Level 315 — "Frightful Fables"
rating: +25+x


Class Hunting Grounds

  • Hostile Centralized Oversight
  • Imminent Dangers
  • No Safe Locations

Level 315 is an eerie, finite campsite, veiled in shadows and encompassed within a vast woodland. Heed my words! Attend to the fables of your cherished ones at the blazing campfire, for they may forewarn of what is yet to befall.



A place of solace and refuge, the campsite of Level 315, where beloved ones have set up their home for camping.

Level 315—infamously referred to as "Frightful Fables"—lies as an abnormal, bounded campsite, encircled by a sprawling woodland.1 Its sinister atmosphere pervades, alluring all who dare to traverse its treacherous confines.

The campsite of Level 315 is perpetually engulfed in an abyssal darkness, with the gloom of the surrounding landscape intensifying its oppressive atmosphere. The only way to traverse the inky darkness of the forest is to rely on a beacon of light, for the woods themselves provide no illumination. One must bravely venture forth, pushing aside the shadows that seek to consume them, guided only by a faint glimmer of hope.

In the midst of dangerous terrain, Level 315's only refuge lies in its campsite. It is the sole bastion of safety in a deserted wasteland, where danger lurks around every corner. Though no beasts wander the desolate woodland, the site is adorned with tempting treats placed as traps for the unwary, daring prey. Yet, still it stands, the one beacon of hope in a world of perilous uncertainty.

Level 315's mysterious sky looms ominously, utterly empty of any shining stars or astronomical bodies. A deep, foreboding silence hangs in the air like a heavy fog, as the entire expanse of the heavens remains slightly devoid of illumination. The darkness is overwhelming, and a chill runs through the air, as though the very fabric of space and time has been suspended in this seemingly eternal void.


Upon arriving in Level 315, one is plunged into a world of darkness and despair within the forest,2 with only the distant glimmer of beaming lights guiding the way to the campsite, a sanctuary of hope and safety. To make their way through the oppressive gloom, one must journey towards the beckoning lights, forging ahead in search of freedom. It is vehemently encouraged to abstain from advancing any further into the woods upon arrival, for all who have done so have inexplicably vanished without a hint of their whereabouts.

As the campground of Level 315 draws near, a feeling of dread and terror builds within the individual, as if they were being stalked by a sinister, invisible presence. The fear intensifies the closer they get, generating a deep-seated paranoia and mounting anxiety that threatens to envelop them entirely. Dark, foreboding trees line the path, casting oppressive shadows that seem to be watching them. A petrifying silence hangs in the air, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a seemingly distant bird or animal. Every step brings an increasing sense of unease, as if something terrible is about to happen.


"Are you interested in sharing some frightening fables based on real-life events? It can be exciting to delve into tales that make your skin crawl, rather than relying on fictional stories."

When one eventually emerges from the inky depths of the night and reaches the campground, they will be warmly welcomed by their beloved ones3 from The Frontrooms. The vision of their adoring visages is like a guiding light of solace in the otherwise desolate and forlorn abyss. The wanderer's cherished ones are gathered around a blazing campfire, perched atop logs, or ensconced in a canvas shelter. These beloved individuals, nestled around the campfire, are all spinning their own tales and fables, despite the everlasting shadows that shroud their campsite. They seem oblivious to the looming gloom, their stories providing a momentary respite from the despair.

No matter how long one may remain at the isolated campsite of Level 315, their loved ones will still be recounting tales, often forgetting the wanderer's presence. Even in the most distant of places for the hapless individual, the thought of home will linger, never ceasing to be remembered, yet never fully grasped. They will remain in a state of longing, a phase of nostalgia, a distant time of yearning for the genuine comfort of their dear ones. Even though the wanderer may be separated from their precious ones, they must cling to the hope that their love will endure, that distance and time will not erode the bond they share, and that they will remain forever in each other's thoughts, never to be forgotten.

As one while away the hours listening to their loved ones, be prepared to enter a world beyond imagination, where the fables told are strange and fantastical. This journey will take the wanderer to the far reaches of their mind, where the unknown awaits, and where every utterance reverberates like a haunting whisper from beyond.

Once the fable is recounted by a cherished soul, all sources of radiance are extinguished as if it was a mere lightbulb, plunging the surroundings into the darkness that envelops everything in its inky grasp. In the moment of dread, even those nearest and dearest, will let out a deafening shriek of terror and flee into the obscurity of the woods, ignorant of the inexplicable horrors that lay before them. Their heart-wrenching actions have left the individual with no choice but to be forcibly dragged into the dense, foreboding woods, consumed by the suffocating darkness that engulfs them, all in the wake of their treasured ones' decisions.

Lost in the abyss of the dense, labyrinth-like forest, a mere glimmer of hope tantalizes the brave who dare to venture forward. Those who manage to escape the clutches of the twisted foliage for approximately 15 minutes are suddenly transported to a scenery that is all too recognizable, yet eerily unfamiliar—a cherished one's spine-tingling tale told from the depths of the campfire. This fleeting moment of reprieve from the relentless wilderness serves as a stark reminder of the treacherous journey that awaits, fraught with danger at every turn.

The Frightful Fables:

As aforementioned earlier, the alternate manifestations of Level 315 have been recounted as cautionary fables by those held dear. The presumably sheer magnitude of tales yet untold is beyond comprehension; countless versions of each fable remain unrecorded and undocumented, lost in the mists of time and memory. Despite enduring numerous expeditions and investigations, it has become abundantly apparent that a multitude of legendary narratives are frequently recounted within the terrain of Level 315's campground.



In the unforgiving glare of the night sky, The Midnight Jogger runs alone, traversing a bleak and lifeless boulevard.

The unsettling tale of "The Midnight Jogger" is the most frequently recounted folklore amongst all those gathered around the blazing inferno of the bonfire, situated upon Level 315's campsite. Its harrowing story haunts the minds of all who venture out into the darkness of this fable, stirring a deep sense of dread and unease.

I froze in place, every muscle in my body tense with terror. It couldn't be possible—just moments ago, I was lost in those god-forsaken woods. The fear I felt was raw and visceral, like a predator stalking its prey. As I gazed upon my surroundings, I saw a labyrinth of winding streets and towering buildings that seemed to stretch on forever without a clear end in sight. The atmosphere was suffocating, as if the weight of the world had crushed down on this town, suffusing the very air with despair and hopelessness. It was as though I had been swallowed whole by an endless maze of chaos and confusion, and the more I struggled to pierce through it, the more insurmountable the obstacles appeared.

I stood there, under the midnight sky, gazing up at the towering structures that once made up the town. A cold shiver ran down my spine as I realized that all these buildings had been abandoned for what felt like an eternity. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own footsteps crushing glass and debris underfoot. As I walked past the dilapidated walls and broken windows, I couldn't help but wonder what had caused such a thriving community to crumble into a desolate wasteland. It was as if the town had been cursed, doomed to be forgotten by the world forever.

As I walked down the road, the silence of the wretched place was shattered by the far-off sound of footsteps. It was the first time that I had heard anything resembling the rhythmic movement of a human in this desolate abyss. The clamor of those footsteps echoed through the darkness, somehow sending shivers down my spine. I yearned to come face-to-face with a member of the human race, or even just an entity. But something about the prospect left me quaking in my metaphorical boots. What mysterious force was at play here, filling me with such trepidation?

I retraced my steps, and there it was—a figure, seemingly human! At least that's what my mind could make out from the blurry image. My heart raced as I grasped the implications of my discovery. This was no mere coincidence, but fate pulling me towards this mysterious being. I couldn't ignore it any longer—I had to investigate further! I halted abruptly, my nerves on edge at the sight before me. This being, this supposed "human" figure, was unnaturally gaunt—skeletal, even—and its movements were not those of a mere pedestrian. It was jogging in my direction with an otherworldly glow emanating from its eyes, like beacons of blinding luminescence cutting through the darkness. The scene was surreal yet terrifyingly real, and I could not tear my gaze away from the harrowing vision.

As I fled, my heart pounded with terror and my legs pumped with every ounce of strength I had. Yet still, that ominous presence pursued me relentlessly, its strides matching mine with eerie precision. I sprinted harder, faster than I ever thought possible, but the entity continued its pursuit, unfazed by my efforts to escape. Desperately, I willed my body to keep going, racing towards an uncertain fate as the relentless pounding of feet behind me threatened to close in.

As I ran faster, I could feel the strange "human" hot on my heels, desperate to catch up. Suddenly, their hands latched onto my neck with a fierce grip, and I gasped for air as everything started to spin. The world around me grew dark, the sounds of my own panicked breaths fading into nothingness as I struggled to break free. At that moment, I knew that my life was in their hands and that I had to fight with every ounce of my being to survive. Every fiber of my being screamed in terror as I grappled with this unknown attacker, desperately trying to loosen their grip before it was too late. Each passing second felt like an eternity as I battled for what felt like my soul, consumed by the raw, unyielding fear of what might come next.



The imposing edifice, adorned with an azure banner bearing only the word "DAYCARE," radiated a sense of awe-inspiring grandeur.

Amidst the folklore of Level 315 lies a daunting structure known as the "Daycare." Its facade featuring a singular building belies the twisted, non-Euclidean madness within; a labyrinthine network of rooms, each replicating the claustrophobic confines of a preschool or daycare. Those brave or foolish enough to enter recounts a terrifying experience, as they find themselves shrinking amidst the vastness of this surreal construct. The true danger here, however, lies not with the architecture, but with the sinister entities that call this place home. Let it be known that any who dare to set foot upon this cursed territory shall emerge eternally marked and scarred, their fate sealed the moment they brazenly trespassed upon this domain—assuming they even manage to escape with their very life intact.

As I emerged into the world from the abyss of darkness, I was greeted with a symphony of sound—the musical twittering of birds, the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the warm rays of the sun caressing my skin. And then, as if by divine intervention, my eyes were drawn to a looming black structure, its piercing aura beckoning me forth. Upon the front entrance, a blue banner bearing the simple yet powerful word "DAYCARE" swayed in the wind, whispering sweet nothings directly to my very soul. With a fierce desire growing within me, I approached the imposing door and, summoning all of my strength, pushed them open with my tiny hands. A wave of emotional energy enveloped me, a sensation of warmth and profound longing that threatened to engulf me completely.

As I gazed around me, I beheld a room filled with the accouterments of childhood: vibrant colors, toys, stuffed animals, educational tools, and tables set to my height. Yet, there was a chilling emptiness to this scene; I was the only inhabitant in this space meant for the laughter and play of children. The loneliness of the room should have deterred me, but instead, a fierce desire coursed through me, urging me to take a seat amongst the trinkets and draw. The overwhelming emotion I felt was inexplicable, a feeling that consumed me entirely as I took in the peculiarity of the situation, determined to lay claim to this space that so beckoned to me.

A sudden silence fell over the room as the previously constant hum of activity abruptly ceased. I lifted my gaze from the colorful array of crayons and paper strewn haphazardly before me, only to witness yet another entrance materialize from the shadows. And as the door swung open, a fantastical sight unfolded before my very eyes: a riot of red and yellow hues clashed against a backdrop of polka dots and daring stripes, all centered around a menacingly wide, razor-toothed grin that leered at me from the darkness beyond.

As I sat there, engrossed in my writing, I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. The hair on the nape of my neck began to stand on end, and I knew instinctively that something was terribly wrong. It was then that I noticed a group of clowns emerging one by one from the shadows, their colorful makeup and oversized shoes casting eerie shadows on the walls. They seemed to materialize out of thin air, crowding around the table in a circle, their piercing, bright eyes fixed on me. I tried my best to ignore them and continue writing, but as they knelt down and watched me intently, I could feel their petrifying gaze weighing heavily on me. The air grew colder, and I could hear their labored breathing, each exhale sending chills down my spine. I knew I had to get out of there before it was too late.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, my heart pounding in my chest. In my terror, it was as though time slowed down, each passing second feeling like an eternity. And then, just as I thought I was almost in the clear, their hands grabbed at me from behind, fingers like steel vice grips digging deep into my flesh. I screamed, but the sound was caught in my throat, choked off by a stranglehold of fear. I struggled to break free, but their grip only tightened, holding me in place like a helpless animal. Desperate, I looked for an escape route, my eyes scanning the room for a way out. But no matter where I turned, all I saw were more daycare rooms, each one identical to the last.

The sounds of laughter and terrifying, joking honks echoed through the daycare center, signaling their approach. I knew I had to hide, and quickly. My only hope was to find cover under a nearby table, where I crouched in fear, watching as their oversized shoes pranced and galloped around, searching for me. The lights dimmed, casting deep shadows across the room. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, as one by one, they emerged from the darkness and crowded around my hiding spot, cackling and jeering at my predicament. Their eyes gleamed with malicious glee, and I could feel their breath on my face as they leaned in, taunting me. It was as though I was trapped in some kind of twisted carnival, surrounded by a horde of manic clowns.

And once more, with a sense of urgency pulsing through my veins, I rose to my feet and sprinted…on and on… With every fiber of my being propelling me forward into the unknown distance, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, my breath coming in quick gasps as I pushed my body to its absolute limit.



Desolate and abandoned, Simon's swimming pool lies empty, bereft of any human presence or figures to grace its cerulean waters.

A chilling and foreboding tale at best, "Simon's Oasis" has recently resurfaced as a folklore amongst the inhabitants of Level 315's campground. Those who hold it dear recount the spine-tingling account with great trepidation, as the story lends itself to a sense of impending doom and unnerving uncertainty.

As I emerged from the seemingly endless labyrinth of the cursed forest, my eyes were met with a sight that almost seemed too good to be true: a shimmering swimming pool, its crystalline waters reflecting the sunlight in a dazzling display of ultramarine hues. However, a sense of unease began to creep over me as I realized that the pool was devoid of any signs of life. No children splashing about, no sunbathers lounging on the deck, no laughter or chatter filling the air. It was as if the very essence of humanity had been stripped away, leaving only an eerie emptiness that sent shivers down my spine. The absence of any living soul only served to amplify the stark beauty of the pool, making it seem almost otherworldly in its pristine, untouched state.

As my exploration continued, my gaze was drawn towards a magnificent abode, facing the serene and glistening swimming pool. The grandeur of the house was further enhanced by a resplendent banner, exquisitely adorned with the celebrations of joy and exultation. The vibrant colors and the intricate details of the banner read "Happy Birthday, Simon!," which appeared to be a fitting tribute to the illustrious persona of whom the birthday was meant for. It seemed as if the entire pool was transformed into a surreal oasis of felicity, as if it were a befitting and extravagant birthday reward for Simon himself.

As I approached the front of the house, the silence was shattered by a sudden and chaotic symphony of raucous laughter and the cacophonous splashing of water. It was as if the very skies had opened up to allow a torrential downpour of joy and merriment to rain down upon the earth. As I turned my gaze towards the source of this euphoric commotion, I was awe-stricken to behold a vast and gleaming sea of children, their radiant smiles and carefree spirit providing a stark contrast to the anxieties of the world outside. In that crystal-clear oasis, they swam and played with wild abandon, while the watchful eyes of vigilant adults kept them all safe and secure from harm. Never before had I seen such a vision of pure and unbridled happiness, a testament to the resilience and beauty of the human spirit.

After what felt like an eternity of searching for the elusive Simon, I began to lose hope. Despite asking every child I came across near the swimming pool for their name, none of them fit the bill. It was as if Simon had vanished into thin air. But I refused to give up. I persisted, asking more and more children, wandering aimlessly around the pool area. Then, finally, a glimmer of hope. I spotted a figure in the distance. It was Simon, dressed in black swim trunks with scuba gear, almost as if he was preparing to dive into the depths of the ocean. My heart leaped with joy as I approached him, feeling as though I had just found a treasure after searching for it for ages. It was as if fate had led me to him, and the relief I felt upon finally discovering his identity was almost overwhelming.

As I approached Simon, the sky grew dark and everything around me inexplicably came to a halt. One by one, the people around me—both children and adults—fell to the ground as though they had been struck by a vicious bullet. The only one left standing was poor young Simon, who bravely began to investigate the cause of this mysterious and disturbing event. With an unrelenting sense of determination, Simon delved deep into the nature of the children and adults present, trying to understand why they had succumbed to this inexplicable fate.

But then, in a sudden twist of events, he abruptly ceased his investigation of the pool, leaving the children and their supervisors to fend for themselves. As I cautiously turned to face Simon, I was met with a chilling sight: his grin had widened to an eerie yet sad extent, baring neither teeth nor tongue, and his eyes gleamed with an unsettling brightness that seemed to pierce straight through me. It was as though I had become the sole target of his attention, and the other occupants of the pool area had been left at the mercy of an unknown force. With a menacing gaze, he held in his hand a toy blade that appeared to be honed to a keenness surpassing even the sharpness of my teeth. At that moment, the air around us grew tense, as though filled with a palpable danger—one that threatened to ignite at any moment, and consume all within its wake.

As I made the decision to flee, a suffocating sensation overwhelmed me, as if an invisible force was trapping me, immobilized by my own emotions and a tsunami of fear. My paralyzed state was all-consuming, leaving me unable to move, as if I was frozen at that moment. Suddenly, I turned around and Simon was looming dangerously close, still brandishing that tiny toy blade in his hand like a deadly weapon. A fierce determination to defend myself ignited within me, but every concussive strike I dealt was futile—Simon was somehow too strong. Agony shot through my leg as warm blood gushed from my wound, blinding me with unbearable pain. As my consciousness began to fade, everything turned pitch-black, and I knew that my fate had been sealed.



The mundane sight of a bedroom scene within the fable of "Hypnagogic" is but a facade, as the banal essence of the room belies the crucial changes that are at play.

Amidst the crackling of the campfire within the campsite of Level 315, a macabre and unsettling legend unfolds. "Hypnagogic," a fable both strange and eerie, is whispered in hushed tones by those nearest and dearest. Its haunting presence looms, sending shivers down spines.

As I gradually drifted back into consciousness, I realized with a jolt that the wretched forest I had become trapped in was no longer my surroundings. Instead, I found myself lying abed, nestled within the comforting embrace of the covers. It was as though the sinister forest had lulled me into a trance-like slumber, only to cast me into this unfamiliar abode. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that enveloped me, like a thick fog suffocating my senses. When I rose from the bed, I scanned the room and beheld a plethora of objects that one would typically find in a bedroom. Among them were a bedstand littered with trinkets, a dresser adorned with knick-knacks, and a closet filled with an array of attire.

When I attempted to exit the dreary bedroom, I suddenly realized that the door was sealed shut, and not even the indestructible window would provide a means of escape. My heart pounding, I frantically searched for a way out, but was met only with the cold, unyielding silence of my confinement. As my weariness continued to mount, I scoured the four corners of the room, desperate for some form of entertainment to while away the interminable hours.

And then, as if by fate, my wandering eyes landed on a small device—an innocuous-looking remote control, huddled upon the bedside table. With a flicker of hope lighting within me, I grasped the remote in my hand and pressed the power button, half-expecting nothing to happen. But to my utter shock, the TV sprang into life, crackling with static before settling into a steady hum of background noise. Like a starved animal finally given its meal, I hungrily absorbed everything that the TV had to offer, flipping through channels with wild abandon, searching for a glimmer of stimulation. The thrum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic creaking of the bed became secondary to the pictures flashing on the screen, which had taken on an almost surreal quality.

As the relentless flicker of the TV screen began to weigh on my mind, I grappled for the remote with an almost desperate zeal. My hand shook with anticipation as I took hold of the sleek device and, with a swift and calculated movement, hit the power button. In the stillness that followed, the world outside my window seemed to take on a new life. The once bright and cheery colors of the day had been replaced with deep, rich purples and blues that spoke of the mysteries of the night. Looking out into the darkness, I felt an inexplicable sense of something stirring in the air, something new and unfamiliar. Caught up in the thrall of the moment, I instinctively made my way to bed, my heart racing with apprehension.

As I roused from my extended sleep, my limbs refused to respond, as if locked in an unbreakable spell. Every muscle in my body was frozen, save for my piercing gaze that darted around my surroundings with an ineffable urgency. My desperate, darting eyes held the only semblance of freedom, darting about with the speed of a thousand rushing rivers, searching for a way out of this unbearable trap. The world around me was turning into a blur of undefinable shapes and colors, the lines between dream and reality blurring into an incomprehensible haze. In just the blink of an eye, my tranquil state was shattered as a sudden movement jolted me from my peaceful repose. And there, lurking in the corner, was a mysterious and foreboding figure—a shadowy silhouette cast against the wall that seemed to tower as high as the very roof itself. With each passing moment, my heart pounded faster and faster as I pondered the dark and unknown intentions of this lurking intruder, wondering if I was truly safe in my surroundings.

As I lay there, desperately trying to ignore the creeping shadows that seemed to materialize out of thin air, my eyes were forced open wide, unyielding to any attempts at resistance. The darkness seemed to taunt me, mocking me for my impotence in the face of its insidious advance. One by one, the shadows appeared, growing stronger and more numerous with every passing moment, until they seemed to engulf my entire being in their inky blackness. Despite my best efforts to resist, I was powerless to stop their inexorable advance, doomed to a fate of endless torment and despair in their suffocating grasp. For what felt like an eternity, I remained locked in a battle against the shadows, struggling to find even the slightest glimmer of hope in the palpable darkness that surrounded me.

The ominous specter of these fables, concealed deep within the enclave of the woods, suddenly reveals itself to the unfortunate denizens of Level 315's campsite. In its wake, the familiar trappings of the site are entirely stripped away, replaced instead by a haunting and otherworldly manifestation that appears to have emerged from the very fabric of the cosmos itself. Every sense is overwhelmed by a potent and unsettling energy, as if the very air were teeming with a force that defies human comprehension.

Intriguingly, it is speculated that the murderers featured in these fables of Level 315 were past wanderers who met their tragic end within the tale, only to metamorphose into diabolical beasts of their former selves. To make matters worse, loved ones are found to be well-versed in the tale of the listener's ill-fated encounter, seemingly despite having never experienced the legendarium themselves. Nonetheless, in spite of this unbearable burden, one must maintain a façade of stoicism, even if it means abhorring those closest to them.

As fate would have it, should one find themselves in Level 315 once more and reunite with their beloved ones, they shall not recount the same tale shared with the wanderer before. In fact, it is as if the story had been wiped from their memory, lost in the winds of time. Even if the individual vividly recollects the petrifying narrative narrated by their dearest ones in the past and shares the same fable with their dearly loved ones in the present, they are met with disbelief and scorn, as if the unsurpassable story is a mere falsehood or never existed at all. The individual's attempts to warn and enlighten their cherished ones are met with ridicule and humiliation, the sting of which is made all the more painful by the realization that their fable has fallen on deaf ears.

Bases, Outposts, and Communities:

The treacherous presence of numerous murderers and creatures, who relentlessly prey on unsuspecting victims, without any regard for decency or justice, has resulted in the utter failure of establishing even a single base or outpost in all of these fables within Level 315.4 Indeed, the sheer magnitude of their monstrous deeds has rendered any attempt at creating a safe haven completely futile and hopeless.

Entrances and Exits:


  • Should fate lead one to stumble upon a solitary tent amidst the exterior levels of The Backrooms, know that the mere act of entering this shelter shall transport them with unparalleled fluidity to the obscure and menacing forest of Level 315. Amidst the unassuming exterior, a powerful and unsettling energy beckons, drawing one towards it with an irresistible force. Resistance is futile, for the pull of the tent is simply too intense to resist.
  • Although it is rare, should one become lost within the depths of any forest level, they will miraculously find themselves transported to the elusive campsite of Level 315. Such a transition is seamless, yet mysterious, leaving one to wonder at the forces beyond understanding that guide them in times of great need.


Breaking free from the clutches of Level 315's deceptive tales calls for a strategic evasion that defies their insidious influence. Liberating minds from their grip demands a sharp, calculated approach, one that will not be swayed by their cunning machinations.

  • In the gripping tale of "The Midnight Jogger," one shall find themselves trapped and utterly helpless, with no visible means of escape. Despite a desperate search for exits, none have been discovered, leaving the poor soul at the mercy of a cruel and unforgiving fate.
  • As destiny would have it, should one stumble upon the identical door through which they initially entered the hostile "Daycare," and dare to turn its handle once more, they shall find themselves unwillingly thrust into the realm of Level 18 or its ominous counterpart.
  • In the event of drowning within the aquatic confines of the fable of "Simon's Oasis," one would awaken gasping for air in the chilling depths of Clement's swimming pool.
  • In the fable of "Hypnagogic," one is doomed to eternally languish within the oppressive precincts of the bed with the spectral phantoms, bereft of any means to break free from the monstrous chamber. The victim is trapped in a perpetual abyss of terror and woe, with no hope of deliverance from the heart-rending torment that relentlessly assails them.

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