blurs, the edges darkening. The last thing he sees is the shadow leaning over him, its smile twisting into something even darker.

"You'll be back,"

it whispers, its voice fading as his consciousness slips away.

"You will always be back here,"

"With me..."

The last thing he can hear is a cackling laugh, before falling into the void once again.

☀️☀️☀️

Warmth.

Gentle and kind.

The man's eyes flutter open, revealing bright scenery in vibrant colors. Sunlight filters through a canopy of lush green leaves, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light. The suffocating darkness of the Abyss, the searing pain of his corrupted body, and the tormenting whispers of his nightmare still linger vividly.

But he is alive.

A soft sensation surrounds him. Fluffy furs brush against his body, and he becomes aware of something pressing against his side. Oddly comforting and relieving him from his weariness. His hand twitches as he shifts his position slowly, exhausted from his hunger and fatigue.

He looks down and sees the source of the warmth—a white wolf, its fur so pristine it seems to glow in the sunlight. The creature lies curled against him, its steady breaths ruffling his tattered clothing.

The man exhales shakily, his voice hoarse. "Where...?"

As if sensing his awakening, the wolf lifts its head and looks at him. Its pale blue eyes meet his, sharp yet gentle, carrying a depth that feels almost human. It nudges him with its snout, a soft, affectionate gesture, and lets out a quiet huff.

The man chuckles weakly, the sound dry and cracked. "Good morning... or is it afternoon?" He glances around quickly, examining the bright greenery around him. "Still high noon, I guess."

He sits up slowly, every movement painful. His gaze shifts to his right arm. The grotesque, demonic corruption is gone, replaced by raw, burned flesh. It looks human again—if barely. His fingers tremble as he touches his face, feeling the rough texture of the scars that stretch across his entire right side of the face. His right eye is almost useless now, blurred white with barely any perceivable shapes.

He touches his arm, his chest, his face again, as if to confirm this is real and not another nightmare. "Still alive..." he mutters. A bitter laugh escapes his lips. "Barely."

The wolf nudges him again, this time more insistently, as if urging him to move.

"Alright, alright," the ragged man says, forcing himself to stand. His legs are shaky, but they hold. He notices the wolf already on all fours, watching him with an intensity that feels out of place for an animal.

"You... you stayed with me, again?" he asks, his tone softer. He doesn't expect an answer, but the wolf responds with a nudge against his hip and a bark—a short, deliberate sound that feels like agreement.

For the first time, he notices something lying nearby. A heap of wild mushrooms, berries, and a few roots looking like a thin carrot arranged on a flat stone. The placements are a bit odd. A bit messy, but uncannily neat.

The man blinks, his brow furrowing. "You did this?"

The wolf barks again, wagging its tail slightly.

He crouches down, picking up one of the berries. They're washed clean, their reddish skins glistening in the sunlight. "You're... too smart for a wolf, you know that?" He pauses, his stomach growling loudly. "But I guess I shouldn't question my luck. Thanks, buddy."

The wolf sits patiently as the man eats, watching him intently.

As hunger overrides his caution, the raggedy man starts with eating the berries. Mostly it's wild, brightly colored raspberries. But the man noticed there were a few darker blackberries in the mix. The man scoops a fistful of berries from the pile, filling his mouth with tart and refreshing sweetness. The man perks up and continues enjoying his time with the berries.

Once he eats all the berries, the man examines the heaps of golden brown mushrooms. His hunger can't be held anymore. He fills his mouth greedily with the mushrooms, filling his taste buds with earthy flavors, with a slight hint of fresh citrusy aroma and chicken-like savoriness.

After finishing the mushrooms, he quickly finishes the wild carrots. A similar taste with ordinary carrots, but with an extra kick of savory scent.

When he's done, he sits back and sighs, running a hand through his tangled wavy hair that reaches his shoulders.

"You saved me. Again." He glances at the wolf, his lips curving into a faint smile. "What would I do without you?"

The wolf lets out a soft, happy bark and steps closer, resting its head briefly against his shoulder.

"Well," the man says, stretching carefully, "I guess I've had enough rest. Time to keep moving." He rises to his feet, though his legs still feel like dead weights.

The wolf steps forward, circling him once before stopping at his side, its tail slowly swaying back and forth.

"Or maybe we should hunt something," the man adds, half to himself. "Meat sounds good, doesn't it? What do you think, buddy? Should we eat first or find a place to sleep?"

The wolf tilts its head, as if considering his words. Then, with purpose, it turns and points its snout toward a narrow path between the trees.

"You want me to follow you?" the man asks.

The wolf barks again, this time sharper, more commanding.

"Alright, alright," the man says, raising his hands, feigning surrender. "You know this place better than I do. Lead the way."

The wolf sets off, its movements full with grace. The raggedy man follows, trying to keep up with the wolf's pace.

As they walk, he can't shake the feeling that this creature is more than it seems. Ever since he met this white wolf, it always shows up at the right time and right place. Saved him from the dangers of the forest many times, and conveniently guided him to survival. As if the white wolf is watching over him the entire time.

Its intelligence, its behavior—everything about it feels uncanny. Why would it help someone that wants to throw away their life?

Not yet.

The raggedy man decides to not ponder too much for now.

The sunlight begins to fade as they make their way deeper into the forest. The man glances at the wolf, who occasionally stops to ensure he's keeping up.

"You know, you're too smart for a wolf. Are you perhaps a spirit disguised as a wolf?"

The wolf doesn't respond directly, but its ears flicker slightly at his words, as if it understands.

The man sighs, with his steps growing steadier despite his fatigue. Wherever this path leads, he knows one thing: he's not walking it alone.

"Well, pretend I never asked you... I think I'm still delirious."

He chuckled dryly at his rambling, but the sound felt hollow in the dense quiet of the forest. His steps faltered, and it took him a moment to realize something was wrong. The wolf was no longer by his side.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. "Oh, god damn it."

Panic crept in as he scanned his surroundings. The trees stretched endlessly around him, their canopy shifting in the breeze, but there was no sign of the white wolf. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up.

"Great. Just great."

Yet, as his gaze followed the narrow path ahead, a small part of him felt reassured. The path seemed almost too deliberate—a single, clear direction cutting through the otherwise chaotic wilderness. The wolf must have gone ahead, he reasoned, though the idea did little to soothe his unease.

"Maybe I'm just hallucinating," he muttered. "Maybe I gathered all that food myself when I wasn't conscious. I don't even know what's real anymore..."

He trudged onward, the forest growing quieter with every step. The usual rustle of leaves and chirp of distant birds seemed to fade, replaced by an unnatural stillness.

It wasn't long before a different sensation crept over him—a prickling at the back of his neck. The uneasiness slowed his steps and hitched his breath. He tried to shake off the paranoia, but his ears, dulled though they were, caught something that froze him in place.

Footsteps.

Not his own, but distinct, deliberate. Heavy boots clashing against the forest floor.

His heart pounded in his chest as he strained to listen. Two pairs of footsteps, moving in unison.

"Is it just me," he whispered under his breath, "or is someone else in this forest?"

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move, but instead, he crouched low, slipping behind the cover of dense foliage. His body ached with every motion, but his instincts took over. Slowly, carefully, he moved toward the sound, his breath shallow.

The footsteps stopped.

The man held his position, muscles tense. Peering through the thick underbrush, he finally caught a glimpse of the source.

There, in a small clearing, the white wolf stood motionless. Its hackles were raised, its stance rigid, as it faced off against two figures—a pair of girls. The sight struck him as absurd, but amusing nonetheless.

Two girls, one wolf.

He muttered to himself, biting back an involuntary laugh at the ridiculous thought.

The laugh, quiet as it was, betrayed his position.

One of the girls—tall, with dark green hair tied loosely behind her—turned her head sharply in his direction. Her piercing green and golden gaze locked onto his hiding spot.

"Goddamnit," he hissed under his breath.