Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

A Buried World

The idea that the abyss shaped its beasts with purpose had been nagging at me for a while. Too many crimson horrors thrived here, their powers wildly varied. It wasn't natural. The caves, shielding smaller beasts from the titans outside, and now these orcs with their own language—it all pointed to a design. This wasn't just a Darwin Cage; it was built to be one, a crucible forging something deliberate. I couldn't shake the thought, standing there in the dim cave, facing the orcs' wary eyes.

Their fear was thick, almost a smell. They saw me for what I was—a crimson beast, small but deadly, standing where only onyx and ebony belonged. The caves were their refuge from demigods outside, but I'd slipped through, a predator in their sanctuary. Their weapons, bone clubs and chipped spears, trembled in their grips, aimed at me but held back. I didn't fear them. They were strong, sure, but not my match. What gripped me was their speech, a trait so rare it screamed purpose.

"I'm not here to hurt you," I said, my voice soft, knowing they wouldn't understand. "You led me to the caves, so thanks for that." Their eyes didn't soften, yellow slits locked on me, tusks glinting in the faint glow of the tunnel. Fair enough; words were useless across our divide. I raised my hands slow, palms open, claws tucked into my skin, tentacles melding into my back to look less threatening. Pointing at my chest, I said, "Omen," my tone steady, hoping the sound carried my intent.

The horde stirred, grunts rippling through them. They hadn't expected speech from me, not like theirs. The biggest orc—taller, broader, his cracked skull helmet casting jagged shadows—stepped forward. His hands shook, but his stance was firm, spear angled to guard his pack. He pointed at himself, his voice a low rumble. "Utra." The word was sharp, proud, despite the fear in his slitted eyes.

"Nice one," I said, a grin tugging at my lips. "Good to meet you, Utra." He wouldn't catch the words, but I kept my voice light, friendly, bowing my head slightly, a gesture of respect I'd seen others use. My tentacles twitched, ready but still, as I watched him. Utra's brow furrowed, confusion flickering, but he mirrored me, dipping his head, his helmet scraping the cave wall. "Vek sara, Omen," he said, the words alien but deliberate, his tone cautious, testing.

The abyss trapped us all, but I saw no reason to spill blood here. Utra, though, had plenty of will; he loomed larger than his horde, his frame barely fitting the cave's confines, mana pulsing thick in his core. His eyes flicked to me, hungry but wary, like he was weighing a chance. "This trip of yours," I said, keeping my voice low, "is it some kind of pilgrimage? To get stronger?" The orcs stared, their yellow eyes blank with confusion, Utra's brow furrowing under his cracked skull helmet. My words didn't land, lost in the gulf between our tongues.

It clicked for me, though. A crimson core, mine or another's, would fulfill the abyss's second rule, Guile. Ambush a weakened horror, claim its power, and Utra's core would surge, pushing him to the next stage. I'd seen onyx beasts out in the open, dodging crimson titans, waiting for their chance. Utra was no different, but he'd misjudged the cost. The abyss's hunting grounds chewed up ambition like his, and his trembling hands told me he knew it now.

Still, his gaze kept drifting to the monocle pendant at my chest. The whispering lens, cold against my skin, had become background noise, its hum blending with the abyss's chaos. I'd forgotten it was there, a bridge between life and death, its murmurs a strange comfort in this pit. "Can you hear it?" I asked, touching the lens, my voice soft. Utra's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his spear still angled my way. Maybe his instincts caught the lens's wrongness, the way it tugged at something deeper than mana.

We stood at an impasse, neither side itching for a fight. My frost mist curled faintly, more reflex than threat, but the orcs flinched, their weapons twitching. They could've tried for my core, but their fear held them back—sharp instincts, honed in the caves, screaming I was danger. The lens didn't help, its whispers prickling even my senses now. I nodded, slow, and stepped back. "Go your way," I said, knowing they wouldn't get it, but my open hands said enough. Utra grunted, a low "Vek khor, sjak," and turned, his horde following, their steps heavy in the tunnel.

I waited till their grunts faded, then pulled Hazeveil tight, its shadows cloaking me. Curiosity burned; I needed to know if other orcs spoke, if Utra's pilgrimage was unique. I trailed them, silent, my tentacles skittering over stone. The caves were a maze, tunnels twisting, barely wide enough for Utra's bulk. The air grew colder, the walls smoother, as if carved with intent. The paths climbed, branching upward, and I hoped they'd lead to the surface, a way out.

But the caves betrayed me. The tunnels stopped connecting, dead-ending at sheer drops or sealed stone. Utra's horde slowed, grumbling, then backtracked to an opening, a gash in the wall spilling fog from the abyss outside. My stomach sank. To keep following, I'd have to step out too, onto a narrow ledge hugging the wall, barely wide enough for both my feet, let alone Utra's mass. Another cave entrance waited across, maybe fifty meters away, its mouth promising upper tunnels. Less than a minute's walk, but one slip meant falling again.

Utra didn't hesitate, barking "Khor vadis, gresh!" The orcs filed out, fingers scraping the ledge, their fear sharp as they pressed against the reality-warped rock. I followed, Hazeveil's aura faint but active, masking me from distant crimson senses. The abyss yawned to my left, fog swallowing the depths, a fire beast's explosion flashing red far below. My tentacles gripped the wall, steadying me as I moved

The upper caves felt different, colder, the air sharp with a faint hum I couldn't place. Trailing Utra's horde, I saw why they risked the abyss's open ledge to reach this place instead of skulking in the lower caves with the ebony beasts. The ground sparkled under the dim glow filtering through cracks above, dotted with clusters of crystals jutting from the rock like jagged plants. Small, no bigger than my fist, they pulsed faintly, their surfaces catching the light in prisms of blue and violet. I crouched, my tentacles steadying me, and plucked one free. It was warm, its mana a soft buzz against my palm, like a core but diluted, a whisper of power.

"Odd," I muttered, turning it over. It felt alive, fragile, but familiar. I pressed harder, and it shattered, just like a core, releasing a trickle of mana that seeped into me. The boost was tiny—nothing like the crimson cores I'd claimed, but steady, like sipping water after a drought. If I gathered enough, maybe hundreds, it could stack into something real. A field of these, harvested slow, could fuel a beast's growth. I glanced at the orcs ahead, their claws scraping crystals into crude sacks. They knew it too.

"Kara," I said, my voice a thought directed inward, "you ever come across anything like this?"

[Kara]

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[Negative. However, these resemble mana crystals noted in pre-fog Warlock texts. Records suggest Warlocks learned of them through divine entities communicating directly to their minds.]

I froze, the crystal's glow flickering in my hand. Warlocks serving higher powers wasn't news; I'd heard the stories in Elina's classes, but Kara's certainty about "divine entities" hit different. Gods, real and meddling, shaping knowledge through whispers. I shook my head, shoving the thought aside. The crystals were here, now. "Tell me about these mana crystals," I said, my mental voice sharper, focused. "What are they?"

[Kara]

[Mana crystals form at the convergence of vitality and mana, akin to cores, which crystallize both upon a creature's death. Absorbing either restructures one's core through connections beyond three-dimensional space, enhancing core's strength. The process consumes the mana, preventing its use as a reserve. Unlike cores, crystals appear to absorb the surrounding mana and vitality leaking upon a creature's death.]

I nodded, staring at the shard in my palm. So that's why cores made me stronger but never refilled my mana; it was the same deal here. A quick fix for my reserves would've been nice, especially with crimson horrors out there offering richer cores. Still, these crystals were something else—a steady supply, if you had the time to harvest it, sure each one provided very little, but if they lived in the upper caves then they could always harvest more. I didn't interrupt as Kara went on.

[Kara]

[Warlock texts, citing divine sources, describe mana crystals in other worlds' battlefields. Wielders of mana deployed them to capture vitality and mana leaking from dying creatures, a prized resource in wars. No records mention crystals growing from bare rock or sustaining themselves without external conflict.]

I leaned back, my tentacles curling against the cave floor. That was heavy. Crystals catching the fallout of death, like traps for the essence of the fallen. But here, they sprouted from rock, probably absorbing what leaked from the caves and the abyss below. "So something's creating these," I said, my voice low, almost to myself. "Has to be."

I glanced at Utra's horde, their movements deliberate as they harvested the brightest crystals, stuffing them into sacks slung over their shoulders. Utra led, his cracked helmet glinting, pausing to inspect a cluster before grunting—"Vek gresh, vadis!"—and moving on. The orcs didn't waste time, their fingers precise despite their bulk.

The upper caves were their domain, a haven for onyx beasts like them, where crystals grew. Down below, ebony beasts prowled, weaker but hungrier, scraping by on scraps or venturing up to challenge for this bounty.

It fit the abyss's design, clean and cruel. Each zone had its rulers: ebony beasts in the lower caves, onyx in the upper, crimson horrors in the open pit. A cycle, tiered, giving each a shot to grow, or die trying. Ebony beasts could climb, fight for crystals, and maybe hit onyx. Onyx, like Utra, could risk the abyss for a crimson core, chasing the next stage. Crimson horrors fought endlessly, their cores the ultimate prize. But for what?

I stood, pocketing the crystal shard, my frost mist curling faintly. The orcs moved deeper, their path winding through wider tunnels, the crystal clusters growing denser, their hum louder.

I followed, Hazeveil's shadows tight, my steps silent. The caves felt alive, the mana in the air thicker, almost heavy. What fed these crystals? It wasn't only death; something sustained them, a source hidden in the abyss's heart. The Warlocks' Gods knew, maybe, but I didn't have a deity whispering answers. All I had was Kara and the hum of the lens at my chest, its whispers faint but persistent, like it knew something I didn't.

***

Hours of trailing Utra's horde through the upper caves wore on me, the tunnels stretching wider, ceilings arching higher until it felt like a hidden underworld sprawled beneath the the surface. The air was colder, tinged with that faint crystal hum, and the walls gleamed with their glow, casting prisms across the stone.

I stayed cloaked in Hazeveil's shadows, my tentacles skittering silently, marveling at the orcs' navigation. They moved with purpose, never hesitating at forks or dead ends, their fingers brushing crude symbols etched into the rock: jagged lines, circles, slashes. Was it their language, like Utra's speech? A code to guide or mislead? The thought sent a spark through me. These orcs were smarter than I'd given them credit for, their intelligence another thread in the abyss's woven design.

Could other beasts here think like this? A whole society, thriving under District 3? No… District 3 was just the gate. These caves stretched far beyond, a world apart. I paused, running a finger over a symbol: three slashes crossed by a curve. It meant nothing to me, but to them, it was a map, a warning, maybe a claim.

The tunnel narrowed, the walls closing in until even I had to duck. Utra's horde stopped at a blank rock face, smooth but unremarkable. I tensed, expecting a trap, but one of the larger orcs lumbered forward, grunting as he gripped a boulder bigger than me. Muscles bulging, he hoisted it overhead and set it aside, revealing a tight passage barely wide enough for two orcs abreast. Utra barked, "Khor sara, gresh!" and they filed through, their weapons clinking. I slipped in after, Hazeveil's aura faint but steady, my heart quickening. A nest, I thought—a den with a few dozen orcs, maybe. I was wrong.

The passage opened into a cavern so vast it stole my breath. A city sprawled before me, not a nest but a living, breathing society. Buildings rose from the rock, their shapes too smooth, too deliberate, as if the stone had flowed into walls and spires rather than being chiseled. They glowed faintly, reflecting the crystals embedded in the cavern's ceiling, a false sky shimmering blue and violet. A river cut through, its waters clear, rushing from a crack in one wall to vanish into another, its banks lined with wiry vegetation such as moss, vines, and pale ferns, all breathing clean air into the space. The cave was massive, its ceiling lost in shadow, big enough for thousands.

Utra stood at the entrance, his cracked helmet glinting as he raised his arms. "Vek par khor, sara!" he rumbled, his voice thick with relief, like a chainrunner slumping home after a run. The horde relaxed, their shoulders easing, weapons lowered. I stayed hidden, my tentacles gripping the passage's edge, staring.

[Kara]

[Remarkable. The orcs collapsed multiple entrances to isolate this cavern, concealing their city. The river, vegetation thriving without sunlight, and buildings formed from rock suggest unnatural engineering. This environment is optimized for societal stability.]

I nodded, my eyes wide. Whoever or whatever built this cared about more than just fighting. This was a sanctuary, a place for orcs to endure. I stepped back, grabbing a small rock near the passage, expecting the same unyielding stone I'd tested before. It crumbled under my claws, dust sifting through my fingers. "Wait," I muttered, glancing at Kara's projection in my mind. "You said the cave rock was frozen in time, unbreakable."

[Kara]

[Correction: the analyzed section exhibited reality-warping, fixing its state. This area appears unaffected, likely by design to allow manipulation. Accessible entrances and exits are necessary for a society's function, else isolation would prevent sustainability.]

I exhaled, the lens at my chest humming faintly, its whispers sharper now. The planning here was staggering. Reality warped to lock some rock, left normal in others, all to shape a hidden city. The collapsed entrances, those rubble piles I'd passed, kept predators out, crimson horrors too big for these tunnels anyway. I glanced at the orcs, now spreading into the city, some hauling crystal sacks, others greeting smaller orcs—young, maybe?—with low grunts. Thousands lived here, their might their only ward, no runes needed.

I followed, Hazeveil tight, slipping past the boulder as it was rolled back, sealing the passage. The city hummed with life: orc voices, water's rush, crystal glow. I'd expected a scrappy nest, not this.