CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

The Design

The long sleeps blended into a haze, each one bleeding into the next until I couldn't count them anymore. The abyss had ground me down, its rhythm brutal and unyielding—fight, die, wake, repeat. Even my dreams blurred, flashing images of the dream realm, my own body breaking before I'd jolt awake, back in this fog-choked pit. I'd settled into it, or it had settled into me, but it wasn't surrender. Just a grim kind of stubbornness, keeping me moving.

I woke again, sprawled on uneven stone, my breath shallow in the heavy air. The faint light trickling through the fog above was enough for my crimson beast eyes to pick out the jagged rocks around me, but nothing more—no walls, no edges, just gray. My clothes were gone, shredded in fights long past, every thread of armor torn away. I tapped my storage ring, feeling its pulse. More clothes, more armor inside, but why bother? They'd rip apart in the next fight, just like the last. The beasts here didn't care about gear—only strength mattered, and even chainrunner sub-armor crumpled easily under crimson power.

The ground shuddered, a deep boom rolling through the fog. Another explosion, closer this time, fire flashing in the distance. Some kind of fire beast was out there, blasting anything in its path, its roars mixing with the screams of other horrors. I sat up, staring into the fog. "So many," I muttered, my voice rough from disuse. "How can there be this many in one place?" I wasn't expecting an answer, just talking to fill the quiet before the next fight found me.

[Kara]

[Insufficient data. District 3 parameters exhibit continuous anomalies, preventing reliable analysis.]

I snorted, leaning back on my tentacles. "Yeah, figured you'd say that." Kara had been near useless down here, always going on about the abyss "changing," how the beasts shifted with it. I didn't get what she meant, not really. Was it the terrain? The horrors themselves? I shook my head, pushing the thought away. No time to puzzle it out, with another aura already prickling at my senses, hungry and close.

I stood, frost mist curling from me, ready to run. But I paused, scanning the fog. The abyss wasn't what I'd first thought. Crimson horrors, demigods that barely showed up on the surface, were everywhere here, their battles shaking the ground, auras clashing like storms. The terrain bore their scars: cracked stones, scorched patches, bones half-buried in the dirt. Compared to this, the surface's chaos felt like a playground. But it wasn't just crimson beasts. I'd seen onyx ones too, weaker but cunning, skulking in the shadows. They'd avoid crimson fights unless they could pounce on the wounded. I'd learned that the hard way once, nearly torn apart by a pack after a brutal fight.

This time, though, something was different. I squinted, catching movement in the fog—a horde of onyx beasts, dozens moving together, their low growls carrying over the wind. Hordes didn't last here; crimson auras crushed weaklings in seconds. I crouched, watching them scuttle across the rocks, their beast made weapons clicking. "You seeing this, Kara?" I asked, my voice low, a spark of hope flickering in my chest. "Is that really a horde?"

[Kara]

[Affirmative. User observation appears correct.]

I grinned, sharp and sudden. A horde surviving here meant something; maybe they'd come from outside, slipped in from an edge I hadn't found. All this time, I'd been running blind, no walls, no way up. But if these beasts were new, maybe I'd woken closer to an edge, maybe the ground had shifted in my sleep. "This could be it," I said, more to myself than Kara, my tentacles twitching with restless energy. "A way out."

The ground shook again, another explosion lighting the fog red. I tensed, ready to move, but held my ground, eyes on the horde. If they knew a path, I'd follow.

I didn't hesitate, letting Hazeveil's shadows wrap around me like a second skin. The cloak pulsed, its liquid-like darkness dripping from its edges, faint but alive with a new aura it had forged in the abyss's relentless grind. It wasn't strong, barely enough to last a few minutes, but it dulled the senses of crimson horrors, buying me time to slip through their notice. I crouched low, my tentacles gripping the uneven stone for balance, and trailed the horde, their heavy steps echoing in the fog.

The beasts were orcs, onyx, their hulking forms a stark contrast to the crimson titans outside. Their skin was mottled green-gray, pitted like the abyss's scarred terrain, with jagged tusks protruding from underbites. Their arms, thick as my torso, clutched crude weapons such as bone clubs studded with beast claws and spears carved from bone. The leader, taller than the rest, bore a cracked skull helmet, its eyes glinting with wary focus. They moved as a pack, maybe thirty strong, but the leader's steps faltered as a blast roared overhead, fire lighting the fog red. The explosions from that fire beast out there weren't stopping, and the orcs flinched, their grunts sharp with fear.

The leader trembled, his grip tightening on his spear as another boom shook the ground. A few orcs broke off, scattering into the haze, but he barked a guttural command, pulling the rest back in line. They veered sharply, heading somewhere with purpose. "Good," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper. "Show me the way out." I kept pace, staying low, Hazeveil's aura masking my presence as I wove between rocks.

It didn't take long. The fog parted, revealing a wall—towering, endless, stretching into the gray above. Its surface was pocked with caves, dozens of them, their entrances just wide enough for something tall, maybe four meters, to pass through. Far more than I'd glimpsed from the bridge, they dotted the stone like a honeycomb. The orcs didn't pause, funneling into the nearest cave, their steps quickening as another explosion cracked behind us. I slipped in after them, my tentacles silent on the rock.

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Inside, the air was cooler, the cave's walls rough but oddly unscarred. I paused, letting my eyes adjust. Some caves connected, branching into tunnels that twisted deeper. My first thought wasn't climbing the wall outside; that would be suicide with crimson horrors prowling, but finding a path through these tunnels. Maybe they led to the surface, a backdoor out of this prison. I moved forward, keeping the orcs' faint grunts in earshot, Hazeveil's aura still humming faintly.

Then it faded, the shadows thinning to a whisper. The cloak's aura was spent, leaving only its natural concealment, enough for onyx beasts in the dim cave, but useless against the crimson horrors outside. Especially that fire beast, its blasts echoing closer now, shaking the tunnel. I froze, my crimson instincts flaring, a prickle of danger, sharp and certain. The fire beast had sensed me, its anger a pulse through the fog. I braced, tentacles curling, as fireballs roared toward the cave entrance, slamming the wall just outside. The air shimmered with heat, the blasts so fierce I felt my skin prickle even from here.

Crimson beasts didn't need eyes to hunt. Their instincts were primal, honed to feel intent—anger, fear, weakness, even mana itself. This one knew exactly where I was, like the legends of horrors that razed districts, beasts that challenged the wards. But the cave held. The rock didn't crack, didn't even warm under the onslaught. Nearby orcs yelped, some collapsing, singed by stray heat, but I stood untouched, staring at the wall. "How?" I muttered, running my fingers over the stone. It felt normal—gritty, cold, but unyielding. I pushed mana into it, probing its structure, expecting something exotic. Nothing. Just rock.

I tried clawing it, frost venom dripping, but not a scratch. "Is this some kind of special material?" I asked, half to myself, half to Kara, my voice tight with confusion.

[Kara]

[Material matches surface rock properties. However, its state appears fixed, as if reality warps to maintain it. No change in location, structure, or properties is permitted, regardless of external forces.]

I blinked, her words sinking in slow. "Reality warping?" I echoed, skeptical. But then I noticed, the air was still hot from the blasts, but the rock hadn't absorbed any heat, hadn't shifted a grain. It wasn't durability; it was something deeper, like time itself had locked the stone in place. Reality refused to let it break, burn, or move. I stepped back, my tentacles twitching uneasily. "This place… it's not just a hole," I said, quieter now. "It's built."

The abyss wasn't natural. Its walls, its caves, they were designed, a prison crafted to hold even crimson horrors. Like the Darwin Cage kids played back in District 98, trapping bugs to fight until one survived. The rock's fixed state proved it; nothing could blast through, not even the monster outside. I glanced at the orcs, now deeper in the tunnel, their grunts fading. Most crimson beasts were too massive for these caves, their bulk too vast for entrances this size. I was an oddity—human-sized, small enough to slip through. That wasn't chance.

The cave shielded me from the fire beast's wrath, its blasts muffled now. I moved deeper, following the orcs' trail. The tunnels branched, some climbing, some dropping. I found clusters of weaker beasts, onyx and even ebony, skulking in the shadows. Their forms shared traits: lean, angular, with claws suited for rock. Like they'd been bred here, shaped by the abyss from birth. For the first time since falling, I let Hazeveil's shadows drop completely, my guard easing. The crimson horrors couldn't reach me here. I exhaled, the weight of constant fighting lifting, just for a moment.

The moment I let Hazeveil's shadows fall, the air shifted. I stood straight, my reliance on the cloak's concealment fading in the cave's dimness. The orc leader's head snapped toward me, his yellow, slitted eyes caught mine in the faint glow filtering from deeper tunnels. I wasn't surprised he noticed. These orcs were built for the caves, their senses honed for darkness where a torch's flicker would draw death. Their crude weapons gleamed faintly, clutched tight in hands scarred from the abyss.

"Vek sara khor vadis, gresh n'thar ul!" the leader growled, his voice a guttural rasp that echoed off the stone. The words meant nothing to me, a jumble of harsh syllables, but they carried weight. The horde froze, thirty pairs of eyes swiveling to me, their nostrils flaring as they scented the air. Onyx beasts, they weren't crimson horrors, but their power was real. Their weapons angled toward me, tips glinting, yet they didn't charge. I tilted my head, studying them. Did they sense the threat I carried, the crimson power pulsing in my veins? Or was it something else?

The leader stepped forward, tusks bared. "Kor! Thresh vad'ra, sjak!" he snarled, teeth grinding. The words hit like commands; half the horde shuffled back, weapons lowering, leaving him alone at the front. His eyes burned with fear, but his stance was defiant, shoulders squared as if ready to hold the line. Was he protecting them? Buying time for the others to flee? I couldn't tell, but the thought stuck. He was no mindless beast.

I froze, my tentacles curling slightly, stunned by the sound of his voice. Orcs didn't speak—not like this. Their language, alien and sharp, wasn't just growls or grunts. It was structured, deliberate. "Kara," I said, my voice low but clear in the cave's quiet, "can orcs speak? Do they have their own language?" My words felt loud, clumsy, and the orcs flinched, their fingers tightening on their weapons. The leader's gaze didn't waver, locked on me, his fear mixing with something fiercer.

[Kara]

[Araksiun records indicate no documented orc language.]

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. I'd studied those records, poured over old bestiaries in Elina's classes. Orcs were brutes, strong and cunning, but mute beyond roars. Yet here they were, speaking, commanding. The leader's words carried meaning, even if I couldn't parse it. His horde obeyed, disciplined in a way surface orcs never were. I glanced at him, noting the tremble in his hands, the way he stood between me and his pack. Passion, loyalty—traits I'd rarely seen in beasts, let alone in the abyss's chaos.

"How's this possible?" I muttered, more to myself than Kara. The abyss was a crucible, a Darwin Cage where survival meant blood, not speech. Language was fragile, a trait that took generations to form, near impossible in a place where crimson horrors crushed everything weak. Yet these orcs had it. I stepped closer, my frost mist curling faintly, testing their reaction. The leader didn't budge, his spear leveled, but he didn't strike. His eyes tracked me, wary but steady.

It hit me then, a chill deeper than my frost. This wasn't random. The abyss's reality-warped rock, its curated beasts, now this—a language born in chaos. The orcs' evolution wasn't natural; it was guided, shaped by something deliberate. The caves, too small for crimson titans, perfect for smaller beasts like me or these orcs. The horde's survival and their speech all pointed to deliberate design. "The abyss has a purpose," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, the words heavy in the dark. Not just a prison, but a plan, a machine grinding toward something I couldn't see.

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