Voidborne:The Soul sea chronicles

Eliot lay beneath the weight of countless corpses, his body frozen in pain and fear. The cold press of dead flesh against his chest was suffocating, and the smell of blood and decay filled his nostrils, making it impossible to think clearly. His armor was cracked and broken, his body weakened and injured, and the wound in his side throbbed with every shallow breath he took. He didn't know how long he had been lying there, only that he couldn't afford to move. Not yet.

The battlefield stretched around him like an unending nightmare. The ground was torn and uneven, littered with bodies, broken weapons, and shattered armor. Flames burned sporadically in the distance, casting a flickering orange glow over the destruction. The air was thick with smoke and ash, and the cries of the dying pierced through the chaos like a grim symphony. Eliot squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay still, to ignore the cacophony of death and destruction around him.

He pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side, trying to stem the bleeding. His body felt foreign and fragile, though he knew it was stronger than the one he had once called his own. Blood seeped through his fingers, sticky and warm, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer if he didn't find a way to recover. The battlefield offered no such respite. He was alone, surrounded by death, and the reality of his situation was almost too much to bear.

His mind wandered, unbidden, back to the void.

It had been endless, suffocating, and silent. In the dark void, there had been no light, no sound, no hope. He had drifted for what felt like an eternity, trapped in the crushing weight of nothingness. Time had lost all meaning, and despair had become his only companion. He had thought he would be lost there forever, his very existence eroded by the endless silence. Even now, the memory of it sent a shiver through him. The void had left its mark on him, changing him in ways he didn't fully understand. His soul, once human, had become something… other. It was the reason he was still alive, though he didn't yet know how or why.

A faint sound pulled him from his thoughts. A groan, low and pained, barely audible over the chaos of the battlefield. Eliot froze, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise. He spotted it after a moment—a soldier slumped against a shattered weapon, his armor cracked and bloodied. The man's head hung low, his body trembling as blood pooled beneath him. But it wasn't the man's injuries that caught Eliot's attention. It was his eyes.

Hopelessness. Despair.

Eliot felt his chest tighten as the soldier's hollow gaze met his. It was like looking into a mirror, a cruel reflection of himself. He saw in the man's expression the same crushing hopelessness he had felt in the void, the same resignation to a fate he couldn't escape. Memories of the void surged to the forefront of his mind, raw and unrelenting. He had been this man once—broken, desperate, and alone.

A sharp pang of guilt and fear stabbed through Eliot's chest. He wanted to look away, to bury himself deeper in the mound of corpses and focus on his own survival. He couldn't afford to help anyone else, not when he was barely clinging to life himself. But he couldn't move. Those eyes wouldn't let him.

Before he could make a decision, a new sound reached his ears—a sharp, guttural growl. His breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the source. A figure was moving through the wreckage, its jagged silhouette illuminated by the distant flames. It was humanoid in shape, but its movements were jerky and unnatural, like a puppet being dragged on strings. Its armor was twisted and broken, its body riddled with wounds that should have rendered it incapable of standing. Yet it moved, relentless and unyielding, its lifeless eyes scanning the battlefield.

The figure's gaze locked onto Eliot, and it began to move toward him. Panic surged through his chest as the creature closed the distance, its movements growing faster, more aggressive. Eliot's grip tightened on the broken sword in his hand, his heart pounding in his ears. He knew he couldn't fight like this. He was too weak, too injured. But he didn't have a choice.

The creature lunged at him, its jagged claws slashing through the air. Eliot reacted instinctively, raising the broken sword to block the attack. The blade met the creature's arm with a dull clang, the force of the impact jarring Eliot's arm and nearly knocking the weapon from his grasp. The creature didn't stop. It swung again, its movements wild and frenzied, and Eliot barely managed to duck out of the way.

He stumbled back, his vision swimming as pain lanced through his side. The creature pressed the attack, relentless in its pursuit. Eliot swung the sword in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but the blade barely scratched the creature's armor. He could feel his strength waning, his body faltering under the strain. He couldn't keep this up.

The creature lunged again, its claws aimed for Eliot's throat. Time seemed to slow as Eliot raised his free hand in a futile attempt to block the attack. But instead of the sharp pain he expected, something else happened.

A pulse of energy erupted from his outstretched hand, invisible but tangible, rippling through the air like a shockwave. The creature froze mid-attack, its body convulsing violently as the energy coursed through it. Eliot stared in shock as the creature's form began to crack and splinter, glowing fissures spreading across its twisted body. With a sound like shattering glass, the creature crumbled into a pile of ash, its remains scattering in the wind.

Eliot stood there, breathing heavily, his hand still outstretched. His mind raced, struggling to process what had just happened. He looked down at his hand, his fingers trembling. He could still feel the faint echo of the energy that had erupted from within him, like a spark that refused to fade. It wasn't something he had consciously done. It had been instinctive, a desperate response to the danger he faced.

He didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't normal. Whatever had happened to him in the void, whatever had changed him, it had left him with something… powerful. Dangerous.

His thoughts were interrupted by a weak, pained voice. "Help… me…" The soldier's voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to pull Eliot back to the present. He turned to the man, his heart heavy with guilt and uncertainty.

Eliot knelt beside the soldier, his trembling hands reaching for the man's armor. He didn't know if he could help, didn't know if there was anything he could do, but he couldn't walk away. He couldn't leave the man to die alone. Not when he had the power to make a difference.

The soldier's eyes brimmed with tears, his voice breaking as he whispered, "My family… I promised them I would come back safe… but it seems fate has other plans for me." A tear slipped down his bloodied cheek, his lips quivering as he continued, "My little girls… who will take care of them now, in this harsh world?"

Eliot's chest tightened painfully at the words, the man's anguish cutting through him like a blade. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The man's sorrow was raw, tangible, and it hit Eliot like a physical blow. He had been drowning in his own despair for so long that he hadn't considered what it meant to care for others, to have something to lose. The soldier's words brought that reality crashing down around him.

"You're not alone," Eliot muttered, more to himself than to the soldier. His voice was shaky, but there was a quiet determination in it. "Not with me here."