Abaddon's breath came in heavy, labored gasps, but his unwavering determination kept him moving.
Acting on pure instinct, he ducked just in time to avoid the razor-sharp slash of an undead minion creeping up behind him. The mocking laughter of the Swamp Shadow-King echoed through the murky domain, blending with the anguished cries of the trapped souls.
"Now, my Lava Fetuses! Destroy him, and your souls shall be freed!"
At the command, the grotesque monstrosities sprang to life, charging toward Abaddon with unrelenting ferocity. Standing precariously atop a massive skull in the swamp's center, Abaddon assessed his dire situation.
'What kind of energy siphoning is this? Eighty percent of my mantra is gone in just a minute! I can't summon, devour, or even use an effective technique. That leaves me with only one option: going Berserk... but—'
His frantic thoughts were interrupted as one of the Lava Fetuses lunged at him, its skeletal limbs glinting like razors. With a deft twist, Abaddon dodged the attack, grabbed one of the creature's limbs with an iron grip, and delivered a precise death strike, causing the monstrosity to burst apart in a spray of molten ichor.
Without hesitation, Abaddon picked up one of the severed limbs as a makeshift weapon. His gaze was cold and resolute as he coated the bone blade with dark demonic energy, adopting a combat stance.
'Clever monster. It's avoiding a direct confrontation. Instead, it's using this hunting domain to break me mentally and these grotesque horrors to wear me down physically. Meanwhile, the domain continues draining my mantra every second. Everything is stacked against me. If I tap into a half-Berserk state, my strength will increase exponentially, but my sanity will suffer. There's a chance I could lose control and go full Berserk, which would be catastrophic. I need another plan.'
Abaddon glanced at the seemingly endless expanse of the domain. The red mist and the metallic scent of blood made it nearly impossible to see far. Another Lava Fetus attacked, and Abaddon swiftly slashed it down, his mind racing as he observed the grotesque creatures swarming around him.
'These nightmares aren't individually strong, but they spawn endlessly. My power grows, yet it's drained just as quickly. I'm at a stalemate—if I stop for even a moment, my energy will plummet. I have to draw that monster out. A head-on clash will end in my defeat, no doubt about it but it's not a hundred percent guarantee. My advantages disappeared the moment this domain was created.'
As more of the horrors clawed toward him, he leapt back to avoid the encroaching horde. The cries of trapped and corrupted souls rippled through the air, while grotesque trees with twisted faces loomed over him from every direction.
"I never knew myths enjoyed playing games with human lives, even after death"
Abaddon called out, his voice laced with mockery.
"How twisted. No wonder humans have no respect for your kind. You deserve nothing less than to rot in Naraka, forsaken by the gods like the mindless beasts you are!"
He paused, watching for a reaction, though the irony of his words wasn't lost on him—he, too, had been forsaken by the gods. As he kicked away three more Lava Fetuses, he sensed a presence above him in the crimson mist.
Without hesitation, he launched one of the makeshift blades like an arrow toward the hidden figure. The Swamp Shadow-King deflected the projectile effortlessly, sending it back with enough force to knock Abaddon across the Blood River swampbank, where he crashed into a heap of bones.
"Trying to provoke me, human?"
The Swamp Shadow-King's voice oozed malice.
"Why suffer so much? Submit to me, hand over the Primordial Essence, and I'll make it quick. Refuse, and I'll keep breaking you until there's nothing left. Your flesh, bones, blood, and soul will all serve as the foundation to expand my domain."
The creature disappeared into the mist once again, its mocking laughter twisting the already oppressive atmosphere. Abaddon pulled himself up from the pile of bones, his sharp eyes noticing how much stronger the beast had become. Wiping blood from his mouth, he reflected grimly.
'Even with Metallic Rage, I doubt I could have blocked that attack. It's growing stronger by the second, feeding on this domain's energy. This is its lair, after all.'
The endless horde of Lava Fetuses surged toward him again. Abaddon sighed and tightened his grip on the skeletal limb he wielded as a weapon. His strikes were cold and ruthless as he cleaved through the undead monstrosities with unyielding precision. There was no hesitation in his movements—kill or be killed was the law here.
Above him, the massive, unblinking eye hovered, scrutinizing his every move like a predator stalking its prey. Abaddon quickly realized that the eye served as a surveillance tool, allowing the monsters to track his every action and location.
Within the mist, the taunting voice of the monster rang out again in mocking amusement.
"I'm impressed you've lasted this long, even as your strength dwindles. Such mental fortitude, fighting so coldly in a place like this, where souls that once carried ambition and hope cry out for your help. And yet, you ignore them, selfishly struggling for yourself. How petty. Or perhaps you'd like to know—the undead you slaughter so brutally were all human once. Every time you cut them down, you destroy their very souls. I promised them freedom, yet you snuff out their last shred of hope. Tell me, boy, are you not the true monster here?"
The monster's laughter echoed, like a bell tolling over and over, causing Abaddon to grit his teeth in frustration. Seeing his hands covered in blood, surrounded by the countless corpses of the undead Fetuses, his face darkened.
The Swamp Shadow-King taunted again.
"Oh... did I strike a nerve? Weren't you trying to use the same tactic to draw me out? Or does it sadden you to realize you're murdering innocent souls? Remember, boy, the moment you stop moving, you'll weaken further, until you're nothing but a withered corpse."
Abaddon's rage ignited like a roaring inferno. With a feral yell, he slashed through the nearest wave of undead, his strikes precise and deadly.
"Shut up! You and I are nothing alike! This is a kill-or-be-killed world!"
He paused, taking in the image of the hunting ground around him. The trees made of human flesh, with souls trapped inside, screaming for help. Intestines coiled and writhing like vines. The blood-red, congealed, murky river. A throne made of human faces. The solid ground was full of skeletons... the Swamp was a torture world for these souls, yet Abaddon felt nothing.
His gaze settled on a young girl, bound and grotesquely merged with a tree. Her hollow, pleading eyes spoke of unimaginable torment, and around her were others, similarly trapped and tortured. For a fleeting moment, a pang of pity stirred within him—but it was drowned by cold resolve. No urge to save them rose within him.
In a venomous, low tone, Abaddon spoke, his words cutting through the oppressive air.
"Petty? For wanting to survive? Then so be it."
He paused, his crimson eyes glowing with a fierce light as he tightened his grip on the skeletal blade.
"Honestly... I feel sorry for them. But sympathy? That's long gone."
He raised the weapon, his voice steady and devoid of remorse.
"I gave up on such things long ago, after all who am I to sacrifice myself for someone else, I have nothing to give that can be worth it...just a Petty person...right?. I am no hero, nor do I strive to protect those who bring me no benefit. I learned that lesson the hard way when I stood on the brink of death. But in this second life, I won't hesitate. Survival is all that matters. It's the law of the jungle. And don't worry... I'll bear the guilt and sin."
"That reminds me of a saying my ancestor always told me which didn't make sense to me back then, but now I see what he meant, a truth carved into my soul during my six years in the mountains:"
"The battlefield is no place for the living to cling to innocence — these souls are already dead.
In calm murderous glare towards the monster, he added.
"If I must cut them down again to survive, why would I hesitate?"
The statement sent a chill through the creature, which silently vanished into the mist. It knew very well that this boy wasn't the usual self-righteous victim it had devoured countless times. Apart from the Primordial Essence, the boy had no morality—only survival instincts, a dangerous person by heart who will do anything to survive, even if it meant sacrificing virtues like honor, morals and such righteous standards.
Meanwhile, outside the domain, Orlan stood calm and composed, while Fatty shifted uneasily. Ryn clasped her hands in silent prayer, and Jane bit her lip so hard it bled.
'A Ravager Class-III Myth truly lives up to its catastrophic reputation. Such a terrifying existence... With this domain, things could take a turn for the worse. What if something happens to him? Ab'bao, please come back.'
Sensing the heavy tension in the air, Fatty broke the silence with his characteristic jovial demeanor.
"Jane, relax. Boss isn't going to die in there. Not before you propose to him, anyway!"
"Huh?! Wh-what… how could you say something like that at a time like this?!"
Fatty smirked, watching as Jane's face turned bright red. She quickly hid her embarrassment, turning away from the group. Ryn let out a soft chuckle, her prayer interrupted by the unexpected humor. For a moment, the oppressive tension in the group gave way to a lighter atmosphere.
Orlan glanced at the younger members with a faint smile, though his mind was heavy with worry.
'A Ravager-Class III Myth is no easy foe, but I think he can manage. This one is only in its semi-adult stage—just a century old. He still has a chance.'
No'el's voice resonated in Orlan's mind, further reassuring him.
'Ancestor? Are you certain?'
Orlan mantally asked anxiously.
'Indeed. Myths grow stronger the longer they live—years, decades, centuries, millennia, and even primordial ages. Myths from the Primordial Era are classified as Apocalyptic Class-V Omega Myths and exist only in the cracks of space. This one has only lived a century and developed three soul-ores. It will take thousands of years before it evolves further to become a Cataclysm-Class Myth. For now, it's not fully matured, as it can only use two soul-ore techniques: the Emperor's Call and its Domain. The third soul-ore remains inaccessible. Your young master has a chance—if he treads carefully. Domains are deadly traps, but I trust my descendant will survive.'
This insight gave Orlan some measure of comfort, though above ground, confusion reigned among the prodigies. On the Pendragon ship, Arthur turned to his brother with a worried expression.
"Brother, is this what you meant about dealing with a Ravager-Class III Myth? That the key is to end it swiftly before it unleashes its Domain?"
Arthurian nodded gravely.
"Yes. Once the Domain is active, it shifts all odds in the Myth's favor. Without overwhelming power to overpower it, survival is unlikely."
Arthur sighed heavily.
"So, you're saying he can't do anything but wait for death in there?"
Arthurian's silence was answer enough.
On the next ship, Kain smirked arrogantly and declared with pride...
"Mordane, you're done for now. With the Myth's Domain in play, my victory is assured. Save yourself the embarrassment and pay up already"
Kain said smugly, reclining in his golden chair as the two women at his sides fed him grapes. Mordane, however, remained unfazed, a calm smile hidden behind his ornate fan.
"The last time you said something like this, you lost miserably. Let's see how it ends, young lord."
Kain sighed and leaned back further, his arrogance on full display.
"So you're telling me someone who might not even be at the Ascension stage-let's assume he's a mere five-star Common rank-stands a chance? Even at that level, he'll die the moment the Domain fully activates. There's no way he can escape. You'll see it for yourself when this is all over."
The other prodigies nodded in agreement with Kain, their confidence bolstered by his perspective. Mordane's position seemed weaker by the moment.
Within the chaotic Domain, disorder ruled supreme. Abaddon moved like a storm of destruction, cleaving through the endless onslaught of Lava Fetuses with ruthless precision. Their agonized cries echoed through the dark expanse as tendrils of warped flesh lashed out toward him from every direction. Relying on Metallic Rage, he deflected much of the oncoming damage, though not unscathed.
The battle felt endless, a grueling loop of strength and futility. With each passing moment, Abaddon's power grew sharper, yet he weakened all the same—his strength drained by the oppressive Domain, leaving him in a maddeningly neutral state. No matter how much he pushed, freedom remained out of reach.
"Damn it! Come out and fight me like a real king, you coward!"
He roared in frustration. A chilling laugh echoed in reply, the sound reverberating through the murky air. The Myth materialized just behind him, its whisper laced with mockery.
"Your brutality is... deliciously savage. But don't fool yourself, boy. You claim to have cast aside your emotions, yet your eyes betray you. Those cries, that endless killing—you can't stand it. It's eating away at you, isn't it? This act of yours… is pathetic."
Abaddon spun on his heel, his weapon slashing through the air in a furious arc, but he hit nothing. The figure had already vanished, leaving him striking at shadows. Grinding his teeth, he cursed under his breath, barely able to contain the rage, his body was wearing out from the continues class of gain and drain of energy, he felt like breaking apart.
The Swamp Shadow-King's voice filled the air once more, resonating with an eerie calmness, as if savoring the moment before breaking Abaddon entirely.
"I cannot fathom why you continue to cling to that power within you. Why fight to keep it if you're so afraid of it? Relinquish it to me, human. Be free of the burden you clearly cannot bear."
The voice grew softer, almost coaxing.
"Hand it over…"
Then, the voice grew sharp and commanding, its next words freezing Abaddon in his tracks.
"...Abaddon."
His grip faltered for a moment, shock coursing through him. How did this creature know his name? His mind raced, trying to understand the implications. But before he could steady himself, the Shadow-King's next words pierced through the fog of his thoughts like a dagger.
"I might even grant you the chance to see her again… your mother, Lady Elyssia De Drakon."
The mention of her name pierced through his focus, causing his attacks to waver as doubt and longing threatened to take hold.