The Abyss didn't sleep.
That was the first truth Rey learned after waking from the altar's grip.
The second truth? Everything here wanted him dead.
The change inside him hadn't come with answers. Only survival. He still felt human, but... sharper. His reflexes had improved. His vision was clearer. When he touched the altar again, it was cold. Dead. Whatever had happened—it was done.
Still, he felt watched.
The whispering hadn't returned, but a constant hum settled in the air like pressure before a storm. The red glow of the sky remained, never shifting, never dimming. The ruins behind him seemed to grow quieter the farther he walked.
And then came the mist.
It rolled across the dead lands without warning. Thick. Gray. Cold.
Rey's breath fogged.
Cold?
He hadn't felt cold since arriving. Not until now. It clung to his skin. Seeped into his bones.
He crouched low behind a jagged boulder and listened.
No wind.
No footsteps.
Only a strange wet dragging sound—shlk... shlk... shlk...
Something moved in the fog.
He didn't breathe. He didn't dare blink.
The sound stopped.
Then came a low growl—raspy, inhuman. And a voice... not spoken aloud but pressed into his thoughts.
> "You don't belong."
The mist parted just enough.
And Rey saw it.
A creature stitched from flesh and shadow. Its arms hung too long, ending in jagged claws. Its head was covered in a mask of bone with a single slit where its eye should've been. In that slit—a red light burned.
Rey's heart pounded.
The creature stepped forward. It didn't hurry.
It didn't need to.
It had hunted many before.
---
Rey ran.
Not with strategy. Not with direction.
Just raw fear.
He heard it behind him, gliding silently now. No more dragging steps. Just presence.
His legs burned. His chest ached.
But the land offered no shelter. Only jagged rocks and thorned trees.
He tripped.
Skidded down a small incline. Rolled. Hit a rock. Pain exploded through his ribs.
The fog thickened.
The creature was above him now. Watching.
Rey grabbed the closest thing he could find—part of a broken sword, rusted but still sharp. He didn't hesitate.
He screamed and charged.
It moved.
Too fast.
Its claw grazed his shoulder, tearing flesh. But Rey used the momentum—sliding beneath it and slashing upward with the blade.
It shrieked.
Not in pain—but surprise.
The blade had cut through its leg. Black blood oozed.
Rey didn't stop. He attacked again. Wild. Desperate.
Each swing chipped away at it. Each breath he took burned.
Then—
The creature vanished into the fog.
Gone.
Rey fell to one knee, trembling.
He should've been dead.
But something about him... scared it.
---
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes. He didn't know anymore.
But when the fog lifted, and the red light returned—Rey stood.
Alive.
Injured, but alive.
He walked toward a cliff's edge, overlooking the endless dead lands.
He stared into the distance, fists clenched.
> "I don't know what you are," he whispered, "or what this place wants from me…"
> "But I won't die here."
His voice echoed faintly.
He turned away and began walking—north, maybe, or whatever direction the wind seemed to lean.
Somewhere out there, he felt it:
Answers.
And maybe… a way home.
But before that, he had to become something this world feared.
Because right now, he was prey.
But if he survived long enough—
He'd become something else entirely.
---