The stones under Asvard's feet cracked with each step. A suffocating silence settled between him and Krelith, broken only by the occasional drip of molten ash from the ceiling of the hellscape. The air still carried that strange weight. Thick, ancient, full of things left unsaid.
Krelith walked ahead. Not a glance back. Not a word.
Asvard followed, his body strangely light yet heavy all at once. The shard he once held was no longer in his hand. But he felt it… beating. Somewhere deep inside him. Like it was part of him now.
Krelith's path took them through a broken ravine, shaped like teeth. Dead trees lined the edges. If you could call them trees. Burnt spines wrapped in chains, screaming faces in the dark, and every once in a while, they'd twitch. Asvard ignored them.
He didn't flinch. He didn't question. But the silence bothered him.
Finally, he spoke. "Where are we going?"
Krelith didn't stop. "To a place most don't return from."
Asvard smirked. "Does that include you?"
This time, Krelith chuckled, just a little. "I've returned from worse."
They walked until the world around them changed.
The sky above turned blood-orange. The land burned but didn't smoke. Great statues, half-buried in magma and ash, peeked out from the mountains. Wings. Horns. Fangs. All fallen beings.
"This was once a battlefield." Krelith said, his voice quieter now. "Where Kings were born. And where one disappeared."
Asvard didn't respond. He felt it. The pull. Like something under the surface was calling to him.
Krelith stopped in front of a cracked archway. Symbols carved in forgotten languages glowed dimly on the stone.
"Step through." he said.
Asvard stared at the arch. "What is this?"
"A memory" Krelith said. "Of Hell itself."
Without waiting, Asvard stepped through.
Instantly, the world shifted.
It was night now. But not the kind with stars. Just pitch-black sky, with rivers of fire lighting the lands below.
He stood at the edge of a cliff. An army moved in the distance. Tens of thousands of demons… marching in silence.
But none of them had faces.
Faceless. Shapeless. All moving as if commanded by one thought.
Asvard stepped forward, but the world around him pulsed and twisted.
He saw thrones. Nine of them. Made of bone and obsidian, each taller than mountains. Empty. Abandoned. Cracked.
A voice echoed in the sky, low and ancient.
"When the thrones are empty, chaos follows. When the crown is gone, the cries rise. And when the last shard beats… the lock breaks."
Asvard clutched his chest. The shard. His heart. It beat stronger now.
The vision faded.
He stood again in the archway chamber. Krelith still there, watching.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Krelith asked, but his tone was cautious.
Asvard didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Krelith turned and started walking again. "Then you're ready."
"Ready for what?" Asvard asked.
"To meet what's left of hell."
They emerged from the chamber into a high valley, one that opened to a long bridge carved from black glass. Below it, lakes of fire. Above it, shadows circled like vultures.
On the far side… stood a gate. Not golden. Not infernal. Just a plain stone gate, cracked, old but untouched by time.
Standing in front of it, Krelith stopped.
"This is where I leave you" he said. "From here on, it's your road."
Asvard narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because I've seen what comes after this step," Krelith said. "And it's not for me."
Asvard stepped onto the bridge.
And something shifted in the air again.
The fire below dimmed. The shadows above paused. The entire realm… looked at him.
He didn't know it. But his eyes had changed. Crimson, slit, glowing faintly.
His skin held no scars now, only markings, subtle, ancient, like tattoos of power etched in a tongue he didn't recognize. His blood was no longer human. His soul… tethered to the shard beating in his chest.
He had become something more.
A demon.
Not just any.
One that hadn't been seen in Hell since him.
From his crouch in the shadows, Krelith watched. Quiet. Hidden. The weight in his chest heavier than ever.
"He's one of them…" he whispered to himself. "No. He's… the last of them."
But his voice had no fear. Just pressure. And awe.
The air trembled as Asvard took another step.
The skies cracked.
The shard pulsed again in his chest.
Hell itself… took a breath.
Krelith stood there long after Asvard disappeared into the red haze.
He didn't chase. Didn't call out.
He just stared at the path Asvard left behind, ash turned to black glass, demonic whispers silenced mid-syllable, even the Maw's echo curling away in fear.
"One that hasn't walked this realm since… him."
Krelith's hands were trembling. Not from fear. From knowing.
Something had returned.
And it wore the face of a boy.
"Abyssborn..." Krelith muttered while holding onto his cloak. "They'll soon notice it too."
Krelith walked away. Like he did with him. But this time, he was unsure. About what's about to unfold. What's to come.
"Cursed or to be cursed?" Krelith questioned himself, "to be an Abyssborn... Your fate is as unprecedented as you." Krelith laughed out. Like a maniac. One which carried terror.
(To be continued...)