The journey into the Western Kingdom was nothing like Lumumba, Amara, or Jon had expected. The once lush and fertile land, famed for its ancient forests and peaceful elven cities, now stood as a wasteland—devastated, twisted, and broken. The air itself felt hostile, thick with the stench of decay and the unmistakable energy of the fissures.
As the group ventured deeper into the kingdom, it was clear that nature had turned against the people. Trees that had once stood tall and proud now loomed like skeletal giants, their leaves withered to ash, their bark rotting with an unnatural blackness. Every step they took was accompanied by the low, ominous hum of magic, pulsating from the fissures that cut through the landscape like gaping wounds.
"I thought the Northern Kingdom was bad," Jon muttered, glancing around at the devastation, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "But this... this is something else."
"It's worse," Amara replied, her voice quiet but tense. "This land used to be sacred. The elves and humans here lived in balance with nature. Now it's been corrupted beyond recognition."
Lumumba kicked at the ground, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. "It's like someone took the script for a fantasy world and hit the 'destroy everything' button. Not exactly the scenic route I was hoping for."
The group pressed on, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life—or what was left of it. Every village they passed was in ruins, the buildings collapsed into heaps of stone and timber. In some places, the ground had split open, and dark, twisted vines crawled out from the fissures, overtaking everything in their path.
"There's nothing left," Amara whispered, stopping in front of what had once been a thriving town. The houses were hollow shells, and the streets were cracked and lifeless. There were no signs of the people who had lived there—only silence, broken by the occasional moan of the wind.
Lumumba crouched down, picking up a small, charred piece of wood from the wreckage. He turned it over in his hand, his usual grin absent. "What the hell happened here?"
Amara knelt beside him, her eyes scanning the ruins. "The fissures don't just destroy—they corrupt. They twist the land, the animals... even the people. Whatever's causing this isn't just some random force of nature. This is deliberate."
"You're telling me these fissures are... what, controlled?" Jon asked, looking skeptical but uneasy.
Amara nodded, her gaze dark. "Yes. And if we don't stop it soon, this is what the rest of the world will look like."
They continued through the ruins, each step heavier than the last. It wasn't just the destruction that weighed on them—it was the energy. The magic here was old, ancient, and it felt wrong. It seeped into their skin, made their bones ache, and whispered at the edges of their minds.
"This place feels like it's... alive," Jon muttered, shivering as he glanced at the twisted vines growing out of a nearby fissure. "Or at least, like it's trying to be."
Lumumba grunted, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "Yeah, well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm not in the mood to find out what happens if we let it finish the job."
The deeper they ventured, the worse the corruption became. What had started as cracks in the earth had grown into chasms, oozing with dark energy. The sky itself seemed to bleed, its once bright hues replaced by swirling, sickly shades of red and purple. The air was suffocating, and every breath felt like a battle.
They finally stopped at the edge of a massive fissure, larger than any they had seen before. It was a gaping wound in the earth, its edges jagged and raw. The magic coming from it was intense, almost unbearable. Dark vines writhed around the opening, pulsing as if they had a life of their own.
"This must be where it all started," Amara said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The heart of the corruption."
"Great," Lumumba muttered. "So, who's up for a little spelunking into the abyss?"
Jon shot him a look. "You've got to be kidding."
"I never kid about magic death pits, Jon," Lumumba replied, though his usual sarcasm was tinged with tension.
Amara's eyes were fixed on the fissure, her mind racing. "If we can find the source of this, we might be able to stop it. But the magic here... it's old. It feels like something more than just a fissure. Something is feeding it."
"So, what's the plan?" Jon asked, his gaze flicking uneasily between Lumumba and Amara. "We go in there, find whatever's causing this, and... hope we don't get turned into something that belongs in a nightmare?"
Lumumba grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That's the spirit, Jon. Always thinking positive."
Before they could take another step, a sound—faint but unmistakable—cut through the eerie silence. It was the low hum of voices, far off but drawing closer. Shadows moved at the edge of the fissure, figures emerging from the darkness.
"We've got company," Jon muttered, his hand going to his sword.
Out of the shadows stepped a group of figures—Elves, but not like the ones they had encountered before. Their skin was pale, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light, and their bodies seemed... wrong. Twisted. Corrupted by the magic of the fissures.
"What the hell..." Lumumba breathed, his hands dropping to the hilts of his sabers.
Amara stepped forward, her voice calm but commanding. "They've been corrupted. The fissures have twisted them into something... unnatural. But they're still elves. Maybe we can—"
Before she could finish, the corrupted elves let out a guttural hiss and charged toward them.
"Okay, guess we're doing this the hard way," Lumumba muttered, drawing his sabers with a flourish.
The battle was fast and brutal. The corrupted elves moved with unnatural speed, their limbs twisting in ways that shouldn't have been possible. Lumumba's sabers flashed in the dim light, cutting through the darkness as he fought off the attackers. Amara's magic crackled in the air, glowing runes forming in the space around her as she cast spell after spell, pushing back the corrupted elves with blasts of pure energy.
Jon fought at their side, his sword swinging in wide arcs, but even he struggled to keep up with the speed and ferocity of the attackers.
As the last of the corrupted elves fell, Lumumba wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath coming in heavy gasps. "Well, that was fun. Anyone else feeling like we might be in over our heads?"
"We need to keep moving," Amara said, her voice urgent. "This corruption... it's spreading faster than we thought. If we don't stop it soon, there won't be anything left of this kingdom."
Lumumba nodded, though there was a dark edge to his grin. "Alright then. Let's go find whoever's behind this mess and have a little chat."
As they pressed on, the weight of the corruption grew heavier, pressing against their minds and bodies. The fissures grew larger, the dark magic pulsating more intensely. And with every step, they felt the presence of something—or someone—watching them.
Amara paused, her gaze distant as she reached out with her magic. "There's something ahead. Someone... powerful."
Lumumba's grin widened, though there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Finally. Let's go say hello."
They moved forward, the air growing colder as they neared the center of the corruption. And as they approached the heart of the fissures, the figure waiting for them stepped out of the shadows—Solann.