Descent Into the Maw [RAW]

*RAW*

The ruins of Zacra loomed like a scar upon reality itself — not merely forgotten, but actively buried by time, dread, and divine disavowal. Towering pillars jutted from the cracked earth like the broken fingers of a long-dead titan, strangled by moss and ivy that fed not on water, but on memory. The shattered archways had long since been consumed by creeping decay, their once-regal carvings now smeared with time and lichen. These weren’t just ruins; they were remains — a corpse of a civilization that had tried, and failed, to lock something away.

Fractured staircases spiraled in directions that defied sense, some leading nowhere, others leading too far. Every stone bore the etched visages of forgotten gods, their hollow eyes worn smooth as though trying to forget themselves. The air was thick with more than dust — it held a palpable malevolence, like a breath exhaled from beneath the earth.

Light did not reach this place. It recoiled.

And in its absence, something watched — patient, hungering.

“This is where they sealed it?” I asked, voice echoing against stone that felt like it was listening.

Celis nodded, her expression grim and pale. “This is the mouth. From here, there’s no turning back.”

A monolithic stairwell opened before us — a yawning spiral of darkness that tunneled into the bowels of the world. Thousands of steps spiraled downward, tight and suffocating, carved from black stone chiseled with runes that flickered faintly as we passed. It was as though the stairs were alive, breathing our presence in with each descent.

With only a torch in hand and the mark on my palm pulsing like a second heartbeat, we stepped into the abyss.

We had descended scarcely two hundred steps when the world began to shift. The air thickened into something syrupy and cold, and the torchlight no longer obeyed natural laws — it twisted inward, drawn into the runes on the walls. The stone began to sweat, black ichor leaking like blood from ancient wounds. The glyphs transformed with every turn — less script, more warning.

Celis stumbled, her breath catching mid-step. She pressed a trembling hand to her temple, fingers twitching as if the world were trying to rip through her skull. “It’s… spinning,” she murmured, her voice thin and distant, like it was being stolen by the dark.

I reached out instinctively, catching her elbow. “We can rest,” I said, though I wasn’t sure rest was even possible in a place like this. The air felt too thick, the pressure unnatural. It clung to us like a living thing.

She shook her head, ever defiant. “We have to keep—”

Her voice vanished as her foot missed the stair.

Time fractured.

Her body slipped sideways, momentum dragging her off the step. For a heartbeat, she hovered mid-air, hair suspended like ink in water, eyes wide—not in fear, but in realization.

Then gravity reclaimed her.

A scream tore from her lips.

I dove forward, the torch clattering away into the black.

It spun as it fell, trailing light like a dying comet until it was devoured by the void.

My hand closed around her wrist. Her fingers clutched mine with bruising strength, skin cold, muscles trembling.

“I—I can’t hold—”

“Yes, you can!” I barked. “Don’t let go!”

Her grip spasmed. Her arm shook violently as her boots scraped against the stone, finding no purchase. Below her, the chasm yawned—bottomless, ancient, hungry.

I leaned over the edge, eyes locking with hers. She wasn’t afraid. Not really.

What I saw was deeper.

Resignation.

Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with something older. Guilt. Apology. As if she were sorry I had to witness this, sorry for dragging me here at all.

She mouthed something—too quiet to hear.

Then her hand slipped.

And she fell.

Without thought, without breath, I leapt after her.

But her strength was fading. Her hands trembled violently, nails scraping against the cold stone as she struggled to hold on. Our eyes met in a fleeting heartbeat — and in hers, I didn’t see terror. I saw apology. Regret. A quiet ache, like she had already accepted what was to come before I could even reach her. Her lips parted, as if to say something — a farewell, maybe — but the words were lost to the chasm. It was not fear that consumed her in that moment, but sorrow. Sorrow that I had to witness it.

And then… her hand slipped.

She fell.

Without thinking, I followed.

We plunged through the shaft like stones hurled by some furious god into the endless dark. The silence was not true silence—it had weight, pressure, presence. Around us, the world howled as if the void itself had found a voice, and it was screaming in chorus.

My ears filled with a rising click-click-click— that vibrated not just through the air, but through my bones.

It was a sound ancient and rhythmic, like the slow heartbeat of a machine older than time.

Dchak. Dhak. Dhak-dhak-dhach.

And then the world shifted.

The air twisted, folding inward, and the sensation of falling was ripped away like a torn veil.

We were floating.

The shaft transformed into a cosmic chamber — a liminal space beyond gravity, logic, or time. Bronze rings, vast and meticulously forged, rotated with reverence and silence around a colossal central spindle. The rings shimmered with etched glyphs, their meaning unknowable yet heavy with intent. As they spun, they whispered—silent languages threading through the emptiness.

The gears — some the size of city gates — moved slowly, like beasts stirring from a millennia-long slumber. Their movements were hypnotic, almost reverent, like a prayer spoken without a tongue. It felt like we had breached the interior of a forgotten god’s mind — mechanical, sacred, terrifying.

Celis floated ahead, unconscious, her body limply turning in place like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Her hair flowed around her like a halo of shadow. I felt a primal terror in my gut — not just for her safety, but for where we had landed.

This wasn’t a stairwell anymore.

It was a chamber of judgment.

I reached for her, pushing off a nearby spinning ring. The texture of the metal was cold, almost greasy with age. I drifted forward, navigating the weightless void, each motion slow and surreal. My breath was too loud in my ears. My heart pounded like a war drum.

As I drew near, our fingers brushed — a soft, electric connection in the stillness.

And then the rings shuddered.

A bolt of cerulean light cracked through the air, like lightning cleaving thought itself.

CRACK.

One of the gears fractured. The perfect rhythm faltered.

A pause.

Then chaos.

The ring ruptured with a burst of blinding light and deafening metal shrieks.

And just like that, the spell shattered.

Gravity returned — all at once, brutal and merciless.

We dropped.

Celis and I fell through debris and shattered light, pulled once more toward earth’s embrace.

“AHHHHHHH!”

The scream tore from my throat — raw, primal, not born of fear, but of defiance against the certainty of death. The wind howled past my ears, roaring like some monstrous breath exhaled by the abyss itself.

My mind fractured into a thousand instinctive calculations — every surface, every angle, every possible trajectory screamed at me in that fraction of a second.

Too fast. No time. Think. NOW.

My hand found my sheath. Heat surged through my palm as the cursed mark ignited in a blaze of invisible fire. It was no longer just pain. It was a summons.

I drew the blade.

The metal sang — not a whisper, but a shriek.

Eyes wide open. Pupils dilated. The world slowed.

I twisted mid-air, catching the glint of a floating slab of stone amidst the falling wreckage. With a sharp inhale, I kicked off its crumbling edge. It shattered beneath the force, but gave me just enough momentum.

I tore through the air, blade-first.

Celis tumbled below me, hair trailing like ink in water, her body limp, arms splayed.

I reached her.

Snatched her waist with one arm, pulling her against my chest.

With a shout ripped from somewhere deep in my gut, I rammed the blade sideways into the crumbling wall.

Sparks exploded.

Stone shrieked.

The blade bit into the surface, screaming with me, cleaving a violent trail as we descended — a gouge of fire and fury carved into the very bones of the ruin.

We slowed. Just enough.

The sword vibrated, groaning under the pressure, heat licking at my skin. My fingers felt blistered, but I didn’t let go.

My muscles screamed. My ribs burned. But I pushed again, digging deeper into the wall.

Then — nothing left to catch. We reached the limit.

I kicked off once more.

I sheathed the weapon in one clean motion as we hit the ground.

Hard.

The impact cracked through me. Pain lashed up my ribs like whips. My shoulder took most of the hit — I felt something grind. Celis groaned, still in my arms, breath shallow but steady.

We were alive.

Barely.

But alive nonetheless.

I staggered to my feet, blade half-drawn, lungs burning as if the air here had claws. The chamber we landed in defied proportion — a subterranean cathedral whose very walls breathed with ancient malice. Pillars soared like petrified roots clawing toward the unseen ceiling, their surfaces etched with countless runes that shimmered faintly, as if remembering their creators.

Along the perimeter stood statues — skeletal, elongated, and draped in decayed ceremonial armor. Their hollow sockets followed our every move with accusing stillness. Blue fire burned in braziers mounted high above the ground, the flames unnaturally still, casting no warmth, only flickering shadows that seemed to slither with intent.

The architecture was not built — it was birthed. The stone did not appear chiseled, but grown from the bones of the world itself, curling and coiling into archways and spires with grotesque organic precision. It felt alive in the worst way — like we had walked into something that should never have been awakened.

At the far end was a throne. Or perhaps an altar.

It was built from bones — black as obsidian, chained with rusted links thicker than my leg.

And seated upon it… was a man.

His cloak was deeper than shadow. His posture, languid. I couldn’t see his face. Not from here. Not in this light.

But the air bent around him.

Then he spoke.

A voice like velvet dragged over broken glass.

“Long time no see.”

He leaned forward. Eyes gleamed behind the veil.

“Kael Veythar.”