Sable’s wires tightened with a hiss, sinking deeper into the Warden’s flesh. His screams howled and mixed with the snarls of the Abyssal creatures held in their cages. Blood sluggishly dripped from the man’s wounds.

  “I don’t know!” the Warden gasped through the gag, his eyes bulging with desperation. “I don’t know where your soul is!”

  Sable breathed deep as she leaned closer. Her voice cut through the Warden’s cries. “You said Patchling–excuse me, Scraping souls are somewhere!” she snapped. “Where? Where are they?!”

  “I lied!” the Warden wailed, his voice cracking. “I don’t know! Truly, please!”

  Mook’s scholar voice broke the silence that followed. “I have heard rumors,” he said, his tone heavy with disdain. “Whispers in the Abyssal cities. A place many feared they would be sent.”

  The Warden seized onto Mook’s interjection like a drowning man. “See?! I told you! I don’t know anything concrete!” His voice was frantic.

  Mook ignored him, and met Sable’s waiting gaze. “The whispers spoke of a place,” he said,”A maze. Deep and far away in the Abyss. They call it the Soul Maze. Where the souls of those whose bodies still live are kept. They also keep others there–maddened, incomplete, broken. They say such souls are driven further into insanity for the most powerful Abyssal creatures… to feed on or… for implantation..”

  The words hung in the air like a death bell. Sable staggered back a step. Her face drained of its remaining color, leaving her pale as ash. Her breath hitched, brittle and broken, as she held a hand to her chest.

  Through their bond, Mitch felt it—a ripple that surged into a wave of panic and fear. It cut through the determined resolve she usually carried like armor.

  “Sable…” Mitch began, but the words felt hollow before they left his mouth. What could he say to make this right?

  Before Mitch could collect his thoughts, Galadrith’s rumble stirred in his mind, his tone dark. “The Soul Maze. That’s where my soul was held…until it was forged in that body you fought.”

  Mitch froze. You never told me, he thought back.

  “I did not think it mattered,” Galadrith replied regretfully. “But now, perhaps it does. Sable is your First Follower. Do not fail her.”

  The sword’s words cut deeper than Mitch expected. Galadrith’s monologuing often grated on him, but this time, it struck a nerve. He couldn’t let the Abyss break her like it had broken so many others.

  Not like it’s trying to break me.

  Sable’s wires suddenly tightened viciously, pulling the Warden into a tight curl. She leapt, her fist connecting squarely with the Warden’s jaw. His head snapped back, blood spurting from his nose. She didn’t stop. The next blow struck the same place, harder than before.

  Mitch stepped forward but hesitated, watching as she vented her fury. The Warden cried out between blows, sputtering and coughing as her rage took shape in fists.

  “Sable,” Mitch said quietly. When she didn’t stop, he stepped in, catching her arm mid-swing. Her body jerked against his grip, but he held firm. “Enough,” he said. “If you kill him now, we lose the chance at more answers. We’ll kill him, but not until we’ve squeezed every last drop of use out of him.”

  Sable’s chest heaved as her mismatched eyes glared up at him, burning with fury and despair. Her breathing slowly steadied. She tugged her freshly healed arm free from his grip, her wires loosening slightly but remaining coiled around the Warden like taut snakes.

  Mitch turned to Mook, “The Soul Maze. Where is it?”

  The creature’s expression darkened. Mitch realized it was a strange thing to start to understand twisted facial expressions. “It’s deep. Very deep. All I know is that it’s hidden away. Even the many loyal Abyssal creatures fear and revere it. You’d have better luck charging straight through one of the Fronts, where humanity clashes with the Abyss endlessly. The other option? Infiltrate an Abyssal city and descend through the ranks. Both paths are perilous.”

  Mitch swore under his breath and glanced back at Sable. Her rage and panic still simmered.

  I will not fail you, Sable.

  Then, he turned back to the Warden. “The jars,” he demanded. “Explain them.”

  The Warden whimpered, his voice nasally from Sable’s punches. “I had no control over the jars! It–it wasn’t me—it was the Abyssal creatures! The long ones! The ones you killed! They handled the jars. I just–I just followed orders!”

  Mook nodded solemnly. “He is telling the truth. Only those with appropriate soul Skills can manipulate things such as these jars directly. It seems this man is a mere pawn.”

  The Warden nodded frantically, seizing his chance to corroborate. “The creatures–they were trained for it! Born for it! I just–managed the prisoners! That’s all” His voice cracked with panic.

  Mitch felt the tightness of his back, the weight of the truth settling on his shoulders. He would have to be enough. For Sable, for himself, and for the damned souls waiting in the Abyss.

  He glanced at Sable one more time.

  Mitch fell silent, the oppressive weight of the moment pressing down. The Abyssal Debt ticked away at the corner of his mind, a gnawing mouth he had grown accustomed to. As he looked at Sable, and with Galadrith pressing against him, the burden shifted.

  The debt was his torment, a cruel tally of the Abyss he had somehow begotten. But now, it wasn’t just about him. If he let Sable fall, or let something happen to Varak, or Hathgar, then what was the point? Why fight against the Abyssal Debt if he was going to lose everyone else who mattered in the process?

  The weight on his shoulders didn’t less–it changed. It became a mantle of duty he could not just shrug off. The Abyss would twist his resolve, tempt him to give up. But if he gave in, then he would be subjecting his new friends to a twisted, horrifying existence.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  What was the point of trying if he let everyone fall around him as well?

  This is no point.

  There was only one option left.

  Don’t let them fall. It must be torn down. Always forward.

  The Abyss wanted him and everyone else to believe it was impossible, that the fight wasn’t worth it. The weight was still there, but now it wasn’t just pushing him forward for himself.

  It was driving him forward for those around him.

  Mitch shifted his focus, tearing his eyes away from Sable’s hunched form. He crouched beside the unconscious gnome. The soul jaw rested near the frail body, its faint glow and thin tendril flickering weakly. A flame on the edge of being snuffed out and delivered to the Abyss in a packaged offering.

  The Abyssal Debt ticked. A dark whisper he could imagine teasing him, insidious and relentless.

  Give up. Collect the souls. Deliver them to a Collector. Fulfill your purpose.

  What then? What would happen if he complied? Would the Abyss release him? No, of course not. It would hollow him out, consume him, and move on to the next victim.

  No, no, no. If the Abyss wanted to take everything from me, it’s going to have to fight until the bitter end.

  Mitch placed his hand on the gnome’s chest and closed his eyes. The warmth of Abyssal Vault stirred, the souls in his core shifting as he reached. He extended his pull towards the jar, reaching for the fractured soul inside. The essence resisted.

  Frustration flared, but he pulled against the soul harder. Nothing.

  “It’s not working,” he spat through gritted teeth.

  Mook stepped closer, his claws tapping softly against the stone. “Really, man,” he said in an annoyed tone. “The jar must be opened. Without that, the soul is trapped. When I open it, there is a chance the body dies instantly without the proper Skills.”

  Mitch hesitated, glancing up at the jagged features of the creature. He had only ever pulled souls out of bodies before they were taken by the Abyss. The soul sword had practically sucked it in itself for Galadrith.

  He gave a curt nod. “Do it.”

  Mook carefully twisted the jar open. Light flared as the soul’s tendril flickered, weak and erratic. Mook stepped back, watching Mitch with rapt attention.

  Galadrith’s voice rumbled, “You wield a power many have killed for and been killed by. Do not squander it, Mitchell. Your gift is rare–even in the Abyss.”

  He reached for the fractured soul with Abyssal Vault. The essence quivered, resisting as if it feared being bound again.

  Slowly, painstakingly, the soul began to steady. Its fragments aligned, jagged edges fitting together like shards of broken glass.

  “Come on, get the fuck–” Mitch growled. With a final, decisive pull, the soul zipped into his core. The gnome’s barely breathing form stilled entirely.

  Settlement Amount: 258(+1) Souls, 338 Beast Souls, 0 Credits, 79 Flesh.

  Inside Mitch, the soul flickered weakly, its light faint and unsteady. The effort had left him breathless, but he couldn’t stop now. Not when he was so close.

  Flexing his muscles without realizing, Mitch carefully tugged the soul from his core, and pushed it back into the gnome’s frail body. It felt like pulling a thread through his very being. He pushed it toward the gnome’s frail body, guiding it gently. The tiny essence didn’t resist—it was too weak to fight. Instead, it flowed out of him like a quiet stream, its light flickering as it slipped into the gnome’s sternum.

  Settlement Amount: 257(-1) Souls, 338 Beast Souls, 0 Credits, 79 Flesh.

  The connection was seamless. The soul settled eagerly, as though it had been waiting to return. A surge of energy exploded through Mitch in the next instant, a rush of heat and power igniting in his chest.

  Affliction Skill Upgraded

  Abyssal Vault

  Level 5(+1)

  Collect, Siphon, and store Souls, Flesh, and Credits within. A living account for your Abyssal Debt. Meet a Collector to transfer the sum.+ Command Souls for use at your discretion

  Settlement Amount: 257 Souls, 338 Beast Souls, 0 Credits, 79 Flesh.

  The gnome’s body shuddered violently, convulsing for a moment before it stilled. Then, slowly, the gnome breathed again—shallow, but rhythmic. The faintest glow of life returned to his face.

  “You did it,” Mook said reverently. “I…underestimated you. To wield such soul magics against the Abyss…” He hesitated before adding, his tone measured but insistent, “I want in. Let me join your cohort! A soul mage like you…there are certain benefits I’d like to align myself with.”

  Mitch turned to Mook, studying him carefully. The creature’s jagged form belied the intelligence behind his glowing eyes, the weight of years spent in the Abyss written in every movement. A being with Mook’s knowledge could prove invaluable. But trust was a fragile thing.

  “You know things,” Mitch said finally, his tone neutral, “and I need strong allies. But this isn’t a free ride. If you join me, you’re all in. No hedging, Mook. The Skill to just us is not…just a simple agreement. You’d still be willing, knowing that?”

  Mook tilted his head, his jagged mouth breaking into a smile. “Of course!”

  Mitch nodded, the faintest hint of approval flickering across his face. “Good. First, I need to talk with Varak about a few things. You’d be under her, you understand?”

  Mook’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he inclined his head. “Hmmm, I suppose. Speak with the brood mother. But know this–I’ve now seen what you can do, and I’ll follow that strength. The Abyss fears those like you. And that’s enough for me.”

  Mitch let the words hang between them for a moment before turning back to the Warden. “Talk’s cheap, Mook.” he muttered, though the weight of Mook’s declaration lingered in his mind. He walked over and crouched down to meet the man’s eyes.

  “Ready to face the noise Warden? Time to go back and face your lovely subjects,” Mitch said coldly. The Warden’s protests died in his throat as Mitch shoved the gag back into place and hoisted him over his shoulder with ease. He turned towards the door back towards the Farm.

  “What about the Abyssal prisoners?” Mook asked.

  “Mook, one thing at a time. I’m not a damned miracle worker,” Mitch replied, his voice low and tired. Behind his back, Mitch heard Sable pick up the unconscious gnome and follow. Mook carried two empty jars and the bugs brought up the rear.

  “Time to give them a show? Show the prisoners we’re not trying to enslave them?” Sable asked, catching up with Mitch and giving him a look.

  “Yeah…think they deserve a bit of fun,” Mitch answered.

  As Mitch crossed the threshold back toward the Farm, a jagged pulse tore through his bond with Rex. A primal, visceral shock that stopped him in his tracks.

  Images shoved through the tendril. Shadows converging, gibberish screams, and the faint echo of Varak’s brood chirping in panic.

  Rex’s growl came through next, a rumbling that dripped with fury.

  “Sable,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

  She turned to him, hearing the edge in his voice. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Rex. He’s calling us back.” Mitch’s grip tightened on the Warden, “And it’s bad.”

  Mook’s voice cut through the tense air. “Well, that’s promising. If your Shadowshroud is panicked, I’d wager we are running straight into something…unpleasant.”

  For a moment, they pressed forward more quickly. Mitch adjusted the Warden over his shoulder and broke into a run.

  The bond with Rex flared again, almost a cry. Rex couldn’t speak, but the intention was clear.

  Hurry.

  Rex’s growl slammed through their bond again, sharp and desperate. And in the distance, Mitch heard the first scream.