Kael's heart raced. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the notification. The Status Multiplier… unlocking it would mean a significant leap in power.
Kael reached out toward the system's prompt and mentally selected [YES].
System Notification: Status Multiplier Unlocked!
Status Multiplier: Active (x1.5)
A wave of energy washed over him, intense yet strangely familiar. Kael gritted his teeth as his body surged with raw power. His Rebirth Core thrummed with renewed vitality, and he could feel the essence of the dark energy he had absorbed integrate seamlessly with his being.
The sensation was overwhelming, like standing at the heart of a storm and absorbing its fury. His vision blurred for a moment as lines of data scrolled before his eyes—his new stats, boosted by the unlocked multiplier, streamed into his consciousness. His physical strength, speed, and magical abilities had all skyrocketed.
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Kael's mouth. He felt different—more attuned to the void and shadows, more in control of the deathly energy that coursed through him. The next battle would be his to command.
But before Kael could catch his breath, the ground trembled once more. The rift behind them widened, and from within, the shadowy figure of a cultist emerged, draped in Abyssal robes. His eyes burned with malevolent intent, his hand raised toward the weakened barrier of Natharak.
"You're too late," the cultist hissed, dark energy swirling around him. "The Abyss will consume Natharak, and all of Erendath will follow."
Varin's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his sword. "We'll see about that."
With a fluid motion, Varin activated Phantom Strike, disappearing into the void. For a split second, he was completely invisible, undetectable by the cultist's magic. When he reappeared, it was with lethal force, his blade slashing across the cultist's chest in a critical strike. Dark energy exploded from the wound, and the cultist staggered back, his magic faltering.
But the fight was far from over.
The cultist snarled, raising his hand to summon a torrent of Abyssal energy. Dark tendrils shot toward Varin, but he was already gone, using Void Step to phase out of reality and reappear a safe distance away. The tendrils slammed into the ground where he had stood, creating deep fissures in the earth.
Kael seized the moment. He summoned the power of his Deathcaller class, his eyes glowing with dark energy. "Rise," he commanded, his voice resonating with unnatural power.
From the shadows, spectral figures began to materialize—lost souls trapped between life and death, summoned by Kael's will. They surged forward, spectral blades raised as they charged the cultist. The air around them crackled with dark magic, and their ghostly forms struck with ferocious speed, overwhelming the cultist's defenses.
With the cultist distracted, Kael activated Veil of Shadows, becoming invisible once more. He moved swiftly, positioning himself behind the cultist. As his invisibility faded, he struck, his daggers sinking into the cultist's back with a sickening crunch. The Echoing Strike hit with lethal precision, dealing bonus damage and leaving behind lingering shadow energy.
The cultist screamed, his body wracked with pain as the combined might of Kael and his summoned souls overwhelmed him. But in a final act of desperation, the cultist unleashed a massive wave of Abyssal energy, knocking Kael back and shattering his summoned spirits.
"You will not win," the cultist spat, blood dripping from his lips. "The Abyss will take everything."
Kael struggled to his feet, his body aching from the blast. But Varin was already moving. With a fierce cry, he unleashed Void Pulse, a shockwave of void energy radiating from him in all directions. The cultist's reality warped and twisted, his form flickering in and out of existence as the energy disoriented him.
Before the cultist could recover, Varin appeared in front of him, his Distortion Blade gleaming with void energy. With a single, decisive strike, Varin slashed through the cultist's chest, severing the flow of dark energy that connected him to the Abyss.
The cultist's eyes widened in shock as his body crumbled to the ground, lifeless.
The battlefield fell silent, save for the crackling of dissipating dark magic.
Kael stood beside Varin, panting heavily as the tension in the air slowly dissipated. "That was too close," Kael muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Varin nodded, sheathing his sword. "The Abyss is relentless. We can't afford to let our guard down, not even for a second."
Kael's gaze shifted to the flickering barrier of Natharak in the distance. They had won this battle, but the war was far from over. The second Abyssal Anchor still awaited them, and time was running out.
"We need to find that anchor," Kael muttered, his voice low but resolute. "Before it's too late."
The air was thick with the stench of rotting decay and charred bones. Deep in the heart of a hidden stronghold, a circle of robed figures stood around a massive stone altar, their hands raised toward the shadowy ceiling. Flickering flames danced along the walls, casting eerie shadows over the gathering as dark tendrils of energy snaked through the air, drawn to a single figure at the center.
Zealot Malek, his face obscured by an obsidian mask, stepped forward. His voice was a low growl, seething with malevolent power. "O Abyssal Lord, ruler of the unending void, your will shall be done. Erendath shall kneel before your corruption, and we, your chosen, will see to it."
He raised both arms, and a sickly green light erupted from his palms, seeping into the altar. The ground trembled. Dark energy poured out, creating cracks along the surface of the stone, as if reality itself was breaking apart.
From the shadows, Abyssal Cult members chanted louder, their voices blending with the rising hum of chaos. The entire room vibrated as Malek carved an invisible rune into the air with his outstretched fingers, a twisted sigil that pulsed with the raw energy of the Abyss. His eyes glowed with sinister intent.
The ritual had begun.
Suddenly, the space between realms tore open, and from the gaping tear, whispers of the Abyss flowed into Natharak like an infection. Malek felt the cold touch of the Abyssal Lord, his mind consumed by its overwhelming presence.
"It is time," Malek whispered, eyes gleaming beneath his mask. "The Anchors will soon be in place. Ildrak will rise, Natharak will fall, and Erendath will burn."
A sudden jolt of pain shot through Kael's skull. His vision darkened, and for a brief moment, the world around him vanished. In its place, he saw them—dark, ethereal hands, like shadows woven from nightmares, rising from the Abyss. They stretched out over the horizon, grasping at the Eternal Cities, pulling them into the void. Cities crumbled into dust, swallowed whole by the encroaching darkness.
"No!" Kael gasped, dropping to one knee, the weight of the vision overwhelming him.
Varin stepped back, lowering his weapon, concern etched on his face. "Kael? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Kael's breaths were shallow, his heart racing. He wiped his brow, trying to shake off the horrifying images that lingered. "The cities... the Abyss... it's pulling them in. The Eternal Cities are being consumed."
Varin's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"
Kael's face paled, the unsettling vision gnawing at his mind. "The countdown has started. We don't have much time. We need to find the Abyssal Anchor now."