The Abyss seemed to revel in his exhaustion. Each step Nathan took through the molten corridors grew heavier, each breath a battle against the oppressive heat that never truly relented. The air was alive with the crackling of fire, a symphony of destruction and whispers that he couldn't quite make out. At first, he dismissed them as echoes of his own thoughts, distorted by the Abyss's living energy. But the longer he walked, the louder they became.
"Stop," a faint voice murmured, barely audible over the roar of the flames. He froze, narrowing his eyes at the shifting embers.
"Not happening," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.
The voice didn't reply, but he felt it lingering, carried by the heat like smoke curling in his lungs. It gnawed at him as he pressed on, his body screaming for rest. His hands were blistered, his limbs trembling from overuse, but he couldn't stop. Stopping was death, and he refused to give the Abyss that satisfaction.
