The Rebirth Of The Beast Tamer

Xerion hissed violently, as it scales was bristling with instinctive hatred. Salaris screeched, a sound that was sharp enough to cut air.

Even Rhoam, whose calmness outweighed Darius's, let out a bellow that shook the rim. The beasts knew before their tamers could admit it that their final nemesis awaited them.

Kelvin lowered his spear. The steel rang as its end kissed stone, a sharp note that sliced through the suffocating chant.

Lyra lifted her bow. She nocked an arrow, the string taut was glowing faintly as if the weapon itself refused to remain unlit in this abyss.

Darius slammed his shield against the ground and sparks bursted from the fissures where metal struck cursed stone.

And their beasts answered as one. Xerion's hiss rolled low, venomous with a vow of murder. Salaris's screech pierced the sky and Hollow alike, scattering lingering vapors.

And their beasts answered as one. Xerion's hiss rolled low, venomous with a vow of murder. Salaris's screech pierced the sky and Hollow alike, scattering lingering vapors.

Rhoam's bellow thundered against the abyss, a living declaration that flesh still held sway over rot. For a moment, the sound was a ritual, not a preparation.

The three of them, Crest and beast was standing against the world's ending not as wanderers, but as a liturgy of determination.

Kelvin felt it, the unity, the rhythm, the inevitability. This was no longer strategy. It was ceremony, the fissures was widened beneath their feet. Dust showered into the Hollow and he rim itself shivered as though unwilling to hold them any longer.

Kelvin did not speak. Neither did Lyra nor Darius and together, they stepped forward. The earth cracked in finality behind them. The edge shattered, sealing itself with a roar like a door slammed by the gods.

There was no retreat. The Hollow had claimed them and they descended, not as hunters, nor as prey, but as those who chose to face damnation head-on. And the Hollow welcomed them with open jaws.

The air changed the moment the Crest stepped past the shattered rim. Up above, the storm was fading into silence, but here, at the threshold of the Hollow, the silence was far worse than thunder.

It pressed on the ears like weight, broken only by the dull, steady rumble of the ground beneath their boots. Each tremor came not as a quake, but as a heartbeat that was slow, dragging, and heavy enough to shake their bones.

The fissure ahead yawned wide as a split in the world that dropped into blackness. Green fire pulsed in streaks along its walls with veins of necrotic energy glowing like a diseased circulatory system.

Their descent was not a matter of choosing steps, it was stepping willingly into something alive or into something that breathed and fed.

Kelvin adjusted his grip on the spear. The weapon was heavier than usual, not from weight, but from the air itself. Everything it inhaled burned his chest, every exhale came out ragged.

"It is feeding on us," he muttered, though none of them needed the words to know it. The Hollow stole and it drained. It wanted to wear them down before they had even drawn a blade.

Xerion slid along beside him with coils scraping against jagged stone, its scales were shimmering faintly with void light.

The walls drown your breath, the serpent hissed in Kelvin's mind. Every step, was a toll paid. Do not squander your strength here.

Lyra was quiet, her bow strapped across her back and hand resting lightly against Salaris's wing as the bird-beast glided just behind.

Her eyes scanned the dripping stone, but her expression betrayed more than vigilance. "This is not just a chasm," she said. "It is the mouth of a grave."

She was not exaggerating. The walls wept with dark ichor that clung like tar, trickling into cracks that swallowed it whole. Here and there, shapes bulged from the rock with faces stretched thin and warped, as though souls had been pressed into the walls like insects in amber.

For a moment, one seemed to blink. Kelvin froze, half-reaching for his spear before realizing it was only the flicker of light or maybe not.

Rhoam's claws ground sparks against the rock as Darius pressed onward, his shield braced across his back. The knight's voice was rougher than usual, though steady.

"If Ironholt had faced something like this at its gates," he said, "we should have been buried in a week." He spat to the side, though the spit vanished before hitting the ground, absorbed by the stone like the Hollow refused to let anything escape.

The fissure sloped downward with jagged ledges serving as crude steps. The Crest descended one by one with boots crunching on brittle stone that crumbled beneath pressure. Each fragment disintegrated into ash before hitting the lower ground.

Every dozen steps, the runes along the walls glowed brighter. They were not carvings, not truly. They were veins and threads of pulsing energy that latched onto the Crest's presence.

Kelvin felt the tug most acutely when his hand brushed the wall. Cold needles shot into his veins, while stealing warmth and stealing will. He yanked back with a hiss.

This place remembers the hunger, Xerion whispered. It remembers feeding and we are only another course.

Kelvin shook off the chill but could not shake the image it sparked, himself as a boy while falling into the mining caverns outside Valebreach that was trapped in dark with nothing but echoes and fear.

His father had pulled him out. His father is now gone. This fissure mocked that memory, widening it until he felt once more like a boy who would never find the light.

Lyra's footsteps was slowed, her hand tightened on Salaris's feathers. She did not speak, but Kelvin saw the way her jaw clenched, the tremor in her lips before she forced them still.

The fissure's walls were not stone to her, they were dirt and coffin wood, the memory of Elara's grave was pressing in. Darius, too, walked slower than usual, his breathing was heavy.

He muttered to himself with words of half-prayer and half-rebuke through Siege tunnels. That was what the fissure reminded him of, which was the choking underground passages where Ironholt soldiers had burned alive, with smoke curling through stone.

He shook his head as if to clear it, but the memories clung like ash. The Hollow was not just feeding on their stamina. It was feeding on their scars.

At the first landing, the fissure widened into a plateau barely large enough to hold them. The ground here was uneven, cracked in spiderweb lines that pulsed with green fire. For the first time since descending, they stopped to breathe.

Kelvin planted the glaive in the ground and leaned against it with his chest heaving. Sweat stung his eyes despite the Hollow's chill.

He turned to check the others and saw Lyra's hands trembling until she forced them to be still at her sides. Darius sat heavily against Rhoam's flank, his knuckles were white against his gauntlets.

Even the beasts bore tension with salaris's wings twitched with unspent energy, feathers were standing on the end. Rhoam's eyes glowed faintly with ember light, its armor plates were flickering as though it was resisting pressure.

Only Xerion seemed to be a bit calm, it coils wrapped loosely in a circle around Kelvin. The serpent's eyes glowed violently, ancient and unblinking.

This is no descent into stone, Xerion murmured, with its voice low and guttural. The Hollow gnaws even at my kind's memory.

I have slithered through abysses where stars bled, but this… this eats what you are, not only what you hold.

Kelvin swallowed. If Xerion, an ancient serpent who had lived longer than kingdoms, admitted unease, then this fissure was far worse than he dared imagine.

Before he could speak, the ground shuddered. Not just the plateau beneath them, but the fissure itself.

The walls groaned with ichor spilling in thicker streams. Faces in the stone stretched with their mouths opening in silent screams.

Then the roar came. It was not an air or rock or beast. It was voices. Hundreds and thousands were screaming all at once, echoing from below.

It rattled their bones, pierced their ears, clawed into their skulls. The fissure shook as though it delighted, as though it was laughing at their presence.

Kelvin gritted his teeth and pulled his glaive freely. Lyra's bow was in her hand, an arrow he already strung.

Darius rose with shield raised high. Their beasts braced and ready for whatever came crawling up from the depths.

But nothing came. The roar faded into whispers, then into silence. The ground's pulse was steadied, like a heart settling after exertion.

It was no attack. It was welcome. The Hollow had felt their presence and it was glad. Kelvin took in a ragged breath, looked to the others, and nodded.

No words were needed, they were inside its jaws now. And the jaws had only just closed.