Chapter 39 – Veiled Fang of the Mire
Chapter 39 – Veiled Fang of the Mire
Tyler moved deeper into the heart of the Ebon Hollows, the venom-stained map now useless in his hand. He had already committed the final stretch to memory. There were no more traps now. No swinging vines, no collapsing pits, no sudden barrages of needles from the canopy. Just a long, quiet, deathly path straight into the mire’s final sanctum. But the danger hadn’t vanished. It had changed. It had become quiet. Too quiet.
Thick, gnarled trees arched overhead, their roots forming natural tunnels along the forest floor. Bark peeled like old skin, and twisted branches coiled into the shape of crooked talons. The air shimmered faintly with green fog, and everywhere, the scent of rot and venom lingered. Pools of thick, bubbling green liquid sat in stagnant puddles along the sides of the trail. Some of them hissed when a leaf dropped in, dissolving into steam. The mist here wasn’t thick, but it felt sentient, watching. Listening.
[Entering Sanctuary: Glade of Miasmic Echoes]
Skeletal remains lined the path—some wholly intact, some dismembered, most malformed by exposure to whatever corruption soaked the land. Bits of armour, rusted and broken, peeked out from moss-covered corpses. Others had no faces, just bleached skulls with eternal expressions of agony. These were Muckwood residents, probably. Or wild mobs. Perhaps both.
As Tyler pressed onward, he noticed something in his inventory beginning to vibrate. He opened his pouch.
[Divine Key – Zephryn’s Gale is resonating…]
Tyler narrowed his eyes. So Yandeon was right. The divine keys could sense each other. That meant he was close. Very close.
Eventually, the eerie corridor of trees gave way to an open cavern-like chamber. It was not made by mortals, nor shaped by tools, but formed through centuries of nature twisting upon itself. Black stone coiled around the interior like petrified vines. Venom dripped from the ceiling into glowing puddles below. A faint bioluminescence filled the room—green, purple, sickly blue—from fungi and spores that clung to the damp walls.
And at the centre of it all sat a creature unlike any other Tyler had seen.
[Myrrak, Veiled Fang of the Mire] [Level 111]
He was not massive, as most of his opponents had been, nor violent in aura. Myrrak was small—slender, even. A hybrid of snake and chameleon, his skin shifted slowly between muted greens and browns, matching the environment like a living camouflage. His long tongue flicked lazily, and his eyes glowed dimly under the hood of his own tail, which curled protectively around him.
“So,” Myrrak said, his voice soft and weary, like wind rustling over a still swamp. “Another bearer of the divine arrives. You are alone, and yet… you made it here. I’m impressed.”
Tyler didn’t draw his weapons.
Myrrak continued, lowering his gaze to the puddles near his feet. “There were many before you. Some sought power. Others vengeance. Some simply wandered here out of ignorance. My mists claimed them. My poison turned them into… that.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He gestured toward the chamber’s edges, where skeletons lay slumped in a circle around the chamber.
“They were my followers once. Faithful. Loving. Their chants once echoed through these woods. But as I grew stronger, so too did the potency of my venom. They could no longer stay near me. My presence burned them. My breath corroded them. In the end… I banished them. To protect them. Or so I thought.”
He curled tighter into himself. “It didn’t matter. They came back anyway. They all died.”
Tyler remained silent. The story hit a little too close.
“The mists you fought through,” Myrrak said, “were not traps. They were shields. To keep people away from me. To keep me away from people. My sanctuary became a tomb. My venom, my curse.”
The Primordial Beast raised his eyes slowly, meeting Tyler’s.
“I suppose you’re here for the Divine Key. Very well. Strike me down and take it. I won’t resist. I’m tired. And besides, it’s not as if I can truly die. Not really. I’ll return, eventually. I always do.”
There was a hollow ache in his tone—not fear of death, but a weariness of immortality.
Tyler stood in place, torn by memory. The fight with Zephryn had ended in fire and fury. Tyler had taken the key by force. He remembered the panic, the blood, the desperate resolve to win at all costs. But this time, there was no fight. No aggression. Just quiet resignation.
He stared at the ground, then at the key still faintly glowing in his pouch.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Tyler said. “Not if I don’t have to. Just… give me the key. I need it.”
Myrrak blinked slowly, then tilted his head. “Mercy? From a mortal? Interesting.”
The snake-chameleon hybrid slithered forward and extended a clawed hand. In it rested a pulsating gem of sickly green, marked with intricate fang-shaped etchings.
[Acquired Item: Divine Key (2/5)]
[Divine Key Acquired — Myrrak’s Hollow]
“Here,” Myrrak said. “And take this, too. I believe it will aid you in the challenges ahead.”
[Acquired Runestone — Poison Mist]
[Skill: Poison Mist]
[Unleash a toxic cloud that poisons all targets within range. Deals 20 damage per second for 20 seconds. PE Cost: 12]
Tyler took the items, weighing them both with quiet thought. “You said something earlier. About resurrection.”
“Yes,” Myrrak answered. “We Primordial Beasts are fragments of something older. When we die, we return. Sometimes in months. Sometimes in centuries. But always, eventually. I don’t remember if we were created or born. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.”
Tyler stared at him, unsure what else to say. Eventually, he asked, “Are you going to stay here?”
Myrrak chuckled softly, a hiss layered beneath it. “Where else would I go? The world has no place for me. I am poison incarnate. I cannot touch, cannot speak, cannot be seen without spreading rot. But you… you may be different. You reek of change. Perhaps that is your gift. Or your curse.”
Tyler turned to leave.
“You are not so different from me, you know,” Myrrak called after him. “You wield power that alienates. You walk a path alone, even when surrounded by others. You see the world through eyes clouded by venom.”
Tyler paused but said nothing. And then he walked.
When he emerged from the fog-choked forest and re-entered the clearing, the air was fresher, cleaner. There, still waiting exactly where he had been left, sat Milo in his chair, arms folded and fuming.
“You’re late,” Milo grumbled.
“You’re alive,” Tyler replied, a small smirk breaking through his face. “That’s more important.”
Milo stood, wobbled slightly, and brushed moss from his shell. “Did you fight something in there? You look like you’ve been through a nightmare.”
“No,” Tyler said. “I talked to someone.”
“Talked?” Milo blinked. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah. Not all Primordial Beasts are monsters. Some are just… tired.”
Milo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, he peered at Tyler’s open inventory. “Is that a new runestone?”
“Poison Mist. Should be useful. Maybe.”
He glanced back one last time, at the thick forest that loomed behind them. Whatever Myrrak was now, he was no longer Tyler’s concern. Tyler looked forward.
“Let’s go, Milo. A vast world awaits us.”
And with that, the two vanished into the mist once more.