And so, the wandering stranger found himself in the deepest part of the canyon, in that abyssal fissure where light barely dared to descend. Around him, other monumental openings loomed like ancient, silent mouths, encircling the cliff from which he had fallen. The echo of his breathing merged with the distant murmur of the wind threading through the rocks.

  <>

  <>

  He slowly rose, brushing frost from his coat, and without a moment’s hesitation, took a step forward.

  <>

  <> his boots creaked over the hardened snow.

  The path before him seemed carved by divine and cruel hands: luminous crystals jutted from the frozen walls like glacial claws, sharp and majestic, sheathed in snow that made them gleam as if each one hid a star at its core.

  <>

  Their edges quivered softly in the wind’s passage, as if they had a will of their own.

  He moved with resolve as the landscape shifted with every step: rock corridors, narrow hollows, natural shelters closing around him, as though the canyon itself were breathing. The walls reflected what little light pierced the chaotic sky, making the canyon glow just a little brighter than the world above.

  From above, massive icicles hung down, <> dripping into the silence—jagged formations resembling the jaws of ancient beasts, fossilized into the very rock.

  Then, life emerged. At first, it was only glimmers: winged insects glowing in hues of purple and blue, their bodies flickering like fireflies in trance.

  <>

  They moved erratically, but upon noticing him, they veered as if torn from the air itself, appearing directly before him without any logical path, as though space itself were being rewritten.

  Among the stones, strange plants with translucent petals unfolded at his presence. They radiated a gentle, almost maternal light, and an ethereal fragrance began to waft through the air.

  <

  >

  The scent expanded in invisible waves, drawing the insects into a hypnotic dance—until suddenly,

  <>

  the flower snapped shut, devouring its prey without mercy.

  Farther on, the ground pulsed with latent energy. Hot springs exhaled steam in soft whispers

  <>,

  and geysers burst toward the stone sky in rhythmic, ancient roars.

  <>

  As the wanderer ventured deeper into that living abyss, the flora and fauna grew larger, more complex, more aware. Creatures with multiple eyes watched him from the shadows. Colossal plants throbbed as though they had hearts. Everything moved; everything listened. The chain of life wove itself without pause—and he, unknowingly, was already part of it.

  In the middle of the steaming path, a small creature—some kind of short-eared hare with mottled fur—leapt from rock to rock, until, without realizing it, it fell straight into a bubbling geyser.

  <>

  The steam burst upward, shrouding the scene.

  The wanderer ran to the edge, instinctively, wishing to save the creature. But by the time he arrived… it was too late.

  The small body lay still, steaming, seared by the scalding heat. A brittle crack betrayed the truth:

  <> — the skin had turned to crust.

  He considered walking away, continuing without looking back. But then...

  <> — his stomach roared like a caged beast.

  The scent, sweet and golden, like meat smoked by the gods, wafted into his nose.

  And without meaning to, he stepped closer... and closer... until his fingers touched the cooked body of the animal.

  The first bite was a blend of guilt and necessity.

  <> — the crackle of flesh and fat mingled with the mist around him.

  Then another. And another.

  He devoured it with desperation, as if it wasn’t him doing the eating, but some older, deeper force that urged him on.

  He only stopped when nothing remained but white, gleaming bones, still warm from within.

  Then, the wind rose with fury.

  <>

  The cloak on his shoulders whipped around, striking his face again and again — as if nature itself scolded him.

  Annoyed, he shielded his face with his forearm and looked down: the animal’s bones… sharp, thin, curved.

  He picked one up. Felt its weight in his hand.

  <>

  He used it as an improvised blade to slice part of his cloak and fasten it tighter. The result was crude… but useful.

  In that moment, he understood: bones were not mere leftovers… they were tools.

  And so he continued his path, with bits of meat at the corners of his mouth and a new weapon in his hand.

  Time passed. The cold lingered. And hunger… returned.

  This time, he stopped near another geyser, waiting.

  Waiting for another creature, na?vely, to offer itself to the fire as a sacrifice.

  But nothing came. Only silence and steam.

  <>

  Resigned, he slipped between the rocks in search of prey.

  He chased several hares across the uneven terrain.

  <>

  They darted swiftly, almost like ghosts in the shadows.

  After much effort, he finally caught one.

  He held it in his trembling hands. The creature stared back, panting… with wide, glistening eyes pleading for mercy.

  <>

  He was panting too. The trembling was not just from the chase, but from the turmoil burning inside him.

  And then... he let it go.

  Hunger bit again later — crueler, more real.

  There was no other option.

  When he finally caught another hare, he didn’t hesitate.

  This time, he used the bone blade for the first time.

  <>

  A sharp, brief, gut-wrenching scream echoed into the distance.

  <>

  Alarms.

  The other creatures scattered in every direction.

  Silence returned.

  He gripped the animal by the hind legs and, with a firm, quiet motion, drove the improvised dagger into its neck.

  <>

  A final spasm... and it was over.

  He carried it to the nearest geyser.

  He timed it — the same span it had taken to “rescue” the first.

  He lowered it gently into the waters.

  <

  >

  And when it was ready, he devoured it just like before.

  Afterwards... came the weariness. A sensation of fullness wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He took shelter in a nearby hollow, where the dimness embraced him like the womb of a sleeping beast. He lay down, cloaked in his patched-up mantle, the bones beside him like guardian daggers.

  And he closed his eyes.

  No day or night.

  No voice or judgment.

  Only rest.

  Zzzzzzz…

  <>

  <>

  A memory seeped into his mind like a whisper that pierced through the silence. Without warning, he was hurled back into the scene that once expelled him without mercy. This time, everything was sharper… darker.

  <>

  A wet dragging echoed across the blackened floor.

  <>

  Tentacles emerged from the shadows, slithering slowly toward him. They were not mere limbs: they were living manifestations of the void, tainted with the same murky hues from back then.

  He remained still, unable to make a sound. His body, rigid. His will, suspended.

  And suddenly...

  <>

  The tentacles lunged at him, climbing like serpents desperate for their prey. They crawled up his legs, his torso, his neck.

  He tried to break free.

  <>

  But his body wouldn’t respond. He was trapped.

  One by one —six in total— began inserting themselves into his old markings, fitting with brutal precision into the three holes on each arm.

  <

  >

  There was no pain. No rejection. Only a strange sensation… as if they had always been a part of him. They fused without violence, like roots finally finding their soil.

  And then, a voice pierced through him:

  "Conquer fear... conquer yourself."

  His voice, softer now, ethereal, more human, rose from within him for the first time:

  “W-what… is this place?”

  The other voice responded, firm and urgent:

  “So, you can speak. Don’t. They’ll hear you.”

  “I already gave you everything you need. The rest… is up to you. And your will.”

  The voice drifted away, merging with the darkness, choral, like a forgotten chant lost in time:

  “Expecto te... expectamus te…”

  Suddenly, the space around him began to spin.

  <>

  As if the world itself were being swallowed by a vortex of memories. A whirl of images surrounded him, showing fragments of himself: battles fought, paths wandered, hidden defeats, moments stolen from eternity. Everything passed swiftly, like a dream fading the moment you touch it.

  And amid the chaos, one image froze.

  A woman.

  Hair as blue as the foam of a sleeping sea.

  Eyes full of innocence.

  She held him tightly, tenderly. Her small hands clung to him as if trying to stop time.

  And they did.

  For an instant, everything froze.

  He felt something he had long forgotten...

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  Peace.

  <>

  <>

  <<—The glitch and the dream are over—>>

  He awoke.

  The air was humid and thick.

  He was surrounded by small creatures—mammals tinier than hares, insects with erratic movements, curious vermin.

  They didn’t attack. They only watched.

  <>

  He stood up, shaking off the dust of slumber.

  The makeshift cavern that had once sheltered him no longer held meaning.

  As he stepped out, he noticed the environment slowly beginning to brighten.

  The night was retreating.

  The world, like his inner self, was awakening.

  And so was he.

  As he walked forward, the surroundings shifted with each step.

  What once was abundance had become absence.

  Colors lost their saturation, the air grew thicker, and life seemed to have withdrawn—leaving only dry echoes of what once was.

  He entered a natural curve, like an open wound carved between the massive canyon walls.

  Hunger ambushed him without warning.

  <>

  His stomach growled like a caged beast.

  No hares this time. Only skulls—too many—arranged in tribal patterns on sharp stones, embedded in half-melted ice, or crudely nailed to the canyon walls like primitive warnings.

  <>

  The sound of the earth cracking was the only reply.

  The geysers had gone still. The steam—once warm and sheltering—had vanished.

  A thick atmosphere of rejection surrounded him; every stone seemed to stare, every shadow held a threat.

  <>

  A chunk of ice plummeted from the cliff above. A fleeting shadow—swift as a breath—slid into a cave burrowed into one of the canyon walls.

  He froze.

  He felt he had crossed a threshold.

  He no longer walked on free land.

  He had entered another’s domain.

  <>

  Another rock fell, this time in front of him.

  Like a warning.

  Like a seal.

  The curve of the path concealed what lay ahead, but not for long.

  As he moved forward with quiet steps, he noticed a rudimentary structure: a low wall, assembled from jagged objects and the remains of sharp stones.

  Beyond it, barricades of ice and rock rose high—twice his height. Brutal defenses, crude and intentional.

  He gripped his makeshift knife in his right hand.

  Steady.

  Centered.

  The bone blade pointed forward like an extension of his will.

  <>

  And then, it emerged.

  A creature with a long, furry face and eyes dripping with ancient malice.

  Its mouth was filled with splinter-sharp teeth, and its gaze oozed corruption.

  It wore a loincloth made of roots and dried vegetation.

  Its legs, like a hare’s—powerful, twisted.

  Its arms were long, ending in four clawlike fingers.

  In its left arm, it held a warped ice chunk—a natural mace—with jagged spikes jutting out in every direction.

  Over its shoulders, a cloak made of dead hare skins—the same hares that no longer ran these lands.

  <>

  It unleashed a wild roar and lunged at the wanderer.

  The fight began.

  <>

  The first blow hissed through the air. He barely dodged it. The creature didn’t relent.

  It snapped at the air, let out high-pitched screeches, and launched erratic strikes.

  The wanderer backed off, pivoted, looking for a way to avoid the weapon’s impact.

  Then, the beast raised its mace with both hands and brought down a devastating blow.

  That instant cracked time itself—and with it, a blind spot.

  The wanderer remembered how he’d killed the hare:

  From behind.

  He repeated the move.

  <>

  The dagger sank into the monster’s neck.

  The body convulsed.

  It died instantly.

  But the silence didn’t last.

  <>

  Dozens of footsteps burst into the scene.

  From the shadows, several similar figures emerged. Twisted creatures, wielding crude weapons and wearing hostile glares. Each one slightly different: longer fangs, more tattered hides, scars etched into their flesh.

  All armed. All vicious.

  The wanderer stepped back toward the fresh corpse.

  He looked down.

  

  He seized the monster’s weapon.

  Now he held a club in one hand, and his old dagger in the other.

  Two enemies charged first.

  The same movements repeated.

  Swift blows.

  He dodged.

  

  Both beasts raised their clubs for a synchronized strike.

  

  They missed, the weapons embedding into the rocky ground.

  In their frantic struggle to pull them free, they exposed themselves.

  The wanderer surged forward.

  

  The club to the first one's skull.

  

  The dagger through the second one’s ear.

  Both dropped like empty sacks.

  And then, the ground quivered faintly.

  

  Something larger emerged from behind the barricades.

  A creature of the same lineage—but taller, broader.

  Four arms. Four clubs. An intelligent gaze.

  The leader.

  No words were needed—through guttural growls, it began issuing commands to the others.

  The wanderer drew a deep breath.

  

  He sheathed his dagger at his belt and grabbed another club with his left hand.

  Now he wielded two heavy weapons.

  He had no intention of fleeing.

  He was ready for war.

  He advanced with resolve and a fury held in check, provoking the creatures who now began to hesitate.

  Their attack patterns were predictable, repetitive… and fatally useless against someone who had already read them.

  “Hah!” he exhaled with rage as he lunged forward.

  

  Two more skulls cracked open like overripe fruit beneath his clubs, bone splintering and blue blood spraying through the air like liquid paint.

  Then three more surrounded him.

  He leapt into the center of two with a dry roar,

  , and brought both weapons down with brutal precision.

  

  Two of them collapsed instantly, their faces reduced to mangled pulp.

  The third, still struggling to free his club from the stone, froze at the sight of the carnage.

  His eyes met the wanderer’s.

  Fear. Panic. Pleading.

  

  The club was ripped from the still-warm skull of its comrade, and without hesitation—

  

  —it was hurled like a projectile straight into his face.

  The impact twisted his head like a broken mannequin.

  He died before hitting the ground.

  Blue blood had already pooled into a viscous puddle beneath the wanderer’s feet.

  He stepped back, cautious.

  Then...

  

  Five of them tried to lunge, but as they reached the puddled zone, they slipped like clumsy beasts, tumbling over each other. Mercy was unnecessary. The maces came down, one by one, with heavy, final rhythm.

  The few that remained did not attack. They hid, melted into the shadows, betrayed by their fear.

  But the last one to flee was caught by the leader. He struggled, snarling for his life, but could not break free from the muscular hand strangling him. Nearly lifeless, he was hurled from behind a barricade.

  <>

  His body landed right in front of the wanderer's weapons, whimpering. He was merely bait.

  And then —he saw it—.

  From the gloom emerged a larger silhouette, more grotesque. It had four arms, each wielding a different mace. Its body was an amalgam of muscle, filthy hair, and scars. Its presence sliced the air.

  The wanderer swatted the bait’s body aside with a cross-strike of both maces, <>, but before he could regain balance—

  KRAAAAASH!

  The monster leader crashed down with two of its maces simultaneously. The impact hurled him violently against the canyon’s left wall, <>. One of his maces slipped from his grasp and hit the ground. He barely held himself up, gasping. When he looked up, the monster was grinning with a hideous smile.

  —Grolooooth… HUHUHUHU… —its wet, gurgling laughter echoed through the walls like a cursed tribal chant.

  The wanderer, now on his knees, forced himself to stand, trembling. The weight of battle crushed his spirit. He thought of giving up, thought of running… but in that moment, a spark of clarity lit within him.

  When the beast charged again, all four arms poised to crush him, he did not flee.

  —He let himself fall.—

  <>

  He slid across the ground, using the blue blood as near-frictionless glide. As he passed by the monster’s side, <>, his knife sliced open the enemy’s belly. Not deep… but enough.

  Before it could retaliate, <>, the wanderer hurled another mace into its back. This one struck true. The roar that followed was deafening.

  “RAAAGGHHHHH!”

  Furious, the monster tore the mace from its flesh and threw it back in a single movement. <>

  The wanderer narrowly dodged it—but the creature was already upon him.

  <>

  Two hammering blows from its massive arms struck his chest and gut, lifting him off the ground. He crashed down in a rolling tumble and landed flat on his back. <>

  He spat blood. Red. Human.

  The same red he'd seen in his visions.

  He tried to move… but couldn’t.

  The monster approached in triumphant stride, its maces ready for a final execution. Two arms high to the right, two low to the left… a scissor of death.

  The wanderer closed his eyes.

  Then… —a light—.

  A voice in his mind, first a whisper, again and again…

  “…seal of divinity…”

  Then louder…

  “Seal of divinity!” —he cried out with a trembling, but resolute voice. —

  His body was wrapped in golden glow. The monster’s strike halted midair, as if the energy itself had blocked the blow.

  —The monster, stunned by the light, recoiled, surprised and repelled, stumbling back. —

  The wanderer, still on his knees, raised his right arm. Something flowed from within.

  “Seal of divinity!” —he repeated, aiming with his very soul. —

  VRRRROOOM!

  A beam of blazing light burst from his palm, piercing the leader’s body with a cosmic roar. The monster arched in agony, wrapped in radiance.

  The light not only destroyed—it healed.

  The wanderer's wounds began to close. His breath steadied.

  And then, simply…

  —he fell. —

  His eyes closed. Darkness returned.

  The earth, at last, found rest beneath his exhausted body.