After three days of careful movement through the jungle, the Chaos caravan finally made it through the great forest. The camouflage magic was still active, shrouding the caravan in a faint mist that made it difficult for any living creature outside to sense their presence. However, Radivel sensed something was amiss. He had learned to listen to "chaos"—a thing that whispered in his head that no one else could hear. And today, it was silent.
"Chaos is never quiet," Radivel muttered, gripping his knife.
Ahead, the world tree Yggdrasil came into view—so large that it blocked out the sky, its trunk so thick that it would take half a day to walk around it. The trunk was surrounded by a giant circle of wards erected by the great nations in ancient times to prevent any living thing from approaching its roots—which were said to be the gateway to the abyss of chaos.
The group of apostles stopped at the edge of the barrier. One of them, a high-ranking chaos mage, stepped out. He closed his eyes, raised his hands, and began to chant. His language was not human – it was a whisper of destruction, the scream of the universe being born and being swallowed at the same time.
Each chaotic character flew out of his mouth like glowing insects, drawing an ancient diagram in the air. The barrier began to vibrate.
At that moment – a thunderclap rang out, and a hole opened right in the middle of the barrier. The mage fell to his knees, blood pouring from his eyes and nose, but he had succeeded.
As the gate leading to the chaotic abyss opened, the group of apostles were about to enter when the sky suddenly darkened, a terrifying pressure came down, causing the entire ground to shake. The air was so thick that it seemed to freeze. From within the tip of the giant tree root, a roar that shattered the heavens and earth rang out, shaking the marrow of the bones.
Something was rushing out at an extremely fast speed – a giant black shadow, wings that spanned hundreds of meters, its body reduced to rotting flesh and cursed dry bones. It was Dragonerir – the scavenging dragon, an ancient beast that had died tens of thousands of years ago but was cursed by the empire and sealed here as a guard dog of hell.
It had no eyes – just two deep holes that emitted a gloomy purple light. Its mouth was open, revealing jagged teeth, its skull was cracked open, and a stream of death was spewing from its throat. Each of its breaths burned the air, causing the magic that protected the group to begin to crack.
"Back off!!" – one of them shouted, but it was too late.
Dragonerir charged straight into the group like a nightmare rising from the abyss, a sweep of its wings sent nearly a hundred people flying to the ground. Those hit did not die immediately – instead, they began to rot, their flesh falling apart as if being corroded by time itself.
Radivel jumped up, his eyes flashing with an eerie light. Chaos whispered in his ears. He understood: this dragon was not just a guardian of the world tree. It was a threshold of trial, a question from the gods, whether those who entered the abyss were truly worthy.
He shouted: "ALL OF YOU FALL BACK, LET ME FACE IT!!"
One hand drew his knife, the other gathered magic. His dagger, not metal – but an object formed from thousands of chaotic distorted thoughts – as Radivel charged towards the dragon, the dagger began to glow and transformed into a black crescent like the primordial darkness.
Dragonerir opened its mouth, spitting out a column of purple fire like the lava of hell. Radivel dodged, rushed straight into its mouth like a jet of black gas, and slashed down on its throat with the dagger of thought.
A roar rang out, the heavens and earth shook again. The battle to the death had begun.
Radivel was in a rage, his eyes glowing red, roaring like a humanoid beast. His blade—a form made of chaos, of thousands of twisted fragments of consciousness—shot straight at Dragonerir's gaping throat.
Swoosh—!
A strange sound rang out. But there was no blood. No sound of bones breaking. No feeling of being hit.
The blade pierced Dragonerir's throat as if cutting through an illusion, as if cutting through mist.
Radivel stopped, horrified. "What…?"
At that moment, the dragon turned its head sharply, its purple eye sockets glowing, grinning like an entity mocking a foolish mortal.
A flash of light flared in its eyes—and then a purple light shot straight at Radivel, as fast as lightning.
"Radivel! Move aside!!"—a loud voice shouted from behind.
Plop!
A hand pulled Radivel back, and he was thrown backwards, rolling on the ground covered in snow and blood. The purple light swept past where he had been standing, burning the entire space, leaving a black burn mark dozens of meters long.
The one pulling him was Vayra, a high-ranking apostle, her face full of ancient magical cracks. "Idiot!" – she shouted. "Dragonerir has no body! It is the embodiment of a curse! Physical attacks are meaningless!"
Radivel coughed, eyes wide. "It is… a curse? So… how do we kill it?"
Vayra looked up at the sky, where the dragon hovered, like a black, ulcerated stain in the snowy sky. "We must purify it. Break the contract that the empire used to summon it from the dead. Otherwise, it will be useless to cut it down a thousand times."
The dragon roared again. The sky cracked open, a pitch-black rift. From that crack, tattered ghosts began to pour out, howling unconsciously.
Radivel took a few steps back, his eyes still fixed on the Dragonerir that hovered in the air like a living ghost, its mouth spewing out hazy clouds of poisonous smoke. Meanwhile, the female apostle – Vayra – had already sat down on the ground, pulled out a sharp ritual knife, and made a long cut on her palm.
Blood dripped onto the snow, evaporating instantly, leaving behind a crimson streak that was slowly glowing. She drew an ancient magic circle, the twisted and pitch-black characters seemed to be crawling on the ground like a living creature.
Radivel stood beside her, his entire body tense as a bowstring. He held the chaotic knife tightly in his hand, his eyes darting between the sky and the surrounding forest. His mind was in chaos at the moment – he knew nothing about magic, nor did he understand what this ritual would lead to. But what he did know was that if Vayra was interrupted, they would die instantly.
Above, Dragonerir roared, this time echoing like the wails of thousands of souls. A jet of black death energy shot down from the sky like a scythe of death, striking down on the two of them.
"Here it comes!" – Radivel shouted, leaping forward, swinging his knife to block the attack as a survival reflex.
BOOM!!!
A shockwave sent him flying back dozens of meters, headfirst into the ground, blood spurting from his mouth. But… Vayra was still safe. She didn't look up, her hands still drawing blood symbols on the snow.
Radivel groaned as he stood up, wiped the blood from his mouth, and rushed forward again, digging his knife into the ground, creating a small chaotic barrier with his own chaotic energy – he didn't know how, but in his desperate situation, the power within him operated on its own.
"Protect me for one more minute!" – Vayra shouted, her voice as tense as a string.
Radivel stood between the circle and the dragon, his body bleeding, his eyes burning like a cornered wild animal.
"Come here, you rotten monster…" – he roared. "I don't know magic, but I know how to kill. And I will kill anything that touches my body."
The dragon roared again, but this time – it saw something in Radivel that even it couldn't explain… A feeling… of danger.
Under the pale moonlight that filtered through the thin leaves of the ancient forest, Radivel gasped, his knees momentarily buckling under the violent collision with Dragonerir's death breath. He collapsed, blood dripping from his shoulders to the ground. But his eyes… did not retreat. They were the eyes of a beast that had been shunned all its life, now biting back.
"I will cut you to death, you damned worm…" – he gritted out each word, hissing like the hissing of fire on boiling oil.
Vayra screamed, her voice filled with fear:
"Radivel, back off! It's not something you can face alone!"
But Radivel did not listen. He seemed to be guided by some kind of power. A faint smoke rose from his body, as if his body was merging with something not of this world. His arm trembled as he gripped the chipped knife. Suddenly – something changed. No one could see what it was, but as he lunged forward—the knife was no longer ordinary metal.
Radivel ran straight toward the dragon, despite the screams, despite all the fear. The blade flashed, and this time, when he swung down—the blade did not pierce in vain. It cut. And Dragonerir roared in pain.
A deep, echoing howl, as if a thousand ghosts were wailing at once. Black smoke rose from the wound. The dragon retreated a few steps, its wings trembling. Radivel roared, like a wild beast tearing its chains, and continued to charge, swinging the knife like mad.
Slash after slash, scream after scream. One man, one blade, against a legend of the empire. And somehow, he was winning.
The dragon Dragonerir let out a thunderous roar, its entire body trembling from the numbing pain as Radivel slashed it. From the deep wound on its side, poisonous black smoke billowed out, like the flesh and blood of a nightmare. In its agony, it swung its body violently – its skeletal wings flapped so hard that the entire forest seemed to sway, and then…
BOOM!
A terrible tail whip slammed into the ground. Radivel was sent flying like a piece of rag, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby giant tree. He groaned, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes dizzy from the shock. But he still tried to raise his head, his gaze still burning with rage.
Meanwhile, Dragonerir roared again, his green eyes shining like a magic lamp, sweeping over the apostles who were preparing their magic while looking at each other anxiously. The monster did not hesitate. It rushed forward like a gray tornado, and began to furiously tear at the closest people.
One apostle didn't have time to dodge – he was torn in half in an instant. Blood splattered everywhere. Another was hit in the head by a sharp claw, his body shattered like a piece of wood. Screams, broken bones, the dragon's screech – all mixed together into a horrifying chaotic chorus.
Even the apostles of Chaos couldn't help but panic. Some erected temporary barriers to block it, others tried to distract the dragon. But Dragonerir was too strong, too mad – it seemed to be drinking in the pain to turn into utter madness.
Then after a period of mad slaughter, as if satisfied with the punishment, Dragonerir flapped its wings. A black wind swept through, whipping up flesh, dust, and blood into the air.
It soared into the night sky – leaving behind the mangled bodies of the apostles, the dying groans, and Radivel lying silently in the tangled sand.
The nightmare receded.
The group, despite having just experienced a nightmare, had no time to mourn or pause. The roar of Dragonerir still rang in their ears, a warning that the monster could return at any moment.
"Quick! Get the wounded onto the carriage!" shouted one of the apostles, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and fear. The survivors immediately sprang into action. Blood stained every wheel and every step leading up to the great carriage. Some had lost arms and legs, or the wounds left by the dragon's claws were charred and festering from the poison.
Radivel, still dazed, struggled to his feet and helped a groaning young apostle up onto the carriage. His eyes were no longer red with anger, but strangely calm concentration – the eyes of someone who had seen death up close and overcome it.
In the distance, before them – the gate to the Abyss finally appeared. It was not a gate of stone or metal, but a giant spiral of black and purple, standing upright between the giant roots of Yggdrasil. The air there seemed to be distorted, all sound was sucked in as if the world was being swallowed.
"Don't stop… We've reached the border." – Vayra, the leader of the caravan, exclaimed, covered in blood but still standing as still as a stone statue. She raised her hand to signal.
"Enter the Abyss!"
And then, each cart began to move forward, cutting through the distorted air. Crossing the border between light and darkness, between the real world and the primordial chaos. Each wheel rolling was a terrifying sound that echoed throughout the void.
Behind them, blood and flesh still dripped onto the ground, but ahead – was the deepest abyss in the world, the abode of Chaos, where their fate awaited.