The transition stabilized.
I didn't land in a hellscape. I stood on the roof of a glistening, obsidian skyscraper, staring out at a skyline that rivaled—no, surpassed—anything on Earth.
The Abyss.
It wasn't a pit of fire. It was a sprawling, hyper-advanced megalopolis under an eternal night sky. Holographic billboards the size of mountains floated in the air, advertising cybernetics, weapon mods, and Miasma-infused energy drinks. Flying transport ships weaved through designated air lanes, their ion thrusters leaving trails of neon blue against the dark clouds.
Down below, the city hummed with electricity. Real, industrial power. Miasma wasn't a fog here; it was a resource, piped through massive conduits like oil or mana, powering the high-grade tech that kept this society running.
"Civilization," I whispered, adjusting my coat as the rain began to fall—acidic, industrial rain that hissed against the metal roof.
