Those who dare touch the [Abyss] will ultimately be devoured by it.
But that process... takes far too long.
So long, in fact, that to those who loathe the Abyss, letting an [Abyssal Pactbearer] survive even one more day is sin enough. Which is why, when a trace of the Abyss is found, it must be purged. No hesitation. No innocence. No mercy. This is the creed of the [Farron Undying].
Their brutal fame was earned not through glory—but through ruthlessness.
The Kingdom of Karthas once stood tall.
It thrived in perverse prosperity, conquering and plundering its neighbors. Under its brutal king, Vornir, it reached its peak. Hundreds of [Gold-tier] supernaturals, each forged in bloody warfare, stood under his banner.
Vornir, a godless tyrant, eventually stepped into the Unseen Domain.
And yet, despite its might, Karthas was wiped out.
Not by war. Not by famine. But by the [Farron Undying].
Every last citizen was slain. The wolfblooded knights dismantled the kingdom, limb by limb, using the cruelest methods. They made the Pactbearers watch as their empire was flayed alive. For over a year, the Undying raided like wolves in winter. No season slowed them.
Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.
Whenever the howl of wolfblood echoed, death followed.
Even the scarecrows they left behind were made of skinned corpses.
Karthas crumbled in six months.
But the Undying weren’t done. They spent seven more months hunting the scattered Pactbearers across the wastelands. One by one, they were dragged back to the capital gates, where they were burned alive—begging, screaming, repenting. No plea spared them.
When the last one remained—the "Overlord" Vornir—he was found kneeling at his throne, broken, weeping, and begging the gods for mercy.
But mercy never came.
Though the nation was erased, the corruption of the Abyss lingered.
So the [Farron Undying] built [Farron Fortress] atop the ruins. From there, they would guard the world from the Abyss' spread.
And whenever the beacon of Farron Fortress is lit, the Pactbearers tremble.
"We are not warriors. Not believers. We are the Watchers. We guard this world from the Abyss. We are the nightmare that haunts those who abandoned their humanity. And if we cannot stop you... we will make you suffer. Fear, eternal fear, shall be your curse. Touch the Abyss, and the nightmare comes.
By the blood of the wolf." — Captain of the [Farron Undying]
Centuries have passed, but the name of the [Farron Undying] still strikes fear.
As Sir John said—they had become kindling for the First Flame.
But [Lords of Kindling] are unlike others. Their obsession, their sacred purpose, gives them power even in death. If called upon, they can rise again—stronger than ever, wielding both flame and their former might.
The Radiant Church knows how to awaken them.
Archbishop Mark’s cryptic smile hinted at a backup plan: if the nobles kept stalling, then he, as the church’s regional guardian, would invoke the true enemy of the Abyss.
Though rare, Sir John dared not gamble.
The church had issued its silent ultimatum: if the nobles refused to act, the church would break their hold—violently.
"Perhaps... perhaps we should renegotiate," Sir John muttered, wiping sweat as he slumped back in his chair. He looked much less confident now, his makeup running with determination.
"Name's Moll. You can call me Captain Moll."
A man of the sea, Captain Moll liked to think he'd seen it all. Storms, pirates, drunken gods, strange ports. He thought himself worldly.
But when those black, oily things slithered out of corpses... he pissed himself.
"Listen to me. Please, Sister. You and your brave lads—this place ain't safe. Help a soul out, untie me, yeah?"
Still tied up, Captain Moll gave Maria a hopeful look. She was clearly the leader. And gorgeous too. In better circumstances, he might've flirted.
"Don’t be afraid, Captain. We’re specialists in dealing with... those things," Maria lied smoothly.
"Alright, Sister. What do you want?"
"Where are they nesting? How many of them are there? Where are they gathering?" Maria asked the questions everyone wanted to know.
"If I tell you, will you let me go?"
"I’ll loosen your ropes. Then we’ll see." She didn’t need to say more. The implication was clear.
Captain Moll sighed, then began to recount his horrors.
Since autumn, people around Emerald Port had started vanishing. At first, no one noticed. It wasn’t uncommon for drifters to disappear.
But entire blocks began going dark. Panic spread.
They begged the lord's manor and the church for help. They were told: investigations were underway.
The vanishings continued.
Those who could flee, fled. Those who couldn't... waited.
Then the missing came back.
Or rather—the things that used to be them.
As Moll spoke, a cold dread crawled over the party.
To witness horror, yet be powerless to stop it—to drown in darkness, voiceless and alone—that was the true terror of the Abyss.
A monstrous, inhuman shriek ripped through the night.
Moll's face went pale.