A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

13 | No Vicious Than Snake(edited)

In the heart of the desolate woods, concealed beneath the twisted canopy of gnarled trees, there lay a den shrouded in an air of sinister mystery. The entrance, obscured by thick vines and thorny brambles, hinted at the clandestine secrets that dwelled within.

As one dared to venture closer, the oppressive darkness swallowed the feeble daylight, and the atmosphere grew thick with an unsettling stillness. The den, carved into the cold, damp earth, emitted a putrid odour-a sickening amalgamation of rotting wood, damp moss, and the faint scent of decaying flesh.

The air itself seemed to pulse with malevolence, clinging to the skin like an invisible shroud. Every step deeper into the den felt like a descent into madness, a journey through the shadows of unspeakable secrets and the twisted desires of those who sought refuge within its cursed embrace.

The shadows danced with sinister glee, as if the very essence of the den revelled in the unspeakable deeds that unfolded within its confines. Flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows on the uneven walls, revealing eerie symbols etched in crimson across the rough-hewn stones.

The complex den, connected by winding, claustrophobic tunnels, resonated with dissonant whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls. Torturous moans and ghostly murmurs echoed, creating a cacophony that reverberated through the damp corridors.

In the heart of the den, a chamber of unspeakable horrors awaited discovery. Rusty chains dangled from the ceiling, ominous symbols stained the cold stone floor, and dimly lit alcoves displayed grotesque artefacts-a macabre collection that told tales of rituals long forgotten and dark rites performed in the name of forbidden knowledge.

Against the same stony wall, gaunt and battered, was the young heir of Romersai, hung limply by rusty chains. Cold and unforgiving they bound his emaciated frame, biting into his wrists and ankles. His tattered clothes clung to his malnourished body, and unkempt hair fell across his pallid face, obscuring the torment etched upon his features. His breath, shallow and laboured, revealed the toll of prolonged suffering. His unconscious form bore the scars of malevolent rituals, his tormentors having left their mark in cruel patterns across his frail skin.

An abrupt splash, frigid water assaulted Auden 's face, snapping him back to consciousness. The cold shock gripped his senses, and his eyes shot open, dilating in surprise, the tendrils of the dream he had been engulfed in dissipating like morning mist.

Gasping for breath, Auden surged upright, water droplets cascading from his face. The sudden revival left him disoriented, his gaze darting through the cavern's unfamiliar surroundings. The cave revealed itself in the ethereal glow of suspended candles, their flickering light casting an otherworldly ambiance that heightened the ominous atmosphere.

Auden's awareness returned slowly, and he violently shook his head, trying to rid his eyes of the water's residue. He surveyed the scene, struggling to piece together the fractured fragments of his memory. As he attempted to move, the reality of his situation hit him—he was bound. Chains held him tight against the cave wall, a few feet off the ground. The rough, coarse links bit into his skin, leaving painful imprints.

A few feet away stood a silhouette cloaked in black, a presence both dreaded and painfully familiar. It was none other than Lord Gan. His upper body retained the shape of a man, but his lower half was entirely serpentine, adorned in glistening scales. Auden wondered why Gan hadn't transformed back into his fully human form—perhaps the demon spirit was stuck.

But Auden had no time to dwell on it. He could care less about Gan's struggles. More pressing matters demanded his attention now, such as the absence of memory about what had transpired at Crepusculem after Gan took over. And the odd, chained position he found himself in, hanging from a wall, was far from ideal.