Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion-Chapter 118: Hunger Below

The Maw was colder than death.

Each step deeper felt to peel the warmth from Ian’s skin with invisible fingers, until even the memory of sunlight felt like a lie.

There was no breeze—not remotely, no echo, no life.

Just silence, thick and complete, as if the stone devoured sound.

And yet...

There was something in the dark. It wasn’t footsteps. Not breathing.

Hunger.

The path wound downward as if a throat. Runes beat faintly on the walls—red, old, and cracked with age.

They bled light in uneven streams, it were like they reacted to the mana around them.

More than once, Ian could see his own breath flash in the faint glow.

Lyra walked ahead, a knife in one hand, her eyes scanning for traps. Caelen had taken rear guard, occasionally pausing to mark the walls with chalk.

Ian remained in the center, scroll half-unfurled in his left hand, Vowbreaker ready in his right.

"It’s not just dark," Caelen muttered. "It’s limiting. I can’t feel my core properly. Like something’s pressing on it."

Ian nodded. "The Maw eats mana. That’s what the texts said."

"And we thought that was a metaphor," Lyra sighed. "Fantastic."

They turned into a chamber shaped like a ribcage—curved bone spires arching from floor to ceiling, hollowed like the fossilized corpse of a beast, a really old one.

The scroll glowed in Ian’s hand as they entered, the ink shifting again.

A new line formed at the bottom:

"The Vault of Teeth does not open for cowards."

A low click echoed.

Then a rumble.

And the far end of the chamber unfolded like a mouth.

Massive stone jaws, shaped like fangs, split apart to reveal a corridor bathed in red light. From the darkness beyond, a metallic scent drifted out—iron, stale blood, and the scent of ash.

Ian stepped forward.

Then paused.

Movement.

He turned—and the rune-marked doorway behind them closed, vanishing into smooth wall.

They were sealed in.

"Well," Lyra said, "I guess we’re committed."

They descended through the mouth-like tunnel, steps echoing into the red-soaked dark.

The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—thick, dense, like walking through water. Mana resisted their presence, pressing against their minds like a pressure headache.

Then they entered the chamber.

It was circular, wide, and lined with pillars that spiraled toward a central pedestal. Upon it lay a relic—a silver medallion etched with runes, glowing faintly.

A relic of the old gods.

Ian didn’t move toward it.

Because there was something else in the chamber.

Not visible.

But there.

The air shook. The light dimmed. And then from the shadows above, it dropped.

A creature made of teeth.

It had no eyes, no skin—just a twisting mass of bone and fangs, shrieking as it slammed into the stone in front of them.

Dozens of jaws clacked in unison, forming a horrific rhythm as it rose, supported by too many limbs that bent the wrong way.

Caelen drew his blade. "Void take me..."

Ian stepped forward. "Don’t waste spells. You’ll need your mana to survive down here."

Lyra backed into the shadows, already preparing a trap.

The beast screeched.

And lunged.

Ian met it mid-charge.

Vowbreaker flashed.

It tore through bone—but not easily. The creature’s body reformed around the cut, bones re-knitting in unnatural ways. Teeth grew where none had been.

A jaw opened along its spine and bit for Ian’s throat.

He ducked, slid, rolled beneath it, and stabbed upward.

His blade hit something soft.

A howl erupted.

The beast thrashed, and Ian was thrown across the chamber, skidding along the blood-slick stone.

Caelen was there an instant later, slashing high and wide, carving through a row of jaws. Lyra’s traps detonated beneath it—explosions of light and sound that disoriented, but didn’t kill.

Ian rose.

His eyes were burning now.

It rushed through him.

Not mana. Not soul essence.

But Corruption.

It was worse here.

It slithered into him like oil, and the whispering began.

Feed. Burn. Break.

He ignored it.

"Bloodflame." His voice was low, calm.

Vowbreaker ignited in crimson fire.

The beast lunged again.

And this time, Ian met it.

The first slash severed three limbs. The second pierced through its mass of bone, lodging in what passed for its core. The third—

He drove his blade downward, the Bloodflame igniting from the inside out.

The thing screeched.

Convulsed.

Collapsed.

And then turned to ash.

Only silence remained.

No applause.

No celebration.

This wasn’t the arena.

Just the soft pulsing of the relic on the pedestal.

Ian approached it.

It kept pulsing brighter as he neared. The runes etched into it flared, reading his essence, his bloodline, his truth.

Then it all went still.

And allowed itself to be taken.

He slipped it into a pouch and turned to the others.

[One Relic obtained: Hunger ]

"One down."

Lyra whistled. "This might be easier than we thought."

"Perhaps," Ian said.

Caelen exhaled slowly. "This is one of how many?"

Ian unfolded the scroll again. "Nine relics. Each person get the location. But for the rest we’d have to steal it off corpses."

"So we keep going."

Ian nodded. "And we move fast. The others won’t be far behind."

As if summoned by those words, the walls shuddered.

A howl echoed down the tunnel. Not the screech of the bone-beast. A different sound.

More human.

More numerous.

"Others entered the Vault," Caelen muttered.

"Yeah," Ian confirmed.

Ian would have no problem slaughtering the lot right here and now, however he thought about it—wouldn’t it be more productive for them to gather relics first and then bring them to him before they die.

"They’re waiting."

Lyra swallowed. "Then let’s not wait with them."

They moved fast through the next tunnel, using the scroll’s glow to guide them through the darkness.

Every chamber seemed older than the last, more alive with magic that necer forgets.

Some rooms whispered in voices only Ian could hear. Others recoiled from him, the shadows shrinking away as if recognizing what he was.