The clearing erupted into chaos as the Abyssal Reavers lunged forward, their twisted forms moving like a blur of shadow and flesh. Valthar barely had time to raise his sword before one of them was upon him, its blackened claws swiping at his throat with deadly precision. He ducked just in time, feeling the rush of cold air as the claws sliced through the space where his head had been.
Without hesitation, he countered, his blade slashing through the creature's chest. Blood—thick, black, and reeking of decay—sprayed into the air, coating the ground in a slick, oily sheen. The Reaver staggered back, but instead of falling, it let out a bloodcurdling screech, its body convulsing as the wound began to close, knitting itself back together with dark tendrils of shadow.
"They don't die like normal men," Valthar growled through clenched teeth, already swinging his sword at the next Reaver.
Serra was fighting beside him, her blade flashing in the dim light, cutting through the Reavers with deadly accuracy. But even she was struggling to keep up with the onslaught. For every Reaver they struck down, another would rise, their bodies refusing to stay broken, regenerating with each passing second.
"They just keep coming!" Serra shouted, her voice strained as she parried a blow from one of the creatures. It hissed at her, its eyes glowing a deep, unnatural black as it swiped at her with razor-sharp claws. She dodged the attack, driving her sword into its chest and twisting the blade, but the creature barely flinched.
Valthar's mind raced, the sounds of battle overwhelming. The Reavers were relentless, and no matter how many times he struck them down, they wouldn't stay dead. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles burning from the strain of constant combat. He knew they couldn't keep this up. Not for long.
One of the Reavers lunged at him, its mouth opening impossibly wide, rows of jagged teeth glistening with saliva. Valthar barely managed to block its attack, his sword catching the creature's arm just inches from his face. With a roar, he shoved the creature back and brought his blade down in a powerful arc, cleaving its arm clean off. Blood sprayed across his chest, hot and thick, but the Reaver didn't stop. It lunged at him again, its dismembered arm already growing back, new tendrils of flesh and shadow wrapping around the stump.
Valthar snarled in frustration, the Abyss whispering to him, louder now, more insistent.
*Let me in. Give in to the darkness. You can end this.*
The temptation was overwhelming. He could feel the power of the Abyss pulsing in his veins, begging to be unleashed. With it, he could destroy these creatures—tear them apart, limb from limb.
*You can kill them, Valthar. All it takes is a single moment of surrender.*
But he fought against it, his grip on his sword tightening. He couldn't give in. Not now. Not yet.
Another Reaver lunged at him, and this time, Valthar wasn't fast enough. The creature's claws tore into his side, ripping through his armor and flesh. Pain exploded through him as he stumbled back, blood pouring from the wound. The creature hissed in delight, its black eyes gleaming as it licked the blood from its claws.
Valthar gasped, his vision blurring from the pain. He could feel the cold touch of death creeping closer, the edges of his vision darkening. The Abyss roared in his mind, its voice deafening.
*You will die without me.*
"Valthar!" Serra's voice cut through the haze of pain. She was fighting her way toward him, her blade slicing through the Reavers, her face pale but determined. "Don't give in! We can beat them!"
But Valthar's strength was failing. His body was weakening, his blood spilling onto the ground in thick pools. The Reavers circled him like predators, their twisted forms moving in unison, ready to deliver the final blow.
He could feel the Abyss surging inside him, pushing him to the brink. His sword felt heavier with each passing second, his limbs numb and sluggish. The Reavers' hisses filled the air, mocking him, taunting him with their invulnerability.
A sudden wave of fury crashed over Valthar, his vision turning red. He had fought too hard, lost too much, to die here. He would not fall to these abominations. His grip on his sword tightened, and for a split second, he allowed the Abyss to slip into his veins, just enough to fuel his rage.
With a guttural roar, Valthar swung his blade, and this time, the darkness followed. Black tendrils of shadow erupted from his sword, lashing out at the Reavers with terrifying speed. The creatures screamed as the shadows wrapped around them, tearing into their flesh, ripping them apart piece by piece. Limbs were torn from bodies, blood sprayed into the air in thick arcs, and the Reavers' twisted forms writhed in agony as the Abyss consumed them.
One by one, they fell, their bodies reduced to nothing but pools of black ichor and torn flesh. But Valthar didn't stop. He couldn't stop. The power of the Abyss was intoxicating, overwhelming his senses, filling him with a primal need for violence.
Another Reaver came at him, and Valthar met it head-on, his sword slicing through its torso with a sickening crunch. The creature screamed, but Valthar wasn't finished. He drove his blade into its skull, twisting it viciously, black blood spurting from the wound as the creature's body convulsed and finally fell limp.
The remaining Reavers hesitated, their movements uncertain as they saw the carnage around them. But Valthar didn't care. He was lost in the bloodlust now, the Abyss fully awakened inside him. He charged forward, his sword cutting through the air like a scythe, severing limbs, decapitating heads, and spilling blood in every direction.
The ground was slick with gore, the stench of death thick in the air. Valthar's heart pounded in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears as he butchered the Reavers one by one. Their screams echoed through the forest, but they only fueled his rage.
The final Reaver tried to flee, but Valthar was faster. He caught the creature by the throat, his hand enveloped in shadow as he squeezed. The Reaver gasped, its eyes wide with terror, its body thrashing in his grip. With a cruel smile, Valthar slammed it into the ground, his sword driving through its chest. Blood exploded from the wound, coating his hands, his face, his armor.
And then it was over.
The clearing was silent except for the sound of Valthar's ragged breathing. The Reavers were dead, their bodies strewn across the ground in mangled, bloody heaps. The scent of death and decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of black ichor.
Serra stood a few feet away, her sword lowered, her face pale. She looked at Valthar, her eyes wide with shock, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Valthar's hands were trembling, his heart still racing. The Abyss pulsed inside him, demanding more, whispering promises of greater power, but for the first time, he hesitated. He looked down at his hands, at the blood that coated them, and a sickening realization hit him.
This wasn't him. This wasn't who he wanted to be.
He staggered back, his sword falling from his grip as the weight of what he had done crashed down on him. The bodies, the blood, the carnage—it was all too much.
Serra approached him slowly, her voice soft but trembling. "Valthar… what have you done?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. The darkness was still there, clawing at him, demanding more, and deep down, he knew that the line between man and monster had already begun to blur.
The Abyss had tasted blood, and it wasn't finished with him yet.