Chapter 2: The Hunger of the Abyss
The wind howled.
Zephyr walked the shattered land, bare feet pressing into the ashen dirt. The world had changed in his absence—a wasteland of blackened ruins and twisted bones stretched as far as the eye could see.
The sky, once filled with stars, was now a sickly shade of gray, an endless storm looming above. Nothing lived here. Nothing should have lived here.
And yet, something did.
Zephyr stopped.
A presence. Faint, but hungry.
He turned his head, his pure white hair hanging in filthy, blood-matted strands, the remnants of his earlier battle still clinging to him. His light blue eyes flickered, reflecting something beyond human.
Something Abyssal.
The sound came next—a low, wet gurgle.
From the ruins ahead, a shape crawled forth.
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The Weak Abyss
It had once been human, or something close to it.
Now, it was a grotesque abomination, its body stretched and distorted, its ribs breaking through its skin like jagged spears. Its face was split down the middle, a maw filled with dripping black teeth, its hollow eyes locked onto Zephyr.
It was starving.
Zephyr chuckled. "Pitiful."
The Abyssal lurched forward, its movements jerky and unnatural. It was weak, but weakness did not make it any less dangerous.
Zephyr reached for a weapon—but he had none. No sword, no claws, no abyssal power to summon at will.
Only the land itself.
His fingers closed around a jagged stone. Rough, heavy. Enough.
The Abyssal pounced.
Zephyr moved.
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The Brutal Fight
It struck first—its elongated arms ripping through the air, claws aiming to tear Zephyr apart.
Zephyr sidestepped, the wind of the strike brushing against his skin. He spun, the stone in his grip colliding with the creature's skull.
A sickening crack echoed.
The Abyssal shrieked, black fluid spraying from the wound, but it did not stop.
It twisted unnaturally, jaws snapping at his throat.
Zephyr threw his entire weight into the next strike. The stone slammed into its mouth, teeth shattering as fragments of bone tore into its flesh.
The creature stumbled, choking on its own broken fangs.
Zephyr did not let it recover.
He tackled it to the ground, straddling its writhing body. Over and over, he brought the stone down, each impact driving it deeper into its skull.
Crack.
Crunch.
Splatter.
By the time he stopped, there was no face left. Only a caved-in mess of bone, flesh, and black ichor pooling into the dirt.
Zephyr exhaled. Blood dripped down his arms, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.
Weak.
He was still so weak.
He tossed the ruined stone aside, his fingers flexing. His hunger clawed at him—his curse demanding more.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Zephyr placed his hand upon the corpse of the Abyssal.
And then… he consumed.
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End of Chapter 2
This chapter sets the tone for Zephyr's struggle—he is powerful, but not invincible. His brutality remains intact, even with nothing but a stone. The Abyssals are grotesque and monstrous, even in their weakest form. And most importantly—Zephyr still hungers. TBC