{Chapter: 162: Dark Whispers of Long Dead Souls}
In truth, it wasn't just the natives within the defensive perimeter who noticed the emergence of these unusual phenomena. The first to sense the disturbance were, in fact, the abyssal creatures residing deep within the corrupted lands. These creatures, steeped in negative energy by nature, had a unique affinity for sensing such things.
To their eyes, the surging black mist that began pooling and crawling across the landscape was as clear as daylight. They didn't need any magic or spells to see it—it was simply there, ominous and suffocating.
Initially, many of the abyss creatures had shown great interest in this rising anomaly. Thinking it might be the emergence of a treasure or the result of some powerful being's death, they rushed toward the source, eager to scavenge or exploit it. But their enthusiasm quickly turned to terror.
The volume of black gas kept growing—not just in size, but in intensity and malevolence. Its presence began to distort the atmosphere, and even the dimmest abyssal beasts could tell something was deeply wrong. What they once assumed might be a treasure trove now gave off the chilling aura of something ancient, malevolent, and awakening.
As fear gripped them, even the lowly [Little Demons]—whose intelligence barely surpassed that of wild beasts—turned tail and ran. Their instincts screamed that no good would come from lingering near such a place. In fact, many of them ran even faster than they had arrived, scrambling over one another in their desperate flight.
Who could say what would happen when the slumbering entity awakened? Perhaps it would eat a few lesser demons to whet its appetite, or unleash a destructive force that erased all nearby life. Either way, the only logical choice was to flee.
They had arrived in haste, but they fled even faster.
Back on the edge of the corrupted region, the defenders stationed at the fortified line watched this bizarre retreat through scrying spells and long-range divination. The sight of abyssal monsters—creatures normally fearless in the face of divine punishment—running as if their lives depended on it was more disturbing than any direct confrontation.
It was a clear sign that something terrifying had taken root in the heart of the corrupted zone.
Although it wasn't yet confirmed to be an ancient evil, the way those abyss monsters scrambled away in pure panic strongly hinted at that possibility. These were beings who often assaulted the defensive line in waves, willing to die just to drag one soldier down with them. And yet now, they were tripping over each other to escape. If that didn't scream danger, nothing would.
Watching the scene unfold, General Henry Moore felt a deep unease clawing at the back of his mind.
'If an ancient evil really has awakened… we need to start evacuating troops and civilians immediately,' he thought grimly. 'Otherwise, we'll all be corpses by the end of the week.'
But if he sounded the retreat too early—if it turned out to be something else entirely—he risked destroying the defense line's morale, causing a collapse that would doom their entire region anyway. The consequences of either action were catastrophic.
This uncertainty gnawed at his judgment like rust eating through iron.
He wanted to send scouts into the polluted zone, to get a clearer picture of what was happening. But he also knew how dangerous that would be. One wrong step, and those brave souls would be devoured by either monsters or worse—the mysterious force at the heart of the darkness.
"What is really going on here…" he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with confusion and suppressed dread.
"BOOOOOM!!!"
Suddenly, the sky shattered.
The blood-red lightning that had been slithering through the clouds for hours finally struck. Not once, but thousands—no, millions—of bolts came crashing down at once. Like the gnarled branches of an enormous, infernal tree, they split and curled as they rained from the heavens, lighting up the world in a blinding crimson hue.
The force of the impact was catastrophic. The land at the strike zone cracked and sank, forming a massive crater several kilometers wide and unimaginably deep. Within it, currents of red lightning danced like angry serpents, and steam hissed from scorched earth. A shockwave of molten dirt and pulverized stone surged outward, forming colossal waves of debris that rolled across the terrain like a tsunami.
It was as if the heavens themselves had declared war on the land.
---
At a certain time in the past, deep within the corrupted zone, Dex had long since vanished from the physical world, having merged his consciousness with the storm of negative energy.
Inside his spiritual world—a space formed entirely of thought, emotion, and raw memory—he was overwhelmed by a torrent of chaotic whispers and visions. The black mist had invaded not just his surroundings, but his very mind. Temptations, threats, and horrifying promises flowed into his soul like poisoned honey, seducing and tormenting him all at once.
There was no defense.
Having willingly merged with the darkness, he had surrendered any barrier between himself and the evil. Now, he had no choice but to listen—to endure—as the voices of countless souls of humans, wraiths, demons, and forgotten spirits clawed at his sanity.
"Save me…"
"Why was I the one who died?"
"Kill them… kill them all…"
"Hehehe… she's mine now…"
"I'll take her, dead or alive…"
"If I can't have her love, I'll have her body…"
"Chains, silence, shadows… she'll know them all."
"Hollow laughter in her dreams… and I'll be waiting."
"Alive or rotting, her body will never leave my grasp."
"Make them bleed… make them scream… let none walk away whole."
"Love? No. Only possession."
"Cut deeper. Deeper."
"He begged me to stop. I did… eventually."
"She wouldn't marry me. But now we share a grave."
"Yes… yes… r@p€ her…"
"@#!$%^@!!… ahahaha…"
The voices fused into a single, maddening hum, yet each word rang in his ears with perfect clarity. Like an orchestra of madness, they rose and fell in chaotic harmony, impossible to ignore.
In this mental space, time flowed differently—stretching endlessly. What was only a few minutes in the real world felt like years to Dex. Perhaps he had endured this for a year, or perhaps it had been a decade. He could no longer tell.
But the longer he listened, the more his mental defenses began to fray.
The whispers were not just words—they were truths, twisted and corrupted versions of memories and fears, drawn from the darkest corners of his soul. And slowly, inevitably, they began to erode the boundaries of his will.
Until, finally—he broke.
Amidst the billions of voices trying to influence his mind, Dex finally couldn't bear it anymore…
His anger surged, bubbling from the deepest part of his psyche until it boiled over without restraint. "A bunch of worthless trash! Are you trying to test the limits of my patience? Even in death, you dare to chatter endlessly… Clearly, your deaths were far from thorough."
The moment his fury reached its peak, Dex's will erupted, taking on the shape of his original, unfiltered self within the realm of his consciousness. In that mental world, the whispering voices began to morph—shifting and changing—manifesting into countless figures of all shapes and sizes. There were demons, elves, dwarves, humans, and monstrous hybrids. Every race that walked the world had a twisted, mangled representative here, and almost all were dripping with blood and madness.
They came at him in waves—snarling, shrieking, laughing maniacally—desperate to tear him apart or drag him into their chaos.
Without hesitation, Dex greeted them.
His first punch obliterated a dwarf-like figure, scattering it into a mist of red fragments. Before the blood could settle, he launched himself gleefully into the horde. Each blow of his fists, each brutal motion of his will, tore apart the insane figures. He didn't stop to hesitate, didn't flinch or falter. The entire battle became a festival of carnage, with Dex at the center.
He fought not with blades or magic, but with the very force of his soul. This was a contest of raw will—his defiant, ever-burning soul against the lingering hatred of the dead.
And he was winning.
"Hahahahahahahahaha!!"
He laughed—loud, wild, unchained.
*****
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