"Just another ten kilometers ahead, and we'll reach the deepest part of the Sacred Mountain. The space inside has warped—twisted by the Abyss into something almost unrecognizable—but the general direction hasn't changed. Unless the universe decides to throw us another cosmic joke, the soul of the Primordial Deity should be lurking in there somewhere, waiting to ruin our day. I can practically feel it breathing down my neck."
Even if the Primordial Deity’s soul isn’t here, its body must be buried at the heart of the Sacred Mountain. That’s the legendary tomb—where the ancient monster has been rotting away, dreaming up nightmares for anyone foolish enough to dig too deep.
We need to tread lightly. If we can dodge the Primordial Deity’s soul, all the better. If we somehow manage to destroy its body without getting our own souls shredded, then maybe—just maybe—we can call this war a victory. Not that I’m holding my breath.
Kros’s face was a mask of grim determination as he stared into the depths. Black mist—thicker than the guilt after a failed experiment—swelled and churned in the air, heavy with abyssal magic. It clung to my skin, cold and suffocating, as if the mountain itself wanted to swallow us whole.
Beyond a thousand meters, the mist was so dense it smothered all vision. Every step forward shortened the world to a shrinking tunnel of shadow. Here, at the edge of the Sacred Mountain’s abyssal heart, seeing more than a few paces ahead was a luxury I couldn’t afford. My nerves were stretched thin—who knew what might be lurking just out of sight?
The abyssal magic here was so thick, even Crompton’s magical detection spells fizzled out before they could reach as far as the naked eye. The energy twisted everything except pure abyssal magic, like the place itself was allergic to hope.
We pressed on, step by cautious step. The mist closed in, shrinking our visible range to a hundred meters, then a few dozen. It felt like the world was collapsing inward, squeezing us into a pocket of darkness so tight I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.
Eventually, the black mist thickened into a sea of ink. Anyone more than three meters away vanished—magic couldn’t reach them, and the silence was so absolute it felt like my ears were stuffed with cotton. Isolation pressed in from all sides, heavy and suffocating.
It was as if every soul had been plucked from existence. I couldn’t sense a single ally nearby—not by sight, not by magic, not by sound. The loneliness gnawed at me, cold and relentless. Funny, how the Abyss always finds new ways to make you feel small.