Stepping across that unseen threshold felt as though they had plunged into the abyss of another realm. The very air was so thick it clung like murky swamp water, laced with a bone-chilling cold and a nauseatingly sweet rot that pressed in on them from every direction. Beneath their boots, the black fungal mat writhed ever so slightly—each footfall like treading on living flesh, the slick, barely audible squelch echoing in the dead hush.
Silence reigned supreme. Absolute, impenetrable silence swallowed every sound except their own ragged breaths and the relentless pounding of their hearts.
THUMP… THUMP…
For a moment, Raine feared his skull would shatter with each pulse. He forced himself onward, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if his legs had been filled with molten lead. All around them was contortion and madness: grotesque flora wove into an endless labyrinth of shadows, their gnarled limbs snatching at the darkness as though alive, while even a stray mote of light was ravenously devoured by the oppressive gloom—an abyss painted in every conceivable shade of black, ash-gray, bruised purple, and a deathly, corpse-like green.
Karrion trailed close behind, his squat form taut as granite. His warhammer was ever at the ready; his shield a steadfast barrier against unseen terrors. Even his usually unruly beard trembled ever so slightly in the oppressive stillness, as though bracing itself against the forest's hungry appetite for fear.
Thalia followed at the rear. The moment she set foot beyond the barrier, her entire being quivered, her pallid visage nearly translucent, yet she straightened herself with unearthly composure. Her eyes, cold and piercing, never strayed from the abyss before them, while one hand instinctively pressed against the fragile seal at her breast.
They moved forward with grim determination. There was no path—only the writhing undergrowth and that viscous fungal carpet. At any moment, they could misstep, plunging into a hidden pit or being engulfed by the living soil. Each inhalation felt like drawing poison into their lungs.
A weight pressed on their hearts: not merely the harshness of the terrain, but a fear more ancient and primal. It whispered that the forest itself was a malevolent entity, mocking intruders with its silent contortions.
"Hey," Karrion's hoarse voice sliced through the tension, a forced attempt at levity. "Ever hear the one about the goblin and the troll—you know, the one where the goblin asks for salt—"
Neither Raine nor Thalia responded. Their pace faltered not an inch.
Karrion's forced grin faded; he spat onto the fungal mat. The black droplet hissed as it sank into the living ground. "Damn this accursed place," he muttered, gripping his hammer tighter.
They pressed on until time itself blurred. The twisted landscape remained unchanged, an eternal nightmarish tableau that seemed to stretch on forever. Raine's nerves frayed; he could feel his star-blood pulsing erratically, as though warning him of a profound threat, or perhaps succumbing to some creeping corruption. The star-shard in his belt glowed icy cold—a frozen heartbeat against his side.
Thalia suddenly let out a stifled gasp. She seized a warped sapling for support, her hand slick with cold sweat. Her shiver was not from chill, but from a visceral dread—this boundary was no mere forest edge; it was the prelude to true horror.
"Forward," she whispered, voice hushed but urgent. "We're far too close."
Raine swallowed hard. He asked softly, "What lies ahead?"
She pointed into the darkness: "The true threshold."
After what felt like endless trudging, the ground leveled—but the sight that greeted them stole Raine's breath. Before them yawned what once might have been a cliff's edge, now a rift in reality itself. On one side lay the twisted "outpost" forest they had just navigated—distorted trees, corrupted moss, and choking miasma. On the other was a domain of utter chaos: a churning mass of black, gray, and sickly purple tendrils that writhed like living nightmares, melding and recoiling without form or logic.
This was the heart of the corruption, the unspoken boundary beyond which no natural law held sway. Trees here were skeletons, their bleached limbs dripping oily viscera. The ground had transformed into a heaving carpet of slimy fungal matter, exuding a stench so vile it burned Raine's nostrils and clawed at his lungs.
But worst of all was the silence. Here, wind dare not whisper; no insect dared chirp; even the wild, tormented cries of unseen beasts were absent. It was as if the world had begun and ended in this void, a tomb of soundless despair.
Raine's voice was a hoarse rasp: "This… is the Corrupted Wood?"
Karrion, usually indomitable, could only whisper back, "Worse than the worst nightmares."
Thalia stood at the brink, her breaths shallow as she too felt the pressing stillness of what lay beyond. "This line," she murmured, "is the scar of this world."
Raine peered at the borderland strewn with bleached bones—deer, wolves, and beasts unknown—each skeleton pockmarked with corrosive holes, as though devoured from within by an acidic rot. Here, no life stirred; not even the hardiest moss could cling to this ground.
A sudden breeze, foul and frigid, swept outward from the chasm. It carried with it the rancor of death, a hush that Raine felt in his marrow. He staggered back, clutching a fresh wound at his nose, blood trickling over his lips.
"Raine!" Karrion caught him, alarm flaring in his eyes.
Thalia's gaze flicked between the abyss and her bloodied friend. She noted, too, how her own heart-seal—her star-forged shard—had pulsed in agonized resonance with the forest's vile breath. Pressing a hand to her chest, she fought to conceal her weakening form.
"We must move on," she said, voice trembling but resolute. "That tree… it was a warning."
He nodded, pain and resolve warring in his expression. Karrion supported them both as they forged onward, deeper into the forest's black maw.
No sooner had they taken a few steps than the forest lashed out again. From among the corrupted foliage leaped grotesque creatures—once squirrels, now mottled gray and raven-black, their eyes burning with a red, fevered light; ravens warped into monstrous shapes, rattling with corrosion; and serpentine horror, scales blistered and oozing a dark ichor.
Thalia unleashed tendrils of shadow magic that snared and smothered the beasts, while Karrion swung his warhammer in mighty arcs, shattering bones and skulls in bone-shaking blows. Raine, feeble though he was, slashed with his dagger at anything that slipped past, guided by a flicker of star-shard warning in his pocket.
When the last creature collapsed into the fungal floor, dissolving into nothingness, a ragged silence returned—one that felt, if anything, even more unsettling than before.
They stood amid the remnants of battle, breath ragged, wounds stinging, staring into the ever-shifting gloom. The Corrupted Wood's echo still rang in their ears—the memory of hollow eyes, of faceless stars, of Marie's phantom call, and the fallen banners of their own House.
With one final glance at the fetid battleground, they pressed onward, steps weighed by exhaustion and dread. The forest's heart awaited—its deepest secrets and its greatest terrors—and with each beat of their fervent hearts, the echo of the corruption grew louder, threatening to drown them in its abyssal song.