Into the Abyss

Fang Yuan awoke in darkness, an absolute blackness that suffocated any hope of light. It was not the familiar darkness of night, but a void—total and unyielding.

He lay on the cold, rough stone, his body naked, exposed to the damp chill that seeped into his bones. His only possession was he, himself and his memory. He wouldn't ask why he had come to be here, or where "here" even was. None of that mattered as . All that mattered was survival. Because if find yourself in true darkness than you are truly screwed. Either it is the underworld or a terror's den.

His muscles were stiff, his skin slick with moisture from the stone floor. Fang Yuan rose slowly, the ache in his limbs reminding him that his body was weak. He summoned his sword. It silently manifested in his hand. The blade in his hand was light but his grip was firm.

The labyrinth stretched around him in every direction, a twisting mass of tunnels that led only to more confusion. It was a perfect trap. Its passages were tight in places, cavernous in others, but always oppressive.

The silence was broken only by the faint, distant sound of water dripping, far away but promising life. Water would be his first objective. Without it, he would perish before long.

He stood perfectly still, his senses extending outward. His eyes were useless in this impenetrable dark, but he had trained himself to trust more than sight. His breathing slowed, his heart beating steadily, calmly. His focus expanded, feeling for the subtle shifts in air currents, the faintest vibrations of stone underfoot.

He could hear the distant echo of something moving. Not water. Something else. Something far more dangerous.

He didn't panic. Panic was for the weak. Instead, he remained still, letting the moment pass. The sound faded, and with it, the danger—for now. Whatever roamed these tunnels would soon come for him, but he wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready to fight yet. Fighting would be a last resort. He was the weakest creature in this labyrinth, and he knew it. Strength alone wouldn't save him here. He had to stay unseen, unchallenged. If he fought, it would be because there was no other option, no other way out.

He began to move, slow, deliberate steps, careful not to disturb the uneven stone beneath his bare feet. The sound of water became his guide. It echoed faintly through the narrow passages, pulling him deeper into the maze. The air was damp, cool against his exposed skin, but the faint promise of moisture was enough to keep him going. He needed water, food, and something to protect his body from the cold. Shelter could wait, but not for long. The stone labyrinth was a prison, and time itself felt twisted here, as if hours could pass in minutes, or days could stretch on indefinitely.

His journey was cautious, every step calculated. His grip on the sword remained loose but ready. Though his muscles were cold and stiff, his mind was sharp. He had learned long ago that weakness didn't come from the body—it came from fear. And fear was a luxury he couldn't afford. The creatures in the dark would sense it, feed on it. No, his survival depended on his patience, his control. He would outlast the darkness. He had no other choice.

Suddenly, the faint sound of scraping claws reached his ears. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but his instincts flared. Something was nearby. He froze, pressing himself against the jagged rock wall, sword raised slightly but kept low. His breathing became shallow, his heart steady. The creature was close, but it hadn't found him yet. He could hear it now—its slow, deliberate movements as it navigated the tunnel ahead. It wasn't in a hurry. It knew this place better than he did.

The scraping sound grew louder, closer. He fought the urge to grip his sword tighter. If the creature didn't know he was here, he couldn't afford to give himself away. Not yet. Not unless it forced him to. He had no idea what these creatures were, only that they were stronger, faster, more dangerous than anything he could face alone. The labyrinth was their home, their hunting ground.

His senses stretched further, feeling the air around him. The creature's presence was thick, oppressive, but it wasn't coming directly toward him. It was still searching, still unaware of his exact location. He waited, motionless, his muscles taut, ready to spring into action if necessary. But it never came. The creature moved past him, its scraping claws fading into the distance.

He exhaled, slow and controlled. He had survived this encounter by staying still, by blending into the darkness as much as any human could. But it had been a reminder of the danger that lurked in every shadow, in every twisting corridor of this endless maze. He could only imagine how many more creatures wandered the labyrinth, waiting for the chance to strike.

He pressed forward, continuing toward the sound of water. Time stretched on, though he couldn't tell how long he had been walking. The air grew cooler, wetter, as he descended further into the earth. The faint drip of water grew louder, more distinct, and soon he found it: a small pool, formed from water seeping through the cracks in the cave ceiling. It wasn't much, but it was enough. He knelt, dipping his fingers into the cold water, feeling it run down his throat, soothing the parched dryness that had begun to choke him. He drank slowly, careful not to take too much at once.

The water tasted stale, metallic, but clean enough. It would keep him alive for now. As he drank, he became more aware of the silence around him. The creatures were still out there, lurking just beyond the reach of his senses, but for now, they seemed distant. He couldn't stay here for long, though. He needed food, and some kind of protection against the cold. His body was vulnerable, and the cold air was slowly draining his strength.

He stood, wiping his mouth, and began to move again. The labyrinth twisted and turned without any discernible pattern, its passages narrowing and widening unpredictably. Each step was measured, every corner approached with caution. The faint sound of scraping claws echoed occasionally, a constant reminder that he was never truly alone. The creatures were always there, somewhere, waiting for him to falter, to make a mistake. But he wouldn't give them that chance.

As he ventured deeper, something changed. The air felt different, heavier somehow. A faint whispering sound began to fill the tunnels, too distant to understand but unmistakable. It wasn't just the wind, or the shifting of rocks. It was something else—something unnatural. He paused, listening, trying to make sense of it, but the whispers remained just beyond comprehension.

He shook off the distraction. Mysteries could wait. His mind remained focused on survival. The whispers grew louder as he moved forward, seeming to follow him, but he pushed them aside, refusing to let them cloud his judgment. There were far more immediate concerns.

His senses flared again as he caught the scent of something new—faint, but unmistakable. Flesh. There was something ahead, some kind of animal, though he couldn't tell what it was. If it was alive, he would have to kill it. He had no choice. He needed food. His stomach was already beginning to cramp from hunger, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer without it.

He moved cautiously, his steps silent, every muscle tensed for the encounter. The scent grew stronger, and soon he could hear it—something breathing in the dark, something large. His grip tightened on the sword. This time, there would be no retreat.

The creature emerged from the shadows, a hulking mass of fur and claws, its eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. It hadn't seen him yet, but it was close—too close to escape without confrontation. He tensed, ready to strike.

He wouldn't fight unless he had to. But now, there was no other option. The labyrinth had given him no choice.