Nerin's boots struck the cracked stone with a hollow echo, each step swallowed by the labyrinth's endless maw. The walls pulsed like a beating heart, veins of black moss writhing beneath a slick, rotten surface. The air was thick with the taste of decay and lost hope—a poison that seeped into his lungs, suffocating yet intoxicating.
The beast loomed before him, a grotesque mass stitched from fragments of memories and flesh. Its eyes, dark abysses that sucked light and sanity alike, flickered with an insatiable hunger. It moved with a terrible grace, claws scraping the earth with a sound like the tearing of ancient bones.
Nerin's grip tightened on the bone knife, the Hollow Mark burning a furious blue fire beneath his skin. He could feel the beast's thoughts, raw and savage—a twisted mirror of his own fractured soul.
The world around them blurred, reality bending like warped glass. Every breath was a struggle; every heartbeat a drum of war. Shadows twisted and reached out, claws like shards of darkness seeking to drag him into oblivion.
A cold calculation flickered behind Nerin's sunken eyes. The hunger was a weapon—a blade forged in the agony of countless souls. He had learned to wield it, to let it sharpen his instincts and dull his pain.
The beast lunged.
Time fractured.
Nerin moved like a shadow, the knife slicing through flesh and nightmare. But the creature was endless—a cycle of wounds that healed with whispered curses, a horror born from the echoes of the Hollowed who had failed before.
Each strike drained more of Nerin's essence, the hunger clawing to devour what remained. His vision blurred, memories bleeding into one another—a montage of betrayal, loss, and the unyielding will to survive.
In the depths of the labyrinth, the walls themselves seemed to weep, oozing a black ichor that whispered of death and rebirth. The Mark flared violently, scorching his palm as if demanding sacrifice.
Nerin gritted his teeth, a bitter laugh breaking through the suffocating dread.
"Then take it all," he spat. "I am the hunger. I am the shadow that consumes."
With a guttural roar, he unleashed the full force of his Aspect—the Echo of the Forgotten—calling upon the buried memories of those lost to the abyss. Shadows exploded from his skin, tearing into the beast with relentless fury.
The labyrinth trembled, the echoes of battle shaking the very foundations of Blackgate.
When the dust settled, the beast lay shattered—a broken echo fading into silence.
But Nerin knew—this was only the beginning.
The air inside the labyrinth grew colder, heavier, as if the darkness itself was pressing against Nerin's chest, squeezing until the breath cracked like old glass. Each step forward felt like sinking deeper into a sea of black ink, the walls bleeding whispers—half-words, broken promises, lies clawing at his sanity.
His body ached, muscles torn from the battle, but his mind was sharper than ever—razor-thin focus slicing through the suffocating dread. The Hollow Mark on his palm pulsed like a heartbeat of ice fire, reminding him that he was both prisoner and predator in this endless tomb.
Ahead, the labyrinth twisted and folded unnaturally, corridors folding back on themselves like a nightmare fractal. Time bent and fractured; seconds stretched into infinity while years collapsed into moments.
From the shadows emerged a figure—no, a collection of figures, flickering like fragmented reflections in a cracked mirror. Faces without eyes, mouths sewn shut with barbed wire, and hands that reached out but never quite touched.
They were the Whispering Abyss—lost Hollowed souls trapped in eternal torment, echoes of failures chained to this dark crucible.
Their voices seeped into Nerin's mind, a venomous lullaby promising release if only he surrendered his last shred of hope.
"Join us," they crooned, voices a chorus of shattered dreams. "Your pain is ours. Your hunger is ours. Become one with the abyss."
Nerin's jaw clenched, the burning Mark flaring fiercely. The hunger inside him snarled, but he fought back with ruthless logic—the cold, cruel calculation of survival.
"No," he growled, voice thick with defiance. "I am the hunger. I will not be consumed."
With a sudden, violent motion, he plunged the bone knife into the cold stone floor. The labyrinth shuddered, shadows recoiling like wounded beasts.
From the blade erupted a pulse of darkness and light—a wave of memory and oblivion crashing against the whispering souls.
Pain exploded behind his eyes, memories flooding in—faces lost, friends turned enemies, sacrifices etched in blood.
But through it all, Nerin's will burned brighter—a ruthless inferno forged in the Hollow Mark's cruel fire.
The abyss recoiled, voices faltering into silence.
Yet even as the darkness receded, a new terror whispered from the depths—a promise wrapped in chains and cold fire.
"The Hollow Mark demands its price," it hissed. "And your reckoning is yet to come."
Nerin's shadow stretched, twisting with teeth and claws, as the labyrinth itself seemed to pulse with a sinister heartbeat.
He was far from free.
Far from done.
And the hunger?
It was only beginning to awaken.
The labyrinth's walls seemed to pulse in time with Nerin's ragged heartbeat, a grim symphony of flesh and stone entwined in some ancient, broken rhythm. The air tasted of ash and rust, thick with the scent of despair so old it had seeped into the very bones beneath his feet. Every breath burned like swallowing shards of glass.
Nerin's fingers tightened around the bone knife, its cold surface slick with shadows that seemed to writhe beneath his touch. The Hollow Mark on his palm throbbed—a black sun fractured by unseen violence, flickering with blue flame that burned beneath skin and sanity alike.
Ahead, the path forked—a brutal riddle carved into the flesh of the labyrinth. Two doors, each etched with symbols that clawed at his mind. One bore the twisted emblem of the Hollow Queen: a crown of chains dripping with dark fire. The other, a shattered blade bleeding ink-black light.
His voice was a dry rasp, cracking like old wood."Choose your fate."
Behind the doors lay trials that would bend flesh and soul, test hunger and will with ruthless logic. The echoes of those who had failed whispered from both thresholds—promises of power wrapped in betrayal, salvation soaked in sacrifice.
Nerin's eyes flicked between the two, the hunger inside him roaring—a beast clawing for release.
Then, a voice like shattered glass shattered the silence."Remember, Hollowed, the price of power is always paid in blood."
The Hollow Queen stepped from the shadows, her gaunt face a mask of cruel amusement, eyes burning like dying stars. Chains spun slowly above her head, a halo of inevitable doom.
"Choose wisely. Or be consumed."
Nerin's mind raced—a ruthless calculation cutting through despair. The blade promised strength to sever the chains binding him. The crown whispered dominion at the cost of his last shred of humanity.
A bitter laugh cracked the stillness."No one escapes the Hollow Mark unscathed."
His hand hovered—then slammed forward, fingers crushing the emblem of the shattered blade.
The door screamed open, swallowing him in a flood of darkness and fire.
The trial had only just begun.