The night in Valeburn was unsettlingly quiet. The moon hung above like a silver sentinel, casting long shadows over the coliseum ruins. Kael stood at the edge of the Silent Arena, a forbidden zone said to be cursed since the War of Shattered Crowns. No soul had willingly entered in years.
But Kael was no ordinary soul anymore.
Behind him, Sylra adjusted her enchanted bow, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "We're being watched," she whispered.
"I know," Kael replied, his voice low. "They want us to step inside. It's a test."
A cold gust of wind swirled around them as they crossed the threshold of the arena. The moment they stepped in, the world around them seemed to shift. The air became heavier, filled with tension and residual mana. Ruined statues of forgotten champions stood in solemn witness. Bloodstains—old but eternal—marked the ground.
Suddenly, the gates clanged shut behind them.
A mocking laugh echoed from the center of the arena. A cloaked figure emerged, standing atop a broken pillar. "The Abyss King dares to step into my domain. How amusing."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The figure removed his hood. His face was pale, almost ghostly, and his eyes glowed violet with corrupted mana. "I am Varic the Forgotten, last champion of the Silent Arena. Once, I fought for kings. Now, I fight only for the abyss."
Before Kael could respond, Varic leaped down and slammed his spear into the ground. A black ring pulsed outward, summoning five shadow warriors—spectral echoes of dead champions.
Kael summoned his obsidian blade as Sylra notched an arrow.
"Take the specters," Kael ordered. "I'll deal with Varic."
Sylra nodded and sprinted to the side, releasing a flurry of arrows that exploded in light upon impact. The shadows recoiled, screeching, but retaliated with blinding speed.
Kael and Varic clashed in a furious burst of steel and power. The arena cracked beneath them. Varic's spear danced like lightning, striking with bone-breaking force. Kael parried, slashed, and deflected, drawing on the Abyss Core inside him to enhance his reflexes. But Varic was no ordinary warrior—he had been bound to the arena for centuries, feeding on its darkness.
"You carry the Abyss," Varic hissed, "but you are not its master."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then let me show you."
He unleashed a burst of dark flame from his gauntlet, forcing Varic to retreat. But Varic smirked, drawing a curved dagger from his side—etched with runes Kael recognized from the Abyss Codex. A cursed weapon.
As Kael lunged, Varic shifted and slashed across Kael's ribs. Pain flared instantly—but not just physical. The dagger's magic attacked his essence, attempting to corrupt him from within.
Kael stumbled, visions of his past—the deaths, the fire, the betrayal—flooding his mind. He saw himself falling again, powerless.
"No," he growled. "I didn't crawl from the Abyss just to fall again!"
He roared, unleashing a shockwave of abyssal energy. Varic was thrown back, crashing into the pillar he once stood on.
Sylra, having vanquished the last specter, limped toward Kael. "Are you—?"
"Fine," Kael said, breathing heavily.
Varic staggered to his feet, his form flickering. "You… you have tamed it… The Abyss obeys you."
Kael approached, raising his blade. "Yield."
Varic laughed weakly. "You truly might become the Abyss King."
With a final whisper, Varic's body disintegrated into shadows, leaving only the cursed dagger.
Kael picked it up and turned to Sylra. "We're getting stronger, but so is our enemy. This wasn't a test. It was a warning."
As they left the arena, the runes on the walls glowed briefly, as if acknowledging Kael's victory. Yet, far to the north, a new threat awakened—one that had watched the battle through the veil.
And it smiled.