Ethan, now fully recognized as the Champion of the Abyss, emerged from the fortress, his steps carrying an authority that resonated in the desolate wasteland around him. The dagger at his side whispered incessantly, its hunger momentarily sated by the Trial of Shadows but already stirring for more. The power of the Abyss pulsed within him, a force that threatened to consume anyone weaker in spirit.
Ethan, however, had no intention of being devoured.
The wasteland stretched before him, barren and lifeless, yet he could sense the presence of something watching. Shadows seemed to shift unnaturally, and the air carried a faint charge, as if the world itself recognized the emergence of a predator.
His goal was clear: to build power, to carve a path toward dominion. But power alone would not be enough. He needed allies, resources, and most importantly, fear.
---
### The Caravan
As Ethan crossed the wasteland, his sharp senses caught movement in the distance. A plume of dust rose against the horizon, accompanied by faint shouts and the clatter of hooves.
He approached cautiously, scaling a rocky outcrop to get a better view. Below, a caravan of wagons laden with goods was under attack by a group of bandits. The merchants fought desperately, their guards outnumbered and overwhelmed.
Ethan observed the scene coldly. The bandits were disorganized but vicious, their crude weapons dripping with the blood of fallen guards. The merchants, clad in fine robes, were screaming and pleading as they were dragged from their wagons.
A typical scene of chaos, one he had seen countless times in games and, to some extent, in his previous life.
But this was no game.
Ethan descended the outcrop silently, the dagger's whispers guiding his movements. As he neared the battlefield, he summoned a sliver of the Abyss's power. Shadows coiled around him, masking his presence.
The first bandit didn't even notice Ethan until it was too late. The obsidian dagger slid into his back, its magic spreading like a toxin. The bandit convulsed, his screams muffled as the shadows consumed him.
The others turned too late. Ethan was already among them, a blur of motion and steel. His sword struck with precision, while the dagger fed greedily, its runes glowing brighter with every kill.
The surviving bandits froze in terror, their leader—a burly man with a scarred face—staring at Ethan as if he were a demon.
"W-who are you?" the leader stammered, backing away.
Ethan wiped the blood from his blade, his eyes cold and calculating. "Your new master."
The bandit leader blinked, confusion and fear warring on his face.
"You have two choices," Ethan continued, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight. "Serve me, or die."
---
### The Abyss's Mark
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Ethan had transformed the chaotic bandits into the beginnings of an army. It wasn't much—just a handful of desperate men—but it was a start.
The merchants, spared from the slaughter, huddled together near the wagons. Their fear of Ethan outweighed their gratitude for his intervention.
One of them, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes, stepped forward hesitantly. "What… what do you want from us?"
Ethan regarded the man coolly. "Information. What's the nearest city?"
The merchant hesitated, then stammered, "G-Gravenhold. It's a day's journey east."
"Good." Ethan's gaze swept over the wagons. "Your goods are mine now. Consider it payment for your lives."
The merchants exchanged fearful glances but didn't dare protest.
Ethan turned to his newly acquired followers. "We move at dawn. Gravenhold will be our first step toward conquest."
The bandits muttered among themselves, their loyalty born more of fear than respect. That was fine—for now.
---
### Gravenhold
The city of Gravenhold loomed on the horizon, its dark spires cutting into the sky. It was a place of trade and intrigue, known for its mercenaries and cutthroat politics. A perfect place for Ethan to begin planting the seeds of his rise.
Ethan approached the gates with his small band of followers, the merchants' wagons trailing behind. The guards at the gate eyed them warily but didn't question the entry. In Gravenhold, strength was law, and Ethan exuded it.
The streets were bustling, a chaotic blend of merchants hawking wares, mercenaries sharpening weapons, and shadowy figures conducting deals in dark alleys. Ethan's eyes scanned the crowd, noting potential opportunities and threats.
He led his group to a secluded corner of the city, claiming an abandoned building as their base. The merchants, relieved to be free of their captors, quickly dispersed, though Ethan doubted they would dare speak of him. Fear was a powerful silencer.
---
### A Meeting in the Shadows
As night fell, Ethan ventured into the heart of Gravenhold's underbelly. The Abyss whispered to him, guiding him to a hidden tavern tucked away in a forgotten alley.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and tension. Rogues, mercenaries, and assassins filled the dimly lit room, their eyes sharp and predatory. Ethan moved through the crowd with purpose, his presence drawing wary glances.
He approached the bar, where a wiry man with a scarred face leaned casually against the counter.
"I'm looking for work," Ethan said, his tone neutral.
The man raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a sellsword."
"I'm not." Ethan slid a coin across the counter, its surface engraved with a symbol he had found in the Abyssal Fortress.
The man's eyes widened slightly, and he quickly pocketed the coin. "Follow me."
Ethan was led to a back room, where a group of shadowy figures awaited. Their leader, a tall woman with piercing eyes and an aura of command, regarded him with interest.
"You carry the mark of the Abyss," she said, her voice cold but curious. "What brings you to Gravenhold?"
Ethan smiled faintly. "Power. And I believe we can help each other."
The woman's eyes narrowed, but she gestured for him to sit. "Speak, then. Convince me."
As Ethan began to weave his plan, the shadows around him seemed to thrum with anticipation. Gravenhold would be the first stone in his empire, and from there, the world would follow.