Mitch plummeted through the darkness. Cold, choking air rushed past him in a frenzy. His heart hammered as he tumbled, surrounded by a darkness that stretched on endlessly in all directions.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” The words tore soundlessly from his throat as he twisted mid-fall.

  I didn’t think this through. What am I going to land on?

  A fresh surge of panic rolled over him.

  I know my body’s strong. But…how strong? Sable is already falling apart too.

  He caught a brief glimpse of her falling figure just ahead, her form swallowed by the murky dark. Stretching out an arm, he grasped at the empty air. She was well past him.

  Suddenly the air seemed to thicken. The scent of iron invaded his senses. A faint red sheen appeared below, growing brighter and closer. Until he could make out its sickening surface.

  With a brutal impact, Mitch plunged into something warm and slightly dense.

  A pool engulfed him. Thick and clinging. Mitch broke the surface, choking and gasping as he fought to keep himself afloat. Its metallic tang filled his mouth and nostrils from the impact.

  It was a pool carved into stone. Filled with blood.

  Through the waving red liquid, he saw a pale, patchwork arm breaking the surface. His instincts kicked in. Rex growled in his mind, his black form covered in the gore. Even the Shadowshroud knew something was wrong with this.

  “Sable!” He lunged through the thick mess. His hand dipped into the gore as he seized her arm and yanked her up. Holding her body tight, he felt how limp she was. Her breaths were shallow and her head lolled to the side. But she was somehow still alive.

  Mitch’s stomach turned as he waded his way through the viscous liquid. His boots slipped against the stone at the bottom. Gripping Sable tightly, he pulled her toward the edge of the pit.

  The weight of her limp body pressed against him. Leaping out of the pool first, he managed to drag her out of the crimson bath. He laid her on the cold, slick stone floor.

  Blood ran in thick rivulets down her pale skin. Her patchwork form was loose, painted in chunky shades of red. She looked worse than before, with a slack body and limbs splayed. Her threads were visibly loose along her stitches and most importantly, at her neck.

  Her breath was coarse, wheezing through the unfastened parts. Just barely keeping pace.

  “Come on, Sable…hold on,” he muttered, bruising a strand of blond blood-matted hair from her face.

  He glanced down at her body and noticed a frayed piece of thread protruding from her split light leather armor. Carefully, he grasped it.

  Practice first. Neck last. She’s still breathing.

  His fingers were slick and trembling, but he began to run the black wire through her flesh. Closing the gaps of her as best as he could. Twisting his fingers tightly and tugging her back together, the thread seemed to stitch the section more solidly.

  She flinched with every pull, moaning through the process.

  Good, means she’s still here.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I came after you. You’ve already fought so hard.”

  She shuddered, her eyelids flickering as they opened. Revealing her one yellow eye and one red eye. They were barely focused. “Why…” Her voice was a rasp, trailing off from her stretched vocal cords. She tried again. “Why…did you come?”

  Mitch looked at her. “Because I won’t leave you,” he said firmly. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  She blinked slowly, a flicker of strength in her gaze. Before she could respond, Mitch’s attention was drawn to the other side of the large room. Black rock jutted from all angles, the ceiling spiraling infinitely upwards. The walls were coated in moisture and far too few glowstones to see properly.

  However, against the far wall, a swirling barrier of purple Abyssal energy pulsed with a menacing hum. It blocked off whatever lay beyond. There was only a void behind the single piece of furniture that waited.

  Just behind the Abyssal wall sat a simple desk. Utterly out of place amidst the chaos. It sat pristinely and beyond reach.

  Something tugged at his chest. A vibrating pull directing him toward the Abyssal wall.

  Looking down for a moment, Mitch remembered the key he had around his neck from Mathilda, the vampire shopkeep. The key recognized something in that direction.

  Attention back on Sable, Mitch unsheathed his soul sword. He lowered it to Sable’s exposed threads to tidy them up. Slicing carefully, he managed with the available material to the best of his ability. Careful not to add to her torment.

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  Something shifted in her limp hand. A faint shimmer caught his eye–a thin coil of metal wire sliding out from beneath the skin of her palm.

  Mitch’s fingers tightened around her hand, holding the wire steady. With quick, precise cuts, he split the wire into manageable segments. Thankfully, his hand was mostly steady as he held the wire.

  “This should keep you together,” he said, a grim smile on his face as he began to thread the wire across her exposed body. His fingers were slick with blood, but he ignored it, focussing on tying each wire tight.

  Slowly, he wove her patchwork form back together. His hands worked with urgency. Each pull drew her form closer, binding her back together. Wires tightened around her arms, reinforced her threads, and bit by bit, she began to look whole again.

  As he worked, his face was mere inches from hers, close enough to feel her breath against his cheek. Her faint breaths hitched as he stitched the wire through her neck.

  “You’re still here,” he murmured, feeling her warmth return beneath his hands. He met her gaze, hands lingering as he tightened the final wire. “I told you. I’m not letting you go.”

  Her lips parted as her gaze softened. Though she said nothing, the faint flicker of life in her eyes spoke volumes. She was whole again, piece by piece. At least mostly.

  “Well, well, well. Quite the fall you had there, wouldn’t you say?” A voice said from the wall.

  Mitch turned sharply, his jaw tightening and souls within his core backing themselves in a corner as a figure stepped into view from behind the Abyssal wall.

  A half-orc stood tall, watching them with twisted amusement. His movements were cold and exact as he strolled over to the desk and took his seat. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled a notebook, laying it open as though preparing to record his observations. A red ring glinted on one of his hands.

  From the bar. This is the same half-orc from the bar with Hathgar!

  The man's eyes were a cold black. They held none of the warmth of life, only a calculated detachment. With a block chin, unpitted smooth skin, and a trimmed, thin mustache, he should have been attractive. His slightly hunched form draped in plain brown clothing looked overly relaxed. But the man’s presence immediately sparked dread within MItch.

  “Who the hell are you?” Mitch growled, instinctively placing himself between Sable and the man’s gaze.

  “Ah, formalities.” He tapped his pen thoughtfully on the notebook, then pointed it towards Mitch’s chest. “You may call me the Warden. Your friend, Hathgar does, at least. And you, my dear Mitch, are about to become a most…fascinating study.”

  Mitch’s stomach dropped at mention of his friend’s name.

  The Warden’s smirk grew, savoring Mitch’s reaction. “Yes, your dwarf friend, Hathgar. Well, more like half a dwarf now, I suppose. Let’s just say he didn’t handle his…introductory procedures with the grace I’d hoped for.” He gave a slow, mocking shrug. “Shame. But, I believe you’ll be much more cooperative. Your unique talents are precisely what’s needed to expedite things.” He tapped his pen lightly against his notebook as if writing imaginary notes.

  “Leave Hathgar out of this. Where is he?” Mitch hissed, his voice barely containing his fury.

  The Warden raised a brow, “Oh, but Hathgar is very much part of this. You see, every piece has its purpose here in the Abyss, and your friend is just another component. Quite remarkable, really, the way he’s adapted.” His gaze shifted to Sable, who had sat herself up. “And the Patchling. Quite the little survivor, aren’t you?”

  Sable’s face was pale, but her eyes flashed with defiance. “Keep talking. The more you speak, the less impressive you seem.”

  The Warden laughed softly. “I do enjoy a little fight in my subjects.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “But tell me, Scrapling, what is it you’re really looking for, hm? Are you hoping the Abyss will just leave your soul lying around? That it just waits for you like a lost pet?”

  That’s what she’s looking for. Mitch had seen her desperation at traversing the Abyss. He understood Sable’s determination all the more.

  Sable’s expression faltered for a moment before she steeled herself again. “Fuck you.”

  “Hmm. Apologies, but I do not indulge in…scraps. That would be unnatural. Disgusting, even,” The Warden casually, before his tone turned cold. “Let’s not dwell on the impossible, shall we? Instead, let’s focus on what’s right in front of us–like Mitch here. The Abyss is practically singing about you.” The Warden leaned back again. “All that untapped potential. I hate to see it wasted.”

  The man raised his hand with the red ring. Mitch felt a tightening pressure in his chest. The souls within him quivering, pulling back in fear.

  The Warden was also a Collector, it seemed.

  What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

  Mitch could feel it. The metal probe he could send at the bottom of his quest. To give up and die.

  Do you give up?

  No.

  “Oh yes, this will be most helpful. It takes far too long to acquire souls from natural or unnatural deaths. This will help production tremendously. I dare say it'll let me get the attention I deserve.” The man’s voice was curled with satisfaction.

  Above them, a sound drew Mitch’s attention. A shuffling, low and labored, accompanied by sickening wet smacking noise. Mitch glanced up, his eyes met with a horrifying sight.

  A bloated figure loomed over the edge of the pit. A hulking, greasy man with piggish features and yellowed, broken teeth. His beady eyes scanned below with an undisguised pleasure. He wore a blood-caked butchers apron and nothing else.

  Clutched in his meaty hands was a sac. Several screeches howled in the heavy canvas, writhing like caught prey to be slaughtered.

  “Ah, right on time,” the Warden said, casting the piggish man a brief nod of approval. “You’ll come to know him as Butcher. He ensures our guests are welcomed. And he keeps the Abyss well fed.”

  Butcher leaned over, a twisted grin spreading on his fat face. “Time for the new playthings,” he squeaked. The piggish man jostled the bag, sending the creatures trapped within into a frenzy.

  “You’re going to fucking regret this,” Mitch’s voice was ice.

  “Oh, I don’t have regrets,” the Warden’s eyes did not match the smile on his face. He lifted his ringed hand and pointed it directly at Mitch’s chest. The pressure on his core grew, intense and suffocating. The souls within clawed the walls, desperate to stay inside.

  “Welcome to the Pit,” Butcher barked out a laugh and untied the bag.

  The pressure continued to grow in Mitch’s chest. But the Warden wouldn't finish the Skill, taunting Mitch as he slowly dragged the souls out.

  Butcher dumped the sack into the Pit.