The Beginning Of An End

Chapter 33

It was Charles Dickens who said, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Humans loved quoting famous people, and as I ran toward the Underworld, I felt oddly human. Memories flashed like a relentless film reel—moments of the Astral that now felt hollow, meaningless, every creature consumed by greed for power. And then, as if a wave washed over me, all of it faded. The only ones that mattered were running alongside me.

The rumbling behind us grew louder, shaking the very air. For a heartbeat, it felt like Abaddon's realm might collapse in on itself. Shadow tendrils writhed from the darkness, reaching toward us like living things born of malice—the combined power of every demon chasing us.

Stone shifted beneath our feet, distant cries echoed, but all of it faded as the tendrils lunged with terrifying speed.

One lashed out, grazing Belial's arm. He winced but didn't slow, pressing on with grim determination. Loki, just ahead of me, glanced back, eyes flicking to the approaching threat. The tendrils surged faster, angrier, as if the realm itself was desperate to drag us back.

Then it happened.

A massive tendril coiled around Loki's ankle, yanking him backward. "Loki!" I screamed, my chest tightening.

He fought, trying to keep running, but the grip only tightened, dragging him down. His sword clattered to the ground. Before we could react, the ground beneath him split open, dark energy seeping like smoke through the cracks. Panic flashed in his eyes as he battled the force, and I realized—nothing was normal anymore. Not the tendrils, not the realm, not us.

Almost instantly, I lunged for him, grabbing Loki by the arm. Together, we heaved, straining with every ounce of strength but the tendrils didn't relent. They only grew tighter, angrier.

Loki's face was pale, breath ragged. "It... won't let go."

"We're not losing you here," I growled, tightening my grip.

The ground beneath him shifted again, cracks widening, a chill crawling up my spine.

"Belial!" I barked, desperation clawing at me.

Belial's jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the relentless horde. "We don't have time," he muttered, more to himself than anyone. Yet instead of fleeing, he planted his feet, digging in with fierce determination. With a growl, he pulled harder.

The tendril snapped back, yanking Loki with brutal force. I nearly lost my hold. Stones crumbled beneath us as the void threatened to swallow everything.

I met Loki's eyes for a second—fear, yes, but also trust. A flicker of belief that I wouldn't let him fall.

"We're getting out of here," I promised, voice shaking from effort.

Then it happened. A pulse of energy surged through the realm. The tendril loosened for a fraction of a second—enough.

With one final pull, Belial and I yanked Loki free. He stumbled back as the tendril hissed, recoiling into the cracks like a wounded beast.

We scrambled upright, adrenaline propelling us forward. Muscles burned, fatigue gnawed at the edges of my strength, but there was no choice. Danger buzzed in the air, thick and alive.

Then a rain of arrows darkened the sky. Thousands whistled through the gloom, deadly as falling stars. Instinct took over—I threw myself aside, barely dodging where I'd just stood. Belial and Loki weaved between the projectiles, swift and unrelenting.

My breath came in ragged gasps, each step heavier than the last. Exhaustion gnawed at me, the weight of reduced power pressing down. Another arrow grazed my side, pain flaring through my body. I was slowing, betraying my own desperate pace.