The Crimson Descent

A man covered in dirt and dented armor was falling—fast. The rocky walls rushed by like gray lightning. He didn’t know how long he had been falling. Time had stopped making sense. The tunnel was pitch black, but somehow he could still see the jagged stone around him. It wasn’t sunlight that lit this place—something else was watching, something that wanted him to see.

It had been freezing when he first entered the tunnel, so cold it had frozen the inside of his nose. Now, though, it was warm. Not just warm—hot, like a fire had been lit deep below. A light was shining far down, just a small speck at first, but it grew brighter with each passing moment.

As his thoughts became clearer, the man began to remember who he was. His name was Vern. He was a soldier, a captain, a warrior. But he couldn’t remember how he ended up falling. The wind around him roared like a monster, trying to tear him apart. The rocks now looked sharper, like dragon teeth jutting up toward the tunnel's mouth. A single hit from those walls would tear him to pieces.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Vern clutched the chain around his neck. On it were three charms: one for the god of men, one for the tree goddess worshipped by nymphs—a gift from royalty—and one carved from oak, shaped like a wolf’s tooth. His little brother had given it to him before he left for war.

He held all three tight as the light ahead grew as large as his hand. The heat rising up the tunnel was almost too much, but Vern screamed into the wind, flipped into a headfirst dive, and grabbed the knife strapped to his chest. It was the only weapon that had stayed with him during the fall.

The light hit him like a blast of magic. The wind vanished. The heat disappeared. Everything went silent. He cut through the light like a bird through water—then silence.

A deep voice echoed: “Captain, that was quite a show. Not many reach the bottom still ready to fight.”

Vern looked up. He was no longer falling. Instead, he was in a giant underground chamber so wide and tall that the ceiling and walls were lost in shadows. He stood on a platform made of dirt and stone, like a piece of the real world had been dropped into this strange place. Around it, instead of water, was a lake of blood. The smell wasn’t foul like he expected. It was clean—fresh.

A stone table sat in the center, with three simple chairs. Vern’s armor creaked as he stood and walked toward the table, looking around for the speaker.

“You were always clever, Vern,” said the voice again, now with a soft giggle. “Show yourself, witch,” Vern growled through a dry throat.

“I’m no witch,” she replied calmly.

He reached the table and took a seat. The table had strange carvings—demonic, perhaps. The grass beneath his feet was dotted with small flowers, just like the Indigo Plains he knew from home.

Something thumped beside him. A green apple.

He picked it up. It was perfect—not a single mark. It reminded him of the apples his family used to grow. Warmth filled his chest.

“You can eat it. It’s safe,” said the voice, now right beside him. “Does it remind you of home?”

He turned quickly. A tall woman stood there—blue-skinned, beautiful, with long black hair and soft moth-like wings on her back. She smiled.

“Who are you?” Vern asked.

“My name is Gwen. I am the Lady of the Lake.”

“What is this place?”

“You died, Vern,” she said gently. “An orc’s man-mauler ran you through. He even bit your head.”

Vern touched his scalp. He could feel the bite mark—and even a broken piece of the orc’s tooth lodged in his skull.“So… I’m dead?” he whispered.

“You were,” Gwen said. “But this is the Lake of Blood. The blood of the damned collects here.”

Vern's stomach turned. He’d done dark things during the war. Things he never spoke of. But was he damned?

“Why the apple?” he asked.“A peace offering. It’s been a long time.”

“Why make peace with someone who’s damned?”

“You’re not. If you were, you’d already be gone—used for fuel in the corpse grinder.”

Vern swallowed hard.

“So why am I here?”

“There’s a monster in the lake. I need someone to kill it.”

“And if I die again?”

“No idea. No one ever has.”

“And if I win?”

“You get anything you want—even a house in the sky.”

Vern stood up. “Then I’ll need my sword.”

He looked out at the blood-red lake, the surface rippling ever so slightly. Somewhere in there, a monster waited—and he was going to find it.