Abaddon strode through the grand, cavernous halls of the Abyss, his dark cloak billowing as he made his way to the council chamber. The air was heavy with a foreboding energy, a tension that mirrored the storm of thoughts swirling within him. The walls, carved from ancient black stone, seemed to pulse with the weight of centuries, and shadows danced along the path as if bowing to their king. At the end of the corridor, tall doors adorned with intricate carvings depicting battles of old and sigils of his reign stood waiting, ominous and silent.

He pushed them open, entering the council chamber where eight of his most loyal subjects awaited him, seated around a great obsidian table that shimmered with a faint, eerie glow. These eight ,his council, were once beings of formidable power, each one having proven their loyalty time and again through the ages. They were not merely his advisors; they were his confidants, his trusted lieutenants, and each was bound to the Abyss as deeply as he was. They rose as he entered, nodding in respect.

"Sit," Abaddon commanded, taking his place at the head of the table. His gaze swept across the council members, their faces cast in shadow, each marked with the strength and sacrifices they'd endured in his service.

Malachai, the council's watchful overseer and guardian of the Abyss's boundaries, leaned forward. His silver eyes were sharp, his expression grave. "My lord, we've gathered urgent news a prophecy, spoken of in whispers and discovered under dire circumstances."

Abaddon's eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

Malachai nodded to one of his comrades, a towering figure known as Eamon, who cleared his throat, his voice echoing in the dim chamber. "One of Lucifer's minions was found lurking near the precipice of the Abyss, trespassing on forbidden ground. It was Malachai who caught him, preventing him from ensnaring one of the Nephilim within our realm."

"Lucifer's arrogance knows no end," Abaddon muttered, his voice low with disdain. "He knows the Abyss is beyond his reach. What was the creature after?"

Eamon exchanged a look with Malachai before answering. "It seems Lucifer has a keen interest in a prophecy that speaks of your... conqueror, my lord."

The word hung in the air, heavy and chilling. Abaddon's gaze darkened, and the entire room seemed to tremble. "A conqueror?" he echoed, his voice laced with an ominous calm. "What else did the demon reveal?"

Malachai's voice was steady as he responded. "Under my interrogation, the creature confessed what it knew. The prophecy speaks of a conqueror who will one day bring about your downfall, a mortal born of the descendants of Amihan's daughter. It is why Lucifer covets your realm, my lord, and why he seeks the divine sword gifted to you by the Great Ehyeh."

At this, murmurs rippled around the table. The divine sword was a symbol of Abaddon's dominion over the Abyss, a sacred weapon forged by the Creator himself, entrusted to him to rule over this dark realm. For Lucifer, obtaining it would mean dominion over the Abyss itself, a feat that would shift the balance of power in the infernal and divine realms.

"So, Lucifer dares to encroach upon my domain, all to fulfill some prophecy he believes will unseat me?" Abaddon scoffed, though a glint of worry flickered in his gaze.

One of the council members, a formidable entity named Zephar, spoke up. "This prophecy is not one to ignore, my king. The creature confessed the prophecy foretold three signs that would herald the conqueror's rise. Already, we have seen the first and second signs come to pass."

Abaddon's gaze snapped to Zephar. "Explain."

Zephar bowed his head slightly. "The first sign was your summoning by the Babaylan. And that has already come to pass. The second was that you would succumb to the allure of a mortal woman. Has this happened yet, my lord?"

Abaddon's expression hardened, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes. He remembered the woman, her gaze both fierce and soft, a mortal who had stirred something deep within him that he had thought long buried. He had been drawn to Amihan, despite the risks, despite knowing that such entanglements rarely ended well.

Yet he did not succumb.

Abaddon confidently shook his head.

"And the third?" he demanded, his tone tight.

Malachai continued. "The third sign is the breaking of the Nephilim's barrier, an ancient boundary that separates the mortal realm from ours. This, too, has occurred. The Nephilim have breached the barrier once again, perhaps sensing the impending upheaval. Forgive me, my Lord, that it has come to pass before I could slay the Nephilim myself."

A heavy silence settled over the council as they digested the significance of these revelations. Abaddon felt the weight of each sign pressing down on him, the pieces of a prophecy he could neither deny nor control. If the prophecy were true, then his fate had already been set in motion, each step leading him toward this mysterious conqueror.

Murmurs rippled around the table.

Abaddon listened, impassive.

Only inside, something twisted.

He already knew.

He had known for years.

He had known since the child with starlit eyes whispered into his dreams, since the first time she touched his realm with her sorrow.

But he could not tell them.

Not because he doubted their loyalty.

Because he feared their certainty.

If the Council of Eight knew it was Lualhati, the girl with fire in her voice and anguish in her gaze.

They would strike. Not to challenge fate, but to preserve their king.

And he would not let her die for his crown.

Abaddon finally spoke, his voice firm but tempered with a hint of something vulnerable. "And what does the prophecy say of this... conqueror? What power could a descendant of Amihan hold that would threaten the King of the Abyss himself?"

"The prophecy doesn't speak of their strength or power," Eamon replied quietly, "but of their purpose. It claims that they alone have the potential to... lay bare your true self and bring about your conquest."

Abaddon's jaw clenched, and his hands tightened on the edge of the table. His heart, a thing he had buried long ago beneath layers of duty, forged in the fires of rebellion and tempered in the shadows of the Abyss. How could a mortal challenge him? And yet, the prophecy's words echoed in his mind, stirring an unsettling thought he could not shake.

"Could it be mere myth?" asked Seraiah, another council member, her eyes gleaming with defiance. "Or a fabrication meant to frighten and divide us?"

"No," Malachai replied solemnly. "The prophecy is not a lie. The signs have already shown themselves. We cannot ignore it."

Abaddon exhaled slowly, forcing his emotions into submission. He was Abaddon, King of the Abyss. No mortal, prophecy or otherwise, would unseat him. Yet, he was wise enough to recognize the gravity of what lay before him. He could not face this threat alone.

"Then we must prepare," he declared. "I will not allow this prophecy to become my fate. We will discover the identity of Amihan's descendants and find this conqueror before they have the chance to rise. If the Nephilim have breached the barrier, we will have to fortify it. Double the sentries at the edge of the Abyss."

"We have to fortify the boundary to ensure no more Nephilim will be able to cross-over to the Earthly Realm. We must lay siege to whoever dares to question my dominion over all the fallen, even if it be our brothers."

A silence fell.

Abaddon forced calm into his limbs.

He would not betray her with panic.

And he would lie to them, if he had to.

He would keep her secret, even if it meant burning in their place.

She was not his downfall.

She was his responsibility.

And in this war between fate and kingship, he would protect her, even from prophecy itself.

The council nodded in agreement, their faces set with determination.

Malachai's gaze softened slightly as he looked upon his king. "And what of Lucifer, my lord? The demon we captured hinted at his plans to reclaim the Abyss by taking the divine sword."

A cold fire ignited in Abaddon's eyes. "Lucifer is no more welcome in this realm than he was when he fell. He may covet my sword, but he will not touch it."

The council murmured their approval, and Abaddon rose from his seat, the council members following his lead. "We must remain vigilant," he said. "The Abyss will not fall, not to a prophecy, not to Lucifer, and not to this conqueror."

The council members each placed a hand over their left chests, a silent pledge of loyalty. Abaddon gave them one last look, steeling himself against the tide of the prophecy that loomed ever closer. Though the darkness around him was vast, he felt an ember of resolve flare within him. He was the King of the Abyss, a ruler forged in shadows. Whatever awaited him, he would face it with the strength of his realm behind him.

As he turned and left the chamber, a thought lingered in his mind, unspoken but ever-present. Who was this conqueror foretold to lay bare his heart? And how, when he had walled his heart away, buried it in the shadows of his domain, could anyone reach it?

But even as he dismissed the thought, a faint unease settled within him, a reminder that perhaps even he, ruler of the Abyss, was not immune to the pull of fate.

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