The crimson moon hung low, stationary as it was a witness to the changes of the Lower Abyss. It silently observed as the pitiful military camp slowly fanned out into an orderly military settlement, a village, and eventually… A town.
Rows of buildings, some of which were built from stones and hard clay, and others built from granite and concrete.
Trees fell all around the Nameless Valley that surrounded the slumbering volcano, and lanterns sporadically littered the region under the reign of volcanic ash.
Looking around, the occasional flashes of headlights and hunkering horns from speeding vehicles became the absolute standard for transportation.
Massive trucks with piles of evil blood pearls stashed mound over mound were transferred from the depths of the dungeon to the small, military town.
Of course, some trucks transported the maimed, beaten, barely breathing infected. Those who couldn't tolerate the infection in that short distance of fifteen minutes on the uneven terrain were put down peacefully… and impatiently.
One of these trucks was currently on the way back from the dungeon entrance to the military town, hosting a group of vultures groaning in pain.
"This is so unreal," one of them said. "The death count in the last year is driving me insane, and it's anything but decreasing…"
Another man chipped in, "The deeper levels of the dungeon have displayed unusual signs throughout the year, and the aristocrats are very anxious to find out why."
The other snapped, exasperated, "What has that got anything to do with us? Aren't they so full of their technology and powerful origin spells? Let them go and explore the deep levels!"
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the former was still somewhat calm as he sighed. "I've been getting the weird feeling that someone is keeping an eye on my every move recently, as though the dungeon has eyes now."
"You're imagining things, that's all; the influence of the evil miasma. Heck, the number of squadmates I've finished with these two hands… Innumerable."
The others nodded their heads, sharing the sentiment. In these times, vultures who made it past three expeditions into the dungeon alive were referred to as veterans.
"Who would have thought Kane's mutated sister would be this strong? If it's within those dungeons, she's like fish in water; the final boss or something. The vanguard unit tried more than once to trap her in a death vice, but it was all for naught, simply providing blood and miserable souls to the ever-insatiable cesspool of a dungeon."
"I would've watched my mouth if I were you," someone interrupted with his hoarse voice, hissing noises fleeting through his punctured throat. "These people have eyes and ears everywhere… I wouldn't be surprised if the trucks are bugged or if the drivers are some undercover sissies."
He sighed, adding, "I can't even tell a vulture from a sissy nowadays…"
…
Similar conversations could be found wherever a group of three or more gathered.
The Lower Abyss was changing, and changing fast it was, mainly because the Skysplit brought a thorough cleansing, destroying both culture and civilization, let alone the hereditary values of men who once walked the lands of the Lower Abyss.
It could be said that those who survived used to be the lowest, the humblest, and of course… the most adaptable to change. Fickle ones, they are. If they had to bend to survive, they'd turn into the most flexible of shapes.
The aristocrats understood this mentally very well, and so they never bothered concealing their contempt when faced with these vultures of twisted moral values. They were people who knew nothing of honor, bravery, conviction, or loyalty… yet they so audaciously pursued great egos and greater ambitions.
Kane was just one little ambitious bug in their eyes, and if they wished, they could've reared hundreds of such bugs, if not thousands. This was the conclusion Wendy came up with after an entire year of isolation in the deep, hot cave she found herself imprisoned in.
All these days, if she wasn't seated in meditation, she was encroaching further and further toward its scolding depths, as she had come to realize how impervious her physique was to heat the longer she persisted.
Her source energy slowly adopted the attribute of flames as her body followed its natural instincts of evolution. Little by little, the three colors on her source crystal shot up to four colors in total, eventually settling on five.
Scolding hot source energy entwined about her body, suppressing the evil miasma that gnawed at her neck, as persistent as it was from day one. Little birds, remnants of the group of Thorns whom she left to fend for themselves, periodically left subtle messages for her at the foot of the rocky hill.
Though these notes became less frequent with the passage of weeks and months, they allowed her to maintain a resemblance of cognition to the outside world's affairs.
"I've waited on you for a full year," Wendy murmured to herself, her eyelids parting to reveal her dark eyes with a flickering sparkle within. "Did you die off somewhere, Aza?"
A gust of conspicuously cold breeze brushed past, startling Wendy who bathed in the hot waves of steam. Then, the patch of evil miasma on her skin grew restless, rioting about as though triggered by some baleful existence. Wendy was shocked, hurriedly circulating her source energy to thwart the unexpected advances from the evil miasma.
Flustered, her eyes spun about in contemplation; just what had caused this sudden eruption of the evil miasma?
Light footsteps suddenly sounded from the far entrance to the cave, and along the thin trickle of lava on the scorched rocky ground, a young man's silhouette slowly took shape in Wendy's dark eyes.
Judging from the distance, the footfalls were only audible because the young man had wished for them to be so. The familiar gray trench coat allowed Wendy to heave a sigh of relief, but an odd vibe seemed to dance about this young man.
"Aza?" Wendy inquired, not at all bothered by the fact her entire body was out in the nude—bits of cloth that were her clothes couldn't bear with the heat as much as her tender skin could cope. "You surely took your sweet time, didn't you?"
She stood up, condensed vapor drawn by her source energy to provide a makeshift screen of dense fog around her body, concealing the spring scenery underneath. She could no longer see through this young man, and so she fairly assumed that his gains over the last year weren't comparable with hers, but far superior.
The young man didn't say a thing, for one reason or another, which confused Wendy greatly. His silhouette stepped forward with an outstretched, fair white palm.
A mysterious fluctuation rippled from the palm and covered Wendy's body.
Her body shuddered from the inside out, feeling as though ants crawled all about her blood vessels and veins, a dark substance traversing her body from every corner toward the bite marks on her neck. Black, baleful, and cold was the miasma that flooded out from her wound and concentrated into a pitch-black seed on the fair palm.
"You owe me," a voice sounded from underneath the shades of the coat. "I will surely come to collect in the future."
A strand from the evil miasma shot out, marking Wendy's forehead and burrowing deep inside, while the seed itself blended into the silhouette's hand. Thereafter, the entire silhouette crumbled into wisps of evil miasma, dissipating.
Shock flashed through Wendy's eyes, realizing that this was no more than a projection with the evil miasma as a medium…