Chapter 198: Chapter 198: Beneath the Veins of the City
The safehouse door shuddered under the weight of distant engines. Searchlights swept across the cracked buildings outside, the beams cutting through fog and dust like blades. The sound of boots striking asphalt carried with mechanical rhythm—too many soldiers, too quickly coordinated.
Keller was the first to move. He slammed his pistol back into its holster and snapped at the others. "We’re leaving. Now."
Lin didn’t argue. The chains writhed at his shoulders as though they, too, were impatient. Min-joon scrambled to gather his pack, but his eyes kept flicking toward Hwan as though afraid the man would vanish—or transform—if left unwatched for too long.
Hwan pushed himself up from the floor, rubbing at the crimson welts around his throat. His voice rasped, but there was no mistaking the sly satisfaction in it. "The grate is three blocks south. Old drainage hub. The city doesn’t even remember it exists."
Keller shoved him toward the door with the barrel of his rifle. "You lead. One wrong turn and you won’t live long enough to see us notice."
Hwan smirked but obeyed, stepping into the dark street.
The escape was a blur of shadows and tension. They stuck to the alleys, weaving between crumbling walls and abandoned storefronts, keeping low whenever headlights streaked past. Every corner brought the risk of discovery. Every pause stretched the silence thin until Lin thought it might snap.
But underneath the danger, another rhythm pulsed: the abyss.
It whispered through his veins, vibrating in his bones, tugging him southward long before Hwan even gestured the direction. The tunnels below the city weren’t just forgotten—they were alive. Lin could feel them, a network of veins feeding something vast and hidden.
When they finally reached the rusted grate, the air around it stank of mold and rot. Rust had eaten holes in the bars, and stagnant water seeped across the cracked concrete.
"This is it," Hwan said softly, crouching to pry the grate loose. His crimson-tinged eyes caught the streetlights as he glanced up. "Once we’re inside, they won’t follow. They’ll think we vanished."
Keller crouched beside him, rifle steady. "Or maybe you’re just leading us into a grave."
Hwan gave a humorless chuckle. "Every road is a grave these days. At least mine points the way forward."
The grate groaned as it came free. A gust of damp air rolled up from the depths, heavy with mildew and something fouler—something Lin recognized too well. Abyss corruption.
He clenched his jaw. "Move."
The descent was steep, the corroded ladder slick beneath their boots. Darkness pressed in almost instantly, broken only by the weak glow of Keller’s tactical lamp. The walls were concrete at first, streaked with moss and graffiti, but as they descended deeper, something changed.
The concrete grew soft in places, bubbled and cracked, as if veins pulsed beneath its surface. A faint red glow seeped through those cracks like blood seeping from half-healed wounds.
Min-joon whispered, "It feels... wrong down here."
"It is wrong," Keller muttered, his eyes scanning every corner. "This place should be dead. But it’s breathing."
Lin didn’t answer. His chains twitched restlessly, scraping against the walls as if eager to strike. He couldn’t tell whether they sensed enemies ahead or whether the abyss inside him was resonating with the corruption around them.
Hwan, however, walked with unsettling confidence. He navigated the twists of the tunnel as though guided by memory—or instinct. His footsteps didn’t falter, and not once did he look back to check if they followed.
Finally, the narrow shaft widened into a broad utility corridor. Water dripped from overhead pipes. Rusted maintenance panels hung from the walls, long dead. The air was heavier here, thick with a metallic tang.
Lin slowed. His vision wavered, the corridor shifting in and out of focus. One moment, it was a tunnel of concrete and rust; the next, he saw veins, pulsing crimson tissue stretched over bone. The whispers surged, and among them, one voice rose clearer.
Lin.
His breath hitched. It was Jin’s voice. Too sharp to be mistaken. Too soft to grasp.
He staggered a step before Keller’s hand grabbed his arm. "Lin." Keller’s voice cut through the haze, grounding him. "Focus. Stay with us."
Lin forced a nod, though his skin crawled. The abyss wasn’t just whispering—it was remembering.
They weren’t alone for long.
The first sound was faint—a dragging shuffle, wet and uneven. Then came the echo of breath, ragged and animalistic, reverberating against the tunnel walls.
Keller raised his rifle instantly, light sweeping forward.
The beam landed on a shape.
It was human, or had been once. Its skin sagged like melted wax, patches of flesh hardened into jagged crimson scales. One arm was nothing but a sinewy mass ending in claws, while the other clutched at its chest as though it were in constant agony. Its face was half-sunken, but its eyes glowed faintly red.
Min-joon gasped. "Oh god..."
The creature hissed, the sound bubbling through fluid in its lungs. And then, in a voice warped yet unmistakably deliberate, it spoke.
"Chained... heir."
Lin froze. The chains at his back went rigid.
The creature lurched forward, claws dragging sparks along the tunnel wall. It repeated the words like a curse. "Chained... heir... chained..."
Keller didn’t wait. He fired. The shot cracked through the tunnel, striking the creature square in the chest. It staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, it screeched—a shrill, grating sound that made Min-joon clap his hands to his ears.
Lin reacted instinctively. His chains whipped outward, striking the creature with enough force to slam it against the wall. Flesh tore, blood sprayed black and steaming. But the creature laughed, gurgling through its broken chest.
"The abyss knows you... Lin..."
The name echoed with unnatural resonance, carrying along the tunnel like a voice amplified through endless throats.
Rage surged in Lin’s chest. He didn’t hesitate. The chains constricted, piercing through the creature’s body. It convulsed, shrieking, until the crimson glow in its eyes sputtered and died.
When its body finally fell limp, dissolving into a foul-smelling slurry, the tunnel fell silent again.
But not for long.
From the walls themselves, a faint tremor rippled outward. Cracks widened. Crimson veins pulsed brighter.
Min-joon’s face went pale. "It—it called your name. How does it know you?"
Lin’s voice came out low and sharp. "Because the abyss always knows."
Keller lowered his rifle, jaw tight. "That thing wasn’t just a monster. It was human once."
"Yes," Hwan said softly, almost reverently. "Surface dwellers exposed to the abyss too long. It doesn’t consume them outright—it remakes them, threads them into its will. That one... it recognized him because Lin is no longer separate from the abyss. He is bound to it."
Lin turned, his eyes blazing. "Explain."
Hwan met his stare calmly, the crimson glow in his eyes steady. "You think you chained the abyss, but the abyss chained you. Every step you take, every breath—it knows. You’re not hiding from it. You’re walking into its heart."
The words rang in the silence, undeniable.
And Lin realized, with a sinking certainty, that the whispers in his head weren’t just remnants.
They were a beacon.