The Dark Corruption

"On your feet," the commander's voice boomed, devoid of emotion.

Seraphel's body responded to the order, though his mind was a tumultuous storm of pain. He pushed himself up, his muscles straining against the weight of his own despair. Each movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his body, but he managed to stand, his legs trembling beneath him. The chains rattled as he swayed, fighting for balance.

Wathelet stepped into the cell, his boots clicking on the stone floor. The cogs in his armor spun as he reached down and gripped Seraphel's bound wrists, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. "Follow," he said simply, and led the way out of the cell.

They walked along the corridor, the dim light of the lamp above them creating a pool of light that danced with their shadows on the wet stone floor. The air grew colder and heavier as they progressed, the smell of metal and damp earth becoming stronger. The iron door at the end of the hall was a stark contrast to the gleaming brass and copper walls.

Wathelet pulled out a ring of keys that jingled faintly. His gloved hand selected one, special and ancient-looking, with intricate carvings along its length. He inserted it into the lock and with a twist, the heavy door swung open with a grating sound.

Before them was a vast cavern, illuminated by dimly glowing crystals embedded in the rocky ceiling. The walls were lined with metal tracks and wooden beams, supporting a network of catwalks and bridges that criss-crossed the yawning space. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of minerals, hinting at the bustling activity that once took place here. The distant echo of picks against stone and the occasional rumble of carts were the only sounds that filled the vast space, a stark contrast to the silence of the prison corridors.

Another guard, armed with a heavy rifle and a sidearm, stepped out of the shadows. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the high-ranking commander and the prisoner. "Commander... What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice echoing through the cave.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?" Wathelet barked, his grip on Seraphel's wrists tightening. "I'm going to ignore your manners and get down to business, recall all workers with immediate effect!"

The guard's eyes widened, and he nodded hastily before walking over to a speaker mounted on the cavern wall. He cranked a handle, and his voice boomed through the cavern. "All personnel, this is an emergency evacuation order! Leave your posts and report to the surface immediately! Repeat, this is not a drill!"

The distant echoes of the worker's footsteps grew fainter as they scurried to follow the order. The cavern grew eerily silent, save for the occasional drip of water.

Wathelet's eyes remained on the shackled figure before him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricate key. The metal was cold to the touch, but it hummed with an ancient power that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the prison. With a swift, practiced motion, he inserted the key into the lock on Seraphel's wrists and turned it. The chains fell away with a clatter, revealing the raw, bruised flesh beneath.

"You should be able to use aether again!" He said in a low voice. "You know the rules, if you consider fleeing, we can always locate you through your anklet!" He explained.

"They can cut off your aether flow at any time... And I'm sure you don't want to know what will happen to you if you try!" He added.

Seraphel's eyes narrowed slightly, "You don't have to keep explaining this to me Commander..." He said in a slight undertone. "Will you at least give me a weapon? Who knows what's waiting for me this time..."

Wathelet ignored his sarcasm. "Your skills should be enough," he said, his voice echoing in the vast cavern. "But if you insist..." He reached into his belt and pulled out a sleek, black blade, its edges gleaming sharply even in the dim light. "Take it." He tossed it to Seraphel, who caught it deftly with his free hand.

"Very kind of you," he murmured, testing the blade with a flick of his wrist. The weapon felt alive. He turned around and examined the various entrances, each leading to a different area of the mine.

One entrance in particular called to him, the air around it thick with the stench of decay and the tangible presence of malevolence. The corruption in the Arcane Weave was palpable here, a blackness that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

"That one," Seraphel said as he pointed in the direction of the entrance, "I'll hurry!"

Wathelet nodded. "Don't disappoint."

Seraphel entered the foul tunnel. The air grew colder and the smell of decay grew stronger with every step. He could feel the tendrils of black corruption wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every breath.

„Although the chains are off, I feel extremely weak... This is not going to be easy at all. Besides... What kind of dream was that earlier? I don't remember... Does it have something to do with my capture?" Seraphel thought, wobbling slightly as he walked deeper into the tunnel.

The walls around him were covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, with faint traces of minerals glittering in the light from his eyes. The floor was uneven and slippery, with the occasional pool of stagnant water. His eyes searched the shadows for any sign of movement, his heightened senses on high alert.

Suddenly, the stabbing pain returned with a ferocity that brought him to his knees. It was like a bolt of lightning had struck him directly in the head, sending electric currents of agony through his skull and down his spine. He clenched his teeth, trying to hold back the scream that threatened to tear from his throat. The blade slipped from his hand, clanging loudly against the rocky ground.

"It's close..." He said in a anguished voice. He struggled to his feet with all his strength and picked up the blade.

He stumbled through the darkness, his eyes watering from the pain. The corruption grew stronger and stronger.

Suddenly, the sound of bones breaking echoed through the tunnel. It was not a sound of something dying, but rather the sickening crack of something monstrous being born. It grew closer, a symphony of snaps and crunches, as if the very fabric of reality was being twisted and torn apart. The walls themselves seemed to shift and pulse in time with the horrific noises.

A creature emerged from the darkness. It was a grotesque mixture of a human and monstrous form. Its body was gaunt and elongated and its skin was a grayish-bluish mass that looked like old parchment. Dark, cracked veins ran everywhere.

It's face was nightmarish. It had a gaping, distorted mouth that stretched wide across the cheekbones, showing a row of sharp, irregular teeth. Several deep red eyes glowed in the sockets of its deformed skull, and a pair of elongated horns protruded from its head, engraved with runes and moving ominously.

The creature's arms were overlong, ending in claw-like fingers reinforced with corrupted metal and bones. The torso was muscular but asymmetrical with a large hump on one side from which hung black, leathery wings made of tattered membrane material.

Its legs resembled those of a predator, strong and ready to leap, with claws that could tear up the ground. Around their neck dangled remnants of tattered fabric from a tattered robe, interspersed with metal rings that glowed green. The smell of blood, burnt flesh and corruption surrounded her like a cloak.

Seraphel's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you...?" he whispered, his hand gripping the blade tighter.

The creature answered with a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cavern. It was a sound that defied description, a cacophony of pain, anger, and pure malice. It was the shriek of a thousand tortured souls, the roar of a volcano erupting, and the wail of a grieving mother all rolled into one. The scream was so powerful that it sent a tremor through the ground beneath them, dust and small rocks falling from the ceiling like rain. The noise was so piercing that it seemed to cut through the very air, leaving a trail of static in its wake.