Chapter 18: Nemesis of the Abyss

The monotonous, oppressive environment pressed hard on the nerves. The dim light from Maria's lantern flickered with each step, casting swaying shadows. The chosen players began to feel creeping terror, as a dark fear clawed at their minds, urging them to turn back. A new status effect quietly appeared on each of their HUDs: [Abyssal Residue] — Though the corruption has faded, this residual descent energy still stains the living. The more one fears it, the stronger its effects become. Maria wasn't immune. But thanks to her [Inviolable] trait and her 10 Willpower, she shook it off entirely. Honestly, a half-decent priest could've cleared it with a buff or two—this "Abyssal presence" was more bark than bite. "Sister Maria, are we really going further?" Tyre asked nervously, clutching his weapon tighter. "Calm yourselves, Faithful," Maria replied, her voice crisp and frosted, instantly sobering them. It wasn't a skill. It wasn't a spell. It was leadership—raw and resonant. The kind that turned hesitation into clarity. "The [Root of Man] is close. Light your firebombs and keep your torches ready. The more you fear the [Abyss], the more satisfying it’ll be when you overcome it." Her soft smile and poised step silenced the last of their doubts. She was in front—the most dangerous position. And yet, she led without hesitation. The players, ashamed of their wavering, nodded in silent resolve. The lantern flame was a double-edged sword. While [Root of Man] detested fire and light, the weak glow could just as easily enrage a stronger one and make Maria its primary target. Then— "What’s that?!" One of the players pointed as a shadow darted across the docks, scrambling up and vanishing toward the warehouses. "After it!" No command was needed. They chased with the fervor only gamers could muster—like caffeinated bloodhounds. Maria watched blankly. Yep, just like she thought. Dangle a quest in front of them and they'd sprint like it was double XP weekend. Definitely not BOSS material. No way. The fleeing figure wasn’t fast—not against a mob of hopped-up [Apprentices]. Within seconds, he was tackled by three or four players and pinned to the ground. More arrived, rope in hand. "Don’t move!" "Ow! Who's elbowing me?!" "Hey! Watch the toes, man!" The chaos was manageable. Maria stepped closer and spotted the poor sap they'd trussed up like a sea-bass. His face twisted in indignation. But upon seeing Maria, he brightened. "Praise the Storm, Sister! Call off these idiots!" he growled. "Before those damn things crawl out—untie me!" The dark-skinned man, dressed like a freebooting pirate, was visibly shaking. Something in the shadows had stirred. ... Luminous Cathedral – Confessional Hall Archbishop Mark sat beneath the lattice of the confessional, facing a man caked in powder and perfume. The clash between nobility and divinity had long played out in Flowford. A noble proverb ran: Every cleric born means a noble house fades. "Archbishop Mark, must we be so aggressive with detection rituals?" wheezed Sir John, a rotund baron mopping sweat from his brow. "Surely the port rabble can wait." Tea. Dancers. A good view of the harbor. That was civilization—not divine tantrums. Mark smiled benignly. "Sir John, you do not understand how terrifying what’s rising truly is. If you did... I would not be the one speaking to you." Sir John blinked. "They?" "Karthas. You know how it fell." The name alone shattered composure. Sir John shot to his feet, eyes wild. "Impossible! They became ash long ago! They can't still exist!" Mark simply looked at him, unreadable. Wolfsblood Sageleaf. The oath of wolfblood. Vows to hunt the Abyss. To purge it at any cost. Even if that cost was a human kingdom. They were... The Undying of Farron. Nemesis of the Abyss.