The tension in the group finally snapped as one of the mercenaries, a burly man with a scar running across his jaw, grabbed Zeveron by the collar and shoved him against one of the carriages. The sound of wood creaking under the force echoed through the oppressive tunnel.

  “You bastard!” the mercenary snarled, his voice thick with fear and fury. “You’ve led us straight to our damn graves!”

  Zeveron struggled against the mercenary’s grip, his face red with anger. “Get your hands off me! You all knew what you signed up for! The coin was good enough to blind you, wasn’t it?”

  The mercenary’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. “I didn’t sign up to be dragged into a cursed pit! Look around, you fool! We’re all going to die down here!”

  Kael, standing apart from the commotion, sighed audibly, the sound cutting through the rising shouts. “He’s not wrong.”

  The group froze, their eyes snapping to the Ashen warrior. His tone was calm, almost indifferent, but his words were heavy as stone.

  “What?” another mercenary asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Kael leaned against his torch, his piercing gaze scanning the frightened faces around him. “We’re most likely going to die. That’s the reality of it. This place doesn’t care about your plans, your anger, or your fear. It just takes.”

  Gazelle let out a strangled sob, sinking to her knees. She buried her face in her hands, her small frame trembling as the weight of Kael’s words crushed any hope she had been clinging to.

  The scarred mercenary released Zeveron, who stumbled back, straightening his tunic with shaky hands. “You’re supposed to be the one getting us through this!” the mercenary yelled at Zeveron. “This was your route, your plan! Now look at us!”

  Zeveron jabbed a finger at him. “You think this is my fault? You all agreed to this job! I didn’t drag you down here kicking and screaming!”

  The group erupted into chaos, voices overlapping in a cacophony of blame and desperation. Zeveron and the mercenaries shouted over each other while Gazelle’s muffled cries continued in the background.

  “Enough,” Kael said, his voice low but carrying a weight that silenced the arguments. He stepped forward, his torchlight flickering ominously.

  “Why don’t we just turn back?” one of the mercenaries asked, his voice trembling. “We can retrace our steps, get the hell out of this cursed hole.”

  Kael shook his head slowly. “It won’t matter. This place doesn’t let you go once you’ve stepped too far in. The paths behind us are already gone.”

  The group exchanged nervous glances, the implication sinking in like a knife.

  “Our only chance,” Kael continued, his voice steady but grim, “is to go deeper into Dulgal. Through it. Maybe—maybe—there’s a way out on the other side. But don’t fool yourselves. Every step forward will test your will, your sanity, and your strength. If any of you aren’t ready for that, better to end it now than drag us all down.”

  The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by Gazelle’s quiet sobs. One by one, the mercenaries looked away, their faces pale and defeated.

  Zeveron swallowed hard and spoke, his voice trembling but resolute. “The Ashen will get us through this. He’s done the impossible before.”

  Kael glanced at him, then at the others. “Pray I do it again.”

  The group stood in uneasy silence as the oppressive darkness seemed to press closer, mocking their fragile resolve. Then, without another word, Kael turned and began walking toward Dulgal’s ominous green haze, the torchlight casting long, twisted shadows behind him. One by one, the others followed, their footsteps heavy with dread.

  The caravan trudged forward, wheels creaking ominously as they pushed into the suffocating green mist. Every step seemed to drain the air from their lungs, the unnatural haze clinging to their skin like cold, damp fingers. Kael took the lead, his movements steady and unyielding, a pillar of defiance against the weight pressing down on them.

  With a practiced motion, Kael reached to his back, unclasping the lock on his scabbard. The metallic *shring* of his Magnite longsword being drawn cut through the oppressive silence like a scream. The blade, etched with intricate runes, pulsed with an eerie, ethereal glow that seemed to repel the mist ever so slightly. The light danced across his face, casting sharp shadows that made his expression seem even more resolute—and inhumanly calm.

  Behind him, the others shuffled closer, their faces pale and gaunt under the sickly green light. Every footstep felt heavier than the last, as though the city itself were pulling them down into its depths. The whispers that had been distant grew louder, closer, weaving into the cracks of their minds. Words they couldn’t understand scratched at their sanity, the voices slithering like venomous snakes into their thoughts.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  As the mist thinned, revealing more of what lay ahead, the caravan entered what must have been the city’s main thoroughfare. The street stretched into darkness, lined with crumbling vendor stalls and rotting wooden carts, their wares long since turned to dust. Buildings loomed on either side, skeletal remains of what had once been homes and shops. Their shattered windows and sagging roofs gave them the appearance of hollowed-out corpses, staring at the intruders with black, empty eyes.

  Every surface was coated in a thin layer of grime, and yet, disturbingly, it seemed untouched by time—frozen in decay, as though the city had been abandoned in a single, catastrophic moment. Some stalls still held remnants of goods: wilted flowers, tarnished coins, and rusted trinkets that seemed to whisper forgotten secrets to the mist.

  The whispers grew louder, forming an almost rhythmic chant, their words still unintelligible but maddeningly persistent. Some of the mercenaries clutched their heads, muttering to themselves, while others tightened their grips on their weapons, their knuckles white.

  Gazelle walked close to Zeveron, her wide eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “It’s like… they’re still here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Kael’s glowing blade swept through the air as he gestured for silence, his voice low and commanding. “They are.”

  A chill ran through the group, the weight of his words sinking in.

  Each step felt like a violation, as if they were trespassing on sacred ground. The further they went, the stronger the feeling grew—an oppressive, suffocating pressure that bore down on their chests. It was as if the city itself were watching them, judging them, waiting for the moment to pounce.

  Then, a faint sound broke through the whispers—a slow, wet scraping, like something heavy being dragged across stone. It echoed faintly at first, then louder, coming from the depths of an alleyway just ahead. The mist there churned, moving unnaturally, as though alive.

  The mercenaries froze, their weapons trembling in their hands. “What the hell is that?” one of them hissed, his voice cracking.

  Kael stepped forward, his blade raised, the runes glowing brighter as if in defiance of the darkness ahead. “Stay close,” he commanded, his tone colder than the mist.

  The whispers swelled into a cacophony, their voices growing louder and more insistent, as if warning—or welcoming—them. The scraping sound ceased abruptly, replaced by an unnatural silence that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.

  They stood at the edge of the alley, staring into the abyss, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, from the shadows, something moved.

  The scraping sound returned, louder and closer now, each metallic screech against stone grating on their ears and setting their nerves on edge. The whispers rose with it, a haunting crescendo that filled the air with unholy tension. Then, from the suffocating darkness, two piercing red lights ignited like hellish embers, cutting through the haze. They didn’t blink, didn’t waver, only stared—cold, unfeeling, and filled with malice.

  Kael’s grip on his Magnite longsword tightened, the blade’s runes glowing fiercely in defiance of the encroaching terror. Without a word, he dropped his torch to the ground, the flame casting flickering shadows that danced menacingly across the crumbling walls. He shifted into a battle stance, both hands on his sword, his eyes locked on the glowing orbs as they drew closer.

  From the darkness emerged a figure, its grotesque form dragging into the dim light. The creature was humanoid, its skeletal frame wrapped in shimmering, translucent flesh that clung like a half-forgotten memory. Decayed armor hung loosely on its bony frame, rusted and broken, but still menacing. The Wraith seemed to glide forward, its movements unnaturally smooth yet unnervingly erratic, as though it existed outside the bounds of the natural world. The air around it crackled faintly, an aura of death and despair radiating from its decayed form.

  “Back up,” Kael commanded, his voice a cold knife slicing through the rising panic. The others obeyed, stumbling over themselves as they retreated.

  The whispers now seemed to pour from the Wraith itself, its eyeless sockets glowing brighter as it locked onto Kael. From the surrounding mist, more glowing red eyes began to appear, one pair after another, until the darkness teemed with their unholy light. The mercenaries froze, their fear giving way to utter terror as the realization sank in: they were surrounded.

  The Wraith in front of Kael emitted a guttural, bone-chilling hiss that echoed unnaturally, the sound reverberating as though it came from everywhere at once. Without warning, it lunged, its decayed form slicing through the air with terrifying speed. Its translucent flesh rippled and shimmered unnaturally as it moved, bending light like a twisted mirage.

  Kael met the creature’s attack head-on, raising his glowing blade just in time to intercept the strike. The clang of metal meeting spectral force sent a shockwave through the air, the sound reverberating painfully in their ears. The Wraith’s strength was unnatural, the sheer force of its assault enough to make even Kael’s muscles strain.

  With a quick shift of his weight, Kael shoved the creature back and countered with a swift, precise strike. His blade cut through the shimmering flesh, which seemed to unravel like smoke in the wind. The Wraith let out a bone-rattling screech as its body disintegrated, the translucent flesh vanishing entirely and leaving only skeletal remains that clattered to the ground in a scattered heap.

  Before Kael could catch his breath, the other Wraiths began to move, their glowing eyes burning brighter as they closed in. The whispers grew deafening, a maddening cacophony of despair and rage. The green mist seemed to thicken, swirling around the advancing horrors as if alive, as if the city itself were conspiring with the dead.

  Kael curled three fingers tightly, his voice cold and commanding as he uttered the word, "Aegis." Before him, a shimmering barrier of dim golden light erupted into existence, casting an eerie, wavering glow against the oppressive darkness. The Wraiths, relentless and filled with malice, shrieked in frustration as their decayed blades screeched against the magical shield. Sparks flew from their weapons, the sound like nails on an iron coffin, their glowing red eyes glaring with hatred as they clawed and slashed, desperate to breach the barrier.

  Kael turned to the others, his voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the rising panic. “Keep moving. Follow the main road. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear—do not stop!”

  The mercenaries and dwarves hesitated for only a moment, fear paralyzing them as they stared at the writhing Wraiths pressed against the golden light. But the urgency in Kael’s tone jolted them into motion. The caravan lurched forward, wheels creaking and animals braying nervously as the group trudged on.

  The air grew colder with each step, an unnatural chill that sank into their bones and made their breath come out in faint, visible puffs. Whispers filled the air once more, louder now, murmurs of despair and malevolence that seemed to come from the very stones beneath their feet. Shadows moved in the periphery of their vision, fleeting figures that danced and twisted just beyond the reach of their lanterns.

  Everywhere they turned, they were met with glowing eyes—dozens, maybe hundreds of them—watching from the darkness, unblinking and hungry. The oppressive weight of the city seemed to bear down on them, each step growing heavier as though the streets themselves sought to drag them into the abyss.

  Suddenly, the moaning started, low and guttural, echoing through the empty streets. From the green mist, shapes began to emerge. Rotting forms shuffled forward, their flesh hanging in decayed ribbons from brittle bones. Hollow eye sockets stared blankly, jaws slack and teeth bared in grotesque snarls. The stench of death filled the air, thick and choking, as the undead dragged themselves into view, their shambling gait unhurried but relentless.

  The dwarves whimpered, clutching their weapons with shaking hands, their eyes darting in every direction as the undead closed in. The animals panicked, braying and kicking as the tension reached a fever pitch.

  “Don’t stop!” Kael barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. His glowing longsword was raised high, the ethereal light of its runes casting long, flickering shadows across the advancing horrors. “Keep moving! I’ll hold them back!”

  The caravan pressed onward, the dwarves stumbling over uneven cobblestones as they pushed the carriages through the creeping mist. Around them, the undead closed in, their moans rising into a horrific chorus. Some of the creatures dragged rusted weapons behind them, the sound of scraping metal like a grim warning. Others crawled on broken limbs, their grotesque forms jerking unnaturally as they clawed their way toward the living.

  Kael stood his ground, his barrier flickering as the Wraiths continued to claw at it, their shrieks mingling with the moans of the undead. He could feel the curse of the city pressing against his mind, a suffocating darkness that sought to break even his iron will. Yet he remained resolute, his blade glowing brighter as he prepared to meet the horrors head-on.

  Behind him, the caravan disappeared into the mist, the whispers growing louder and more sinister with each step they took deeper into the city.