My Death Contract

The dead do not rest in Eldrith. Not truly.

Their whispers slither through the wind, their memories cling to the ruins of forgotten temples, and their souls—if one is desperate enough—can be bought.

Caius Valerian had once fought to keep the dead where they belonged. Now, he stood at the edge of the underworld, prepared to drag one back.

The obsidian gates of Nyxwraith loomed before him, cut from the bones of forgotten gods. Veins of crimson light pulsed through the black stone, slow and rhythmic—like a heartbeat. Beyond them, the underworld called to him, a labyrinth of shadows and broken souls, where death was currency and the gods played their cruelest games.

A gust of wind rolled down the cliffs, thick with the scent of scorched earth and something bitter—like old blood that had seeped too deep into the ground to ever be washed away. Caius inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of the place settle over him. The air here was heavy, pressing against his skin like unseen hands. The living did not belong in Nyxwraith.

But he had stopped feeling alive the day Seraphine burned.

The memory was a brand on his soul. The way her voice had cracked, raw and furious, as she cursed the gods with her final breath. The way the flames had devoured her skin, the scent of burning flesh thick in the air. The way he had failed her.

Caius forced the thought aside, focusing on the path ahead. He reached for the iron flask at his hip and took a slow drink, the burn of cheap whiskey grounding him, if only for a moment. His fingers traced the worn handle of his sword—a habit, nothing more. A blade would do him no good here.

The ground beneath his boots trembled, a deep vibration that seemed to come from the core of the earth itself. Then, a voice—soft as silk, cold as winter’s first breath.

“Enter, mortal.”

The gates groaned open without a single touch.

Beyond them, the underworld waited.

The Descent

Stepping forward was an act of surrender, but Caius did it anyway.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, a shiver rippled through him, like ice spreading through his veins. The gates slammed shut behind him with a deafening finality.

A bridge stretched ahead, suspended over an abyss so dark it swallowed the torchlight. Shadows slithered beneath the surface like creatures lurking. The moment his boot touched the obsidian surface, something shifted. The entire world seemed to hold its breath. Then—movement.

The abyss below him was no longer empty.

Shapes writhed in the dark, shifting just beyond the reach of the dim red glow from the gates. They did not have bodies, not truly—only shadows, stretching too far, mouths where there should have been nothing. They made no sound, but Caius could feel them watching.

The weight of their hunger pressed against his bones.

He kept walking.

One step. Another.

The bridge did not creak. It did not sway. It simply was, unbothered by the abyss waiting below.

The air grew heavier with each step, thick like oil, settling over his skin, clawing at his lungs.

Then, a voice slithered through the silence, cold as winter’s first breath.