Seraphel's sword arm arced back, then swung forward. The blade sliced through the air with a sound that was a cross between a scream and a whisper, a sound that seemed to echo the pain of the corrupted land itself. It connected with the creature's chest, the arcane energy contained within the blade igniting upon impact. The creature's body convulsed as the power of the Lifestream was torn from it, the corruption that had given it life now burning away like dry tinder in a bonfire.
The creature's stumbled backward and with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth, it swiped at Seraphel with its clawed hand.
Seraphel lurched forward, his movements driven by a mix of anger and desperation. With a force that seemed almost supernatural, he grabbed the sword that had become embedded in the creature's chest. The creature's eyes widened in surprise and pain as the blade was torn from its flesh, sending a fresh spray of the black, corrupting substance into the air.
With a snarl, Seraphel brought his left leg up in an arc, the sharpened tip of his boot aiming for the creature's knee. The impact was like a thunderclap, and the creature's leg buckled with a wet crack. It stumbled, its massive form beginning to topple.
As the creature stumbled, its massive frame trembling with the effort to remain upright, Seraphel saw an opportunity. He dashed forward, his sword a silver streak in the dimming light. The creature's eyes followed him, filled with a mix of anger and fear.
The creature's fall was swift and brutal, the force of gravity reclaiming it with a thud that seemed to resonate through the very bones of the earth. It hit the ground hard, sending up clouds of dust and ash that briefly obscured the scene.
Before the dust had fully settled, Seraphel was on the scene, standing tall over the lying creature, his sword reflecting in its eyes.
Just as Seraphel was about to deliver the finishing blow, the creature's left hand shot out with the speed of a viper, burying itself deep into Seraphel's side. The sudden pain was intense, a fiery agony that made the world blur around the edges of his vision. He was thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. His sword slipped from his grasp, landing a few feet away in the dirt, the corrupted soil hissing and smoking at the touch of the pure, cleansing weapon.
Through the haze of pain, Seraphel watched as the creature pulled itself up, one hand clutching its wounded chest, the other still embedded in his side. The creature's eyes had lost their malicious glee, replaced by a cold, calculating rage that sent shivers down his spine. It pulled him closer, its claws digging deeper into his flesh, and for a brief moment, he felt the warmth of his own lifeblood mingling with the cold, corrupting energy that surged through the creature's veins.
Without warning, the ground beneath them gave way. The corrupted earth split open like a yawning maw, and they both plunged into the abyss. Seraphel had just enough time to grasp for the sword that lay forgotten in the dust before the world around him turned into a tumult of darkness and speed. The fall was a cacophony of sounds—the rush of air, the roar of displaced earth, and the creature's pained howls.
As they plummeted, the creature's grip on him tightened, the pain from its claws in his side like a living fire. With a grunt of effort, he swiped his sword across the creature's forearm, the blade slicing through the corrupted flesh and bone with ease. The creature's hand went limp, the fingers still clutching at him falling away into the void.
Their descent was a chaotic blur of darkness and shadows. Huge, ancient roots, the size of tree trunks, stretched out from the sides of the chasm, reaching up towards the fading light like skeletal hands. They bumped into them, the impacts jarring and painful.
Seraphel, his mind racing, knew he had to act quickly. He gripped his sword tightly and thrust it into the wall of the chasm with a grunt. The blade sank into the corrupted earth with a wet, sucking sound, and for a moment, he felt the weight of his body begin to ease. The creature, caught off guard, screamed in rage and fear as it too plummeted, its eyes wide with panic.
With the creature now at his mercy, Seraphel planted his boot into its stomach and kicked with all his might. The creature was sent hurtling downwards, disappearing into the abyss below them. He watched it go, its cries echoing through the chasm like the wails of a tortured soul.
Then, just as he thought he had gained a moment of respite, the world around him went dark. Black energy surged up from the depths, enveloping him completely. It felt like a million cold, slithering serpents coiling around his body, squeezing the very air from his lungs. His eyes watered from the sudden pressure, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he couldn't see or feel anything but the crushing weight of the corruption.
The sword in his hand shattered with a sound like the breaking of a thousand glass shards. The shock of it sent a spike of agony through his already taxed body, and he felt himself slipping, his grip on the blade faltering. With a scream that was more of a roar, he plummeted into the abyss.
With a heavy thud, he hit the remains of the creature. It was a miracle that he had fallen only a few dozen meters; any farther and the impact would have crushed his bones to dust. The creature's body, or what was left of it, broke his fall, the corrupted flesh giving way under his weight with a sickening squelch. The ground trembled as the creature's corpse absorbed the brunt of his fall, its lifeless eyes staring up at him, the red glow within them fading to a dull ember before going out completely.
Breathing heavily, he slowly stood up. The air was thick with the scent of blood and decay, and each breath was a struggle against the pain that wracked his body. The wounds from the creature's claws burned with the same malevolent energy that had corrupted the land around them. He could feel the corruption spreading through him, a dark tendril reaching into his very soul.
"I have to get out of here... quickly," he said to himself as he walked slowly towards a tunnel he saw ahead of him.
With every step he took, the inexplicable noise grew louder in his head. It was as if a swarm of invisible bees were trapped within his skull, their buzzing growing more intense with each moment that passed. His stride faltered as the pain grew sharper, like icepicks piercing his brain. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall of the chasm, his fingers brushing against the cold, damp stone. The touch brought with it a sudden, vivid memory—the feel of the corrupted earth under his boots, the screams of the dying creature echoing through the cavern.
Seraphel's vision blurred as the memories crashed into him, a cacophony of images and emotions that left him reeling. The scent of decay grew stronger, mingling with the iron tang of blood. His heart raced, pounding in his chest like a drum. He could feel the corruption within him, a living, writhing presence that sought to consume him from within. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.
He staggered and sank to his knees. The world around him swam in a sea of shadows. He grabbed his head with both hands and tore his eyes open. "AAARGH....AAAAAARRRGGH... THIS... THIS PAIN! AAARGH."
His eyes had changed, the irises of his white-silver serpent eyes were enveloped in a pulsating darkness that was not there before.
As the pain began to ebb away, like a retreating tide leaving behind the wreckage of a storm, Seraphel forced himself to his feet. His legs felt like lead, each movement an act of sheer will. He took a deep breath, the stench of the creature's corruption still lingering in his nostrils, and pushed forward. The tunnel was narrow and claustrophobic, the walls closing in around him like the jaws of a giant beast.
And then, without warning, the walls fell away, and he stepped into a small open area. At the center of the space, a pulsing, twisted mass of energy lay on the ground. It was the corrupted knot, a tangled mess of arcane threads that writhed and pulsed with the sickly light of the corrupted Lifestream.
"The knot... why is it here?!" Seraphel whispered, his voice hoarse with shock. The pain in his head grew to a crescendo, a symphony of agony that drowned out all other senses.