"Welcome to the Temple of Abyss," he declared, like an overly dramatic tour guide giving a monologue at a haunted mansion.
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "Sounds… welcoming."
"Oh, it's not," Elias said brightly. "It's an absolute nightmare. But hey, the branding's solid."
He sat up slightly, crossing his legs now, and started counting off on his fingers.
"So here's the deal. All of us? Snatched right out of our lives three months ago during that big ol' blood moon. Real dramatic stuff. Sects, clans, cities—it didn't matter. If you had talent, they came knocking. Or dragging."
He stuffed another snack in his mouth, talking around it.
"Every last one of us is a 'genius,' apparently. And you, Samuel—you were a prodigy in ancient languages and runic script. Always muttering weird crap under your breath. Honestly? Half the time I thought you were cursing me or summoning a demon. Still not entirely convinced you weren't."
Samuel blinked. "Huh."
"Right?" Elias jabbed a greasy finger at him, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Next! In this world—Pendora—people awaken their apertures naturally. They cultivate by drawing spiritual Essence from nature itself—the wind, the rivers, the very breath of the sky."
Elias said, waving his greasy fingers like a bored lecturer.
"They sit under trees, breathe in the morning mist, absorb Essence from the sun or moon—real poetic stuff. That's the usual path. All light, harmony, and righteousness."
Samuel stared at him blankly.
So in this world, people could really cultivate like in those novels?
It shouldn't have surprised him. After all, if gods could be summoned… then people absorbing mystical light from world didn't seem too far-fetched. Still, hearing it spoken aloud made it feel surreal. Like the world had finally unwrapped its mask and revealed the fantasy package in full.
Essence. Cultivation. Enlightenment.
It was all starting to click—at least on the surface.
He didn't know the rules, but one thing was certain.
He needed to learn fast… or die slow.
Elias leaned back, the crude grin slipping from his face. For a moment, only the low crackle of the fire filled the silence between them.
"Essence," he finally said, almost thoughtfully. "That's the safe road. The stable one. It flows gently through you. Warms the bones. Calms the mind. The kind of power that lets you climb the ladder of cultivation nice and clean."
He paused, then chuckled without humor, the sound dry as dust.
"But us?" His grin returned—twisted now, crooked at the edge like a cracked mask. "No, we're not on that road. Not here."
He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, voice lowering as if sharing some forbidden secret.
"They took everything. Scraped us raw. Ripped open our apertures like butchers with too much time and not enough care. Forced the Essence out of our veins, until there was nothing left but a screaming hole inside."
Samuel stared, unblinking.
Elias lifted his hand, slowly curling his fingers inward, as if grasping something invisible… or something that grasped back.
"And then… they poured in the Abyss."
He let the words hang there.
"Abyssal energy," he continued, his tone now darkly theatrical, like he was reading from a cursed children's book.
"You know—corrupted, evil, soul-twisting cosmic sludge. Side effects may include madness, death, chronic screaming. I almost pissed myself. Might've actually. Not important"
He tilted his head, looking at Samuel with something between amusement and pity.
"And the worst part? It doesn't stop with your body. It crawls deeper. Gets under the skin, into the bones, into the dreams. It changes you. Makes you… something else."
Samuel said nothing.
There wasn't anything to say.
Elias noticed, shrugged. "Anyway, once that mess is done, they start sorting us."
"Sorting?" Samuel asked.
"Oh yeah. Super fun part," he said, eyes gleaming with sarcasm.
"They check how much Abyssal energy your spiritual Aperture can hold before it starts… breaking. That's your 'potential.' Some can barely hold a drop. Others? Gallons."
Samuel swallowed. "And if you can't hold enough?"
Elias shrugged, still crunching obnoxiously on that mystery snack.
"Oh, if you can't hold enough? Yeah, the temple kills you on the spot."
Samuel blinked. "Just like that?"
Elias grinned and drew a line across his neck.
"Smile and stab. Real polite about it too. 'May your soul return to the Abyss,' and then—thk—dead. Efficient."
"…Charming." Samuel muttered.
"Isn't it?" Elias said with mock delight. "See, they measure your compatibility with Abyssal energy. Below twenty percent? You're done. Not worth the robes you're sewn into."
Samuel exhaled through his nose, quiet. "And if you're above twenty?"
Elias held up three fingers.
"Sixty or below? Black robes. That's us. Outer disciples. Fancy way of saying cannon fodder. Literal spiritual interns. No pay, no respect, no toilet paper."
Samuel winced. "Wait, what?"
"No private toilets, man. Communal pits. With eye contact. You've never known true fear until you've tried to poop while maintaining conversation with someone reciting martial chants next to you."
Samuel buried his face in his hands.
Elias held up two fingers now.
"Next tier—between sixty and ninety? White robes. Inner disciples. Elites. They get resources, training, private quarters… and most importantly—private toilets. Like, actual doors. A luxury beyond measure."
"And above ninety?" Samuel asked warily.
Elias' voice dropped an octave. Reverent. Mock-religious.
"Ah. The golden freaks."
"Golden…?"
"Direct Disciples. Five of them. Golden robes. They walk around like minor deities—untouchable, untouching, and almost definitely plotting our untimely deaths. You see one? You bow. Or at least pretend you've got a limp and avoid eye contact."
He tossed the last of the snack into his mouth, then brushed his hands off on the bed like a true agent of chaos.
"So to summarize," Elias continued helpfully,
"Cult? Check. Corrupted magic? Check. Rigged hierarchy where we are glorified sacrifices? Big check. But hey, at least the food's okay on Tuesdays."
Samuel didn't laugh.
He just stared, silent.
Behind that blank expression, his thoughts were a storm—sharp, frantic, measured.
So the Temple had already sorted its disciples... Hm. That meant they likely believed the vessel would emerge from one of the White-Robed or Golden-Ranked initiates.
That was good.
That was very good.
For now—he was invisible.
For now—he was safe.
Samuel covered his face with one hand and groaned. "Gods. And I thought the rope was overdramatic."
"Nah," Elias said with a grin. "It was just foreshadowing."
He leaned back again, letting the silence stretch for a moment.
"So yeah," he added cheerfully, "Welcome to the Temple of the Abyss, Sammy. You're either going to ascend beyond human limits… or die violently, screaming in your own melted bones."
Samuel stared at him. Then slowly looked up at the beam where the rope still dangled.
"…You know," he said, voice dry as sand, "the rope's starting to make a lot more sense now."
Elias' eyes suddenly flashed with a mysterious glint. He leaned forward, his grin widening in a way that suggested he was about to reveal something interesting—maybe even dangerous.
"You know," Elias began, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone,
"You can actually check your Abyssal energy capacity right now."
Samuel blinked in confusion. "How?"
Elias casually waved a hand. "Just chant this"
"Vha'rith, Khor'zar!"
When Elias uttered the words, Samule couldn't help but feel a strange familiarity, as if they were buried deep in his muscle memory—probably some perk from his transmigration.
Who cares?
Samuel looked at Elias "Just chant this? Really?"
Elias nodded, his expression all too serious. "Yep. Just chant. It's that simple."
Samuel hesitated, but then decided to give it a try. What did he have to lose? He muttered the strange chant under his breath, the words foreign and alien, but they felt right somehow, like they belonged in his mouth.
"Vha'rith, Khor'zar!...."
The moment the chant left his lips, his head began to throb. A jolt of energy ran through his body, as if something inside him had been triggered. The air around him seemed to vibrate with power.
Suddenly, his mind was flooded with information. Words appeared directly in his consciousness,
***
[VOICE OF VOID]
Name: Samuel Zevrin Morvain
True Rune:
True Rune Abilities:
Bloodline: Human
Physique: None
Abyssal Rank: 1-Abyss-Touched
Abyssal Aperture Capacity: 52%
Abyssal Fragments: 107/1000
Abyssal Spells: Moonslash (Rank 1)
***
Samuel stared at the status panel that appeared in his mind like some strange, uninvited guest. His breath hitched. Panic surged through him, flooding his chest with a cold, suffocating wave.
He kicked Elias squarely in the stomach, sending him crashing back with an oath.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. THIS?!" Samuel growled, voice a rasp of panic.
"I think I almost had a damn heart attack today, and you—!"
"Damn it!" Elias cursed as he grabbed his stomach, but there was an amused grin on his face. "What the hell, man?! I didn't say you had to get violent over it."
Elias stood up, still holding his stomach, and shrugged casually.
"I don't know. It's like this for all Essence users or Abyssal users. Both sides get this weird thing. Even the cult doesn't fully understand it. It's just how things work, like why you have two eyes instead of one giant eye in the middle of your face. No one really gets it, but it's there."
Samuel's mind raced.
'A system? A fucking system?'
The words burned into his mind as he glanced back at the panel, shivers crawling up his spine.
It felt... wrong. Too invasive.
Like someone—or something—was watching him through that cold, glowing interface.
Samuel exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of it all. He'd just been slapped with a status screen like some kind of game character. No, this wasn't a game. This was real. His reality had just been turned upside down.
"Sorry," Samuel muttered, glancing at Elias and offering a sheepish look.
"Didn't mean to kick you... just freaked out a bit."
Elias grinned.
"No worries, man. Happens to the best of us. Just don't kick me in the stomach again; I do need that to breathe...."
For a moment, there was silence.
There were many things Samuel didn't know about Pendora, and even more questions clawing at the edge of his mind.
This strange blue panel...
The True Rune...
The foreign laws of this world.
But he was too tired to ask.
Too tired to risk another heart attack.
"My head hurts," he muttered.
Elias stared at him, confused.
Samuel snapped, voice low and rough,
"My head hurts means I need rest. Get the hell out of here."
Finally, Elias seemed to understand.
He chuckled sheepishly.
"Just say it directly, bro. No worries."
He stood up, brushing off his pants.
But then he froze, as if remembering something.
"Actually..." Elias scratched the back of his head.
"Almost forgot the most important thing. First Abyssal Trial is tomorrow."
He smiled, almost apologetically.
"Be on time, man. If you're late... you're dead."
Samuel shoved him, his movements sluggish and weak.
"Wait—what the hell is tomorrow?" he mumbled, voice hoarse.
Elias blinked, like he couldn't believe the question.
"Dude. Abyssal Trial. They announced it way before. Were you even listening?"
Samuel felt a cold weight settle in his gut.
A familiar, creeping dread.
"And... what's going to happen?" he asked, already regretting it.
Elias shrugged casually, like they were talking about the weather.
"No idea. We'll find out tomorrow."
He grinned.
"Don't worry. Just rest."
With that, he waved a lazy hand and strolled out the door, whistling off-tune.
Samuel stared at the ceiling.
His mind spun with half-formed thoughts—
Body-switching, existential crises, looming death...
Too much.
Way, way too much.
He didn't even bother thinking anymore.
He just let his body fall back onto the bed and surrendered to the darkness of sleep.
***
As Elias walked down the dim hallway, he scratched his head, deep in thought.
"So you really got possessed, huh..." he muttered under his breath.
He wasn't stupid.
Even with memory loss, a person didn't change that much.
Not in the way they looked at the world.
Not in the way they clung to life.
That defiance, burning low like embers.
Elias chuckled quietly.
"Well... he didn't kill me. Looked confused as hell too."
That meant whoever—or whatever—was inside...
They probably didn't know what was going on either.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.
"Looks like things are about to get interesting," he whispered, half to himself.
A low, dry laugh followed him down the corridor, fading into the dark.
***