The Awakening of the Abyss

The chamber trembled as cracks slithered across the ground like veins of an ancient beast coming back to life. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a violent wind howled through the underground vault. Lyria tightened her grip on the Blade of Velmora, its pulsing glow illuminating the darkness around her. Across from her, the assassin stood still, his golden eyes locked onto the shifting ground beneath them.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he muttered, his voice calm despite the chaos.

Lyria ignored him. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but something deeper—something primal—told her to stand her ground. The blade in her hand hummed, the magic inside it coiling like a serpent ready to strike. She was no ordinary thief. She was born for this.

The earth groaned, and suddenly, from the gaping fissure in the stone, a massive black claw erupted, digging into the ground with a force that sent shockwaves through the chamber. A guttural growl followed, ancient and filled with unholy hunger.

Lyria’s breath hitched. She had heard of them in stories—the Abyssborn. Creatures that weren’t supposed to exist anymore. The last one had been sealed away centuries ago.

“Move,” the assassin ordered.

Lyria barely reacted before he was in front of her, gripping her wrist in an iron hold. He yanked her back just as a second claw emerged, shattering the pedestal where the blade had once rested. A monstrous head began to rise from the depths—a horror of shadow and jagged teeth, its eyes burning like dying embers.

For the first time in her life, Lyria felt truly small.

The assassin clicked his tongue, his other hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “I didn’t plan to fight an Abyssborn tonight.”

“Then leave,” Lyria shot back, shaking off his grip. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

He laughed—a sharp, amused sound. “You think you can handle this alone?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

The Abyssborn lunged.

Lyria dove to the side as the creature’s massive claw crashed down, sending a cloud of debris into the air. The assassin moved like a shadow, already repositioning, his blade flashing as he slashed at the beast’s arm. Sparks erupted where steel met obsidian flesh, but the creature barely reacted.

Lyria didn’t hesitate. She twisted her grip on the Blade of Velmora and drove forward, slicing toward the monster’s exposed side. The moment her blade connected, the glow of the steel intensified, and a surge of energy exploded outward. The Abyssborn roared, recoiling as if burned.

The assassin’s eyes narrowed. “That sword… it recognizes you.”

Lyria barely had time to register his words before the beast retaliated, swinging its massive arm. She dodged, but not fast enough—pain ripped through her shoulder as she was sent flying into the far wall.

Her vision blurred. Her body screamed in protest, but she forced herself up. The assassin, unfazed, stood between her and the creature, his posture relaxed yet exuding raw, terrifying power.

Then, something changed.

A shift in the air. A suffocating pressure.

Lyria’s heartbeat stuttered.

The assassin was no longer just a man. His presence expanded, swallowing the chamber whole. A dark aura coiled around him like a living entity, tendrils of shadow curling at his feet. The air grew thick and heavy. The Abyssborn, despite its monstrous nature, hesitated.

Lyria shivered.

This… this is what true power feels like.

The assassin lifted his blade, pointing it at the beast. “If you kneel now, I might let you crawl back to whatever hell you came from.”

The Abyssborn let out a deep, guttural growl—before lunging with reckless fury.

In a single, almost lazy motion, the assassin vanished.

No, not vanished. He moved—so fast that Lyria’s eyes barely registered it. One moment he was standing before her, the next, he was behind the creature, his blade buried deep into its spine. The impact sent a shockwave through the chamber, making the very walls groan.

The Abyssborn screamed. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was agony, rage, and desperation all wrapped into one. The assassin wrenched his blade free, and the beast collapsed to one knee, its massive frame trembling.

Lyria watched, unable to move, unable to breathe.

What… what is he?

The assassin turned, his golden eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. “You woke it up. Now you finish it.”

Lyria swallowed hard. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to stand. The Blade of Velmora pulsed in her grip as if urging her forward.

She took a step. Then another.

The Abyssborn growled, trying to rise, but its strength was fading. Lyria knew what she had to do.

She raised the blade high—and drove it straight into the creature’s heart.

A pulse of energy exploded outward. The Abyssborn let out one last, soul-shaking roar before its body crumbled into nothingness, dissolving into the air like ashes in the wind.

Silence.

Then, the assassin spoke. “Not bad.”

Lyria’s chest heaved. Her entire body felt like it had been through hell, but she refused to show weakness. “Who are you?” she demanded, voice hoarse.

The assassin wiped the blood from his blade, his smirk returning. “We’ll get to that.”

Before she could press further, a new sound echoed through the chamber—the distant clatter of armored boots.

The King’s soldiers.

The assassin’s smirk widened. “Looks like your little heist didn’t go unnoticed.”

Lyria cursed under her breath. She had spent her entire life avoiding capture, and now, after one reckless night, she was about to be cornered.

The assassin sheathed his blade and took a step toward her. “You have two choices, Lyria. You run—and they’ll hunt you down. Or…” He tilted his head. “You come with me.”

Lyria’s fingers tightened around her weapon. She didn’t trust him. Not even for a second.

But she had no other options.

The sound of soldiers grew louder.

Lyria met his gaze. “Fine.”

The assassin grinned. “Good choice.”

Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist.

And the world disappeared in a blur of shadows.