"Alright, enough fun and games," Theros said, taking the scroll from Durak and scanning the contents. He quickly folded it up, tucking it into his belt. With a decisive gesture, he led the group forward, moving swiftly through the eerie darkness.
Vaelora, ever the skeptic, couldn't hold back her concerns. "That was very risky," she muttered, her eyes flicking nervously to Bargos. "What you did was too destructive. We could have escaped without making such a ruckus. Now I worry about how they'll respond." She glanced at Theros, her usual composed demeanor strained by the shadows pressing in.
"Ha! You worry too much, Vaelora," Theros chuckled, his voice lighthearted despite the situation. "Nothing will happen. They'll be too busy looking for us to catch—" His words faltered as the darkness deepened around them, as if the very air had grown heavier. The eerie whispers and the strange, shifting currents of the deep seemed to intensify.
They were at the borders of the Abyss now, but not near the threshold—no, they were far from it. Theros's instincts screamed. "Kassp, call the vessel. We might have to run," he ordered, his gaze darting back and forth, feeling the oppressive weight of the surroundings.
Vaelora, her hand already on her weapon, surveyed the area, her sharp eyes scanning for threats. The others followed suit, preparing for what was to come. It wasn't long before the faint sound of footsteps began to echo through the oppressive silence. At first, it was subtle, but then the unmistakable sense that something—no, someone—was drawing nearer became undeniable.
"Long have we waited for this, dragons and their puny vassals," a voice suddenly whispered, but it was louder than a whisper—sharp, mocking, and dark. It echoed all around them, an unsettling contrast to the void.
"The threshold let you pass? How peculiar. It's been millions of years since the Abyss had guests. Why the hurry? You just got here," the voice mused, laced with dark amusement. The group's wariness heightened instantly as the voice seemed to shift, swirling in the shadows.
"I smell fear… Is it you, Prince of Mischief?" The voice's tone turned more calculating, more personal. "I've heard of you, 'King of Rascals.' I've heard of what you do. You're chaotic, just like us, but without the seriousness. You would make a fine piece of collection for the Master. My infiltrators bear news of a child being born. Rude, just like your little escapade earlier. He woke us up." The voice seemed to lilt with malice as it faded into the swirling darkness.
"Show yourself, coward!" Theros called out, his voice steady but tinged with the challenge he could never quite resist. He surveyed the surroundings carefully, sensing the growing tension in the air. His crew had activated their sensors—his order was clear: stay vigilant, stay sharp. The darkness felt alive, and there was no telling where the next threat would come from.
Kassp, ever silent but efficient, had already tapped into the ship's magical network. Without a word, he created a link to share real-time data, mapping their surroundings and committing everything to memory.
"Quite the capable pawns you have, dragon," the voice purred, sounding almost pleased. "Yes, I smell their conviction. Hmm… What do we have here? A follower of those maniacs?" It paused, as if considering something. "I would assume you caused that explosion." The whispering voice seemed to narrow its attention on Bargos.
Bargos's form merged seamlessly with the surrounding darkness, and the faintest of whispers, laced with incantations, emanated from him as he moved. He was already working to conceal their presence, though it was clear that the shadowborne—whatever they were—had a way of sensing their every move.
"We are confused," the voice continued, a dark calmness in its tone. "We woke up from dormancy not long ago. All the efforts to rebuild our fort have been laid to waste by this manic pawn of yours. How do you plan to compensate us?" The creature's voice oozed with twisted logic, attempting to veil its true menace behind a mask of reason.
But Theros wasn't fooled. He glanced at his crew, sensing their collective wariness. The shadowborne thrived on deceit, on mind games, and this one was no different. Kassp relayed Theros's silent orders through their shared mental link: stay alert, keep your thoughts sealed. They couldn't afford to reveal anything—not now, not with this threat closing in.
The silence stretched on, pregnant with tension, as the shadows seemed to press in from all sides. Theros's mind raced. They were no longer just facing monsters—they were facing something far older, far more calculating.