Mitch pushed his Abyssal Bind power, sending it weaving through the tunnel walls and floor. While beating down the door with raw strength was what he wanted to do, taking a more secretive approach was likely better. He felt the small flames of wills all around him, more dense in their number here than anywhere else. Mitch clamped down and pulled them out of the walls.

  A mass of Abyssal Bugs spilled forth from unseen cracks and crevices. Tiny legs clicked against the damp stone in front of the prison doors. They crawled to him in waves, forming a dark, shifting cloud that waited at his feet. His Abyssal Bind had summoned them, and now their small wills belonged to him.

  Minions: Abyssal Mice: 4, Abyssal Fodder: 4, Abyssal Bugs: 423(+423)

  He directed them to the base of the iron door. The bugs moved, pincers clicking in unison, tiny mouths gnashing as they bit into the door’s seams and edges.

  “I still can’t get over that,” Sable bemoaned, eyeing the swarm with revulsion and fascination. “Disgusting, but effective.”

  Varak let out a clicking laugh, their many eyes prideful. “Pretty!...Like Abyssal flowers,” Varak crooned. One of the bugs climbed up Varak’s spindly arm and perched on their shoulder.

  Mitch spared Varak a glance, amused by their affection for creatures of the Abyss. Reaching further with his mind, he called out for his other minions. Across the vast network of tunnels and shadows, his call extended. He had been drawing them closer the past days, and now it was time his other minions earned their keep.

  Abyssal Mice appeared, scurrying down the hallway, darting through crevices to join the throng before the door. They waited in silence before Mitch, their dark whiskers twitching.

  The bugs had worn away a small opening. Mitch nodded at the mice, and sent a directive through their bond.

  Check it out. Signal if it’s clear.

  The mice slipped through the gap, silent as shadows. Mitch could feel their movements with his mind. The connection buzzed faintly as they explored from the other side of the door. After a few moments, they signaled back–all clear.

  Satisfied, Mitch gestured to the gap. “Let’s go. Quietly.”

  The acrid scent of decay hit them as they ducked into the narrow entry.

  As Mitch led the way, the rock amplified each growl and rattle of chains of the inhabitants. The ceiling stretched far above, lost in shadow, and rows of cells pressed along the walls. Each held twisted creatures within. What little light there was cast shadows that writhed from pained energy.

  In one cell, a creature with half its face missing snarled weakly, its one remaining eye following Mitch’s every move. Another held a hulking figure slumped against the wall. Its arms were bound in twisted metal restraints that dug into its muscle.

  Some creatures’ limbs had been fused directly into the stone walls, their broken bodies barely able to move. Yet their eyes shone with hate and suffering. These were not just prisoners. They were remnants of experiments and brutality. It only made Mitch’s rage grow. Even if they were Abyssal creatures, what good was torture without an end result?

  The squad moved as silently as they could through the prison.

  As they moved deeper, the horrors only grew. Some cells seemed…alive. The walls pulsed and twitched, patches of rotten flesh grown over stone like moss. They seemed aware, flinching slightly as Mitch approached an empty one. He felt the faint, nauseating throb. The pulse of some giant, unseen heart resonating throughout the chamber.

  In other cells, creatures mutated by Abyssal experiments huddled in corners. Their bodies were altered beyond sense. One creature had three arms sticking out from a single soulder. Another’s face was a patchwork of scars, mismatched eyes, and fused jaws. Some had appendages grafted onto them–bony claws, horns, even additional small heads that leered out from behind shoulders. Typically Abyssal monsters were terrifying to look at, but this went beyond the pale.

  Varak and the other minions clung to the shadows. Their eyes darted between the ominous symbols scrawled onto the walls with blood.

  They paused, pointing a claw toward a dark sigil. “This..,” Varak murmured. “Harvest day. It is…Butcher…fun day. He pick. He...have fun. And eat.”

  Each twisted cell told a story of torment. When available with space, Butcher had scrawled crude messages for his prisoners. “Butcher’s Shop is Open.”

  Sable let out a slow breath. Mitch clenched his fists, feeling the anger build within him. This prison was an affront to anything resembling humanity and sense.

  Butcher’s mocking laugh echoed through the dark corridors. The pigman was some ways away, but every cackle grated Mitch’s heart. He wanted to see the horrors before he met the man. To truly look upon what he was fighting.

  Varak hesitated in the shadows. Mitch noticed the creature’s unease and glanced at them, his expression questioning.

  Sable looked at Varak. “What’s wrong?”

  Varak’s many eyes blinked, each movement slow and deliberate. “My…children,” she rasped, her voice almost breaking. “They…are here.”

  It made sense to Mitch. Varak was a mother, and had clung to a hope of salvation in Mitch.

  Sable’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Children? In the Abyss?”

  Varak gave a pained nod. “Yes. Even here.” her voice softened. “Souls also made in the Abyss, not…just used.”

  “Take us there. Now.” Mitch’s anger seeped out of his voice.

  “Yes?!” Varak’s excitement was palpable as her request went unspoken. With what appeared to be a smile, she took off, and they followed.

  The revelation hung heavy in Mitch’s mind. Somehow, Varak’s maternal instinct had survived. A testament to the fragments of humanity in her tortured soul.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Following Varak’s lead, they reached a twisted iron cage tucked into a dark corner of the prison. It was almost obscured behind fleshy moss that covered the cage.

  Inside, small creatures huddled together. Mitch could see the resemblance. Each bore some of Varak’s features. The odd number of limbs, the mismatched eyes. Scuttling spider-like bodies. They shrank back at first, then rushed forward, clawing desperately to reach their mother through the bars.

  “Mother…” one of the creatures whispered.

  Varak reached a clawed hand through the bars, her touch gentle. The small creatures pressed against her mutated hand. Sable’s expression softened, while Mitch’s hardened.

  Varak tried the lock, her claws scraping against the metal. Frustration boiled over, and she let out a low pout, pulling her hands back in frustration. “I cannot…open.”

  Mitch stepped forward, gripping Galadrith’s hilt. The sword hummed with barely restrained fury. “Let me,” Mitch said coldly.

  He raised Galadrith, and Mitch felt the sword harden in his hand. There was a simmering rage within the sword, but Gal refused to speak. With a controlled strike, the lock was sliced through, and clattered to the floor. The cage door swung open.

  The small creatures rushed out, swarming around Varak. They clung to her legs and torso like a misshapen brood. Despite their appearance, the moment carried a bittersweet tenderness. Varak was a creature forged in darkness. She was surrounded by her children in a show of primal love.

  Sable watched, smiling. “I didn’t think…” She trailed off. “Even in this place. There’s parts of you that refused to give up.”

  Varak cradled her children close, her eyes meeting Mitch’s. “Thank. Sir.” She managed, her voice filled with a depth of gratitude that caught even Mitch off guard.

  As Varak’s children clung to her, Mitch felt something stir within him. A memory from deep inside. Belonging to his body, not him. He could almost feel himself standing there. Gazing over this same space, though it was…different. No cells, no chains. The rows stretched on, but they were shrouded in shadow, faces too indistinct to see, slipping away as he tried to grasp them. Just out of reach. Again.

  “Mitch?” Sable’s voice broke the trance. He blinked, the scene fading back into the shadows of his mind.

  This wasn’t always a prison…

  Mitch gave Varak a curt nod. Some bonds were unbreakable. Varak’s connection to her children were threads that even the Abyss hadn’t severed. He could feel the weight of Galadrith in his hand, mirroring his own growing resolve.

  And for Varak, those bonds had fueled her resolve to take a chance on Mitch’s character. It had paid off for the creature.

  Mitch stood there, absorbing the horrors around him. Tension kept his muscles taught as he surveyed the prison. His eyes, dark with fury, swept over the cells and mangled creatures.

  Freeing every one of them–it isn’t feasible. I don’t know if they would be loyal or attack. Just because they’re here, doesn’t mean they would turn to me.

  The only way to end the torment was to kill the head of the beast. They might be Abyssal beasts, but they did not deserve the brutality of Butcher.

  Butcher. Warden.

  For a moment, Mitch thought of taking the secretive approach. To sneak up on Butcher, but the thought quickly died.

  The Abyss’s darkness fueled him. It was raw and uncontainable within his body. This wasn’t a time for stealth. It was a time for reckoning.

  Always forward.

  “Sable,” he said, voice tight with anger. “We’re going to take him head on.”

  Sable looked at him, her eyes narrowing with concern. “Don’t let this get out of hand, Mitch. We need you to be measured, not reckless. Not again.”

  He nodded slowly. But the cold fire in his belly made it clear he wasn’t going to hold back. The souls in his core fueled his anger, urging him to go on and destroy. Rex just wanted to fight.

  Galadrith hummed with anticipation, “Kill the pigman. First. I request his soul,” the soul sword whispered with a dark eagerness.

  Mitch’s lips curled into a grim smile as he reached for his core. A few souls pressed forward, offering themselves up for Mitch’s power.

  He ignited another Soul Sacrifice. Raw power surged through his muscles and ignited his heart. The strength stretched outwards. His minions shuddered in response to the wave of energy. Sable growled low, her own anger showing.

  In the distance, he heard Butcher’s mocking cackles echo through the hall. The man was torturing a creature in the distance.

  Find him, Mitch ordered the mice he controlled.

  They scattered down the hallways, vanishing into the shadows with their inky dur. He felt their scuttling forms scurrying through cells, searching out the laughter.

  Mitch didn't wait. He charged down the central corridor, Galadrith gleaming with a dark light. His Abyssal Minions fell in behind him, a tide of twisted forms driven by his unyielding will. Varak hesitated only a moment before following, her children clinging tightly to her as she moved.

  Sable cursed under her breath but sprinted after them, her wires already unfurling in preparation. The bugs followed in a mass at the rear.

  As they advanced, the prison awakened. Cells rattled as imprisoned creatures sensed the upheaval. Their howls and screams rose in a chaotic chorus.

  Galadrith's voice urged him on. "Yes... let the Abyss tremble at our approach. Let him know that retribution comes."

  The laughter of Butcher grew louder as he followed the direction his mice sent him.

  He let out a roar, the sound reverberating throughout the prison walls. “Butcher! Your time is up!” His voice echoed like thunder. A challenge that shook the walls themselves.

  The laughter from the pigman stopped. The groaning of the monsters persisted.

  Mitch could feel the distance closing between himself and Butcher. The bond with his mice guided him unerringly, every step bringing him closer to his target.

  He burst into a vast chamber, the space illuminated by a sickly purple glow that surrounded Butcher.

  The Butcher was a mountain of filth and flesh. Bloated muscle protected by lump fat and oily sweat. His face was a parody of a pig. Small, beady eyes gleamed with malice above a snout nose that oozed stringy pus.

  His flesh was mottled, pocketed with infected sores that wept a foul yellow liquid. Coarse black hairs sprouted from his jowls. A bloodstained apron stretched over his massive toros, colored a rancid shade of brown and red. Butcher’s chest heaved beneath it, his breath labored and wheezing, filling the air with a stench of rot and decayed meat.

  In each of his massive hands, he gripped a cleaver. Their edges were worn, crusted with rust and blood.

  As he grinned, strings of drool mixed with blood dangled from his chin, splattering the ground. He eyed Mitch with a perverse delight.

  Butcher laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. “I’ve been waiting for some fresh entertainment. Hathgar was getting boring.”

  Mitch raised Galadrith as the rest of his squad assembled behind him.

  “And I’ve been waiting to kill you,” Mitch answered.

  “Let’s see how you scream then, little man,” Butcher answered in a twisted laugh.