The air felt heavier now, as though the very atmosphere around Aric had thickened with the power of the Abyss. The remnants of the shadow beast still lingered in the air like a faint, oppressive presence, but the immediate danger had passed. For now, he had won—though the victory tasted bitter in his mouth.
Aric stood amidst the ruins, breathing heavily, his heart still pounding in his chest. His beast, though calm for the moment, was still on edge, its fur standing on end, eyes darting around in a silent warning. The connection between them had deepened, as if the bond was pulling them both toward something far beyond the physical realm.
The Abyss had tested him. It had pushed him to his limits and demanded more than he was prepared to give. But now that the trial was over, Aric could feel it—the Abyss was waiting, watching. His victory had not come without a price.
You will never be free, the voice whispered in the back of his mind. You have chosen this path, Aric Thornfield. And now, you will walk it until the end.
Aric pushed the voice away, trying to shake off the chilling sensation that had crept into his thoughts. He had already made the decision. He would not let the Abyss control him. He was no puppet.
But deep down, a part of him—no, a part of the Abyss itself—knew the truth: he had already given a piece of himself away. That was the price for power, and the Abyss demanded its due.
"Let's go," Aric muttered, turning on his heel, his dagger still in his hand, the familiar weight of the weapon grounding him. His beast followed, its massive form silent, but the unease between them was palpable.
They didn't go far. The winds had shifted, and the once calm air now carried a sense of urgency. The ruins, once silent and forgotten, had awakened. Aric felt it deep in his bones—something was stirring. The Abyss wasn't just a force contained within him. It was a part of the world, a living, breathing presence that was drawing closer.
He couldn't ignore it. Not anymore.
They traveled deeper into the ruins, the path growing more treacherous with every step. The earth beneath their feet had cracked further, and strange, eerie lights flickered in the distance, casting long, twisted shadows. It was as though the land itself was beginning to warp and bend, as if the boundaries between the physical and the abyssal worlds were thinning.
Aric's mind raced. What had he unleashed? What did the Abyss want from him? Every step forward seemed to bring him closer to some unknown truth, yet the further he went, the more questions he had.
Suddenly, the air grew still. A strange silence fell over the landscape, and Aric's beast froze, its ears twitching. The tension was thick, like a storm was about to break. Aric instinctively gripped the hilt of his dagger, his body coiled like a spring, ready to fight.
Before him, the ground trembled once again, and the shadows began to twist.
"Aric Thornfield," a voice called out from the darkness, deep and ancient. "The time has come."
A figure emerged from the gloom, its form shifting like liquid darkness, ever-changing. Aric's heart raced as he stared at the being before him—this was no ordinary creature. This was something far older, far more powerful. Its presence filled the space, suffocating the air around them.
"Who are you?" Aric demanded, his voice steady but his eyes never leaving the figure. "Another servant of the Abyss?"
The figure's shape flickered once more, its form still too indistinct to be truly understood, but the power radiating from it was undeniable. It was like a force of nature, a living embodiment of the Abyss itself.
"I am not a servant," the being spoke, its voice a blend of whispering winds and deep rumbling earth. "I am its herald. The Abyss is not just power, Aric Thornfield. It is a will. A will that has waited millennia for someone like you."
Aric's stomach clenched. His hand tightened around his dagger. "What do you want from me?"
The herald did not move, but Aric could feel its gaze—if it had one—settled on him. The darkness around it seemed to pulse, alive, breathing.
"The Abyss has chosen you," it said, its voice laced with a weight that made Aric's bones ache. "But not as a servant. As its master."
Aric blinked, confused. "Master? What do you mean by that?"
The figure stepped forward, its form stretching and collapsing in on itself in an unsettling rhythm. "You are bound to the Abyss, but not as a mere conduit. You were born for something greater. You will lead the forces of the Abyss to reshape the world. You will be its king."
The words struck Aric like a blow to the chest. He staggered back, his heart racing. "I—no, I don't want this! I didn't ask for this!"
The herald's form seemed to flicker, as though it were amused by his defiance. "You do not get to choose, Aric Thornfield. The Abyss does not care for your desires. It cares for its own. And you, by the blood in your veins, are its chosen vessel."
Aric's mind spun, his thoughts crashing against each other. He had known that the Abyss was not some simple force, but to hear that he was its vessel, its chosen master, was something else entirely. It was a weight too great to bear, a responsibility he had never asked for.
"I'm not your king," Aric spat, though his voice trembled. "I will never be your puppet."
The herald did not react, its form folding in on itself before expanding again. "You will see, Aric Thornfield. The Abyss has already begun to awaken within you. The power that courses through your veins—can you not feel it? It will consume you if you do not embrace it."
Aric looked down at his hands, the cold, strange energy that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. The Abyss was no longer an external force—it had become a part of him. His connection with it had grown deeper with every passing day, and now it was more than just a whisper in the back of his mind. It was a roar.
"You do not understand," Aric said, his voice low and strained. "You don't know me. You don't know what I am capable of."
The herald's shape wavered, then solidified again, its red eyes glowing brighter. "You are capable of far more than you realize, Beastmaster. You think you have control over the Abyss? But you are mistaken. It is you who is controlled."
Aric clenched his fists, the familiar fire of rebellion rising within him. "I will never be controlled. Not by you, not by the Abyss. I will fight this. I will fight it until my last breath."
The herald's laughter was like the sound of a thousand winds howling through a storm. "Very well. Fight, then. But remember—there is no running from what you are. The Abyss will always find you. It will always call to you."
The figure began to fade, its form melting into the shadows once again.
"Remember, Aric Thornfield," the herald's voice echoed as it disappeared. "The true power of the Abyss lies not in destruction, but in domination. And you will bend to it. You will rule with it, or you will break."
Aric stood in the fading darkness, his body tense, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.
Was the herald right? Was this truly his fate—to wield the power of the Abyss and shape the world with it? Or was there another path—a way to escape its pull, to remain human?
Aric's gaze hardened, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of clarity. He would not be controlled. He would not bow to the Abyss.
But he had no choice but to confront it.
"Let's move," Aric said to his beast, his voice cold and resolute. "We have a world to change."