Ethan awoke in the darkness, the cold stone beneath him sending shivers through his body. The dagger lay at his side, its faintly glowing runes pulsating like a heartbeat. The Trial of Betrayal was over, but the whispers that had filled the chamber still lingered in his mind—a chorus of promises, curses, and warnings.
As his vision adjusted to the gloom, he noticed faint shapes carved into the walls of the chamber. Symbols of power and chaos, remnants of an ancient language long forgotten. They seemed to come alive as he studied them, the glowing dagger at his side reacting to their presence.
A faint chuckle echoed in the air, low and mocking.
"Congratulations, *Darius Morgath,*" a familiar voice intoned. It was The Warden, though his form remained hidden. "You have survived the first steps of the Abyss, but survival is not enough. You carry the dagger now—*The Mark of the Abyss*. It will grant you strength, but it will also demand a price."
"What price?" Ethan asked, his voice sharp, though his mind was still calculating.
"Blood," The Warden replied simply. "It hungers for sacrifice. The more you kill, the stronger you become. But beware… let it go unfed, and it will consume you instead."
Ethan's hand tightened around the dagger's hilt. The promise of power it radiated was intoxicating, but he understood the cost. He had seen enough desperation and greed during the trials to know that such tools could easily become shackles.
The Warden continued, his voice growing distant. "Beyond this chamber lies a world waiting to be conquered. Prove your worth, and the Abyss may yet grant you its full blessing. Fail… and you will be forgotten."
The room shuddered, the walls cracking and dissolving into shadows. Ethan rose to his feet, the dagger strapped to his side. A faint light appeared ahead, growing brighter as the shadows receded.
When the darkness cleared, he found himself standing at the edge of a vast wasteland. The air was thick with ash, the ground cracked and scorched as if cursed by some ancient calamity. In the distance, a fortress loomed—dark and foreboding, its spires piercing the sky like jagged teeth.
The Abyssal Fortress.
Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile. He had read about places like this in books and games back on Earth—places where legends were born and tyrants rose to power. Now, he was standing at the threshold of one, not as an adventurer but as something far more dangerous.
---
### The Abyssal Fortress
The trek toward the fortress was grueling. The wasteland seemed to stretch endlessly, its oppressive atmosphere sapping strength and will. The whispers of the dagger accompanied him, growing louder with every step, their voices blending into a maddening cacophony.
But Ethan pressed on, his focus unwavering.
As he approached the gates of the fortress, two massive statues flanking the entrance stirred to life. Their stone forms cracked and shifted, revealing glowing red eyes and jagged, rune-covered blades.
"Halt," one of them rumbled, its voice like grinding rock. "Only those worthy of the Abyss may enter."
The other statue raised its blade, pointing it at Ethan. "Prove your worth, mortal. Defeat us, or be destroyed."
Ethan unsheathed his sword, his eyes narrowing. The dagger at his side pulsed eagerly, its whispers urging him to draw it. But he resisted. He needed to test his own strength first.
The statues moved with surprising speed, their massive forms belying their agility. One swung its blade in a wide arc, the force of the strike splitting the ground where Ethan had stood moments before. He dodged, his body moving instinctively, and countered with a precise slash at the statue's leg.
The blade connected, leaving a faint crack, but the stone guardian barely flinched. The second statue lunged at him, its blade descending like a guillotine. Ethan rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike.
"Enough games," he muttered, drawing the obsidian dagger.
The moment he gripped it, a surge of dark energy flowed through him. His movements became faster, his strikes more precise. He leaped at the first statue, the dagger's runes flaring as it pierced the stone. The guardian let out a guttural roar as the dagger's magic spread through its body, reducing it to rubble within seconds.
The second statue hesitated, its red eyes flickering. But Ethan didn't give it a chance to recover. He lunged, the dagger carving through its stone form like it was flesh. The guardian crumbled, its shattered remains falling into the dust.
The gates of the fortress groaned open, their ancient mechanisms grinding against the silence. Ethan stepped forward, his grip on the dagger tightening.
---
### The Council of Shadows
Inside the fortress, the air was thick with power. Shadows danced along the walls, their forms shifting and writhing like living things. A grand hall stretched before him, its floor inlaid with runes that glowed faintly under his steps.
At the far end of the hall stood a group of figures cloaked in darkness. Their faces were obscured, but their presence was palpable—each one radiated a power that made Ethan's skin crawl.
"Welcome, Darius Morgath," one of them said, their voice smooth and commanding. "You have proven yourself worthy to stand before the Council of Shadows. Few have made it this far."
Ethan remained silent, his gaze steady. He had no intention of showing weakness.
Another figure stepped forward, their shadowy form rippling. "You carry the Mark of the Abyss, but that alone does not make you one of us. You must pledge yourself to the Abyss, to its will and its power. Only then will you ascend."
"And if I refuse?" Ethan asked, his tone cold.
The shadows chuckled, a low, ominous sound. "Refusal is death. But you are not a fool, Morgath. You seek power, and the Abyss offers it in abundance. Pledge yourself, and the world will kneel before you."
Ethan's mind raced. This was a pivotal moment, one that could determine his fate. The power they spoke of was tempting, but he knew better than to trust blindly. He needed to play the game on his terms.
He took a step forward, his expression calm but unreadable. "I'll pledge myself to the Abyss," he said, his voice steady. "But on one condition."
The council members tilted their heads, intrigued.
"I will not serve," Ethan continued. "I will rule. The Abyss will bend to me, not the other way around."
The chamber fell silent, the shadows seeming to freeze in place. Then, the laughter began—low and chilling, echoing through the hall.
"Ambitious," one of the figures said, their tone amused. "But ambition is the essence of the Abyss. Very well, Darius Morgath. Prove that you are worthy of such arrogance, and the Abyss may yet be yours to command."
Ethan's lips curled into a faint smile. This world was his now, and he would stop at nothing to claim it.