The faint hum of the Abyssal Cloak against my skin was a constant reminder of my growing strength. This world, foreign and strange, pulsed with potential, and I intended to take it for my own. Not merely as a survivor clinging to scraps of existence but as a force that could reshape kingdoms. War brewed in every corner of this fractured land, and where there was war, there was need. Need for power, need for leadership, and need for someone like me—someone who had already tasted the intoxicating sweetness of dominion.
As I trudged through the desolate path toward Phenix City, the setting sun cast a fiery glow over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson. Its fading light illuminated the jagged walls of the city ahead, their irregular edges glinting like the bared teeth of a predator. The sight sent a thrill through me, my steps quickening. Anticipation bubbled beneath my skin.
"Let the games begin," I murmured, a smirk curling the corners of my lips.
The gates loomed tall, their iron rivets dark with age and rust. Two guards flanked the entrance, their eyes listless beneath the weight of their helmets. They barely glanced in my direction as I passed. Perhaps they were accustomed to strangers. Or perhaps a lone figure cloaked in dark magic wasn't unusual enough to warrant suspicion in a place like this.
Inside, Phenix City was alive, chaotic, and wild. Its narrow cobblestone streets were overrun with a cacophony of sound and movement. Winged harpies swooped above the crowd, their screeches mingling with the guttural cries of merchants hawking exotic wares. Feline humanoids prowled through the throng, their tails swishing as their sharp eyes darted to and fro. The faint scent of sulfur lingered in the air, mingling with the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting food.
At the heart of the chaos stood a towering statue, its obsidian form radiating malice. The Abyssal King, they called him—a tyrant carved into stone, his clawed hands gripping the severed head of a human. The message was clear: This city belonged to the abyss, a place where mercy and morality held no sway.
I barely spared the statue a glance. I wasn't here to admire their twisted idols. My focus narrowed as I scanned the bustling square, my gaze settling on the quest board mounted to a wooden post. Dozens of parchments fluttered in the wind, their corners curling and edges frayed from countless hands.
As I approached, a group of men loitered nearby, their coarse laughter cutting through the din. One of them, a hulking brute with tusks jutting from his lower jaw, stepped into my path, his beady eyes narrowing as he sized me up.
"Little girls like you don't belong here," he growled, his voice thick with condescension. "Go back to wherever you came from before you get hurt."
His companions chuckled, their laughter grating on my ears. The brute leaned closer, his rank breath washing over me.
I didn't flinch. "Shadowflame Barrage," I said, my voice calm, almost bored.
The air around me shimmered as dark magic surged to life. A glowing circle of runes appeared beneath my feet, pulsing with a faint violet light. In an instant, black flames erupted, engulfing the men in a torrent of shadowy fire. Their screams were brief, their bodies reduced to ash before they could even attempt to flee.
The acrid scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air as the wind scattered their remains.
The crowd barely reacted. A few passersby glanced my way before continuing about their business, their indifference unsettling yet oddly reassuring. Violence was common here, it seemed. I smiled, a faint notification flashing in my mind's eye.
You have gained 300 XP. Current: 325/1200.
I closed my eyes for a moment, summoning my status screen.
Name: Octavia
Age: 1 month
Level: 12
Skill Points: 45
Race: Abyssal Octopus
Title: First Mage, Wielder of the Forgotten Flame
Stats:
Strength: 11
Agility: 11
Mana: 19
Dexterity: 5
Affinity: Abyssal
Skills: Black Tendril, Shadowflame Barrage, Soul Bind, Nether Grasp
I hummed in satisfaction. My growth was steady, my efforts yielding results. Yet there was still much to accomplish before I could truly dominate this land.
My eyes shifted back to the quest board. Among the various tasks scrawled in untidy script, one caught my attention. It read:
"Retrieve the fur of a Frost Titan. Danger Level: Extreme. Reward: 1,500 Gold Coins."
A thrill coursed through me. The Frostfang Mountains, the rumored lair of Frost Titans, were a treacherous expanse of ice and snow. Few dared venture there, and even fewer returned. But I wasn't like them. I wasn't seeking mere survival—I craved the challenge, the chance to push my limits.
With a flick of my wrist, I tore the parchment from the board and tucked it into my inventory.
The weight of my decision settled over me like a second skin, electrifying and oppressive all at once. This wasn't just about the reward or the danger. It was about proving my strength, about solidifying my place in this merciless world.
As I turned to leave, a voice called out from behind me. "Wait."
I paused, my hand hovering near the hilt of my dagger. A young woman stepped forward, her silver hair gleaming under the fading sunlight. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me with an intensity that set my nerves on edge.
"You're taking the Frost Titan quest?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief.
I nodded, my expression unreadable. "Do you have a problem with that?"
She smirked. "Not at all. In fact, I might be interested in joining you. That is, if you're not afraid of a little competition."
Her confidence was intriguing, though I couldn't yet determine whether it stemmed from genuine skill or reckless arrogance. Either way, she would be useful—or disposable.
"Do as you please," I said with a shrug, turning on my heel. "Just don't slow me down."
The Frostfang Mountains awaited, their icy peaks promising danger and glory in equal measure. I would emerge stronger—or not at all. Either way, the abyss would be watching.