7. Shadows of the Abyss

The movement was subtle at first—a flicker in the corner of Viole's vision, a whisper in the darkness that seemed to breathe life into the shadows. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked onto the spot, where the gloom shifted unnaturally. It wasn't just darkness; it was something more, something alive, creeping toward them with a silent, predatory grace.

Toren's growl was the first real sound to break the suffocating silence of the chamber. His claws extended, yellow eyes narrowing as he shifted into a more aggressive stance. "What the hell is that?" he muttered, his voice barely more than a snarl.

Viole didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the shifting shadows, his senses heightened. Whatever this was, it wasn't like the creature they had faced earlier. This felt… ancient, primal. The personalities stirred in the back of his mind, their presence stronger now as if they too sensed the danger closing in around them.

"Stay close," Viole whispered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. His eyes never left the shadows, even as they seemed to deepen and thicken, curling inward like tendrils of smoke.

Seris, standing beside him, gave a short nod. Her smirk had faded, replaced by something more serious, more cautious. She raised her dagger, her sharp eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

Then, without warning, the shadows exploded.

From the inky blackness, figures emerged—creatures born of the abyss, their forms twisted and indistinct. They moved like smoke, their bodies shifting and curling with unnatural fluidity. Their eyes—hollow, glowing orbs—fixed on the group, hungry and ravenous.

Toren was the first to react. With a feral snarl, he leaped at the nearest creature, his claws slashing through its smoky form. But instead of tearing flesh, his claws passed through the creature as if it were made of air. Toren stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward as the creature swirled around him, wrapping him in its cold, suffocating embrace.

"Damn it!" Seris hissed, darting forward with her dagger raised. She slashed at one of the creatures, but like Toren, her blade passed through it without resistance. The creatures were incorporeal, untouchable.

Viole's pulse raced, his mind scrambling for a solution. The creatures were closing in, surrounding them. He could feel their cold presence, like a chill seeping into his bones, dragging him down into the abyss. His sword was useless against them. Physical attacks wouldn't work.

That's when he felt it—Aamon's presence, stronger than ever.

"You know what to do, Viole," Aamon whispered, his voice calm, confident. "These creatures are nothing but shadows. Call upon me. I'll show you how to deal with them."

Viole's chest tightened. He knew what Aamon wanted—control. The ancient vampire was waiting for his chance to take over, to show his strength. And for a moment, Viole hesitated. The shadows were closing in, and his mind was screaming at him to act.

But this wasn't just a fight for survival. This was another test, and not just of his strength. It was a test of his will, his ability to keep the personalities in check. He couldn't let Aamon take over, not here.

"I don't need you," Viole thought, his teeth gritted as he raised his sword again. But even as he said the words, he knew they weren't entirely true. He couldn't fight these things on his own. Not without their help.

Not without control.

Viole closed his eyes for a split second, forcing his mind to focus. He needed to find the balance—the delicate line between control and power. He could feel the personalities, all of them, pushing at the edges of his consciousness, but he held them at bay. Just enough to draw on their strength without losing himself.

When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with a faint, otherworldly light. Aamon's power surged through him, cold and commanding, but Viole remained in control.

The nearest shadow-creature lunged at him, its hollow eyes glowing with malice. Viole moved with a speed and grace that wasn't entirely his own, sidestepping the creature's attack. He swung his sword, but this time, the blade hummed with energy—an aura of dark, vampiric power that Aamon had lent him.

The sword cut through the creature's smoky form, and this time, the blade met resistance. The creature let out a screeching hiss as it dissolved into nothing, its form unraveling in the air.

Viole didn't stop to think. He moved again, faster now, cutting through the next creature with the same ease. The shadows recoiled, their hollow eyes flickering with what might have been fear.

Seris, seeing what had happened, let out a breathless laugh. "Nice trick," she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow as she slashed at another creature, her dagger now charged with energy.

Toren, recovering from his earlier stumble, growled in frustration. "Could've used that a little sooner, Shivani," he grumbled, but there was a hint of grudging respect in his tone.

Viole ignored the comment, focusing on the task at hand. The creatures were still coming, though fewer now. With each strike, their forms unraveled, dissolving into the air as the group pushed forward toward the altar.

The oppressive weight in the chamber grew heavier with each step, as if the very air was trying to crush them. The glowing symbols on the walls pulsed faster, their light flickering in time with Viole's heartbeat. There was something about this place—something that felt familiar, yet foreign.

They reached the base of the altar, and Viole's eyes locked onto the object resting at the top—a small, obsidian shard, glowing with a faint, malevolent light. This was the source. He could feel its power radiating through the room, calling to him, pulling him in.

Without thinking, Viole reached out toward the shard, his hand trembling as his fingers brushed against its surface.

The world shifted again.