The first thing Adrian felt was the heat.

  Not the gentle warmth of sunlight, but a scorching, oppressive blaze that clung to his skin like molten tar. His lungs burned as he gasped awake, sulfur and ash coating his tongue. The air itself seemed to writhe—thick with the stench of rotting flesh and something darker, something alive.

  "Where...?"

  Memories flickered—headlights, the scream of twisting metal, his own body slamming against the steering wheel. Then, nothing.

  Until now.

  Adrian groaned as he pushed himself up, his hands sinking into damp earth. The ground beneath him pulsed faintly, as if breathing. His vision swam, but as it cleared, he saw the ruins.

  A shattered cathedral loomed overhead, its spires broken like jagged teeth. The sky was wrong—a swirling vortex of crimson and black, like a wound in the world itself. And the noises—whispers, distant screams, the skittering of something unseen.

  "This isn’t real."

  A wet, guttural growl answered him.

  Adrian spun, his body moving on instinct. A creature crouched in the shadows—a mass of sinew and exposed bone, its too-long limbs twitching. A mouth split its torso open vertically, rows of needle teeth glistening.

  "G-Grawl..." The name came unbidden, as if whispered into his mind.

  The thing lunged.

  Adrian threw himself aside, but not fast enough. Claws raked across his chest, hot blood soaking his shirt. Pain exploded through him, real and visceral.

  Not a dream. Not a hallucination.

  He scrambled back, his hand closing around something cold and metallic—a spear, half-buried in the dirt, its shaft etched with glowing runes.

  The Grawl hissed, circling.

  Adrian gripped the weapon, his fingers trembling.

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  "You will drown in their blood."

  A voice—not his own, not human—echoed in his skull.

  The Grawl attacked again.

  This time, Adrian swung.

  The spear tore through the Grawl’s flesh with unnatural ease, black ichor spraying. The creature shrieked, thrashing, but Adrian didn’t stop. He stabbed again. And again.

  Until the thing lay still.

  Panting, he staggered back, his hands slick with blood—his and the demon’s.

  Then, the Essence came.

  A shimmering, crimson mist rose from the Grawl’s corpse, swirling toward him. Adrian barely had time to flinch before it surged into his chest.

  Fire erupted in his veins.

  His bones cracked, his muscles reknit themselves. A scream tore from his throat as power—raw, unfiltered—flooded through him.

  When it ended, he was on his knees, gasping. His wounds had closed. His body felt... stronger.

  "Pathetic."

  Adrian jerked his head up.

  A man stood atop a broken pillar, silhouetted against the bleeding sky. Clad in tattered armor, his left arm was not human—blackened, twisted, ending in clawed fingers.

  "First kill, and you almost died to a Grawl." The man leaped down, landing with eerie grace. "The Abyss is going to eat you alive, boy."

  Adrian tightened his grip on the spear. "Who the hell are you?"

  The man smirked. "Kaelis. And you’re my newest problem."

  Kaelis didn’t offer explanations. He simply turned and walked, leaving Adrian to follow or die.

  They trekked through the ruins, the ground growing softer, squelching underfoot. The air thickened with the stench of decay.

  "Where are we going?" Adrian demanded.

  "Somewhere you might survive an hour." Kaelis didn’t look back. "Assuming you listen."

  Adrian opened his mouth—then froze.

  The ruins had given way to a swamp, but not like any on Earth. The trees were skeletal, their branches fused with human bones. The water was viscous, bubbling with unseen things.

  And the voices—

  "Adrian..."

  His mother’s voice. From the water.

  "Don’t." Kaelis’ clawed hand clamped onto his shoulder. "The Rotting Depths play tricks. Look again."

  Adrian blinked.

  The water was still. Silent.

  Then the cultists attacked.

  They came from the trees—emaciated figures, their skin peeling, eyes milky white. They moved too fast, their mouths stretched in silent screams.

  Adrian barely had time to raise his spear before one was on him.

  The fight was a blur. Kaelis moved like a storm, his demon-arm tearing through cultists. Adrian fought wildly, his body still thrumming with unfamiliar power.

  When it was over, the last cultist collapsed at his feet—but not before grabbing his wrist.

  "The Demon King... remembers you..." it rasped.

  Then it dissolved into black sludge.

  Adrian stared at his hand.

  Where the cultist had touched him, his skin was darkening, hardening into rough scales.

  Kaelis cursed. "It starts with the skin." He met Adrian’s eyes. "Ends with the soul."

  The words hung in the air as the Rotting Depths shuddered around them.

  Something bigger was coming.