The ability he had taken from the Chainkeeper. Iron Bind
He could feel it, chains of energy coiling around his shoulder, ready to manifest at his will. Tools of restraint, of defense, of domination.
But there was a cost to the ability. The Voice of the Abyss spoke, its tone heavier than usual.
[Warning. The power of chains corrupts. Prolonged use may bind the soul. Monitor usage carefully.]
Aelric gritted his teeth. He had no intention of becoming another prisoner of the Abyss. Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet.
The labyrinth crumbled around him, the surviving chains slithering away into the cracks of the earth like wounded serpents.
Ahead, a new passage opened, leading deeper into the cavern. Without hesitation, Aelric stepped forward.
He couldn't let Abyss break him. He had to master it. Or he would die trying to master it.
The corridors beyond the labyrinth seemed almost quieter, but the silence was an illusion. It was a silence so thick, so heavy, it pressed against Aelric's skin like a physical force. Every step he took echoes not just off the stone walls, but deeper, into something unseen, something awake.
He moved carefully, his torn cloak dragging lightly behind him. His wounds throbbed, but the regeneration granted by Gluttony kept him on his feet, stitching torn muscles and cracked bones together with slow but relentless efficiency.
The newly acquired Iron Bind skill thrummed against his consciousness, an alien weight nestled deep within his soul. It wanted to be used, to stretch its chains and match into something.
Aelric ignored the temptation. He needed clarity, not hunger drive impulses. The path sloped downward, winding in a slow spiral.
Strange patterns lined the walls, painted in what looked suspiciously like old, dried blood. Curved sigils and spirals that hurt eyes if stared at for too long.
The Voice of the Abyss remained silent for once, its ever-present analysis strangely muted. Aelric's senses sharpened, hyper-aware of every small shift in the air, every faint murmur rising from the stone.
As he moved deeper, the world itself seemed to ripple. At first, it was small, with walls that seemed to breathe, shadows that didn't quite match the angle of the light. Then even worse. The Whispers began.
Soft at first, like the rustling of dry leaves, then louder, turning into a low chorus of countless voices. Male and female, old and young, snarling and pleading and laughing.
They clawed at his mind, a thousand broken thoughts weaving into an oppressive tapestry.
"Turn back."
"Devour us."
"Join us."
"Suffer."
Aelric clenched his fist until his claws dug into his palms. Blood welled up, the sharp pain grounding him.
He kept moving. He would not let phantom voices dictate his path. He emerged into a vast chamber unlike any he had seen before.
A shallow lake of black, viscous fluid covered the floor, reflecting the crimson glint of his eyes.
Columns of petrified bone rose from the depths, stretching into a ceiling hidden by thick mist. Floating within the most were translucent figures shifting, agonizing, bound together by invisible threads.
[Soul remnants] The voice of the Abyss finally spoke, voice distorted, almost strained.
[Fragmented echoes of the devoured. Data suggests a high probability of mind contamination. Proceed with caution.]
At the center of the lake stood a single, crooked monument, an altar of fused flesh and iron, pulsating weakly as if breathing. Aelric gaze hardened.
He stepped onto the blackened liquid. It should have been impossible to stand on it, but the Abyss cared little for natural laws.
The surface was solid understanding his feet, yet each step sent ripples shimmering outward, carrying reflections of memories of not his own.
The first ripples brushed his leg and saw a man, chained to a stone slab, screaming as his skin was flayed away in strips. His tormentors were masked, their laughter muffled by bone helmets.
Symbols were carved into the man's soul, not just his flesh, etching madness directly into his essence. Aelric recoiled, but another ripple struck him.
A woman, crawling a child of rotting limbs, weeping black tears as the grove around her consumed them both. Her prayers twisted into curses before the end.
Memory after memory assaulted him with every step, pounding against his mind like hammers on brittle glass. The sheer weight of despair threatened to drown him.
He staggered, dropping to one knee. His claws scraped against the black fluid, and the ripples intensified, more and more until he was buried under a tidal wave of borrowed suffering.
[Stabilizing mental integrity] said the Voice of the, even though it was struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of corrupted data.
[Warning: Prolonged exposure will lead to psychological collapse. Immediate action required.]
Snarling, Aelric slammed his claws into his thigh. Fresh pain flared, cutting through the fog of alien memories. He focused, summoning the [Iron Bind] skill, not to attack, but to stabilize.
Ethereal chains wrapped around his arms binding his limbs, grounding him. The Whispers lessened, if only slightly. Enough to move again.
He reached the altar. It pulsed harder as he approached, and the mist overhead thickened, coalescing into a massive, shrouded figure.
It had no, face no features only a galing, black maw stretching across where its head should be.
It spoke without words, injecting raw emotion directly into Aelric's mind.
"You seek knowledge. You seek power. You seek freedom."
Aelric straightened, blood dripping from his wounds. His voice was hoarse but firm.
"I seek Dominion."
The shrouded figure unfurled dozens of tendrils, each one writhing with ghostly faces. It offered him a shard of itself, a crystal formed of compressed memories, of agony, of failure, of ancient truths.
But the cost was very clear. If he accepted it, a part of him would be forever changed. Contaminated by the echoes of the Abyss.
The Voice of the Abyss chimed urgently: [Severe risk of corruption. Probability of irreversible transformation: 68%.]
Aelric stared at the shard, feeling the desire to take it.