He left the corpses behind and continued down the corridor. The air became colder and heavier with each step as the weight of trapped souls crowded in from all sides. At last, he entered a vast, deserted chamber with a massive altar in the center of it, the shadows lifting.
Black iron chains held a massive figure to the altar; he was still, but his rage was clear. This was worshipped by the cultists as Voraak, the chaos god. Even though his eyes were closed and his head was slouched forward, Maraak knew he was asleep. Even in this dormant form, Voraak was a force to be reckoned with, and the anger in the air surrounding him made Maraak's skin crawl.
The mountains ahead loomed like jagged teeth against the crimson sky, their peaks hidden in churning clouds. Nithrax-7's landscape shifted as Maraak advanced, from barren plains to twisted, otherworldly vegetation—plants that seemed to writhe and pulse as he passed. Dark, half-seen shapes darted around him, just beyond the edge of his vision, but never quite materialized. He could feel their eyes on him, sizing him up, deciding if he was predator or prey.
The silence was broken only by the faint rasp of his breath and the crunch of his boots. Veilsunder, silent since the last kill, began to hum faintly as if sensing the hidden power within these mountains. Maraak could feel the change too, a heaviness in the air, an oppressive force that pressed against his senses like a storm gathering strength.
At the base of the mountain, the stench grew stronger—a thick, rotting odor that clung to his lungs with each breath. Then he saw it: a crude stone wall, ancient symbols etched deep into its surface, half obscured by decades of grime and dust. Even though he couldn't fully decipher the symbols, he felt their power radiating from the stone. They were warnings—or bindings—meant to keep something contained within.
Veilsunder said, "Souls beyond souls," its voice akin to venom-laced silk. "Maraak, are you feeling it? The strength beneath these rocks. We shall be unstoppable if you feed me their souls.
There was something huge here, and he knew it without the sword. Latent energy seemed to ripple through the earth itself. Unfazed, however, Maraak pressed on toward a small crack in the rock face. Blood-stained totems, rudimentary representations of bone, metal, and twisted flesh that resembled frantic sacrifices to a chaotic deity, stood on either side of the entrance. Bracing himself, he slipped through the gap into the mountain's dark interior.
Beyond, the path was tight, the walls pressing in as though the mountain itself didn't want him to enter. The stone was covered in carvings, each twisted face and hideous shape gazing out with accusing, hollow eyes. The tiny light from outside disappeared as he descended more, and the air became heavy and oppressive, and there was nothing but black silence.
Then he heard it—a low, rasping sound that echoed faintly down the tunnel. He stopped, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, and saw them: figures slumped against the walls, their bodies thin and wasted, their eyes hollow and glazed. These were cultists, yes, but not the warriors he had slaughtered on the plains. They were prisoners, held here by some force that kept them barely alive.
As he got closer, one of them, a woman whose skin hung like loose parchment, glanced up. She squinted, a flicker of recognition lighting up her lifeless eyes. Her voice was hoarse and cracked as she rasped, "You... you are the Blood Reaver?"
Maraak gave a nod. The title, a name feared by the living and whispered by the dying, had followed him through innumerable universes. It signified hope to these people, but he refused to give it to them.
She trembled and held out a bony hand. "Please, put an end to this curse," she begged. "Voraak holds our souls to these worthless bodies, keeping us imprisoned here while we wait for something—something worse."
Calm yet relentless, Veilsunder's voice slipped into his head. "Maraak, mercy has no place here. These people are ready to be taken.
He read the frantic cry in the woman's eyes as he gazed at her thin face. These cultists were already half-claimed, their dedication had corrupted them, and they were trapped in Voraak's curse. It would be almost benevolent to kill them. He slammed Veilsunder through her heart with one quick blow. Even in death, a small grin of thanks graced her lips as her eyelids fluttered closed.
Maraak went down the line one by one, giving each prisoner the relief they desired. He could feel their souls draining into Veilsunder with every blow, adding to the increasing cacophony of voices inside the blade.
There was a glimmer of rebellion in the eyes of the last prisoner, a guy with one eye and skin stretched taut over hollow bones. His voice was feeble but unwavering as he growled, "He will come for you, Blood Reaver." "Voraak notices you. In the center of the mountain, he waits.
Without flinching, Maraak looked him in the eye. With a final blow, he plunged Veilsunder through the man's chest, saying, "Tell him I'm waiting." The essence of the soul permeated the blade, and the voices inside Veilsunder became louder, more demanding, and more delighted by the feast.
He walked along the hallway, leaving the corpses behind. With every stride, the weight of trapped souls pressed in from all sides, making the air heavier and colder. Finally, he stepped into a huge, empty room, the shadows lifting to reveal a huge altar in the middle.
A giant figure was bound to the altar with black iron chains; he was still, but his anger was evident. The cultists revered this as Voraak, the deity of chaos. Maraak was aware that he was sleeping, even though his head was slouched forward and his eyes were closed. Voraak exuded power even in this latent form, and the rage in the air around him made Maraak's skin crawl.
Veilsunder throbbed with eagerness. "Maraak, wake him up. We will surpass the gods if you feed me his soul.
With Voraak's force pulsing through him, Maraak took a step forward. However, when he got closer, the god's eyes opened, revealing two dark abysses that sucked out the light and peered directly into Maraak's heart.
"Come closer, mortal," Voraak intoned, his voice a deep, mocking rumble. "You seek to claim my soul? You think yourself worthy of my power? You will see what true strength is."
The chamber was filled with Voraak's laughing, which caused the floor to quake. The god then struggled against his bonds with a burst of force, the iron links moaning as they could hardly support him. Voraak had tremendous power, even when he was confined.
Veilsunder's murmurs were desperate. "Go for it, Maraak! whereas he is weak. Before he eats your soul, take his!
Maraak threw all of his effort into charging forward. As he brought Veilsunder down on Voraak's heart, he felt the blade pulse with evil force. A flood of energy was released as the blade sank deep, but Voraak's hand leaped out and clamped around Maraak's throat, his hold unyielding.
Voraak tightened his grip and snarled, "You are nothing." "I will be fed by your soul, Blood Reaver."
Darkness crept into Maraak's vision as he fought for breath. His life was ebbing away from him, and for the first time, a glimmer of terror appeared in his heart. However, the voices inside Veilsunder grew in a frenzied crescendo as his vision became blurry, their might blending with his own, a never-ending wave of anger.
Feeling the deity's life force ebbing away, Maraak sent Veilsunder deeper into Voraak's heart with a last, desperate thrust. As his shape started to dissolve into ash, Voraak's hold relaxed and his eyes widened in shock and incredulity.
"You… will never be free of this curse," Voraak rasped as his essence faded, his body collapsing into a pile of smoldering remains.
Maraak staggered back, feeling the rush of dark energy flood his veins. The power was intoxicating, a surge that left him reeling, but Veilsunder's hunger was finally sated, its whispers fading into a murmur.
The chamber was silent, the weight of oppression lifted, leaving only emptiness. Maraak looked down at the ashes of the deity, feeling no triumph—only the familiar emptiness that always followed the kill.
Without a word, he turned and left the mountain, leaving Voraak's remains to the silence and the darkness.