CHAPTER 254: THE CAUSE OF THE PROBLEM.

"Stay here, I’ll take a look down there." Kael shouts to Klee. She doesn’t answer, but he continues.

Kael takes his first step into the tunnel, the torch casting a flickering glow against the damp, uneven walls. The air, though warm, was heavy, laden with an indescribable odor that mingled wet earth, mold, and an acrid remnant of something organic, rotting. The whisper followed him, an incomprehensible chant, an inverted prayer that seemed to reverberate from the stones themselves.

The corridor wound downward in a slow, incessant spiral, like the throat of some monster sucking the living into its dark belly. Kael felt his skin tingle, the weight of silence mixed with the constant hum of that hidden voice. He gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly, the cold metal conveying a tenuous, almost illusory thread of security.

Each step caused the echo of his boots to reverberate off the rough stone walls, multiplying into small whispers that mingled with the original murmur. It was difficult to tell exactly where the voice was coming from, as if the tunnel were a chamber of cursed echoes, where the church’s bloody past whispered secrets that should not be revealed.

Kael stopped for a moment, staring ahead, trying to decipher what the sounds meant. There was a cadence, an almost hypnotic repetition, like a profane mantra. His head throbbed slightly, and a feeling of vertigo began to set in.

He thought of the priest, that mutilated half of his body and that frozen scream on his face, and what those creatures could be. Not mere beasts, not common predators. Something ancient, shaped by hatred and corruption, something that fed not only on flesh, but on faith and fear.

The corridor suddenly opened into a huge, though low, underground chamber. Kael’s torch illuminated the corners where shapeless forms moved, sliding and stirring like living shadows. The floor was covered with broken bones and fragments of religious objects—a cracked cross, a broken rosary, pieces of stained glass that glowed with a ghostly luminescence.

In the center of the chamber, one figure stood out: an ancient stone statue representing a hybrid creature, half man, half beast, with empty eyes and a grotesquely open mouth, as if in an eternal roar of agony.

Kael approached, feeling the air grow heavier, almost suffocating. A voice suddenly whispered, clearer, as if coming from the depths of that macabre monolith:

"Here begins the end."

The torch flickered, casting flickering light on symbols engraved at the base of the statue, sigils that seemed to pulsate with an unknown energy, obscured by dust and age. Kael realized that they were not just drawings—they were inscriptions, in an ancient and forgotten language, intertwined with religious symbols, but corrupted, tortured until they lost their original meaning.

As he studied the symbols, the whisper turned into a low moan, a restrained cry that seemed to come from the walls themselves. Something moved in the dark, an almost tangible presence that made Kael’s blood run cold.

He turned, sword at the ready, and saw shadows writhing at the edges of the chamber. There was no definite shape, just a pulsating mass of darkness that advanced slowly, silently, but determinedly.

Kael felt an inner voice, a cold premonition telling him to run, but he knew he couldn’t. Whatever was down there, in that unholy labyrinth, was the root of everything—the source of the curse that had taken over that village and its people.

He remembered the priest’s last writing, that phrase that burned like blasphemy in his mind: "God has betrayed me." Had this creature been born of divine abandonment? Or was it a manifestation of corrupted faith itself?

The answer seemed to lurk in the shadows, in the heavy silence that weighed on that place.

Kael took a deep breath, the torch’s flame struggling against the growing darkness.

"Show yourself," he murmured, his voice steady despite the fear that gripped his chest.

Absolute silence answered him.

Then a voice, low and distorted, reverberated throughout the chamber.

"We are what remains. The hope you killed. The faith you forgot."

Kael felt the ground shake slightly beneath his feet, the living stone vibrating as if the earth itself wanted to swallow him whole.

The shadows stirred, slowly forming a figure—tall, immense, covered in skin that looked like twisted roots and rotting flesh. Its eyes were black pits, where Kael saw a cruel and infinite glow, as if reflecting the darkness of the world.

"Damn, what an ugly creature," Kael said, staring at it.

Kael held his sword steady, his gaze fixed on that grotesque form emerging from the shadows like a vivid nightmare. The creature was a formless abomination—a pulsating mass of flesh and twisted roots, covered in gray, sticky skin that seemed to vibrate with a life of its own, as if every inch hid a monstrous secret.

Its eyes, deep black pits, glowed with a cruel, almost hypnotic light. Kael felt the weight of that gaze—not just eyes, but the presence of an ancient intelligence, as old as the corruption that infested this place.

It was then that he noticed something disturbing: the voice that had spoken, low and distorted, did not come from some hidden corner. It was that thing there, in that shapeless form, that spoke. The voice and the creature were one entity, a fusion of essence and sound, of flesh and corrupted soul.

Kael gripped the hilt of his sword, feeling the cold metal against the sweaty skin of his hand. His thoughts raced, trying to understand what he was facing. It was not just a beast, nor a common demon. It was a living testimony to the ruin of that faith that had long since died in the village, an abyss personified in flesh.

The creature turned slowly, and Kael caught a glimpse of what was on its back.

Horrified, he saw several human faces—melted, fused into the creature’s flesh—like distorted masks stuck to a living surface. Expressions frozen in agony, eyes open in eternal panic, mouths open in a silent scream. It was as if the creature carried with it the souls of those it had devoured, a cauldron of suffering trapped in its own skin.

Kael felt a sharp chill run through his chest. Each face seemed to beg for help, for redemption, for an end to this endless torment.

He took a step back, assessing the scene. The creature was more than a monster—it was a walking prison of pain, a macabre reliquary of the horrors that ravaged the village.

"You... are made of them," Kael murmured, almost voiceless, the firm and terrible certainty sinking into his chest. "Hope dead, faith forgotten... All trapped inside you."

The creature shuddered, as if recognizing the words, and the melted faces contorted in silent agony. A whisper that seemed to come from the very abyss of that flesh spoke again, this time directly into Kael’s thoughts, a cold and searing invasion:

"You abandoned the light... and we became the punishment."

The chilling whisper still echoed in Kael’s mind when the creature took a step forward, then lunged with unexpected violence. Twisted roots and tentacles of putrid flesh snapped through the air, reaching for Kael like the claws of an ancient predator.

Kael quickly backed away, narrowly dodging a blow that would have crushed his body. The foul smell intensified, as if the creature released a wave of putrefaction along with its attack.

Without wasting time, Kael concentrated, feeling the energy pulsing through his veins—a basic light magic, just to ascend and get a better view. He raised his free hand, and an intense sphere of golden light burst from his fingers, growing and exploding against the walls.

The catacomb, once plunged into oppressive darkness, was bathed in a blinding flash. The shadows shrank, retreating before the purity of the light.

Kael gasped as the light spread throughout the space, revealing details that had previously been hidden.

It was not just an ordinary chamber. The floor was stained with dried blood, deep marks and cuts scattered across the stone walls. Rusty chains hung from the low ceiling, some still swaying slightly, as if they had been used recently.

Grotesque, ancient instruments of torture lay lined up on racks—twisted hooks, sharp blades, even a wooden block with worn straps. The air carried a weight of suffering, of anguish crystallized in time.

Kael advanced, taking advantage of the moment when the creature recoiled from the light emanating from his hand. With a determined grunt, he swung his sword, seeking to strike a decisive blow to the beating heart of that monstrosity.

The blade cut through the air with force, shining in the golden light, and sank into the monster’s rotten flesh—but to Kael’s shock, the sword met no resistance and cut nothing. Instead, the viscous mass around the blow seemed to open up, swallowing the entire blade, as if the creature were sucking it into itself.

The sword’s hilt disappeared among twisted roots and raw flesh, while Kael stepped back in surprise, feeling the weight of the emptiness where the weapon had once rested in his hand.

"Are you serious?" Kael muttered, his tone laden with disbelief and a hint of sarcasm. His eyes searched for the grotesque figure in front of him, which now sported a horribly open mouth, as if it had swallowed what was once his only hope of defense.