Shadow of the Abyss

"Run…" The words echoed loudly through his mind in this swampy land of death. Perspiration oozed, creeping down the linen cloth wrapped around his eyes. "Syris… you alive? Come on. Answer me." he cursed when no answer came. "Syris! Fuck don't make me—"

Cradled in his arms with a gaping hole in her stomach, bleeding a sickening black rot of bile and puss, Syris barely had the strength to speak. "A-A-Alive," she managed, gasping for some semblance of air or mana. She found neither, only an ice abyss consuming her whole.

The Young Man holding her didn't allow himself a sigh of relief, training his senses on his surroundings; he stopped crouching in a set of bushes, listening… listening….. Listening.

"a… Al… Altair…" Gently covering her mouth, Altair unhooked a small dagger from his pelt before carving away at the rotten flesh before the rot reached her heart.

Syris began to writhe, thrashing about in his arms, scraping at his flesh as he dug out her intestines, gallbladder, and parts of her liver.

"I'm almost done," he muttered, dropping the rotten organs into the waters. He ignored the quaking of the waters, alongside the millions of eyes glaring at them like insects.

Tears all but soaked the bandages around Syris's eyes as she cried out in muffled pain. Whimpering like a lost child. She wanted it all to be over.

"I know… I'm sorry, but it's the only way," he said, chewing his lip. "just a little more. Just a… done!" removing his arm from within her abdomen, he began to sew the wound shut, hoping her innate healing factor might allow her to live.

"We ran for a month this time… looks like we made it… somehow," he muttered, lying her down in his arms.

"Five Years," said Syris, sensing her body already beginning to regenerate.

"Do you regret it?"

"what? Saving you?" said Syris with a scoff. " no…"

"Seems like the rot has gotten to you. How did you save me? As far as I can remember, Roxas and I were tied."

"Really? Because it looked like he was fucking you up. Bro was abusing your ass so bad I thought he was clapping them cheeks."

"Fuck you."

"Nope."

Altair and Syris shared a laugh, wallowing in their despair these past five years within this world of rot; Mana was removed as a source of power, leaving the two to rely on their bodies and souls.

"hey… Art… if I ask you to kill me… would you?"

The boy didn't dignify her with a response, merely flicking her across the head. It was too early to give up. It was too early to even consider dying.

"Yeah… I figured you'd do something like that," said Syris, giggling lightly. " I miss Earth."

"Really? I actually preferred Genesis to Earth."

"Too much red tape in Genesis. Too many people, too. And way too colonized. I hate it. Earth is quiet. Secluded from so many things. It felt—"

"Boring?"

Having regained a bit of color to her face, Syris stuck out her tongue.

As the hours ebbed, color finally returned to Syris. The two set out once more through the lake of rot, masking their spirit. Through mountainous trees, whose roots stretched on for miles, they veered north through marshy waters and hollowed-out trees for nearly three weeks before coming upon a cabin that bore no windows within the growing mist.

"Five years since we had a proper meal," Altair muttered, stepping inside their shabby cabin, perceiving everything with his spirit. "I think that's what I missed most."

"I thought you might have said Ren," said Syris, closing the door on the way in. They both smiled, undoing the bandages around their eyes.

"I'm compartmentalizing. Plus, I got my very own cutie to look at."

Syris snapped her pale blue eyes to him, her cheeks puffing out into a pout.

"piss off!"

Altair shook with laughter. "Alright-Alright, go get change so that we can go to sleep. My Spirit is crashing. How's your spirit doing?"

"Seems my soul recovery is a little better than yours. I'm all good."

"Well, when your kind dies, you self-reincarnate. No surprise, you have a superior soul recovery."

Syris seemed to beam, riling herself up to seem big. "So you finally noticed my awesomeness, huh?

"Yeah-Yeah, just get changed. I'll start the fire."

The dainty girl laughed, skipping away with a beamful grin, entering a room, losing her smile as silence echoed louder than any wail or cry. Globs of crystal-like tears gathered along the rim of her almond-shaped eyes, sliding down her cheeks.

Syris curled up in a ball, leaning against the door, twitching, clutching her chest to where her heartbeat resounded.

Badump! Badump! Badump!

Its rhythm, its powerful beat, told her she was alive. Told her that this was life. Told her this was it.

"How much longer? Five more years? Six? Seven? Eight? Ten?

A hundred? How much longer must we be trapped in his horrible Lake of Rot?" she whispered, cursing to herself.

Altair heard her cry, heard her words, said nothing about it, sliding his dagger across a piece of flint over a set of firewood. He sat there, watching embers eating away at the linen in a ring, catching into a small blue flame.

The fire carried no heat, illuminating the cabin, peeling away the mist within, revealing the rotten bones used as beams, bleeding terrible black bile. Tall and long from some terrible beast of unknown origin, it appeared warm, carrying with it a beating, much like a heartbeat.

He sighed, killing the flame, returning the world to darkness once more.

"Is there anything to eat?" Syris asked from within the bathroom. Her voice was hoarse, filled with loathing.

"Yes…"

"I see."

"Syris…"

'Don't. It's fine. It's our life now."

"Do you regret coming to my aid?"

"... No."

"Why?"

Her cries became all the more audible, clenching the young man's heart as he looked up towards the black, past the bone ceiling, towards the rotten skies. He clenched his eyes shut, holding back the acidic bile creeping up his throat.

It burned, reminding him of his mortality.

"Art… I hate it here."

"I know… I know."

Silence once more enveloped through the cabin. After a while, Syris emerged. Having cleaned the gunk off her body, she nestled herself beside Altair, leaning her head onto his arm.

'Tomorrow," she said. "Tomorrow, we'll find a way out of this purgatory."

The Young Man grinned, leaned his head over hers, and stared at the embers of flames within the fireplace.

"Tell me… What was Soloman like?"

"Father?" Syris frowned. "Why the sudden interest."

"Well, in the past five years, you've barely spoken about your father. You've told me everything about your Mother. But…"

"I'm mad at him. He knows I'm alive. As creator of the First Order of Magic, I'm sure he knows I'm alive. Not to mention all the times I've prayed to him. Yet not once has he come to me. Not once as he…" she stopped, chewing at her lip till it ran red with blood.

"I don't like talking about… Sorry."

Silence entered once more.

"Syris."

"Hmm?"

"I'm gaining more and more control of the Vale. I promise you. Even if it takes ten more years, I'll get us out of here."

She looked at him, bonking her head over his shoulder. " I know you will. I'm just… I just feel like I'm going crazy. Eating… Eating that stuff… walking through marshes of organs believing it water, cleaning my face with a rag, when in truth, its human skin and hair, woven into…" she stopped, the metallic sweetness of her blood spilling through her teeth, down her lips. "It's just a little maddening."

"Tomorrow," he said.

"Yeah… Tomorrow." Your next chapter awaits on mvl

From days to weeks to months and years, they woke, traveling the Rotten Lake, pressing forward, ignoring the changing of the seasons, the taste of blood in their mouths, and the madness that came from time.

They trained, traveled, fought, and fled. For nearly four years, they carried on, seemingly returning to that very cabin by the time of the new year.

They'd echo the words: Tomorrow.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow

Tomorrow

Tomorrow

Until, in a cycle of repetition, a soft, gentle knock echoed from their cabin door.

"Might I come in?"

The voice was serine. And very much woman.

Altair and Syris exchanged glances and covered their eyes with the linen cloth, unsure of the last time they met someone or something with true sentience.

The Lake of Rot had been filled with all sorts of abhorrent amalgamations echoing from the most dreadful sort of nightmares. Wounds created by these creatures burned and blistered with a horrible rot that held no cure aside from surgery.

"Who are you?" Altair asked calmly.

"The Lady of this Lake."

Syris nearly lunged for the door, but Altair snatched her by the wrist, jerking her back. He calmly stood still.

"The door is open."

"You didn't lock it?" Syris asked.

Altair looked at her as though she were a fool. "Lock it from who? The Monsters that could obliterate it with one palm? Or maybe from the ghost that could walk on through walls. Not to mention… there isn't even a lock on the door."

Syris turned slightly red. "You didn't need to say it like that."

"I lowkey one hundred percent did."

The door opened, bringing forth a vibrant silver sheet of mist, masking the woman's figure.

"Greetings, Altair Blackwood and Lady Syris." She said slowly, closing the door on the way inside.

"My name is Azura, Lady and Master of this Lake of Rot."