Chereads / Maximilian Kron The Dark Inheritance / Chapter 3 - The Whispering Dark

Chapter 3 - The Whispering Dark

Max collapsed behind a jagged outcropping, gasping for breath. His legs burned from running, and his heart pounded like a drum in his chest. The fissures had spread like a spiderweb across the alien landscape, glowing with an ominous green light that pulsed in time with an unseen rhythm.

Above him, the sky had darkened further, the swirling clouds roiling as though alive. The eerie light streaks in the atmosphere flickered and danced, casting distorted shadows over the land.

He fumbled for the flashlight he'd dropped during his escape. As he clicked it on, the beam cut through the haze, only to reveal something that made his blood turn to ice.

The cracks in the ground weren't just glowing. They were moving.

Tendrils of darkness seeped from the fissures, slithering like living things. They reached out across the terrain, probing, searching. One tendril grazed the rock near him, its touch leaving scorch marks in the stone.

Max clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing. He wasn't sure if these things could hear him, but he wasn't about to take the risk.

The journal in his jacket pocket felt heavier now, like it was burning against his chest. He pulled it out with trembling hands, flipping to the page he'd last read in his father's lab.

The Veil is thinning. They wait in the cracks, between worlds. The portal is not a bridge—it is a key. A key that should not have been turned.

Max's pulse quickened. What had his father been working on? What had he unleashed?

A low, guttural sound echoed across the expanse, sending a shiver down Max's spine. He peeked over the rock and saw movement in the distance. Shadows were gathering, coalescing into forms—tall, humanoid figures with elongated limbs and glowing eyes.

They wait in the cracks.

The words echoed in his mind as the figures moved with unnatural fluidity, their heads swiveling as if searching for something. Max realized with horror that the tendrils were retreating, slinking back into the fissures as the figures approached.

Whatever these things were, the darkness feared them.

Max's instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move, crawling along the ground to avoid drawing attention. His flashlight flickered ominously, its beam weakening.

"No, no, not now," Max hissed, shaking it in frustration.

The light sputtered once more before going out completely, plunging him into darkness. He bit back a curse, his hand fumbling for the backup batteries in his jacket.

The guttural sound came again, closer this time. A shiver ran down his spine as a voice—low, resonant, and alien—spoke directly into his mind.

"The Veil is open. You do not belong."

Max froze. His hands trembled as he struggled to replace the flashlight batteries, his breath hitching in his throat. The voice spoke again, more insistent this time.

"Turn back."

The flashlight snapped to life just as the figure loomed above him. Its face—or what passed for one—was a smooth, featureless mask of pale light. Symbols shifted across its surface, forming patterns that seemed to burrow into Max's mind.

Instinct took over. He swung the flashlight wildly, the beam cutting through the figure. To his shock, it recoiled, the light searing its translucent form like acid.

Max didn't wait to see what would happen next. He scrambled to his feet and ran, weaving through the rocky terrain. The figures pursued him, their movements eerily silent despite their speed.

In the distance, the alien structures loomed closer, their glow now pulsing like a beacon. Max pushed himself harder, his lungs burning with every breath.

As he neared the base of the nearest structure, he saw an opening—an archway carved with the same glowing symbols that littered the ground. Without hesitation, he dove inside, collapsing against the cold, metallic floor.

The hum of the structure surrounded him, drowning out the silence. Outside, the figures stopped, their glowing eyes fixed on the archway. They didn't enter.

For a moment, Max thought he was safe.

Then the hum shifted, deeper and more resonant. The symbols on the walls began to move, rearranging themselves into new patterns. The floor beneath him vibrated, and a low, rhythmic chanting filled the air—voices that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Max clutched the journal, flipping through its pages in desperation. A loose scrap of paper fell out, covered in his father's frantic scrawl.

"The structures are alive. They are not buildings—they are prisons. Do not wake them."

The chanting grew louder, and Max realized with dawning horror that the structure was responding to his presence. The walls began to shift, the metallic surfaces rippling as though they were made of liquid.

From the far end of the chamber, something stirred.

Something massive.

Max stepped back, his heart hammering in his chest. Whatever he had awakened, it was no longer asleep.