As Radivel stepped through the dark portal, a terrible suction force immediately enveloped his entire body. The air seemed to be sucked out, he couldn't breathe, his eyes were dizzy, all his senses were turned upside down, as if his entire existence was being twisted into strange spirals. His mind was spinning so fast that he felt like he was about to explode, a strong feeling of nausea rose in his throat, burning and stinging as if being burned from within.
"N-not good…" – Radivel muttered, struggling to resist, his hand gripping the knife so tightly that it bled.
But before he could vomit or completely lose consciousness, a strong invisible force suddenly pushed him out of that state. The feeling of freefall lasted for a moment, then "thud!" – he landed on a solid, flat ground. The sound of impact reverberated in his eardrums, making him dizzy, his body aching, but at least he was alive.
Radivel opened his eyes. The surrounding scenery was unfamiliar. He was standing in the middle of a barren wasteland, surrounded by a thick purple mist that seemed to swallow up all light. There were no trees, no signs of life, just a swirling black-purple sky above him that seemed to be swallowing itself.
He struggled to his feet, coughed a few times, and then looked around. There was no one.
"Vayra? Aenor? Anyone?" he called out, but only a cold echo answered him from afar, lingering, repeating his question like a mockery.
Radivel's heart pounded. He bit his lip, realizing the terrible truth: everyone had been transported randomly.
The portal did not lead to everyone at the same point. Each person was thrown to a different area of the Chaotic Abyss
Radivel gripped the hilt of his knife, his eyes still on the thick purple mist that was silently moving ahead, as if something hidden inside was watching his every move. The silence was eerily quiet, no birdsong, no wind—only the suffocating silence of a world that had been denied all laws of existence.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Let's just say this is a solo reconnaissance mission…" he told himself.
Radivel began to survey his surroundings. His feet pressed against the soft, muddy soil, but there was no stench of decay or any sign that this place had ever been inhabited. The only traces were a few long furrows on the ground, as if something very large had crawled through here.
He knelt down, touching the ground with his hand. The soil was still warm, an unusual sign. He muttered, "Just passed by… not too long ago."
Step by step, he moved forward, following the deep furrows. The air grew thicker with each step, the mist suddenly becoming dense and cold, as if trying to drag his mind into some kind of trance.
A faint light gradually appeared in the distance – a red light like burning coals. Radivel frowned, quickening his pace, every muscle in his body tensing with alertness. As he approached, he discovered a large crack in the ground, emitting a red light like a volcano. Around the crack, the earth was torn apart, dry and deformed.
He stood before the crack, his eyes carefully observing. Deep down, something was moving, slowly, as if sleeping.
Radivel shivered.
He whispered: "What the hell is this…?"
Suddenly, a whisper sounded right behind his neck – small, thin as a breath, but sharp as a razor.
"Don't look into the abyss… or the abyss will look back at you…"
Radivel immediately turned around, but there was no one there. Cold sweat ran down his spine. He gritted his teeth, turned back to the original direction, and continued walking forward, leaving the crack.
Radivel turned his head warily to look around one last time, his eyes scanning every rock, every misshapen bush that grew from the dry, cracked earth. Though his instincts screamed that something was wrong, the absolute silence and the feeling of being alone forced him to make a decision.
"I don't see anyone… nothing following me…" – he whispered, his eyes cold as steel. Even though the crack emitted a strange aura, Radivel no longer had the patience to linger. Despite his unease, he walked on, turning his back on the crack and the red earth, leaving it behind.
His shoes stomped on the rough soil and speckled with black and gray ash. Each step he took echoed like a sad drumbeat in this dead world. Nothing was clear, but he knew, this place was watching his every move – something invisible, silent, and ancient.
The cold wind blew across his cheeks, and Radivel shivered slightly, but he did not turn around. "I must find someone else… I cannot stray too far from the group. This Abyss is not a place to be alone."
Every step, every breath, every heartbeat pounding in his chest.
He drew his knife, his hand tightening around the hilt as if if he let his guard down for even a moment, something would pull him down from beneath his feet. But he did not stop. Though fear silently invaded his mind, Radivel's eyes remained sharp and determined. He was an apostle—one of the survivors of chaos and war—and he would not let himself die in vain because of a mysterious rift.
And so, Radivel continued to walk into the depths of the Abyss—alone, alone, and dangerous. Little did he know that… the rift was still watching him. And the thing below, sensing his soul, stirred for the first time in thousands of years of slumber.
At the bottom of the Abyss – the place that ancient sages and magicians called the intersection of existence and non-existence – was not darkness as many legends whispered, but a scene that was completely opposite.
In a place that seemed to contain only destruction, at a depth that no one had ever reached, a small and peaceful village existed inexplicably. The village was nestled in a valley surrounded by giant cliffs that rose like eternal walls. The ground here was not fiery red like the upper levels of the Abyss, but had the soft brown color of loose soil, as if it had just been plowed by the diligent hands of farmers.
The sky above was not eternal darkness, but a pale blue, vaguely like smoke mixed with the light of an unnamed sun. The light here did not come from the real sun, but seemed to be reflected from the luminescent quartz panels mounted on the giant cliffs. The light was soft, dreamy, not hurting the eyes but enough to see everything clearly as if it were daytime.
The village had only about ten houses, all built of rough wood, roofed with old dark tiles, and scattered as if placed randomly but strangely harmonious. Each house had an ancient architectural style, without any signs of the imperial era, and there were no solid structures. There were no surrounding walls, no watchtowers - just houses standing quietly among the rows of barren trees and bushes of silvery wildflowers.
The focal point of the village was a large house, located in the center and surrounded by a low wooden fence. In front of the house was a long-stopped windmill and a small vegetable garden with a few rows of carrots, potatoes and herbs that were still growing. It looked like the house of a lonely old farmer who had abandoned the outside world. But what made this place the strangest was the statue standing in the middle of the yard.
The wooden statue was about two and a half meters tall, meticulously carved from a shiny black wood that seemed to have been soaked in soul blood for hundreds of years. The statue was the image of a man - age unknown, identity unknown - hugging a large sword tightly, his body was thin but his eyes were carved with divine technique, sharp as if he was looking into the soul of the person opposite.
The statue's arm was wrapped around the hilt of the sword, pressed close to his chest as if he had loved that sword more than life itself. The statue's bare feet stood on a stone slab carved with ancient language, but worn away by time. Even though it was impossible to read, the aura emanating from each carving was enough to make sensitive people bow their heads in respect.
The special thing was… the statue was completely dust-free. No matter how much time passed, how many times the wind blew it, all the dirt avoided it as if it was afraid of offending something sacred. Small birds occasionally flew by, stopping to rest on the roof or fence, but absolutely none dared to land on the statue.
The air in the village did not have the usual rotten smell of the deep, but on the contrary, there was a faint scent of dry grass mixed with the smell of burning wood from the fire. Even though there was no one, the big house still emitted the sound of firewood crackling inside, as if someone was living and keeping the fire burning for this lonely village.
In the distance, the wind chimes hanging in front of the porch rang softly, even though there was no wind. Each sound seemed to blend with the rhythm of the earth and sky, creating an incomprehensible melody – both peaceful and evoking a chilling feeling down the spine.
No one knows who built the village, who lives here, and why it exists at the bottom of what is believed to be the border between the living and the dead.