Lysandra Jane's ordinary hike in the outskirts of Denver takes a nightmarish turn when, after a mysterious fall, she finds herself shackled in a dimly lit dungeon. The world she knew is replaced by unfamiliar faces, a massive hole in the ground call...
Vittoria met her gaze evenly. "You don't appear to be lying about your cluelessness," She pressed the staff into Lysandra's hands. "Or you're just a very skilled liar."
"I can't lie for shit," Lysandra said, balancing the staff in her hand. It was a good two feet taller than her. Did people really use these to defend themselves? "How do I, um, how do I store this? Does it shrink?"
Vittoria made a throaty noise, a vocal equivalent of an eye roll. "I don't know. Novice mages often use clasps, but most of the time it will take the shape of whatever it's owner wishes it to."
"How?"
Vittoria shot her a glare. "With magic."
"Oh. okay."
The black-haired warrior observed with unbridled humor as Lysandra awkwardly fumbled with the staff, attempting to coax it into becoming a much smaller staff, something like a magic wand. Please, please, I can't carry you if you're seven feet tall. Lysandra internally cried, staring at the staff pleadingly. After a moment of struggle, Lysandra gave up and declared, "I'll just carry it."
"Fine," Vittoria responded shortly, turning to run. "We've wasted enough time. We're getting close to the abyss. You can hear them from here."
As they made their way across the ice, the burning in her hand continued to grow. It was almost unbearable now. Shooting pins and needles across her arm and down her torso. Gasping for breath, Lysandra followed, trying to keep up while carrying the heavy staff with both hands and ignore the growing pain in the process. "Who's fighting?"
"You'll see soon. We must help them."
"Yeah," Lysandra panted, adjusting the cumbersome staff. She could feel the spirits within snickering, offering no assistance. "I can't wait."
Vittoria didn't respond, only quickened her pace. Winded and aching, Lysandra staggered around the corner, breathless and weary. She immediately gasped. Before her stretched the abyss, a nightmarish chasm that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality. The air around it crackled with malevolence, and an otherworldly stench wafted up, assaulting her senses.
The abyss yawned wide, a monstrous cavity in the earth, jagged edges reaching towards the sky like the maw of some ancient, hungry beast. The darkness within seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, and an eerie, ghostly glow emanated from the depths, casting sinister shadows on the surrounding landscape.
The ground near the abyss was scarred and crumbling, as if the very earth recoiled from its touch. Unearthly whispers emanated from its depths, carrying a cacophony of tormented voices and eldritch murmurs. Lysandra could feel the malevolence seeping from the pit, an oppressive force that clawed at her very soul. Her staff pulsed quickly, as if frightened.
Demons swirled around the edges of the abyss like vultures circling prey. Grotesque forms emerged intermittently, their otherworldly shapes writhing and contorting in the shadows. The burning in her hand increased, she watched in horror as the mark on her hand seemed to contort and spread across her palm in a sickly jagged charcoal pattern. Her staff pulsed again, this time more alert and desperate. It seemed aware of her turmoil.
Lysandra's heart raced, her breath catching in her throat as the abyss exerted its influence. It was as if the very air around her had turned malevolent, each breath laden with a sense of impending doom. The whispers from the abyss grew louder, morphing into haunting wails that seemed to echo from the depths of some accursed underworld.
The demons near the edge of the abyss sensed the disturbance. Their attention turned toward Lysandra, their twisted forms contorting with malicious intent. Eyes, glowing with malevolent energy, fixated on her as if drawn by the ominous aura emanating from the mark on her hand.
Vittoria, sensing the heightened danger, glanced back at Lysandra with a furrowed brow. "We must press on, and quickly," she urged, her voice cutting through the eerie symphony of the abyss. "The abyss is only growing larger. We need to close it before more demons spill forth."
Lysandra nodded, her gaze torn between the advancing demons and the foreboding depths of the abyss. Gripping her staff tightly, she steeled herself against the rising tide of malevolence. With each step toward the abyss, the mark on her hand pulsed in ominous synchrony with the demonic presence.
As they drew nearer to the edge, the ground beneath Lysandra's feet seemed to resist, as if the very earth sought to anchor her in place. "Demon!" the spirits within her staff shouted, and she turned to see one charging at her.
Instinctively, she lashed out with lightning, feeling it sizzle through the darkness, severing the demon's head clean off its body. She watched as it's body dissolved, washing away into the abyss. Before she could react, one of the demon's clawed hands reached for her ankle, jerking her forward toward the gaping chasm.
"Help!" Lysandra said falling forward, she gripped her staff tightly with one hand, using her other to claw at the dirt beneath her. Her fingertips burned in retaliation.
She reached the edge when someone grabbed her wrist.
His hand felt strange, like cold fire on her skin—soothing and burning simultaneously. His distant shout reached her ears. "Quickly, before more come through!"
He pulled her away from the chasm, throwing him behind her. He stared at her expectantly. "Well?"
"Well, what?" Lysandra shrieked, eyes still trained to the growing abyss.
"Close it!" He said, grabbing her burned wrist. With a determined focus, the man guided Lysandra's hand toward the abyss. The abyss loomed, its hunger evident, and she could sense more demons stirring within its depths. She focused on the mark on her hand, the cursed burn that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
The man muttered something in a language Lysandra couldn't comprehend, and the air around them crackled with arcane energy. The abyss seemed to respond, quivering as if caught in a struggle against an unseen force. Shadows writhed, and the ghostly glow from its depths flickered. The demons at the edge of the chasm hissed and recoiled, their distorted forms contorting in pain. The unearthly whispers turned into agonized cries as the abyss struggled against the impending closure. Lysandra's hand trembled, but the man's grip on her wrist remained steady.
As the incantation reached its zenith, the abyss convulsed violently. A surge of energy emanated from the mark on Lysandra's hand, forming an ethereal barrier. The demons, now trapped on the precipice, clawed desperately at the invisible wall.
With a final, resounding pulse, the abyss shuddered and then collapsed in on itself.
The man released her wrist, and the once bright orange and charcoal burn on her hand dimmed, the jagged edges on he arms fading, until they were almost invisible.
The man regarded her with a solemn nod. "You did it. The abyss is closed."
Staring at her hand, the terrible pain gone, Lysandra turned her attention to the man who had saved her. He wasn't just a man, though, and her jaw dropped.
She was staring at an elf.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
