Chapter 105: Glimpse of the Horror of the Abyss.

The ominous darkness surrounding the town thickened until it felt almost tangible, as though it possessed weight and intent.

From afar, the human settlement appeared to have vanished entirely. Where bustling streets and flickering lanterns once stood, there was now only a vast darkness that made the skin crawl with dread.

The familiar sounds of the night were gone.

The beastly howls that usually echoed across the outskirts during nighttime had fallen completely silent.

The wind itself refused to blow.

Not a single leaf stirred, not a single banner fluttered.

The atmosphere was suffocatingly quiet.

This was not the usual abyssal night.

This was something else entirely.

Darkness.

Total darkness, absolute and all-encompassing, swallowing everything on the surface.

Within that oppressive shroud, massive figures began to move.

Dark Tide Beasts strode forward, their hulking silhouettes barely distinguishable against the blackness.

Their eyes glowed faintly, cutting through the void as they locked onto the small human town ahead.

Those eyes burned with hunger.

With bloodlust.

They craved it.

The Dark Tide Beasts came in countless forms and grotesque shapes.

Some crawled low to the ground on too many limbs, others towered upright with elongated torsos and warped frames.

Their presence alone exuded terror.

They advanced in the hundreds, an endless tide that moved with chilling unity.

Nothing hindered their march.

The town’s outer defenses were nothing before them. The beasts passed through them unhindered, as though walking through empty air.

Inside the town, chaos erupted.

The Dark Tide Beasts scattered rapidly, some hunting alone, others moving in coordinated packs.

Their bloodthirsty senses reached far beyond human limits.

They could smell blood from miles away, hear heartbeats pounding behind walls, and sense panic pulsing through flesh.

Ahhh!

Ahhh!

Soul-rending screams tore through the darkness, shattering it completely. Blood splattered across muddle streets and wooden floors alike.

Awakeners scrambled to fight back, weapons flashing and spells detonating blindly in the darkness.

Many died within seconds.

Many screamed for help.

Many tried to run.

Escape.

Escape from the nightmare that had swallowed their world whole.

They failed.

The town was infested with Dark Tide Beasts. They were everywhere, on rooftops, in alleyways, inside buildings.

There was no safe haven.

Inside a tavern, awakeners who moments ago had been laughing with mugs in their hands never had the chance to react.

Throats were slit cleanly.

Heads were severed and rolled across the floor. The stench of fresh blood permeated the air, mixing with spilled ale and shattered glass.

Those fortunate enough to react quickly managed to cling to life, but none escaped unscathed. Deep, jagged talon marks ripped across backs, chests, and legs.

Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, forming thin, crimson streams.

Many winced.

Many groaned.

But their voices were drowned out by the darkness itself.

Emergency groups formed in desperation. Tanks raised their shields, pushing their senses to the absolute limit, every nerve screaming with strain.

Fear gripped their hearts like a vice, squeezing tighter with every passing second.

Mages unleashed spells without pause.

Wind spells howled uselessly into the dark.

Fire spells exploded, briefly illuminating horrifying shapes before plunging everything back into blackness.

Earth spells shattered streets and walls alike.

This was no time to conserve mana.

Against an enemy that thrived in darkness, reckless offense was their only option.

Even though their eyes were open, they were blind.

Humans could see nothing but pitch-black void, while their enemies moved as if beneath a blazing sun.

Healers worked frantically, hands glowing as they cast what little restorative magic they could manage. Potions were consumed at an alarming rate.

Mana recovery potions.

Healing potions.

Stamina recovery potions.

Endurance potions.

Yet…

Ahhhh!

A female awakener’s staff shattered under a single overwhelming strike. She was lifted into the air like a ragdoll before being torn apart mid-flight.

Her body hit the ground in pieces, organs splattering across the stone.

Her eyes stared lifelessly into nothingness.

To humans, night was meant for rest, time to relax, drink, laugh, and sleep.

But tonight…

Night had become death incarnate.

An insatiable entity.

One that had come to feed.

To feed on humanity.

Humans had believed, in their arrogance, that they were conquering the Abyss. With every beast slain, every zone cleared, every uncharted region explored, their confidence had grown.

Now they understood.

The Abyss had never been conquered.

It had merely been welcoming them.

Before the Abyss, what was human strength?

Insignificant.

The Abyss housed horrors far beyond human comprehension, existences capable of erasing entire civilizations without effort.

They were living apocalypses.

Civilization-eaters that devoured worlds like afternoon snacks.

These horrors.

These apocalypses.

These embodiments of armageddon.

All of them slumbered within the belly of the Abyss.

Things that should never exist.

Destroyers of races.

Destroyers of worlds.

And now.

The awakeners on the first floor were struggling, dying like rats against nothing more than a faint echo of those horrors’ presence, carried across billions of miles away.

Yet why would such world ending beings affect a mere first floor?

Why would weak humans feel their breath from billions of miles away?

Inside the town’s only brothel, death came without warning. Many were slaughtered at the height of indulgence, faces frozen in shock rather than pleasure.

Bodies lay tangled together, naked and broken.

Some died without ever understanding what happened.

Many died naked.

Many died with dick in their mouths.

Some died licking pussy.

Some in missionary positions.

Some died in a cowgirl position.

Some died in 69 position.

Blood coated beds and walls alike.

Bathrooms fared no better. Bathtubs overflowed with crimson-stained water.

Severed hands floated lifelessly, fingers twitching once before going still.

At one shattered window, a pair of female legs dangled uselessly, frozen mid-escape. The rest of her body was gone.

In one of the town’s most famous inns, the situation was marginally better. Awakeners fought desperately, barricading doors and reinforcing walls with magic.

Even so, bodies littered the ground, lying in pools of their own blood. No one had the time or the strength to mourn.

Smaller groups pressed their backs together, forming tight circles. For the first time, unity was not a choice but a necessity. Humanity stood together only when faced with absolute annihilation.

Seris trembled where she stood, her leather armor soaked in blood much of it her own. A deep gash ran from her collarbone down to her chest, blood pouring freely with every movement.

Yet she did not stop.

Her sword rose and fell again and again.

Her brow knit tightly as she tried to predict where the next attack would come from. Her breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down her face despite the cold.

Fear was etched deeply into her eyes.

But she refused to fall.

She refused to die without fighting.

Death was only a stone’s throw away.

And she intended to make it earn every step.

Inside the Crimson Arc Guild, Arin was drenched in blood from head to toe. His breathing was uneven, sharp gasps tearing from his chest as he rolled across the ground, narrowly avoiding a deadly strike that smashed into the wall where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.

Bang!

He forced himself upright, boots skidding against blood-slicked tiles, and raised his sword into a defensive stance just as a powerful talon slammed into the blade.

The impact sent a violent tremor through his arms.

“Hmph!”

A strained groan escaped his lips as he was driven backward, heels carving shallow grooves into the floor.

His muscles bulged under the strain, veins standing out along his forearms.

Every nerve screamed in protest.

His grip on the sword hilt grew numb, fingers tingling as if they no longer belonged to him, but he clenched his jaw and refused to let go.

’Why hasn’t it ended…?’ he wondered bitterly, forcing himself to take another defensive stance.

He was no longer thinking clearly. He was reacting purely on instinct, block, dodge, and survive. Training and experience blurred together, guiding his body even as exhaustion threatened to drag him down.

Elsewhere in the Crimson Arc Guild, the situation was no better.

Guild members battled desperately across hallways and rooms, each using whatever means they had to stay alive. Blades flashed blindly in the darkness. Spells detonated too close for safety.

Inside the Federation Police building, blood splattered across the floor, dyeing polished tables and stone tiles red.

Weak officers died without ever understanding what had killed them.

Some fell mid-step.

Others slumped over desks, faces frozen in confusion rather than fear.

Alma’s heart pounded violently against her chest, each beat thundering like a war drum in her ears as she continued casting Earth Skills around herself.

She no longer thought about killing the Dark Tide Beasts.

She thought only of survival.

Her defenses had been breached too many times already. Cracks spread across the stone as claws tore through, forcing her to retreat again and again.

She escaped each time by sheer luck.

Only a few inches from her, Green stood barely upright. A deep, ragged injury stretched across his torso, blood soaking his clothes and dripping steadily to the floor.

His longsword was riddled with fractures, the blade trembling dangerously with every movement.

With each passing moment, his situation grew more dire.

He shook his head repeatedly, trying to fight off the dizziness clouding his vision, but nothing worked.

His limbs felt heavy.

His thoughts slowed.

He was losing too much blood.

Nearby, Aveline, the short dwarf, stood in stark contrast to the others.

Her situation was almost unbelievable.

Aside from a few shallow scratches on her shoulder, she was largely uninjured. Her eyes burned fiercely, alight with raw fighting intent.

She struck without hesitation.

The moment she sensed danger, her fists flew. Each punch carried explosive force, shattering bone and tearing through flesh.

With her bare hands alone, she had already killed numerous Dark Tide Beasts.

She never stayed in one place for long.

She moved through the darkness like a living weapon, weaving between shadows, fists crashing forward again and again.

Her profession was on full display, honed through countless battles and unrelenting discipline.

Deep below the chaos, in the dungeon beneath the town, Elric sat slumped in the corner of his cell. His eyes were dull and unfocused.

Three sharp claws protruded from his chest, tearing outward through flesh and bone. A massive chunk of his torso and the organs within had been ripped away.

Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly across the cold stone floor.

Yet strangely, apart from him, none of the other prisoners had been killed.

They huddled silently in their cells, trembling, spared without explanation.

Far from the carnage, high atop a distant mountain, a small group cloaked in black robes stood motionless.

Hoods concealed their faces completely as they gazed toward the direction of the town, where darkness still roiled unnaturally.

None of them spoke for a long while.

Finally, one figure broke the silence.

“It should be done by now,” the robed figure muttered, the voice flat and genderless, devoid of emotion.

The others remained silent, watching as the night continued to devour everything below.

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