Chương 101: Echoes from the Abyss

The blood-red tendril plunged into the dead serpent's corpse. Its impact made a sickening squelch that sounded like a stake being driven into mud. Cal locked up, every instinct recoiling at the profound wrongness of the sight. The tendril burrowed deeper, its smooth surface flexing as it penetrated the tough scales with ease. Pressing his back into the stone he reached slowly for his spear, fingers slowly closing around the shaft. His mind raced through possibilities, none of them good.

The tendril gyrated, as if it was… swallowing? [Spiritual Perception] was on the horror show as the world lurched, the tendril's aura erupting, becoming a tidal wave of D-tier power. It assaulted his senses with an overpowering metaphysical presence, squeezing down on his spirit and making the air feel thick and hard to breathe. The synesthetic overload nearly knocked him senseless.

It felt like the groaning strain of a colossal tree under tremendous pressure, a sound that vibrated through his spirit like a beaten drum. The taste was clotted blood mixed with deep earth and corruption, so potent it made his gorge rise. His spirit recoiled from the texture of gnarled bark soaked in decaying slime. He felt the Mana in the cavern's air being pulled toward the tendril in a whirlwind, a sudden spiritual depressurization that left his skin prickling. D-tier. It's D-tier!

Before his eyes, the serpent's huge carcass withered. Its muscles shriveled, the scales losing their luster and turning a dull gray. The body collapsed in on itself, flesh pulling tight against bone as the tendril consumed everything with horrifying speed. The process took mere seconds. His mental Impartments drew a connection.

A detail he'd recorded about the line of remains near the hole in the goblin cave came back to him: the damp cavern floor beneath those bodies had been bone-dry, the surrounding lichen turned to gray dust. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. The drain was indiscriminate, pulling life from the corpse and the surrounding cavern alike. Now a desiccated husk, the serpent's corpse looked like a brittle shell that would crumble to powder at a touch.

The tendril withdrew slowly, retracting from the remains in disquieting silence to hang motionless, a deadly protuberance suspended in the air. Then the appendage began swinging back and forth across the cavern like a blind predator sampling the air. Cal's legs were still somewhat numb below the knees because the antidote's work was painfully slow. His choices were limited. [Stealth]. It's my only option. I don't like the odds of blowing the whistle and surviving against something D-tier until Selara gets here.

He forced his body into a slow retreat. Every movement was careful, every shift of balance calculated to avoid the slightest sound. His damaged legs felt like leaden weights, the muscles refusing to respond with their normal alacrity. Sweat dripped down his face. He took one step back. Then another. Making it ten yards closer to the exit, he maneuvered around a puddle— His left leg buckled. The venom-weakened muscles gave without warning.

He pitched forward, his spear tip scraping across the stone with a grating screech that shattered the cavern's silence. The tendril jerked toward the noise, gliding through the air like a striking cobra. As it closed the distance, an abstract feeling of primal hunger brushed against Cal's mind, an invasive sensation from a consciousness composed solely of that insatiable need. Flight was impossible. His legs wouldn't carry him and the tendril was too fast.

He dropped his spear and drew his shortsword, gripping the hilt in both hands as he scrambled for any option that might save him. With his spiritual channels damaged, using a Stamina-fueled Ability carried catastrophic risk. The damage in his pathways was a clear warning; pushing them much further was risking a rupture. The tendril lunged. [Liminal Breath] The lunge slowed to a harrowing crawl, the tendril slowly pulling itself through the air.

Each ripple of its length became a distinct and separate motion that his eyes could now follow. [Savant of the Mind] ran a dozen simulations in the time it took one of his raging heartbeats. His weakened limbs made a full dodge impossible, and blocking would only delay the inevitable. Accept the hit and create an opening. He twisted his torso, pulling his sword back while offering his left shoulder as the target. The motion sacrificed defense for position, allowing him to effectively trade blows.

His muscles tensed, every fiber of his body preparing for the counterattack. Time snapped back as he released the Legacy. Reality sped up as the tendril punched through his leather pauldron and into his shoulder. Pain erupted in the joint, searing through nerve endings as the appendage drove into muscle, wiggling deeper. His two-handed slash connected. The blade sliced through the dark flesh with little resistance, severing the tendril cleanly.

The tip impaling his shoulder remained, twitching in the wound as the main body whipped back, spraying him with its blood. A viscous black fluid squirted from the severed appendage, coating his chest armor and gloves. The liquid hit the boiled leather and immediately started hissing. Smoke rose as the substance ate into the material, dissolving the protective layer and leaving pockmarks in the groveback tortoise plates, as even they began to pit and corrode.

The main body of the tendril vanished into the dark hole over thirty yards away in little more than a second. Staggering back with heaving breath, Cal looked down at his ruined armor. The leather was thinned and smoking, and an unsettling spike of pain from his shoulder made it hard to think as his panicked brain spluttered about his situation. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Acid blood! Of course it has acid blood!?

The thing probably implants eggs that burst out of your chest after a few hours, too! He started to assess the wound, his free hand moving toward his shoulder. The injured tendril lashed back out of the hole at him. It came horizontally this time, a crimson blur whipping at him with blinding speed. Instinct roared. Cal threw himself flat, his lower extremities barely responding as gravity did most of the work.

Passing inches over his head with the sound of tearing air, the appendage slammed into the stalagmite behind him, which exploded into a shower of jagged shards that rained down around him. Cal covered his head, arms taking the brunt as chunks of rock pelted his back and shoulders. Dust filled the air, causing him to choke. The tendril withdrew again, receding into the darkness. Coughing, Cal pushed himself to his hands and knees, his entire body aching.

He reached for the wound, his fingers probing the torn leather. A strange, pulling sensation made him freeze. Still embedded in his shoulder, the tendril tip began to move. A gentle but insistent suction started, sending a wave of nausea through his gut as it pulled his Vitality from his body in a slow trickle. Nope! Get this thing out of me! Gritting his teeth, he gripped the severed segment.

Its flesh was warm and slick, pulsing with a faint pulse that felt disgusting against his palm, just before he ripped it free. The pain was blinding, feeling as if it was bypassing his [Ignore Pain] and [Pain Tolerance] Skills. The tendril writhed in his glove as the severed end bubbled, tiny white suckers emerging to blindly seek purchase on the leather. They latched onto the material, pulsing as they tried to drain the treated hide.

Revulsion turned his stomach as Cal dropped the twitching thing onto the cavern floor, where it squirmed in the dirt with erratic jerks. He stared at it in disgust for a few moments before coming to a decision. It's still a D-tier prize, he thought, as bile rose in his throat. The thought helped assuage his distaste, if barely. This was something Aurelian couldn't dismiss, a sample from a creature two full tiers above him, harvested in the field. The alchemist might actually show him some appreciation for once.

Forcing down his nausea, he scooped up the segment. The flesh felt nasty in his hands, warm and throbbing, and he wrapped it tightly in a preservation cloth and shoved it into his pack while the wound in his shoulder ached. Cal staggered to his feet and pulled out his second-to-last healing potion, downing it in one gulp. The usual chemical fire spread through his body, knitting torn muscle and sealing punctured flesh while the pain faded to a dull twinge.

Ravenous hunger erupted in his gut, a gnawing emptiness that felt deeply unnatural. The hunger was a spiritual deficit, a hollow aftershock of the tendril's draining attack. The realization sent a shiver up his spine. He fumbled for a Vitality ration and tore into it, desperately forcing down the nutrient-rich bread. His stomach rebelled. An intense wave of nausea rolled through him, forcing him to double over. The food felt tainted in his mouth as his abdomen cramped painfully.

He gagged, fighting to keep the ration from coming back up. What is this? The venom? Did the tendril have some kind of toxin? He tried to analyze the symptoms, but his thoughts were scattered. The hunger was overwhelming, demanding to be fed, but his body rejected everything he tried to put in it. The conflict was maddening. Potion sickness? He recalled what he'd heard mentioned of it and put the pieces together.

This was a physiological revolt; his body saturated by too many potions in so short a time that his organs couldn't process things fast enough. I've had five potions in less than an hour… guess I'm at my limit. He forced down another bite of the ration, swallowing hard against the urge to vomit and chasing it with a sip from his waterskin. Then the stone began to tremble. Oh, COME ON! Now what!? A faint vibration started, barely perceptible through his boots. It grew. Rapidly.

The entire cavern shook as something deep below shifted. Dust rained from the ceiling and rocks clattered down the walls. An invisible torrent of spiritual force burst from the depths below, slamming into him and setting the world unmoored. The cavern floor tilted violently, lurching like the deck of a ship caught in a squall. His knees buckled, making him hit the stone with an alarming impact that felt sideways, as if the wall had rushed up to meet him. Vertigo.

The word surfaced from his Earth memories, a clinical diagnosis for a feeling that was now a weapon. He recalled an inner ear infection that had left him flat on his back for days, the world a constant, nauseating blur. This was that same sensation, amplified into a direct psychic assault. The tilt became a sickening spin, and the cavern walls dissolved into a swirling vortex of gray and brown. Squeezing his eyes shut did nothing to stop the relentless tumble inside his head.

His stomach roiled anew, and he lurched forward on his hands to throw up the ration he'd just eaten. Curling into the fetal position, he was completely at the mercy of the attack, unable to tell up from down, his body a prisoner to senses that were being actively torn apart. Through the sensory handicap, he could feel his tormentor's presence now, something vast and ancient. The creature's will targeted his equilibrium, a direct strike that pulverized the very foundation of his proprioception. It's a lie.

The thought cut through the nausea, a flash of insight from his Earth memories. Vertigo is a lie. The inner ear is compromised, but gravity hasn't changed. Down is still down. He couldn't trust his body, so he abandoned it. Clenching his jaw, Cal drove his focus inward, searching for the one constant in the swirling chaos: his will to survive. The psychic pressure of the beast fought him, trying to shred his concentration, but he ignored it. He built an anchor in his mind, a single, unwavering point of desire.

Desire to live. From that anchor, he began to impose his own reality on his senses. He forced his mind to feel the rough texture of the stone beneath his hands, to accept its solidity. He visualized his own weight settling toward the true floor, imposing his own sense of down over the violent spin his body was reporting. It was a brutal act of will, pitting his logic against every primal instinct demanding that he was falling.

[Your proficiency with Mental Fortitude (F) has increased to Practiced] Slowly, agonizingly, his mental construct bore out. The violent spin began to lose its power, subdued by his forced perspective. It receded to a disorienting sway, a psychic wave he could begin to stand against. [Your proficiency with Mental Fortitude (F) has increased to Adept] The notifications chimed, confirming the victory he had just clawed for.

He forced himself back to his feet, his entire body shaking with the strain of the mental battle. The spiritual pressure receded slightly, but a vast alien rage remained, a storm building beneath the earth. A deeper rumble filled the cavern. It intensified swiftly, rising from a low growl into a concussive boom that smashed into the cave like a hammer. The sound wave hit the cavern with enough force to stagger him, and the surrounding walls groaned. Cracks zipped across the ceiling, spiderwebbing through the stone.

A cascade of rock and dirt began to fall from above. Cal grabbed his spear and ran as fast as he could. With his legs still weak, every unsteady stride threatened his precarious balance as he sprinted into the dark passage. A chunk of ceiling plunged down behind him, exploding into shrapnel that peppered his back. The cave was collapsing. He made it into the tunnel and had to dodge left as a section of wall gave way, stones tumbling into the passage to block the path.

The roar of the beast chased him through the darkness. A boulder the size of his torso impacted the ground inches from his right foot. He barely leaped over a pile of rubble, his damaged legs screeching in protest. Continuing into another small cavern, the bellowing grew louder. The route was already a traceable path in his mind, a flawless map from his initial descent. His focus narrowed to hazard detection as the perception beam updated his static mental model with the collapse's dynamic chaos.

It highlighted a newly fallen boulder to his left and a fresh fissure to his right, allowing him to sprint through the darkness and weave around obstacles his perception identified seconds before he reached them. With his mental map showing the exit into a wider chamber thirty yards ahead, he pushed harder, forcing his battered body toward safety as his lungs burned. A section of ceiling collapsed directly behind him, the crash deafening. Debris billowed forward, choking his lungs and obscuring his vision.

He ran on blind, trusting his perception to guide him through the tumult.