Daril's POV
The land moaned beneath a bleeding sky.
Crimson clouds roiled like a boiling ocean, and black lightning slashed across the heavens, splitting the world with every crack. The ground was a jagged wasteland, littered with bones calcified into the stone, rivers of ash flowing between shattered cliffs. The air was poison—thick, heavy, rancid with decay.
This was the Abyss.
A graveyard of gods and men alike.
Daril walked it unshaken.
A hulking barbarian in scarred knight's armor, twin axes strapped across his back, his every step bled dominance. Shadows slithered away from him. Beasts hidden in the mist whimpered and fled. He was not prey here—he was the predator, and the land knew it.
Yet the silence gnawed. No roars, no threats, only the groaning of wind across a dead horizon. His brown eyes scanned the desolation. Nothing.
"Tch." He spat into the dirt. "Dead land. Not even worth the swing of an axe." He then looked around, stretching his arms and his waist. "Well, it is good to be in lighter armour," He laughed as he admired his silver armour. It had lost its beautiful glint. Now, it was just a scrap of metal. He sighed.
With casual disdain, he squatted, stretching one leg, then the other, the motion oddly mundane against the apocalyptic backdrop. He straightened, neck cracking as he studied the mountain before him. Its peak was lost in storm and mist, a spine of stone vanishing into the crimson void. His eyes traced through the mountain trying to find its peak.
"Not much of a climber anyway," he muttered. Then his lips twisted. "Guess I'll cheat."
He bent, muscles tightening, and leapt.
The ground shattered beneath him, a crater ripping open as his body blurred into shadow. He rocketed past the clouds, lightning curling around him, before crashing down before a ruined castle gate. The impact sent stone skittering, ash lifting like smoke.
The gate was no more than a broken maw. Towers lay split, collapsed into heaps like giant ribcages. Daril's boots ground into cracked stone as he passed through. His eyes glowed faintly, brown light slicing into the gloom. The shadows thickened here. They shifted unnaturally, stretching across the ground and walls, taking forms—half-there, half-not.
One shadow twitched into the shape of a horned beast and hissed. Another stretched long fingers across the wall, dragging nails that screeched. A third rose behind him, a serpentine coil with eyes that glowed red.
Daril didn't flinch.
"Try harder."
The horned shadow lunged. His aura flared, a suffocating wave of brown darkness that crushed the illusions flat against the stone. The walls quivered. The ground cracked. The shadows writhed, but they did not dare approach again.
At the heart of the ruin, he found it—the altar.
Carved of black stone, pulsing faintly with crimson light, it was a monument of horror. Etchings spiraled across its surface, depicting the six-headed monstrosity: two heads, one body, devouring infants. Each carving showed a variation—scaled, insectoid, winged, faceless, serpentine, all devouring. Around the altar, the shadows twisted themselves into grotesque parodies of those same forms.
Daril studied it silently, jaw set. Even his hardened soul felt the pull, the hunger etched into the stone.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice cut through him like steel. Daril's head snapped up.
The world bent. Air, sky, and earth folded in a spiral as if being devoured. Wind howled like a dying beast, pressing against him with claws of frost. Shadows screamed and recoiled as the distortion resolved—revealing a throne room where the mountain itself loomed beyond.
The chamber was vast, lined with six statues—three to each side—crimson figures shaped like the monsters carved into the altar. They loomed silently, but their stone eyes flickered faintly, as if watching.
At the far end sat Brian.
White robes drifting, white hair spilling from beneath his hood, his crimson eyes fixed with the patience of a predator. He lounged upon the ruined throne as if it had always been his.
Daril barked a laugh, raw and sharp, echoing against broken stone. "Knew you were sketchy, Brian. Didn't think you'd be this deep in filth." His boots pounded the floor as he strode forward, his aura leaking in dark waves from his armor, thick as smoke.
Brian's lips curled faintly. "I honored my part of the agreement."
"Agreement," Daril snorted. "If there ever was one. The star of calamity should've died long ago."
Brian rose slowly, crimson eyes softening. "Maybe I grew attached." A faint smile ghosted his lips, heavy with sorrow. "Though attachment rarely ends well."
His gaze flicked toward the knight. "Did you bring it? Or do I need to ask again? I did hate to come to Ethel a third time," Brian said as he laughed lightly.
Daril's expression hardened. "Didn't know you hated Ethel." With a flick of his gauntleted hand, the air tore open. A portal bloomed, spilling blue light so warm and pure it burned the shadows back. For an instant, the Abyss hissed and recoiled. Then it vanished, leaving behind a grey coffin, entwined with thorned flowers. Golden dragons coiled across its lid—the crest of royalty.
Daril's eyes lingered on it, jaw tight. Still a prince. Still Grey's kin.
Brian approached. As he neared, the crimson statues stirred. Their stone limbs groaned as if straining to move. Their jaws cracked, stone dust falling from them, their eyes glowing faintly red. The ground trembled beneath Daril's boots.
He shifted his stance, ready. His aura flared.
But Brian lifted a hand. "Not today."
At his words, the statues froze, light fading from their eyes. They stilled once more, silent witnesses.
Brian placed his palm on the coffin. Crimson light rippled from him, dissolving the thorned flowers, eating through the stone. Slowly, reverently, the coffin peeled away, until the figure within was revealed—an embalmed corpse.
It looked like Brian, yet different. Black hair with streaks of crimson framed his face, his closed lids hiding the yellow eyes beneath. The embalming was meticulous—his body preserved, flesh unspoiled, oils and herbs still clinging faintly to the air. He seemed almost asleep, a prince stolen from time. Fate has a funny way of playing games. Brian smiled, amused.
Brian's gaze lingered, sorrow softening his features. "He suffered too much. I should've taken him earlier." His voice cracked with rare honesty. "Spared him all this. Too much damage."
Behind the throne, a portal of crimson mist opened, swirling like blood poured into water. The coffin began to tremble, slowly turning to dust, leaving only the embalmed corpse, floating around Brian. The corpse began to pulsate, slowly dropping as Brian turned, slowly rising to follow Brian.
He turned once, his crimson eyes locking with Daril's. "Goodbye, old friend."
And then he stepped into the portal.
The corpse vanished with him. The portal shut like a clenched fist.
The silence was suffocating.
Daril stood for a long moment. The statues loomed. The altar throbbed faintly. The Abyss whispered.
Then he exhaled, long and tired. His job was finished.
In the next instant, he was gone—reappearing at the base of the mountain. The crater he had leapt from still yawned, its smoke curling into the crimson sky.
He turned away.
His boots pressed into ash as he walked, heavy, somber. The Abyss swallowed the sound.