After I acquired the grimoire, a strange notification echoed in my mind, its words both thrilling and unnerving:
"Level increased to 10. You now have the ability to evolve. Choose your evolution."
The words reverberated, resonating through the very fabric of my being. The void around me deepened, the vast darkness suddenly alive with potential. Two options materialized before me, glowing spectral text floating in the air, their ethereal radiance casting faint shadows against the nothingness.
Each choice pulsed with a distinct energy, as though the words themselves were alive.
Ghost Octopus: "You will be transformed into a ghost and gain the ability to resurrect the dead."
Abyssal Octopus: "Your dark magic affinity will change to abyssal affinity—one of the legendary magics of the world. Your magical capacity will double, and you will gain the ability to freely shape your body."
I stared at the glowing text, their power palpable. The air—if it could even be called air in this strange void—grew heavy with tension. The weight of the decision pressed against my chest, demanding clarity, conviction.
Resurrecting the dead... The idea was intoxicating. It offered control over life and death, a power that many would kill for. With such an ability, I could right so many wrongs, undo the grief that bound countless souls to despair. I could be a savior—or a puppet master.
But the other option, the abyssal Octopus, whispered promises of something far more profound. Abyssal magic—the legendary force whispered about in hushed tones, feared and revered by even the most powerful mages. To wield it would mean stepping into the unknown, embracing a power that defied comprehension.
The words shimmered, glowing faintly brighter as my thoughts lingered on them. The pull was almost magnetic. It wasn't just the allure of doubled magic or a malleable form—it was the abyss itself calling out to me, a primal urge vibrating deep within my soul.
My fingers, trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation, stretched toward the choice that resonated most.
"You have chosen the Abyssal Octopus evolution," the notification chimed, its tone suffused with an almost celebratory reverence.
As the words faded, the void trembled. My body erupted in sensation—a searing, exhilarating surge of energy that felt like being torn apart and rebuilt all at once. I collapsed to my knees, clutching the grimoire as waves of transformation coursed through me.
It started subtly—my skin tingled, the sensation spreading until it became a molten heat that burned away the old and gave birth to the new. My very essence shifted, my physical form dissolving into something liquid, yet stronger than anything I had known.
The grimoire pulsed in my hands, its dark energy synchronizing with my own. My magic expanded, doubling in volume and intensity, the rush almost overwhelming. My dark affinity melted into something deeper, darker—a force that resonated with the ancient whispers of the void itself. Abyssal affinity.
My thoughts blurred as instinct took over. My body shifted, tentacles of pure energy unfurling from my form. They shimmered with a dark iridescence, their edges alive with flickers of shadow and light. I willed one to move, and it obeyed, slashing through the void with effortless grace.
A laugh—wild and unbidden—escaped my lips. The potential, the sheer limitlessness of it all, was intoxicating. I felt invincible, untethered from the constraints of mortality and form.
But then the void shifted.
The endless dark around me stirred, as though responding to my evolution. The energy thickened, a pressure settling in the air, oppressive yet familiar. I froze, sensing a presence—vast, ancient, and utterly foreign—emerging from the depths.
A voice, low and resonant, echoed through the space, brushing against the edges of my consciousness.
"Welcome, Abyssal Wielder."
The words were not spoken but felt, vibrating through my very being.
Shapes coalesced in the darkness ahead, forming a towering figure cloaked in shadows. Its form was monstrous yet elegant, its limbs adorned with black, spiraling runes that shimmered like stars. Its face, if it could even be called that, was a void within the void—endless, unknowable.
I knew immediately who—or what—stood before me.
Balfazar the Dark.
The Right Hand of the 24th Demon King, a being whose name alone struck fear into the hearts of entire kingdoms. Stories of his exploits were whispered in every corner of the world—a being of unmatched power, born of the abyss itself.
I stared, my newly evolved form instinctively responding to the sheer weight of his presence. My tentacles twitched, shimmering faintly as though preparing for a fight, but a single gesture from Balfazar froze me in place.
"Do not be so eager to test your strength," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and warning. "You are but a hatchling, a spark of potential yet to ignite."
His words stung, but I said nothing. This was no mere foe; this was a being that stood at the pinnacle of abyssal power.
Balfazar stepped closer, the darkness bending around him as though it were alive. His gaze—or what I assumed to be his gaze—pierced through me.
"You have chosen the path of the abyss, a path fraught with peril and glory alike. Many have walked it, few have survived. Fewer still have thrived."
He extended a hand, clawed and wreathed in shadow.
"But you..." His voice softened, a strange undertone of curiosity weaving through his words. "There is something different about you. Something... dangerous."
My grip tightened on the grimoire. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within me.
Balfazar chuckled, a sound like grinding stone. "What I want is of no consequence. What you want, however, will shape your destiny."
He gestured to the void around us, his movements fluid and deliberate. "This power you now wield—it is not a gift. It is a burden, a test. The abyss will demand much of you, and in return, it will give you everything. Or destroy you."
His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and threat.
Before I could respond, the void began to shift again, the darkness folding in on itself. Balfazar's form grew hazy, his presence retreating.
"We will meet again, Abyssal Wielder," he said, his voice fading with the light. "Your journey has only just begun."
And then he was gone.
I stood alone in the void, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. The transformation, the choice, the encounter—it was overwhelming. But as I flexed my new form, feeling the abyssal power coursing through me, I knew one thing for certain.
The journey ahead would be perilous.
But it would also be mine.