Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

The Name of Eryn

The realm shifted, energy coiling inward, threads of chaos intertwining in delicate synchronization. The process of creation was still unfolding, but something was wrong. The form—it was too familiar. It was becoming like Aurel, not just in presence, not just in essence, but in appearance.

"No—no, not again!"

Aurel's voice cut through the abyss, sharp with immediate protest. He had created Rindel, a specter, a warrior bound to him. But Rindel had always been incomplete—lacking full humanity, carrying traces of chaos in his existence. This being, however, was different. It was forming perfectly, its presence almost too refined, too real. And now, it was mirroring him.

Aurel refused. He focused, pulling against the shaping threads, pushing his will into the creation process. "Take Erynos' form."

The energy paused, hesitated. The anima's structure trembled, uncertain, its presence questioning the shift. Aurel commanded again, pushing forward, his thoughts fixated on Erynos' face, his presence, his form. The anima reacted, adapting, shifting—yet still resisting. It would not completely abandon Aurel's features. Instead, it took both—a fusion, a balance. A being shaped from the two: the strength of Aurel, the kindness of Erynos. And finally, it settled.

The Final Formation

The form solidified, no longer unstable, no longer uncertain. Human. Fully human. Unlike Rindel, who lingered between chaos and existence, this new creation stood as something complete, something real. Aurel stared, watching as the last remnants of energy wove into the structure, stabilizing it within his domain. The process was done. And now, it needed a name.

Aurel paused, his mind flickering to Erynos, to the one who had chosen to fade, the one who had offered everything so that this moment could happen. This was not Erynos reborn, but it was his legacy. And so, Aurel named him.

"Eryn."

The name settled into the space, binding itself to the newly formed being, carrying with it the weight of memory, of loss, of renewal. Aurel did not look away. For the first time since arriving at the Mystic Mountain, he understood: creation was not about erasing the past. It was about carrying it forward. And now, Eryn stood before him, waiting.

The Binding of Eryn

The air within Aurel's domain trembled, rippling with an unfamiliar sensation—not resistance, but adjustment. The link between them had formed, yet the connection felt strange, delicate, as if something within Eryn was still settling into reality. Then came the voice—soft, shaky, incomplete.

"Hello... mmmmmaster."

Aurel's gaze sharpened, his eyes locking onto Eryn, watching as the newly formed being struggled to articulate words. The voice was neither robotic nor unnatural, but hesitant, as if speaking itself was a skill still being developed. Yet even in that hesitation, there was recognition, obedience. Eryn had already acknowledged Aurel as his master, without question, without doubt.

Eryn's Form—Incomplete Yet Whole

Aurel examined him carefully—he looked human, almost eerily so. Yet something felt off. Not broken, not unstable, just... not fully grounded.

"You don't seem to have a complete body," Aurel stated, his tone both curious and analytical.

Eryn blinked slowly, as if processing the words, then answered without hesitation. "No, master. I am complete. It is this place that makes me feel incomplete. It seems the Mystic Mountain is partly rejecting me."

Aurel's eyes narrowed, calculating the implications. "Is that so?" The Mystic Mountain had accepted Aurel, welcomed him, shaped itself to his presence. But Eryn—Eryn did not belong here. Not anymore. He was something new, something born from Aurel, not chaos itself. And that meant he needed to be elsewhere.

The Transfer to Aurel's Pocket Dimension

"Eryn—I will transport you to my own pocket dimension, together with Rindel."

The young Anima paused, then nodded, his agreement immediate, unquestioning. Aurel focused, pulling from the threads of his domain, bending space to his will. Within moments, Eryn and Rindel were sent forth.

Eryn's Arrival in Aurel's Realm

The moment Eryn arrived, everything changed. The hesitation in his form—the ghost-like incompleteness—vanished instantly. Here, in Aurel's world, he was whole.

Rindel, watching the newcomer with quiet intrigue, tilted his head slightly. And then, Eryn smiled.

"Hello, Rindel."

His voice was clearer now, steadier, carrying warmth. Not just submission, but recognition, affection. Like a younger sibling greeting an older one. Rindel stared at him for a moment, then nodded once. And without hesitation, they began to explore together.

The Memory Within the Abyss—Aurel's First Encounter with Erynos

Aurel stood at the threshold of his pocket dimension, his mind heavy with thoughts of Erynos, of the lingering mysteries waiting to be unravelled. This realm—a place where chaos had form but never true order—was home to forces beyond normal comprehension, and within it, Eryn waited. He had made his decision. He would visit Eryn, and through him, he would seek the truth locked away in Erynos' memories.

Aurel stood before Eryn, his gaze steady, unreadable, his tone lower than usual, quieter, as if burdened by the weight of what he was about to ask. "I'm sorry, Eryn, but I need to access Erynos' memory through you. Will you allow me to link with you—to uncover what remains?"

Eryn hesitated—not in reluctance, but in understanding. He felt something within him, something foreign yet familiar, a presence not entirely gone, but fading, breaking, slipping beyond existence itself. "Of course, Master. Somehow, Erynos conveyed to me that this is something you must do. I'm not sure how to explain it."

Aurel breathed deeply, his Chaos energy coiling around Eryn, shifting delicately, carefully, ensuring no disruption, no unnecessary force. Then, the link was formed. Eryn's core opened, revealing traces—faint, scattered, incomplete. And Aurel saw them. Fragments of Erynos, still clinging to existence, still rooted in the echoes of memory. But they were temporary, unstable, already fading into the void.

"I have to act now."

Without hesitation, Aurel reached deeper, tapping into the last remnants before they vanished forever. Then everything changed. The dimension shook, his vision blurred, the memories manifested into a world within a world. And Aurel was now inside.

Through the Eyes of Erynos

Darkness. It coils, it stretches, it pulls without meaning, without restraint. And then, hunger. The hunger wasn't just a thought; it was a clawing, ceaseless ache in his core, a frigid emptiness that demanded to be filled, burning from the inside out. Aurel felt it as if it were his own, yet it was not—it belonged to someone else, someone lost in time.

Where am I?

He moved—without control, without thought.

Why am I moving?

Then, realization. This was a memory. Not observed. Lived. Aurel was no longer himself—he was Erynos.

The Hunger—The Consuming of Malice

The craving was primal, unforgiving. There was no morality, no hesitation—only hunger, the overwhelming need to drain, to consume, to take. One human. Then another. Each wave of malice surged through him, a bitter, intoxicating rush that momentarily quelled the gnawing, leaving behind a sharp, cold clarity. More. He needed more. He ran—always running, always hunting, always searching. And then, a village.

The Man Who Cared Too Much

The air shifted—human voices, hurried footsteps, fear saturating the space. And then, one man. He was frail, standing between Erynos and a group of children—his arms spread wide, his stance firm despite his helplessness.

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"Quick, run. Don't look back!"

The children obeyed, their figures disappearing into the shadows. The man did not run. He stayed. He fought. Not with weapons, not with magic—but with desperation. Chairs thrown. A trembling fist raised. A useless struggle. And then, death.

His malice was rich, intoxicating, perfect. Pure hatred—for humanity, for war, for suffering. But also, love. He hated the world, but he loved its children. And in consuming him—Erynos felt it. The man's eyes, even as they dulled, held a fierce, protective defiance, a love so pure it resonated, a dissonance within the very malice Erynos consumed.

Confusion.

What is this feeling?

Abyssal Evolution—The Birth of Doubt

Each life taken, each malice absorbed, each memory stolen—they were changing him. Hatred shaped him, but so did sympathy. Even then, a whisper, faint and unsettling, had begun to stir within the consuming void—a question, a hesitation he couldn't name. But the hunger, a relentless tide, drowned it out. He ran—from what, he did not know. From himself? From the humans? From something deeper? But the hunger returned, always clawing, always demanding. And then—a mistake. A child. Consumed. A small, bright energy snuffed out. And in that instant, a fragment of joy, pure and innocent, flared and died within him, leaving behind a searing, inexplicable guilt.

Guilt shattered through him.

"Why am I guilty?"

"What is this feeling?"

There was no answer. Only change.

The Hunt—The Luminaries

The light was blinding, burning, relentless. Figures clad in divine armor, weapons shimmering with energy, cutting through the abyssal forces with terrifying precision. Shouts. Battle cries. Hunting. He was aware now. The Luminaries were eliminating his kind. He ran. Ran. Ran.

The Darkness—The Isolation

The more he hid, the more he learned. The more he learned, the more he evolved. And with evolution came understanding. Humans feared monsters. Abyssals feared Luminaries. But most of all, Erynos feared himself. And that—that was what truly changed him.

The Awakening of Speech

The whispers came first—fragments of thoughts, forming in ways he had never considered. Then, slowly, words.

"I am speaking?"

He could talk now. He could think now. He could command now. He saw his kind—smaller, weaker, unformed. He spoke. They listened. They obeyed. And Erynos was becoming something more. Words formed, thoughts solidified, and with them came a new kind of awareness—a terrible clarity that showed him not just the world, but the monster he was, and the path he was compelled to walk.

The Kinship of Monsters

Darkness coils, stretching beyond reason. The hunger remains, gnawing, constant—but something else emerges. A voice. Not human. Not fully abyssal. Something in between. Something like him.

The Encounter—A Reflection of Himself

For the first time, Erynos does not feel alone. He sees another—one that is neither man nor Malifuge, neither beast nor abyssal. A thing caught in transition. Like him. They speak, though their words are rough, imperfect, broken by instinct. Yet they understand each other. They are the same. And Erynos feels kinship. They were mistakes, whispers in the dark, hunted by those who named themselves divine. Their kinship wasn't a choice; it was the desperate echo of lonely souls finding each other in a hostile world.

The Growing Power—Feeding, Learning, Changing

More hunger. More kills. More memories stolen. With each stolen memory, the world expanded, not just in knowledge, but in a kaleidoscope of stolen joys and searing sorrows that weren't his own, yet clung to him like a shroud. The stronger ones fall, their malice absorbed. The weaker ones follow, bending to his will, their silent obedience confirming his command over them. And then, realization. The more he feeds, the more his mind expands—his knowledge deepens, his intelligence sharpens. But the guilt—it festers, clawing beneath the surface.

"Why am I doing this?"

"Why do I feel this way?"

But the hunger—it silences the guilt, overpowers it, drowns it in endless need.

The War Against Luminaries

The radiant warriors, clad in their sacred light, descend upon them. Their weapons shine—too bright, too pure, too unnatural. The Abyssals are hunted. They retaliate. Erynos fights—kills—destroys.

"You are weak humans."

"Luminaries, die!"

And then—he watches his brothers slaughter them, his kind retaliating with an unforgiving rage. It is war. But it is not victory. The Luminaries are too many. Too powerful. Too divine. One—just one—grabs an abyssal like him and crushes him instantly. No struggle. No resistance. Just death.

And Erynos—he feels fear. For the first time, he realizes they are losing. And so, he runs. He hides. And the cycle begins again.

The Brotherhood of Abyssals

"Brother, we must find others like us. We need to stay together to survive."

The words were clear—no longer fragmented, no longer shaped by hunger alone. Erynos understood. They had changed. No longer creatures merely driven by instinct and consumption—now, they sought something greater: Kinship. Purpose. And so, they searched.

The Formation of the Ten

They did not care for humans, soldiers, hunters—none of them mattered anymore. They searched only for their kind, for those who had evolved, for those who could understand. Abyssals—true Abyssals. Not mindless beasts. Not malformed horrors. Something higher. And after centuries of wandering, hiding, feeding, surviving—they found the tenth. Then—they understood.

The Limit of Ten—A Cosmic Restriction

There were only ten. Always ten. No more. No less. Every time one fell, another appeared, birthed from chaos itself. It was not something they controlled. It was something the world imposed upon them—a rule they did not create, but a rule they could not escape. They felt it through their psychic link—when one was lost, when another was born. The psychic link, once a mere hum of shared existence, now pulsed with a new, profound understanding—a lifeline woven from shared fear and the desperate hope of belonging. When one fell, a chilling void opened in that collective mind, a silent scream of absence. As if the universe itself had declared their existence finite. And so, they accepted it. They were the Abyssals—the highest form of chaos. And they would never be more than ten.

The Purpose of the Abyssals

For centuries, the Abyssals evolved—but they reached their final form. No more mutations. No more shifts. They had grown strong beyond measure—but now, their strength was refined, honed, strategic. And they understood what must come next. The Luminaries. The Athenari. The false gods of this world. They had hidden in the shadows for too long. Their kind had been hunted, slaughtered, exiled, erased from existence. And now—they would strike. But only from the darkness.

The Bound by Blood Rules

To ensure their survival, to preserve their unity, the Abyssals created unbreakable laws. Blood-sealed. Eternal.

No fighting among each other. Their bond is sacred, and internal conflict is forbidden. The psychic link ensures unity, and no member may betray another.

Only ten members, and it must always be ten. The absolute limit is unchangeable. If one dies, another must be born—the cycle must continue.

Mandatory gatherings twice a year. Before the Malice Bloom—a meeting to prepare, strategize, ensure balance. A second gathering when the leader summons it—attendance is sacred.

Leader and guardian pairing. The leader appoints a guardian, ensuring safety and stability. The guardian is bound to the leader alone, not the others.

The Abyssals did not seek mercy. They did not seek diplomacy. Their only purpose was war. And they would never reveal themselves until the time was right.

The Abyssal Watchers

They did not stop the Malice Blooms. They did not intervene as monsters tore through villages, as human screams faded into silence beneath the weight of chaos. They watched. They waited. They hunted on their own terms. And when the disaster ended, when the world lay in ruin, they emerged—not as conquerors, but as architects of survival. Because humanity was a resource, and the Abyssals knew the cycle must continue.

The Strategy of Survival

Lysara was the first to understand. She whispered in the shadows, shaping information networks, weaving through cities as a silent specter. "We cannot let them disappear," she had once told Kaelith. "Chaos needs humanity to thrive. Let them rebuild—we will watch, we will control, and when the Bloom comes again, we will remain untouchable."

Kaelith agreed. And so, the Abyssals blended in. No longer monstrous horrors. Now human in appearance, slipping through civilization, walking among them unnoticed, unchallenged, unseen. And from the ashes of ruined towns, the Abyssals found opportunity.

The Ten Abyssals—Architects of the Dark

Each of them wielded power over a different part of this world. Each of them shaped destruction in their own way.

Erynos (The Kind One): A silent guardian, a being trapped between kindness and necessity. He avoided humans, knowing his presence corrupted them, yet still—he watched from afar, ensuring the weak did not fall too quickly. Some called him a ghost of mercy, though mercy had never truly been his nature.

Malgrin (The Killer): He had no reservations, no hesitation—only hunger for blood, for screams, for chaos. They feared him most, though he never hunted without purpose. When children whispered of the shadow smiling in the alleys, the Abyssals knew Malgrin had found his next victims.

Vyran (The Tactician): His mind never rested, always weaving plans upon plans upon plans. Wars did not start by chance. A merchant's betrayal, a noble's paranoia, a soldier's corruption—all traced back to Vyran's whispered influence.

(Unknown - Deceased)

Caeryn (The Guardian): Bound to Kaelith, sworn to his safety, her loyalty was unshakable, unquestionable, absolute. No blade touched him. No poison reached him. No enemy lived long enough to understand their mistake.

Seron (The Merchant): Gold flowed through his hands, never wasted, never unaccounted. Artifacts of chaos. Weapons forged in secrecy. Books stolen from the Athenari. He controlled everything the Abyssals needed—and nothing was given freely.

Nephra (The Dreamer): His thoughts were endless, spiraling through equations, theories, ideas never meant for mortal minds. Science intertwined with abyssal energy. He whispered among human scholars, learning, studying, becoming more than just a monster.

Zorran (The Ruthless One): The enforcer. The one who ensured discipline, focus, unity. He did not tolerate weakness among them. When an Abyssal hesitated, faltered, wavered—Zorran reminded them of their purpose.

Lysara (The Manipulator): She had woven herself into human politics, whispering into the ears of kings and lords, twisting governments into puppets without ever revealing her presence. Her information networks ensured that when chaos struck, the Abyssals were never caught unaware.

Kaelith (The Ambitious Leader): The pillar, the driving force, the architect of their grand purpose. He did not rule with force. He ruled with vision, charisma, certainty—ensuring the Abyssals remained bound by their blood-sealed laws, their secrecy, their unbreakable unity.

The Shadows Within Civilization

And so, the Abyssals walked among the world, unseen but ever-present. They let humans rebuild after every devastation. They guided, manipulated, structured society, ensuring the next Malice Bloom would not erase them. Their rule was not public. Their control was never spoken. But it existed. And it thrived.

The Search for Chaos

They had wandered for centuries—seeking, hunting, searching for a meaning that never surfaced. The Abyssals were never meant to exist, and yet, here they were—a mistake born from arrogance, abandoned and hunted by those who made them. Hatred bound them. Isolation devoured them. But the search for salvation—it consumed them most of all.