The Salt Warrens unfolded before them like a twisted underworld of crystalline spires and narrow gullies, each step a journey deeper into a living labyrinth of salt and decay. The brine-filled channels rose like dark rivers across the bleached, skeletal landscape, and every so often the stagnant pools hissed and popped with a strange energy that hinted at the lurking power of Oblivion. The air carried the acrid tang of corroded metal and ancient saltwater, and every glistening wall seemed to pulse with a sickly phosphorescence, causing the shadows to writhe and shift as if they were alive.
Kael led the group through the maze, his corrupted arm now bound in a makeshift sling—a desperate measure to delay the inevitable spread of the rot. As he walked, his mind churned with unspoken thoughts. Every step brought with it the weight of memories from the Ashen Market's ruins, where hope had once flickered against overwhelming despair. Now, amid the jagged salt and treacherous gullies, Kael wondered if the decay was not only in their bodies but also in their souls. Was this endless march through oblivion a punishment, or a path toward something beyond the suffering? He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the immediate danger ahead.
Gutter limped at his side, her once-brilliant crystalline fur now dulled to a smoky gray, the jagged stump of her hind leg a constant reminder of their recent clash with the Progenitor. Behind them, Mira leaned heavily on Talis; her leg, still bandaged in blood-soaked synth-flesh salvaged from the market, a fragile testament to survival. Ryn followed at the rear, his usual sharp wit subdued beneath the weight of the void-Shard remnant he clutched—a dark, pulsing orb that warped the light around it like a gravitational wound in the fabric of reality.
As they pressed deeper into the warrens, the environment grew more oppressive. The very walls seemed to breathe, alive with erratic energy as Oblivion filaments snaked through the salt, whispering secrets of ancient power. Occasionally, the ground would tremble beneath their feet, and a nearby salt spire would collapse, shattering into razor-edged fragments that scattered like shards of broken dreams. Mira's voice, hoarse and cautious, warned them to watch the pools where the brine, with its insidious appetite, could dissolve synth-flesh in moments. Ryn, wincing at the sight of his shredded boots with blistered, exposed toes, managed a sardonic comment about what little remained to be devoured by the ceaseless hunger of the salt. Even as they traded wary glances, Talis's silent, urgent signs reminded them that they were not alone—that unseen eyes were always watching from within the salt.
The ambush came suddenly, in a narrow gully where the suffocating walls pressed in with an almost palpable malice. Out of the oppressive darkness, a Progenitor descended with a quiet, predatory grace. It was not the bluster of a mere creature but an embodiment of something far more profound and terrible—a force whose power was hinted at in every subtle distortion of gravity and every trembling of the ancient salt. Kael felt the air change, a shift that spoke of something immense and indifferent, a power so vast that its presence was felt more in the disruption of nature than in any overt display.
In that heartbeat, the Progenitor revealed itself: a spectral figure marked by twin Shards that blazed like distant stars in its chest.
The Progenitor did not fight. It unmade.
Its twin Shards burned in the gloom of the Salt Warrens—crimson and void-black, their energies warping the air into a dissonant scream. Kael's lungs burned with brine and static as he staggered backward, his corrupted arm hanging limp, the rot's black veins clawing up his neck. The creature moved like a shadow given teeth, every step deliberate, every strike precise. It did not roar. It did not need to.
Gravity inverted.
Talis slammed into the ceiling, armor screeching as salt-spurs erupted around them. Mira collapsed, her leg buckling under the sudden weight shift. Gutter lunged, her crystalline fangs snapping at the Progenitor's flank, but the crimson Shard pulsed, and the salt beneath her detonated. Jagged spikes speared her regenerating leg, pinning her to the ground. Her howl splintered the air.
Kael's venom surged—a feeble, sputtering thing. He spat, the acid sizzling weakly against the Progenitor's geode. The creature turned its head, eyes glowing with cold recognition. It knew him. The rot in Kael's veins mirrored its own corruption, a kinship of decay.
Adapt.
The word tore through him, sharp as a shard. His Shard twisted, venom pooling in his throat—thicker now, gelid, freezing. He spat again. Frost spiderwebbed across the Progenitor's crimson geode, brittle cracks spreading. The creature staggered, muscles seizing.
Not enough.
The Progenitor's void-Shard flared. Gravity snapped sideways, hurling Kael into a salt spire. Crystalline edges tore through his side, blood black and foamy. His vision blurred, but he felt it—the Shard adapting, venom shifting again. Neurotoxin this time, thin and silver. He spat.
The Progenitor's claw froze mid-swipe, tendons locking. For a heartbeat, it trembled.
Still not enough.
The crimson Shard pulsed, dissolving the toxin. The Progenitor lunged, claws carving the air. Kael ducked, salt-spurs erupting where his head had been. His venom churned, acidic once more, but weaker, diluted. He spat. The Progenitor didn't flinch.
Adapt. Adapt. Adapt.
The Shard's rhythm matched his heartbeat, frantic, desperate. Venom seared his veins—corrosive, neurotoxic, cryogenic—each shift a hammer blow to his body. The rot climbed higher, salt-spurs tearing through his jawline. Black blood dripped from his chin, sizzling in the brine.
Talis broke free, gauntlets slamming into the Progenitor's back. The creature pivoted, void-Shard flaring. Gravity inverted again, and Talis crashed into the ceiling, armor buckling. The Progenitor's claw lashed out—not at Talis, but at Mira, who crouched defenseless, her shard-eye shattered.
Talis moved.
Their body collided with the Progenitor's strike, taking the blow meant for Mira. The claw tore through their chestplate, salt-spurs erupting from the wound. Talis crumpled, blood pooling black and thick beneath them.
The Progenitor stepped back, head tilting. Studying.
Gutter thrashed, snapping her teeth at its legs. Ryn hurled an oblivion blade crafted at the moment thanks to his shard. The Progenitor sidestepped, the blade embedding itself in the wall. Salt spires trembled, collapsing in a hail of shrapnel.
Kael's venom shifted one final time—a necrotic sludge, thick and putrid. He spat. The toxin splashed the Progenitor's geode, smoking, eating. The creature recoiled, claws scraping salt.
But it did not fall.
It stared at Kael, eyes burning with something like curiosity. Then it vanished, melting into the Warrens' shadows as silently as it had come.
The silence was worse than the fight.
Talis lay motionless, chestplate shattered, breath whistling through broken ribs. Mira crawled to them, hands trembling as she pressed synth-flesh to the wound. It dissolved on contact, the salt in Talis's blood rejecting it.
Gutter dragged herself to Kael's side, her leg a shattered mosaic of crystal. Ryn slumped against the wall, the blade remnant clutched in his bleeding hand.
Kael's venom settled, spent. The rot had reached his temple, salt-spurs jutting from his skin like broken glass. His Shard hungered, but there was nothing left to give.
Mira looked up, her voice raw. "It's… still out there."
No one replied.
The Warrens hummed in agreement.