The days blurred together.
Each sunrise looked the same—gloomy, clouded by mist and the scent of decay. But Rey knew one truth: in the Abyss, even monotony was a lie. Behind every familiar tree or quiet glade, death waited.
It had been weeks since his last close encounter with the mist-wolves. Since then, he'd moved northeast, still traveling northward in a zigzagging pattern. He no longer walked openly. Every few steps, he paused, crouched, listened. His senses were sharper now—like an animal who'd lived too long in the wild.
Rey rubbed a mixture of clay and wet ash across his arms and neck. It masked his scent better than mud alone, though it burned when it entered his cuts.
He carried three weapons now: a bone-blade carved from the tusk of a lizard-beast, a whip woven from spider silk and tree roots, and his newest creation—a short spear tipped with obsidian glass he'd carefully chipped from a buried shard.
His traps had also evolved.
Some were simple—tripwires and pit traps. Others were more complex: pressure plates, baited illusions using leftover meat, and even noise-triggering snares made from hollow bones and wind-holes.
He had become a hunter.
But today, something was wrong.
The jungle ahead was dead silent—unnaturally so.
Rey knelt and placed his ear to the ground. A faint rumble. Not from above… from below.
He backed away cautiously, then climbed a thick-rooted tree. From there, he saw it—a collapsed section of forest, where trees and stone had sunken inward, forming a wide, dark crater.
Ruins again?
His curiosity burned, but so did caution.
He waited.
And then… movement.
A centipede-like creature, easily the size of a crocodile, emerged from the hole—its body glowing with dull red lines, like magma beneath its skin.
Rey's mouth tightened. The thing moved quickly and without sound. Worse, it didn't rely on sight. Its antennae twitched in rhythm, sensing air, life, and heat.
Too dangerous to fight directly.
He retreated and made camp farther upwind, burying his shelter beneath thick roots and setting traps all around.
That night, he heard a scream.
Not an animal's. A human scream.
He bolted upright, eyes wide. It came from the direction of the crater.
"Impossible…" he whispered.
He hadn't seen another human in years.
But that voice—it was real. Agonized. Male.
Should he investigate? Could it be a trap? Or worse… a hallucination born from isolation?
He decided to wait.
---
The next morning, with the scream still echoing in his mind, Rey returned to the edge of the crater.
There was no body.
But there were tracks.
Heavy, booted footprints. Definitely human.
He followed them carefully, making notes as he went. The trail led eastward, toward a cliffside covered in black vines.
There, he found something chilling.
A torn piece of cloth—stitched with a royal crest.
Rey didn't recognize the symbol, but it was unlike anything the Abyss creatures would create. Elegant. Human-made.
He stared at it for a long time, then tucked it into his satchel.
Suddenly, he felt watched.
He turned quickly—nothing.
But something was watching him. Hidden in the canopy. Covered in shadow.
A pair of pale, humanoid eyes narrowed.
The figure said nothing.
But it knew who Rey was now.
And it smiled.
---
Rey returned to his camp, more alert than ever. He couldn't shake the feeling that his journey had shifted again. The Abyss was vast, yes—but now, he wasn't the only prey.
Or the only hunter.
And somewhere in this endless dark world… he was being tracked.
---